#this is half vent and half commiseration

[valentineish]

IDK about the rest of the Chronic Illness Crowd, but my god. My health is so tenuous under the weight of stress right now. I am fighting tooth and nail to hold onto some hope for the future. Some possibility that there will be a place for me in the world come next year. And I do not, cannot know for sure I will get to be around that long. Most of the reasons as to why are out of my control.

It hurts all the more because my mental health is in a good place. I want to keep living. I want to take part in this big, beautiful world of ours. So why is life so hostile to me being in it?

[loveinhawkins]

I never know what to put for these made-up fanfic titles, but! how's "boy that's never been" sound? (or girl, which is the original line, or child, which has its own flavor)

oh boy that’s never been is perfect. Congratulations/commiserations, you’ve let me unleash probably the most tragic thing I’ve ever thought of.

warning: the first section of this will have a major character death. it’ll then be followed up by an alternative take where the character is initially believed to be dead but survives, so feel free to read both or one or neither. ❤️

-

It starts with laughter, with Dustin and Eddie jumping up and down, clinging to each other, riding the high of the most metal concert in the history of the world.

Eddie drapes the guitar pick around Dustin’s neck, like giving a medal to an Olympian. “Souvenir,” he says, grinning, and Dustin’s about to speak, to probably just reiterate just how fucking cool Eddie’s playing was, but then they hear the bats come through the vents, and the words fly out of his head.

They barricade the door, and Eddie is screaming at him to, “—go! Let’s go!”, and Dustin starts to hurry up the rope. He can hear the distant crackle of his walkie, Lucas’s voice shaking with relief, “It worked, it worked, he’s out of her head.”

Dustin looks back instinctively, because by all rights, Eddie should be right behind him.

But he isn’t. He’s just standing there, watching Dustin climb, and he’s got this look on his face, and Dustin suddenly thinks oh, don’t you fucking dare.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eddie says, just as Dustin’s about to ask the very same thing. “Go!”

“Not without you.”

Eddie shakes his head. And then his eyes widen; he looks up, somewhere beyond, and Dustin doesn’t know what it is that he’s seen, but his face goes white. 

“Dustin, hurry!”

The world trembles; Dustin loses his grip on the rope, hears Eddie say, “Shit!” right before he falls, ankle giving way beneath him, and he lands flat on his back, aching and winded—

He opens his eyes. The Gate on the ceiling has knit itself shut.

“Oh, Christ, oh, Christ,” Eddie’s whispering, over and over, and he’s pulling Dustin up, “are you—”

Dustin whacks him on the shoulder. “What the fuck was that? You’re not getting left behind, asshole.”

And while he’s still so angry, Eddie must hear how his voice shakes with fear, teetering into anticipatory grief.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The swarm of bats are still scratching at the door; the wood’s splintering.

“We’ve gotta get out of…” Eddie trails off, eyes darting in thought. He glances down at Dustin’s foot. “Fuck, you can’t run.”

A chorus of demonic screeching, far too close.

“Okay, c’mon, I’ve got you,” Eddie says, and he’s bearing Dustin’s weight, half-carrying him outside. Dustin hears him curse as he slams his shield against the few bats that still remain, scaling the wired fence. He makes short work of them.

He leaves Dustin on the porch, runs for the bike.

As Dustin waits, he feels a new sharp pain in his ankle—looking down, he sees one of the bats that Eddie thought he’d killed, still weakly crawling on the ground, teeth sunk deep into his skin.

He kicks, stomps on it until it lets go. There’s a trail of blood seeping down from the skin around the fibula, and he’s a little light-headed, but he thinks that’s mostly because he’s looking at it, so he simply doesn’t anymore.

Eddie comes into view, pushing the bike with a frenzied energy. He’s muttering under his breath, “Where do we go, where do we go?”

Maybe it’s down to Eddie being so panicked—suddenly Dustin has no trouble at all focusing on a solution.

“I think it worked,” he says calmly. “They’ve killed him. That’s why…”

Eddie nods, face still so pale. “Are you saying we’re stuck down—god, there’s gotta be something we can—”

“Yeah, it’s sealing up,” Dustin says hurriedly, “but I—maybe not all at once. Maybe it’s in the order of the—”

“So. Chrissy,” Eddie says shakily, “then Fred, th-then Patrick.”

“We’ve gotta go to Lover’s Lake.”

Eddie breathes out, “God, you fucking genius.”

He sits forward on the seat of the bike, so Dustin’s got enough room to sit behind him. Dustin grips onto his jacket, presses the side of his face against his back.

“Hold on tight, Henderson,” Eddie yells, and then he’s off, pedalling for their lives.

Dustin can only pray that Nancy, Steve and Robin have come to the same conclusion—his heart leaps when he sees them running across the rocky bed, to the still open Gate.

They all dive through it as quickly as they can. The only pause comes when Dustin insists Eddie go in front of him, and Eddie looks ready to fight him on it; “No time,” Steve interjects, and he gives Eddie that same kind of nod he’d given before he left the trailer park. “I’ve got him.”

“Deep breath,” Steve instructs, voice deliberately even. “Good, that’s it.” He grabs onto Dustin’s hand. “I won’t let go.”

It’s a vow; Dustin knows it.

The two of them make up the rear. Swimming through the depths of the lake is hardly scary at all, not when Dustin can see Robin and Nancy break through the surface, Eddie right behind them.

Steve’s trying to make him go in front; he can tell from the way Steve’s urging him along—but his strong kicks mean he’s always slightly ahead, no matter how hard he tries.

Dustin’s still bleeding. He can feel it. He’s kind of glad that it’s dark, honestly; he doesn’t know what Steve would do if he could see it.

They emerge up above, gasping, and they’re almost at the boat, almost home, when Dustin feels the vine wrap around his ankle.

The first tug doesn’t pull him under. But Steve’s still holding his hand, so when it happens, he feels it, too.

His head turns in alarm, and his expression is scarily similar to Eddie’s as he watched Dustin climb up the rope; and Dustin knows that Steve will never let go, not even if it kills him.

So he does.

He wrenches out of Steve’s grip. He doesn’t have time to say I’m sorry, I love you, before he’s being dragged down, and just as he’s submerged, he hears Eddie scream his name.

He tries. But he keeps sinking no matter how hard he kicks, and then, even though it’s completely illogical, even though he knows it will kill him, he simply has to breathe in.

He swallows water. It burns.

And then the burning goes away, and it doesn’t hurt at all; he just feels so, so sleepy.

The faintest impression of arms around him. And even though it doesn’t make sense, it shouldn’t be possible, he still feels a final comforting warmth at the touch.

It’s Steve, Dustin thinks for the last time. He’s got me.

-

Steve emerges with Dustin in his arms. He barely registers the screams from the boat, just yells, “Someone grab him,” and lifts him onboard.

Robin gets Dustin by the legs, and Nancy gently lowers his head. As Steve climbs aboard too, he knows he cannot even look in Eddie’s direction for fear of the expression he’ll see on his face.

“Nance, count for me,” he says.

He starts chest compressions. She counts.

Two breaths.

Compressions.

Two breaths.

“C’mon, bud,” he says, “you’ve gotta breathe, you’ve gotta cough it all up, you hear me, Dustin? Come on.”

He keeps going. He keeps going even when Nancy finally stops counting.

“Come on,” he says. His voice breaks. “Come on, kid, come on.”

“Steve,” Robin whispers.

“Don’t,” he says, because there’s something in the shattered way she says it that snaps him out of it—that makes him see Dustin, so small and so still, and his hair is so wet, and he’d usually be so pissy about that, but he’s not, he’s not saying anything.

It’s Eddie who stops him. A shaking hand on his forearm.

“Steve,” Eddie says. He’s crying. “You can—you can stop now. He’s gone. He’s gone.”

“No,” Steve says flatly.

“He’s dead,” Eddie says. His fingers dig into Steve’s skin; he chokes on his words. On a sob. “God. He’s dead, sweetheart.”

A grief-stricken keen. Later, Steve realises that it comes from him: his mouth, his throat, his heart. He pulls Dustin close, in a desperate hug that can’t be returned, as if he could somehow shield him from a fate that’s already been given.

…

Or, in a world that’s perhaps a little bit kinder:

Steve is just a fraction quicker, keeps his grip on Dustin’s hand so they’re both yanked down, down…

Steve tries his hardest; he strains and pulls as they reach the Gate, and his last sight of Dustin is his wide, fearful eyes before he slips out of his grasp. He surges forward instantly, reaches for him, but then, like a sudden tidal wave, is pushed back, back—

The Gate’s closed. Gone.

Steve frantically searches the bed of the lake, cuts his hands on perfectly ordinary rocks until his lungs burn, and he has no choice but to kick for the surface.

Eddie’s in the water too; Steve almost hits his head on his dangling feet as he comes up for air.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie shouts. He treads water erratically, and for barely a second, he goes absolutely still. “Oh my god. Oh my god, where is he?”

“The Gate—” Steve says, and then can’t go on.

Eddie’s lips tremble, move soundlessly. “This can’t be—this isn’t happening,” he whispers. He dives under not a second later.

For a wild moment, Steve almost follows him, even though he still can’t catch his breath. Nancy pulls him onto the boat before he can try.

Eddie resurfaces, barely draws breath before speaking. “So, what’s the plan? How are we gonna—”

“Eddie,” Robin says, reaching for him. “Get out of the water.”

He acts like he can’t hear her.

“Am I not fucking speaking English or s-something? Tell me what we’re—”

“It’s over, Eddie,” Nancy says quietly. “Vecna’s dead. The Gates are closed. We… we won.”

Eddie’s shaking his head. “No, no, this isn’t—just tell me what to do! I’ll do anything, I’ll—”

“What am I gonna tell his mom?” Steve says helplessly.

He doesn’t mean to say it. But Eddie definitely hears it, because his mouth twists in grief; Robin’s finally able to pull him up onto the boat. He rests his forehead against her arm and shudders.

Nancy waits for a long while before she starts to row them back, like she’s waiting on a miracle. But the water remains eerily still.

When the boat starts to move towards the shore, the awful reality of it all finally seems to sink in for Eddie. He moves out of Robin’s arms and his hand finds Steve’s knee, squeezes tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “S-Steve, I’m so fucking sorry, I should’ve—”

“Stop it,” Steve says. “You—you got him through—I was supposed to—”

I trusted you, and I was right; you brought him back to me.

“I let go,” Steve says through a wave of self-hatred. “I—I had him, and I let go.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, but Steve doesn’t deserve to hear the disagreement in his voice; there is nothing Eddie could say to ease this all-consuming guilt.

“I should’ve—he was my—”

Steve’s voice fails him, which is just as well. He doesn’t know how to finish that thought without it destroying him.

“I’m coming with you,” Nancy says, when they’re on dry land.

“What?” Steve says, exhausted.

“His—his mom. You’re not doing it alone.”

-

They might’ve won, but that doesn’t mean the town remained unscathed as each Gate shut. Violent tremors were felt all over; there’s a shortage of beds in the hospital, and there’s yet more people missing.

It helps Claudia accept it, at least. She’s not the only parent waiting in vain for a body to be recovered.

Nancy keeps her word, leading the explanation, but Steve forces himself to speak at the end, underlines that her son cannot come home—because he had seen how hope had destroyed the Hollands.

She nods silently.

You should hate me, Steve thinks. Hate me.

But the only emotion in her eyes is love—love and pain.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I wasn’t quick enough.”

“No,” Eddie says suddenly.

He’s kept quiet up until now, hovering in a corner. Steve had tried to tell him that he didn’t have to come, that it could be dangerous for him to be seen. But even before Nancy started talking, Claudia had never once threatened to call the police.

“It was my fault,” Eddie continues. “I—”

“That’s not true,” Steve says. “Claudia, don’t listen to him, he’s—”

But Claudia is just staring at Eddie.

“You didn’t kill that poor girl,” she says.

“No,” he says, voice hoarse. “No, ma’am.”

“Dustin.” Claudia takes a deep breath. “He was protecting you.”

Eddie’s face crumples. “Yes.”

Claudia smiles sadly. Steve doesn’t know how she’s doing it, how she’s still standing—the strength it must take, for her not to scream.

“You must’ve been worth it,” she tells Eddie.

He has to leave the room, a hand covering his face.

-

There isn’t a funeral.

Claudia insists on putting up missing posters, even though it’s clear from the dullness in her eyes that she understood perfectly well what Nancy meant when she said, we lost him.

“I know it’s—” Claudia breaks off as Steve helps her make more copies. “I just—I just thought. Joyce, she…”

Steve puts up the posters around town. He can’t stand the thought of bystanders pitying the hope of a grieving mother. Not again.

-

Claudia calls, tells him to come over to the house. She says she’s got some of Dustin’s things in a box, not a lot, but just in case—just in case…

“He’d want you to have them,” she says.

Steve has to stand with the phone in his hand long after she’s hung up, breathing heavily. Then he does the round of calls. Nancy, Robin, Eddie.

He needs someone there, he knows it, otherwise he’ll never go back in the house.

He can’t face the kids. Can’t face the fact that he’s failed them.

“I—I can’t, man,” Eddie tells him over the phone, voice brittle. “I can’t go back there. I’m sorry.”

Steve doesn’t blame him.

-

Nancy gets the hint and accompanies Steve as they head into Dustin’s bedroom. Steve tries not to look at the bed, the pillows still rumpled from when Dustin last—

He picks up the small cardboard box left on the floor. He scans the top of it. It’s small things. A book on Morse Code. An almost empty can of Farrah Fawcett spray.

Nancy’s hand’s on his back, not doing anything, just resting there. She reaches into the box and picks up the can.

“You did his hair, right? For the Snow Ball?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

She’s smiling. “He looked so—so sweet.” She blinks rapidly, still smiling. Eyes growing wet. “I don’t know if—if he mentioned it, but. I danced with—”

“Are you kidding me?” Steve laughs, and it gets close to dangerous, to the grief spilling out, before he pulls it back at the last second. “Mentioned it? When I picked him up, it’s all he talked about. Nance, you made him feel like the coolest kid in school.”

-

Robin sits in the passenger seat, puts the box in between her knees so the things aren’t rattling about while Steve drives.

And she laughs too, except it fades off into a sob. “I forgot.”

He puts a hand out, and she takes it. “What?”

“He’d taken my library card,” she says. “So he could, um, check—” She clears her throat. “Check out more books.”

Steve’s knuckles turn white as he holds onto her. She never complains.

-

Eddie�� drifts.

In some sense, Spring Break feels like a bad dream. The trailer’s back to normal, no gaping hole to another dimension in the ceiling, and the police tape gets removed so quickly that it’s almost laughable. He doesn’t care that the suspicion around him has dropped in the wake of a ‘natural disaster.’

He doesn’t really care about anything.

He keeps in touch just enough to know that Claudia is staying with her sister for a little while, left Steve the keys for watering the houseplants, probably.

And then Steve calls him from the Henderson’s house phone.

“I’m—I’m sorry, no—no-one else was picking up,” he says. “It’s—it’s his cat, I can’t—”

“Missing?” Eddie assumes, because Steve sounds one breath away from a panic attack. “Hurt?”

“No, no, just—please, can you come? Please.”

So Eddie does.

He hates every moment of the drive, but he does it.

He finds Steve in the bedroom, and fuck, it still looks so lived-in, like Dustin’s just stepped out for a moment, the room filled with nerdy teen clutter. Eddie’s sure that if he looked closely, he’d find notes from old campaigns littering the desk, but there’s no way he can remotely handle that, so he doesn’t.

There’s currently a more pressing sight, anyway.

Because Steve’s standing by Dustin’s bed, and he’s not looking at Eddie, because there’s a little Siamese cat blinking up at him.

“He’s gone,” Steve is saying.

The cat mews plaintively.

“He’s gone, okay?” Steve’s words get harsher. “What do you want me to—? He’s gone.”

Eddie steps forward, scoops up the cat—doesn’t flinch when its claws dig into him. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you some food.”

He goes to shut the door behind him, but not quick enough.

Steve’s not once cried throughout all of this—not anywhere that Eddie could see, at least.

He’s crying now. Silent, trembling—sinking down to the bed, a fist clenched around the sheets.

Eddie closes the door.

He gently lets the cat go when he’s in the kitchen, finds a can of wet food soon enough, in a cupboard underneath the sink.

That’s where he finds the notepad, too.

And too late, he realises it’s Dustin’s handwriting, that this was a log he’d made of each time he’d fed his cat, making sure to not repeat the same food twice in a row. ‘TUNA’ he’d scrawled in an obvious rush, like he was heading off somewhere, and then Eddie sees the date.

March 22nd.

He doesn’t know that he’s crying until Steve comes up behind him, puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Eddie gasps, “sorry, I’m sorry, I’m…”

Because this isn’t about him. Shouldn’t be about him.

Steve pulls him close.

I’m sorry, Eddie thinks. He was yours. I’m sorry.

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

It sounds like, You loved him, too. It’s okay.

-

Steve spends the night at the trailer.

It’s late when Eddie wakes up to an empty side of the bed. He gets up, walks slowly, slowly until he can just barely squint into the living room.

Steve doesn’t notice him. He’s standing on a chair, arm outstretched. Fingertips brushing the ceiling.

“Are you there?” he murmurs.

Eddie’s heart sinks like a stone.

Steve waits in the silence. His hand shakes.

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m here.”

-

They both know what it means—the nights together, sleeping so closely, skin to skin.

One of them will find the other lying awake, and a chaste kiss will be pressed against a shoulder, shh, shh. They don’t talk about it, don’t initiate anything more.

Their world is too heavy for it.

Steve wants to tell Dustin anyway. Wants him to give them both so much shit for it, let his goddamn horrendous ego run wild.

Tell me again, Eddie whispers at two in the morning.

Steve breathes in, out. Starts the story with a ridiculous kid tugging red roses out of his hand.

-

“Come over,” Steve says. It’s nine o’clock at night. His voice is jagged. “My place.”

Eddie finds him just standing in the hall.

“Nancy called,” he says, too matter-of-fact. “‘Bout an hour ago, Holly’s Lite-Brite lit up, almost burned her. The power went off.”

Eddie tries to temper his voice, but when he says, “Steve,” he almost cringes at the pity in it.

“Don’t,” Steve says. “I know. I know. But.” He jerks his head upstairs. “I need you. I need you to—to tell me what I’m looking at.”

The bedside lamp is on in Steve’s room. There’s a book on translating Morse Code left open on the floor.

The light is blinking.

Steve searches Eddie’s face desperately. “That’s the—that’s what you did, right? SOS?”

Eddie picks up the book. Sits on the bed, knees weak.

“Yes,” he says.

Steve closes his eyes, exhales in a shudder. “Oh my god, you can see it. Okay, okay.”

He opens his eyes, and it looks like he’s fighting with himself, caught between wanting to say more and destroying the fragile hope he has.

So Eddie says it for him.

“Dustin?”

YES.

After Eddie translates, Steve stares at the lamp. His hand reaches out. Fingers curl around thin air.

“How do we know?” he asks. “How do we know it’s—”

DUMBASS.

Steve starts to laugh. A tear falls down his cheek.

“I can hear him,” he says. “Jesus Christ, I can hear him.”

And then Eddie can, too—so, so faintly. The tiniest giggle.

He sounds exhausted.

WATERGATE. TEAR. NOT STRONG ENOUGH.

“The—the tear?” Eddie says.

ME.

“We’re coming,” Steve says. His fingertips graze the lightbulb. “We’re coming, Dustin.”

HURRY.

-

They don’t tell anyone. Steve puts his phone off the hook before they leave, because Nancy is bound to call repeatedly.

They get into the boat and push off into Lover’s Lake without a word. It’s an unspoken agreement: they’ll get him back or die trying.

They dive together. Search the river bed, stones slipping through their fingers until…

A smooth ridge of plastic. Eddie’s guitar pick.

They pull.

The gap is small, but they make it—and when they emerge into The Upside Down, there’s no particles floating around, but the air is thin.

The landscape is disappearing. Dying.

Just next to the Gate lies Dustin. His hand is outstretched, like he’d fallen while reaching towards home.

“He’s not breathing,” Eddie says, hushed and terrified.

“Tilt his head back,” Steve says, already on his knees. They don’t have time to panic. “Lift his chin.”

“Okay, okay.”

“You’re gonna do the breaths, okay? One second, then—”

“I know, I know what to—”

“You got him?”

“Y-yeah.”

Steve starts compressions. Shouts, “Now!” to Eddie when it’s time.

One second. Pause. One second.

Repeat.

“Come on, Dustin, you’ve gotta breathe,” Eddie pleads through Steve’s counting. “We’re here, we’re here, you’ve gotta—”

Steve slams on his chest. Once.

“—breathe, we love you so fucking much, just—”

Twice.

“—breathe!”

Dustin launches upwards, into Steve’s arms, coughing, coughing.

Breathing.

“That’s it,” Eddie sobs, “oh my God, that’s it.”

-

They leave when Dustin communicates through shaky hand gestures that he can hold his breath. It’s far from ideal—Steve doesn’t like it at all, but there’s no way they can linger; the hole they’d made to break through the Gate is already threatening to close.

Besides, with both him and Eddie pulling Dustin up, it’s the quickest swim of their lives.

The Gate shuts behind them, as if it had never been.

-

Up to the surface. Clinging to Dustin, hearing him gasp, splutter.

“You with me? Hey, hey, you with me?”

Dustin nods; Steve pulls him on board, Eddie right behind in case he falls.

Silence. Breathing. Dustin up against his chest, shaking.

Eddie mutters, “Here, here,” passing over the towels that they’d brought with what had felt like foolish optimism.

“You—you d-didn’t bring a ch-change of clothes?” Dustin says, with biting, wonderful sarcasm. His teeth chatter, and Eddie wraps him in another towel. “D-do I do all the th-thinking around here?”

Steve’s answering laugh turns into weeping—he runs a towel over Dustin’s hair, sobs through a smile when Dustin whines out a petulant complaint.

“I’ve got you,” Steve says. He kisses his forehead. “I’ve got you.”

“I know,” Dustin says. He shuffles closer, cuddles further into Steve’s chest even though they’re all soaking wet. “Knew… knew you’d come.” His hand reaches to the side, fumbling for Eddie. “Sorry. Think I broke your… your pick.”

Eddie just shakes his head, tearful, a hand covering his mouth.

“Yeah,” Steve says, “I really don’t think he cares, bud.”

“My mom’s gonna freak,” Dustin mumbles. His head is nodding tiredly as he says it.

“Yeah,” Steve echoes. He swallows. “She—she will.”

Eddie picks up the oar. Dustin sighs, lax with sleep. Steve can feel him breathing.

And he’ll have changed in some ways—they all have, it’s inevitable. It would be naive to think otherwise.

But the glimmer of him is still there, in his voice.

He’s back.

Steve holds Dustin tight—keeps him as warm as he can as Eddie rows, taking them home, home, home.

[mosscreeper-ao3]

Hi Moss,

I've been following you for a short while, mostly for fandom stuff (Jaith, my beloved).

I can only say that I hope beyond hope that you're going to be ok. I know I'm scared out of my wits, and I'm in a safe state. I can't comprehend what it must be like for you.

I hate that there's little I can do to help anyone, so I'm offering what sympathy I can to as may people as I can reach. If nothing else, I find commiseration helpful. Maybe you do, too.

I hope you can find your way to a safe place.

- viv

I really appreciate this. Thankfully, I live in a VERY blue enclave in Ohio, so I don't feel the immediate need to move. That being said, I do have an exit plan both to a few safe states and Canada. I've also started local organizing efforts. Anyone who lives in Ohio can feel free to reach out via DMs or replies for a letter template encouraging Sherrod Brown to run for Vance's empty seat.

I do want to take this opportunity to encourage my fellow USAmericans to get a passport NOW if you are able. They not only provide you the ability to leave, but are some of the most rock-solid proofs you can have of US citizenship. This is advice straight from my Arab refugee father back in 2016.

Some vent stuff incoming in the next paragraph.

I'm genuinely terrified. I'm terrified for myself. I'm terrified for my family in Lebanon. I’m terrified for Palestine. The Biden-Harris admin sucked for Gaza, but the woman half-heartedly calling for a ceasefire is a damn sight better than the man actively telling them to "finish the job". I'm terrified for Ukrainians. Being queer and the absolute disaster this is for my fellow trans people is ass, but I am scared shitless for the imperialist implications of this. Trump has made it abundantly clear that he wants to take America back to an imperialist empire (imo it never really stopped being one but Trump wants to full send this shit) and help Israel and Russia expand their own colonial terrorist projects.

[randomfoggytiger]

"You Had Nothing"

(Dedicated to @goodshipsmulder~. Merry Christmas!)

Perhaps a Part II to “Gold” 

Set during the events of Fight the Future.

*****

They’d been waiting 56 hours, 13 minutes, 10 seconds before the phone rang, loud in a room so thick with anticipation that it was nearly nauseating. Langly would have answered, but he’d just dipped to the john; and had there not been security footage to prove either way, the victor of the final frenzy-- Frohike’s stumpy grab and Byers’ uncharacteristic snatch-- would forever remain a mystery. 

Byers spat out “Lone Gunman’s headquarters--” in the same breath as Frohike’s “Mulder, is that you?”; and both were winded and heady with relief when their friend’s monotone croaked across the line, across the ocean, across the world. 

“Hey, settle down, everyone. Can’t hear you all at once.” But he was smiling-- they heard it-- and was pleased he’d been missed. 

“Is Agent Scully with you?” Frohike cut to the chase, locking his thumbs together in the half-second of silence. 

“Yeah… yeah, she woke up a couple hours ago. Doing well. Fever’ll break sometime tonight, nurses say.” 

His report was peppered with warmth and weary exultation, joy and a touch of fear fading and coming alive again, if they listened for it. The three compadres-- Langly had rejoined them, a streak of yellow lightning vaulting over cables and discarded coffee cups and a trampled donut box-- neglected further investigation in their eagerness to ask and ask and ask about what happened, were they at McMurdo, who did and didn't they and hadn't he--

“Fellas! One at a time, please.” The please was implied. “And can I get back to you on all that? We’re a bit jet lagged.” 

Byers nodded, stopped the phone from its madhouse hot-potato from one hand to another, and sighed, “Yes, of course. Get some rest, Mulder--”

“Not a chance!” hollered Frohike; and snatched it right back. “Mulder, you can’t just leave us hanging like that, especially concerning the delectable Agent Scully.” 

“Yeah, Mulder, what did she say? Bet her eyes really popped.” 

There was a pause and a long sigh and what sounded like their friend shifting positions. 

Finding it hard to judge if Mulder was amused, angry, or willfully silent, Byers tried to redirect. “I think we should let Mulder rest-- he’s had a hard couple of days.” 

Langly snorted and Frohike huffed. 

“Not until we know how Scully took his words of undying love.” 

“Yeah, Byers, stop trying to be a wet blanket. Mulder’s just evading the question.” 

They were bickering now, of course: tense days passed in total lockdown-- ear to the phone and sleeping in shifts-- wore them to frazzled ends focused on a singular purpose. Goal accomplished, their energy had to be vented elsewhere. Poking Mulder about his private life and hoping it matched the thrilling conclusion envisioned in their caffeine-marinated heads was exactly what Frohike and Langly were bent on doing; and they traded verbal blows with Byers as well as each other, three dogs scrapping for the upper hand and losing sight of their original aim the longer the battle dragged on. 

The first few mutters through the phone weren’t loud enough to snag their attention; but a forceful “Guys!” pulled them up short. 

It was Scully: authoritative, assertive, and annoyed. Deeply, deeply annoyed. 

“Agent Scully?” Byers asked, again conscious and commiserate. 

“What do you three think you’re doing?”

“What happened to Mulder?” Langly’s transparent attempts at misdirection, they hoped, hadn’t been caught by Scully. The trademark sigh-- humor them-- puffed through: they had, but their bid for Mulder's health had also, temporarily, stalled her wrath. Frohike thudded Langly on the shoulder. 

“He’s resting, actually,” she replied. “Or I assume so, since he’s scrunched up in a chair.” Her voice shifted, misdirection having worn out its bag of tricks. “Like I should be; and was until a minute ago.” 

Danger, once turned away, was doubling back with a vengeance. 

Frohike tried-- “We’re terribly sorry, Agent Scully-- we’ll let you get back to catching your beauty sleep; and I’m sure Mulder will call us in the morning if anything’s--” but even her affection for him wouldn’t deter the delectable lady’s insistence. 

“First, you three are going to explain why you were shouting about me to Mulder.” An expectant pause. "Is there something wrong?"

“Rest assured, Agent Scully, no one's in danger. We were merely….” As one, the Lone Gunman looked into every crack and crevice of the room for the right word. “...merely congratulating him. And you.” 

“...'Congratulating’.” 

“Yes, on a successful mission. And we’re sorry we disturbed the both of you. We’ll hang up now and let you rest.” 

Her winding-up breath was abruptly cut off by Frohike’s swift stab to the end button; and all three slumped, sighed, or fidgeted out their nerves. 

“What’ll it take,” Frohike snapped, swinging his arms to relieve tension, “an alien invasion?” 

“Pffft, more likely the sun burning out and the cold consuming us all,” Langly parried. 

Byers kept silent, wondered how they could so spectacularly waste another opportunity. Those were hard to come by, and with no guarantee of a second chance. 

All three wondered how much of their fight Scully had overheard, and how much she would piece together later.  

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

[markwatnae]

oh my fucking god I went for an afternoon shift at the aquarium and holy shit it was insanity

This morning was busy but this was another level of hell.

First of all me and another volunteer were put on the touch tank BY OURSELVES when we usually have a paid employee that is experienced with that. The other volunteer looked either younger than me or around my age but I’m not sure which. But I was all confident like “oh man we can do this it’ll be fine I’ve seen the employees do this a ton of times” and decided to give the rules speech for the first hour.

OH MY GOD IT WAS NOT FINE

I had to try to remember all the rules in the face of a bunch of people over and over and you’d think it’d get easier but it didn’t really.

I let too many people in at first because they just kept coming and I was trying to focus and not stumble over my words and didn’t pay attention to how many people I let in. That was fixed by just having people wait and then clearing out the area for new guests.

I had children and adults going into the roped off section they weren’t supposed to be in and had to get them out.

I had children climbing under my ropes and glass partitions to get into the touch tank without an adult or hearing the rules. I had to corral them back out sometimes WHILE I was telling someone else the rules. These kids’ parents were WAY too relaxed about their child 1) breaking rules and 2) being unattended next to water with wild animals in it

I had a family that spoke VERY little English that I had to try to explain the rules to.

I had a family LOSE THEIR KID and had to radio that in. Then they just disappeared and I think I saw them leaving with the missing kid so great.

Multiple of these things happened within seconds or minutes of each other and a few happened multiple times in the hour.

At the 45 minute mark of every hour we give the rays a break so I went over to the other volunteer and we commiserated over the insanity. I asked her how long she’d been a volunteer and she said 2 years.

Chat when I tell you I felt like the dumbest and least capable person on the earth planet with the smoothest brain I’m not exaggerating

I always want to impress people and I want them to like me especially if we work together so knowing she had experience and watched me absolutely flounder and bomb at every opportunity is rough on me emotionally.

It didn’t help that we were all told today that guests and staff have said volunteers have been on their phones too much and I will admit there were a couple days that I was on my phone a lot but it was usually when we were on the hourly break when guests weren’t around. I was already feeling very guilty and almost like I was on probation. So it hurts because I feel like I fucked up on my first “solo” run on top of that. This is 99% a made up problem in my head because I haven’t been told by anyone that I specifically am a problem but it’s still something I’m agonizing over.

The second hour went much smoother and the other volunteer handled introductions and letting people in. But there were no lost children, no one in the restricted areas, no one climbing under ropes, no one coming in the exit, etc. I just got all the shit thrown at me for my very first big girl experience.

I called my sister to vent to her because she understands the catastrophizing and me feeling like the stupidest person to ever walk the earth. If I told my parents they’d be confused and also probably say something like “you need to toughen up if you’re gonna have a full time job” so I’m just not saying anything to them yet. They’re like a light version of the bootstrap boomers but I’m feeling too fragile to deal with that right now.

My hands were literally shaking for the first half of the hour. I was freaking out trying to keep everything going. I know that this will get easier over time but this first experience was insane and I have to recover from it.

[spiderh0rse]

took a short break from Freeman's Mind to go and watch Mind of Ryan, and in short order, Arlen's Mind. Decided to take notes on these too, while I was at it, thanks in large part to @prinnamon having done the same! This is all of my notes on Mind of Ryan, Arlen's will be out in short enough order.

e1

singing :> casually in a public location, so he probably doesn't care if he's heard doing so

his usual parking lot isn't often crowded

sandwich... Steal it, Ryan. You'll need the energy in the coming days.

didn't sleep well. NO ONE in mindverse sleeps well.

his usual lot is usually Empty.

enjoys the idea of pissing people off with his parking location

almost forgot to lock his car

wears his lab coat all the time. He thinks it's cool, it's cozy, I get it.

used to live in Michigan. Power grid for his town tanked by a raccoon once

laughs at someone menaced by his car alarm

unbothered by power issues

likes soda. Or at least isn't unhappy with it

laughs off someone overreacting to a minor inconvenience

shares a living space with Barney. Probably lives on-site, then? Barney's tram in to work goes from the dorms to his station. The car is weird, then, unless theres no tram to Ryan's usual spot.

Barney sleeps heavily or simply was exhausted. I like that this explains his being late, a bit.

opens double doors dramatically

bit of a flat affect. My autism senses are tingling

his college wasn't air conditioned :( Black Mesa is, though!

having his eyes out would Suck

very sarcastic

at least two miles above AnMat, he claims. Very interesting, as you can easily see the sky on your way into AnMat in Half Life. Understandable exaggeration.

unwilling to pay for a helicopter ride out to Black Mesa. The car ride had to be MISERABLE.

Barney likes safety!

Colleague.

laughs nervously when people are annoyed in his general area

clapping and shouting at Barney usually wakes him up

vaults over a desk for the purpose of politely disposing of his trash. unbothered by someone admonishing him. vaults back out

"I'm not in a rush" your Tram is in Eight Minutes

e2

cards... in the dark. silly.

yeah why IS that guard wearing an HEV suit

works in Sector G, as a robotics engineer

missed his train :(

thinks himself to be the youngest scientist in the building. Despite knowing Barney, who considers Gordon a friend. Interesting!

LIKES DR GREEN. MAN WITH GOOD TASTE

will definitely be late. Usually isn't, but worries over what'll be done because he's late.

let the man have his break

thinks some rooms are just needlessly large

doesn't call the VOX the VOX

gets a tad rude when someone asks after something that has just been answered

even while openly panicking, doesn't emote too much vocally

not sure how to act in this situation but does try to get Out of the tram serving as a barrier between him and the bullsquid

snaps at someone shooting at the thing, for whatever reason

e3

just had cpr performed on him. If his chest hurts that's probably because his RIBS are BROKEN. Headache is likely the Head Injury That Knocked Him Out

unconcerned by the blood around him

gman sighting,, LEAVE RYAN ALONE

feels like he Should be panicking but ultimately Isn't.

hates roaches :( respects them but doesn't like them

ignores strange noise. Ryan would survive a horror movie

gman i promise you don't want to hire this guy (lying)

not jazzed at dusty/bloody vent but doesn't complain overmuch about the cleanliness

points out that the vents are cold. Makes sense, he was just out driving not too long ago, perceptually

smoke in the vents! Coughing fit at very little smoke!

seems uncurious about a pistol in the vents, and is pretty cheery about laying hands on it

"yessirre"

"hi rat :)"

focused on his labcoat getting dirty. I can commiserate. That's his favourite bit of clothing if he's always wearing it.

does startle easily, but doesn't linger on awful things

decent ability to climb

jokes about dangerous torrent of water being a waterslide and walks around it with very little hesitation

only sounds mildly stressed when he falls into it

doesn't like freezing water. L

end card!!!! :D original art!!!

e4

Makes an odd analogy about the building being alive

Overall unconcerned about a bunch of mutilated humanoids, other than thinking them unfriendly and to be avoided

Wants some manner of weapon. Gets hit in the face by a headcrab and bemoans the lack further

Continues nervous laughter. Would rather be hallucinating than actually be near a gargantuar.

Considers his "happy place" to be facts about the Tau cannon. Spits those facts out in an effort to ignore all the headcrab zombies

He works on the Tau cannon! Or does so often enough to be able to alter its functionality

Has his own lab? May simply share a lab space with others but consider it his

Ignores horror over a corpse in favour of the bulletproof vest right next to it. Also searches the body for a gun. Pragmatic.

Considers his luck poor

A tad sarcastic when he's able to be

Content to swing a crowbar around like a baseball bat

Emotes the most vocally he has all series when complaining about being in pain

Feels wrong to kill the zombies. Decides he won't.

Jumps a gap, barely clears it, and does that with no hesitation or comment.

Seems to be right handed in the official art. I'd be interested to see if there's a Mindverse character that's left handed.

e5

His flashlight is a shake-to-charge sort

Vocally distressed at seeing a barnacle eat someone

Despite that, jokes about the eaten man's death

His lab is in the biology department, but he remains uninterested in biology

Takes off the vest with no hesitation. Very decisive man.

Continues to laugh when barely avoiding death

Electrical issues are a common occurrence at Black Mesa

Unbothered by taking a Snickers bar off of a dead man

Thinks first of a pizza when hungry

Keeps taking head injuries.

Reconsiders his initial reaction to some Thing, and rephrases by running and yelling.

Has to catch his breath after running from it

e6

Had to live in a storage unit for a while. His his bed behind a stack of boxes. The unit proper was always miserably cold.

Hates the idea of beating the zombies to death, but thinks he could shoot them.

Doesn't want to leave an injured man behind. Accepts the logic presented to him, though.

Continues to avoid killing things when he can avoid doing so

Carries on ignoring any bodies unless he thinks they have something to offer him

Doesn't care overmuch about the aliens.

The alarm that goes off here, and throughout all of Unforseen Consequences, is an alert of structural damage.

Hasn't been running for any of this. He isn't used to physical exertion.

Once tried to hack the announcement system for April Fool's. Failed. Impressed a guard is able to manage it

Takes a shotgun despite weight concerns, on account of it being a shotgun

Has clearance level four

Kills someone on accident. Promptly starts thinking in loops

e6.5

Has two opened cans of Squirt next to his laptop.

Bought a laptop on May 17, 1995, while in college/university.

Has no regrets about buying a laptop worth half his student debt. (Prin adjusted this for inflation and discovered that his laptop is around $3000, nowadays.)

e7

The framing of the opening shot suggests Ryan has been sitting quietly for some time, thinking about having killed someone.

His model is also very nice.

Attempting to rationalize the manslaughter away

He does have his phone on hand.

Injures his leg in an elevator crash

Panics while in a dangerous situation, but calms down pretty much immediately afterwards

Worried he's sustaining hearing damage, but holds priority at not dying

His bones audibly creak when he lands a jump. Complains about it, but doesn't sound like he's in pain

Likes that nothing can follow him into an air vent

Practically flies up the ladder, makes no mention of his leg bothering him on it

Just happy to be alive.

Accepts he has to leave people behind if he wants to survive this, and isn't happy about it

His phone, a Nokia, accepts calls by payment plan.

Todd Arlen has just called him. I've yet to watch Arlen's Mind, so this doesn't mean much to me, yet.

Todd has escaped Black Mesa, and seems surprised that Ryan hasn't. I'd say this suggests Ryan has lost substantial amounts of time to his assorted head injuries.

Silent when he hears he's at risk of being on-site when a nuke is dropped on the facility. Brushes it off when Todd asks after him.

Calls Todd by his last name primarily.

Outraged and afraid about the nuke.

Believes he's going to die.

Overall! the autism headcanons are primed for this guy. i like how much he seems to react to everything happening around him with around the same level of mild nervousness. unfortunately he is running around with broken ribs and later an injured leg that he KEEPS PUTTING WEIGHT ON. shakes him violently. please be careful i understand you have no better options right now but at least brace against a wall

[canichangemyblogname]

I feel like keyboard warriors intent on proving their moral high ground are really harsh on allies, and, luckily, a lot more harsh than we are in real life. People need space to grow and learn, and a lot of people do that by making mistakes. And there's a huge difference between those who are malicious and those who genuinely mean no harm; they're new to this.

Like...

I have a friend who has been great with using my preferred pronouns, nouns, adjectives, etc... for a cis het woman who has known me since we were both 5, she adapted great. She's really close with her family, and she told them all I'm trans. Luckily, her family seemed not to care, but I still asked her to let me come out for myself. I realized she-- because she knows her family-- didn't see that could be dangerous for me.

I have a friend who is also genderqueer. And my first coming-out experience was absolutely gut-wrenching and awful despite having him at my side. The person who pressured me to come out to an entire dinner table in the middle of the restaurant herself once identified as trans. At a table full of queer people, one of the women kept insisting that I was just likely a lesbian. After dinner, my friend talked to me one-on-one, apologized, and commiserated that dinner was awkward. I realized that he also didn't know what to do.

I have two friends-- one who has known me since 3rd grade-- who always slip up and misgender me. Sometimes it's he/him, sometimes it's she/her, and sometimes it's they/them. It's never consistent, and I never know what to expect. I realized that they do it by accident, and they don't even realize what they've said. I also realized that my one friend has known me as a woman for nearly twenty years and a man for maybe half a year. Of course, she slips up.

I have a coworker who found out I'm trans. I've asked her to purposefully misgender me as I don't think it safe to be out at work in a job that can be fairly public and in a position where many of the surrounding public know my parents. She struggles with that. She's been taught that a good ally always properly genders someone. She settled on a comfortable moral middle ground of they/them at one point, and I explained to her that degendering me both outs me and misgenders me. I realized that she had never considered that.

I have another friend who is very passionate and who has a large heart, but who is also always online. The internet is full of bigots and it makes her very angry to see the things she does. She likes to rant about this and vent to me about the transphobia she sees around her. Her bf is trans, and this has awakened her to a lot of the reality for trans people. I realize that she is a ride-or-die. I have still asked her to-- please-- love trans people more than you hate bigots because I can't hear another story about how much people are repulsed by me.

I still keep community with all of these people. I see them all regularly (except the woman who insisted I was a lesbian because she lives in a different state). I know they care for me deeply. And I know they support me. But there are those who would have the internet tear them to shreds because they aren't perfect when no one is.

[charcoalhawk]

Could you not have waited five minutes?

At the end of the day, the thing that pissed Danny off the most was that this wasn’t even his bank.

All he came in here for was a proof of income statement so he could officially buy the apartment he had been looking at. It hadn’t been the best place he visited during his apartment search, but it was within his price range, near his job, and it was a place he could afford to live on his own.

Or, Danny tries to stop a bank robbery.

Third fic for the 2023 Phic Phight, prompt from @wingedflight: Danny gets caught in the middle of a bank robbery. Can he diffuse the situation without revealing his powers?

At the end of the day, the thing that pissed Danny off the most was that this wasn’t even his bank.

All he came in here for was a proof of income statement so he could officially buy the apartment he had been looking at. It hadn’t been the best place he visited during his apartment search, but it was within his price range, near his job, and it was a place he could afford to live on his own.

He needed that proof of income today. Tomorrow was the weekend, and the main office at the complex he was looking at only worked on the weekdays.

He had actually meant to go yesterday, but he had needed to stay late at work and by the time he got off and was able to drive over it had been closed.

He might have been able to get there if he had flown, but unfortunately he’d had too many close calls to want to flagrantly display his powers now that he was living on his own. Fly around Amity? Everyone was too used to weird shit there, as long as you didn’t acknowledge it was weird no one gave you a second look.

But now, he didn’t have the protection of his parents' incompetence nor the safety of the Zone to flee to. So he was trying to only use his powers in situations where there was no other choice, at least as long as he was living in this big city.

Danny had been next in line. If these clowns had been five minutes slower he could have gotten in and out without dealing with this bullshit.

But then there’s the sound of glass shattering as three people bulrush the small lobby with these ridiculous masks that remind Danny of those creepy Anime face masks Sam got from Hot Topic once.

“Everybody on the ground! If I see even one phone none of you are making it out of here alive!”

(…Would Clockwork let him hop back half an hour so he didn’t spend those ten minutes commiserating with Jazz on the phone about moving so far away? It had felt so good to vent to his sister about why he needed to be out of Amity for at least a few months, but maybe he should have saved it for tomorrow night when they were going to meet up and plan how they were going to move him without their parents noticing.

Nah. The ghost already had so much on their plate. Besides, Clocky usually showed up on his own time when things were dire enough. So, at least he was reasonably certain this was not a timeline-destroying event.)

Everyone hits the ground hard, he sees one kid’s stuffed animal fly from her hands as her mom drags her to the floor and hunches over her like a human shield. The three robbers disperse around the room, with one guy standing near the one door while the other two move towards the tellers.

As the two near him Danny fights the instinct to glance at them as they pass. The smallest of the bunch stops right next to Danny as the last guy waltz’s behind the tellers desks to where they had dropped to.

Now, most of Danny’s knowledge of bank robberies came from action movies, so he had a very poor grasp of how these things were supposed to go. Should he stay lying down with the others? Does he call the robber’s bluff and hope they’ll leave in shame after getting told off by a barely legal adult?

Does he turn intangible and escape outside? He’s not a hero here, he’s just a 19 year old kid who needs a shitty proof of income statement to move into this shitty apartment miles and miles away from his town and his friends.

Well, he can’t just leave now that he’s here, turning intangible would mean leaving these people on their own when there was something there he could have done.

He knows now he can’t be everywhere at once, the entire world is not resting on his shoulders. But he is here, now. He can help the people around him and do his best to make sure everyone walks out of her alive.

There’s three robbers, one that's around Danny’s height, one that couldn’t be more then five foot even, and one who towered over them like a dollar tree Arnold Schwarzenegger.

The robbers had entered just after two, which Danny knows from the past half hour was when all the tellers finally got back from their lunch break. A fact that was not posted anywhere beyond inside the bank itself. Meaning they had likely scoped the place out beforehand.

But why later in the day? Why when they know the line will be longest from people being forced to wait for the tellers to return. Why not come earlier in the day when there was less potential collateral?

But then he remembered the big truck that had been pulling out of the parking lot just as he arrived. They had waited until now because before two the bank was working with cash from the previous day, but now they had a whole lot of new cash inside. And depending on how fast they could smuggle it the chance of the stolen cash being traced back to them would be marginally less.

Danny thinks about what he would have done had this taken place in Amity Park.

Amity was a cash heavy town, so he knows in years previous they had probably dealt with their fair share of bank robbers. But nowadays? If someone had been stupid enough to try that in his town the teller would probably have just laughed at the guy and told them they were better off trying to rob the mayor’s house.

All this was avoiding the big question though- should he risk going ghost and have this track back to the GIW, or try this the old fashioned human way and hopefully not get shot?

Three people were not a lot to deal with, but the big guy did give him some concerns.

And of course, he’s used to ecto weapons or fists, not guns.

He subtly glanced up at the robber standing next to him. They seemed to be surveying the people huddling on the floor, hands curled around his weapon.

There’s a few minutes of tense silence as the third robber moves into the back with the teller, but then a sound pierces the air that sends Danny’s heart down to the basement.

The kid has started to cry. Great heaving sobs as she huddles into her mother’s chest.

“Shut that thing up or I'll shut it up for you.” The big guy snarled from his place by the door, raising his gun slightly to make his point abundantly clear.

Fuck. These people were serious.

The mother is furiously trying to shush her kid, but she’s old enough to have understood the threat, and it seems nothing can calm her down.

The guy standing next to Danny seems to shift nervously, which at least tells him these guys aren’t all on the same page.

Maybe… he hasn’t tried partially possessing someone before, not enough to overshadow, but just enough to get them to say something they might not otherwise. He fears obvious possession might make things worse, and the last thing he needs is to give these assholes a reason to attack.

As subtle as he can he touches his fingers to the closest boot of the gut still standing next to him.

He tries to push his core out, not into creating a double but just an impression of himself over to try and nudge the guy’s thoughts.

We don’t need to hurt these people, we don’t need to hurt these people, we don’t need to hurt-

“Hey, knock it off. We get the cash and we get out, no need to complicate things by adding a body count to this.”

“Fuck off.” Both of their attentions are focused on the kid and her mom, with the big guy growing visibly more aggravated as the crying continues.

“Dude, just watch the door, don’t let one brat’s whining ruin it for us. After we pull this off you can move out to the middle of bumfuck nowhere and they’re won’t be any people, let alone kids, for miles.”

“Screw that, I’m moving to a goddam island, get me a lifelong tropical vacation for all the shit I’ve had to put up with.”

Good, good. The conversation moves away from people around them, towards all the things they’re going to buy with the money, and venting on all that they’ve had to deal with before this.

Thank the ancients, these guys are talkative. He can still see the big guy glance over at the crying kid every minute or so. Meaning he has to keep influencing shorty here to keep him distracted.

By Danny’s estimation it’s been about ten minutes since the three entered, meaning hopefully if the teller is cooperating these guys should be out of here in the next few minutes. The last guy had been carrying at least five big bags, so hopefully they’ll get what they want and Danny can leave and find another bank to get his income statement from.

“Hal better be back soon, we’re cutting it too close.” The smaller man shifts, forcing Danny to ty andshift along with him.

“He knows what he’s doing, Judy stick to the plan and- What the fuck! His eyes are fucking glowing, what the shit!”

Both guys are suddenly staring at him, and in that moment Danny remembers Jazz telling him that even when he looks human his eyes will glow an unnatural green when he has to use his powers.

At the time he had brushed the remark off, because even if someone noticed he could waive it off by saying one of his parents' inventions had backfired on him.

Not so now.

In the moment it’s taken him to realize what’s happened both robbers have their guns aimed at him, and as their eyes meet he can see panic overtake both of them as they go scrambling back a step.

Before he can try to explain, to try and diffuse the situation, before his core can even start pumping enough to give him the adrenaline he needs-

The guy is slamming his finger down on the trigger, and-

Oh.

Oh.

Getting shot is painful.

[likeabxrdinflight]

I don't quite know how to explain the difference sometimes between the way my mom treats me and my former teacher/friend/mother figure treats me and how that subtle difference changes my relationship to each of them, but I can give a pretty clear example in how each of them responded to the election this week.

My mom texted me the day of to say I could call if I needed to vent. And so I did, because I did need to vent. And yet much of the conversation was actually her venting. There was a lot of commiserating to be sure, but really she took up a lot of the space in that conversation. She had to express her feelings, she was telling me about the knot in her stomach, she was telling me how she spent the day with my dad feeling depressed and contemplating moving out of the state. Only then did I have any space to talk and share anything I was feeling.

Contrasted with my friend, who I talked to today, whose first sentence was "how are you doing? I was a little worried about you this week." Who only shared her feelings after making sure I was okay. Who made space for me to talk before she did. And she did share some of her own thoughts and feelings, because I asked, but she kept bringing it back to me. Am I okay, am I anxious, am I feeling all right given all the anti-queer rhetoric, how am I doing? Her concern was with me and my well-being, not her own feelings, and that was so palpable in her tone and her words.

Granted, I think she's less worried for herself overall than my mom is for her and my dad, but even so...the difference is stark. My mom never expressed worry for me, she spent half the conversation trying to reassure herself of how she and my dad would be okay even if they have to go back to work. She may have offered to let me vent, but in some ways I think she was the one that really wanted to vent to me. And she never brought up queer issues once, I had to bring that up on my own and it was clearly an afterthought to my mom. She was thinking of how trump will fuck up healthcare and the economy. And so it's like...how is the person who is not my mother acting more concerned and motherly towards me right now than you, who actually are my mom? How is this person always so much more attuned to me emotionally? She didn't even raise me, and yet...

I dunno, it's complicated. And I do love my mom. There are some great things about our relationship. But sometimes it's so clear how much better the person who isn't my mom is at caring for me like one, at least on an emotional level. And that's...hard sometimes, even when I'm so glad that I do have this alternative mother figure in my life.

[anthonybialy]

Division Between Bills and Patriots Not Distinct Enough

The Bills forgot what year this is.  They decided to not change the calendar forward by one as is tradition.  Heading toward 2004 was not a sign of progress.  This is not the Patriots of old in the same sense your BlackBerry may be ready for an upgrade.  Winning while uninspiring is a habit that’s become ingrained.  Urging the playoff aspirer to get it together has become a ritual like the year going up.

It’s reassuring to know a game isn’t fixed.  Buffalo assuaged those NFL observers expressing a common concern by avoiding any appearance that play could’ve been rigged.  Obtaining four turnovers in a half and only being up by six is a seeming impossibility that they brought into actuality without any assistance from crooked refs.

A game pieced together like a dream still feels strange.  The result resembled your brain having spent Saturday night thinking of what would happen the next morning.  The mild nightmare happened after slumbering.  A one-score game represented fear manifesting itself.  The inability to affect surreal difficulties is common, although usually not while out of bed.  Playing in a frequently disheartening manner symbolized our deepest worries and frustrations.  It’s time for this team to wake up.

The Bills spent the afternoon reversing the unfortunate instant setting of tone.  Envisioning Steve Tasker in the studio shaking his head at a touchdown without an offensive snap is how I coped.  Imagine commiseration if it helps.

There’s lots of venting following a divisional win against a despised and declining fellow member.  The Bills have earned a scolding.  It’s remarkable in its way for a team with so much dynamic talent to keep finding ways to not be exciting.  The impressive record belies a season spent looking quite nonchalant.

Bailey Zappe was Buffalo’s best quarterback.  He kept throwing their way.  I don’t care why.  I’m more concerned with him looking impressive during fleeting but troubling moments.  The year may be over, but I will remain haunted by horrifying memories of Zappe running across then down the field into the end zone deep into 2023.

Zappe didn’t literally hand away the ball, although he came close.  Virtually scoring touchdowns for his enemy differs from actually doing so.  Buffalo won’t be handed that many sweet drives next game, so at least there’ll be fewer to squander.

Seeing what the offense did with spectacular field position is a test of character that brought a failing grade.  Three consecutive possessions with the ball’s shadow nearly reaching the goal line should result in way more points according to my very objective and measured opinion.  The offense enjoyed the best results upon finally using running backs Stefon Diggs and Josh Allen to their potential.

Throwing is a bit trickier.  Extremely online fans spent the week making the case that Allen’s the MVP before he put up a backup’s statistics.  The figurative argument took a real setback.  Buffalo turning into a rushing dynamo shows how surprises can emerge at any point during a year.

Elite performance is steady.  That’s not limited to football.  The great maintain consistency in any field.  A true contender shouldn’t rely on spectacular plays against a club that’s finally facing its punishment for soul-selling.

It’s not like you decline fantastic highlights like when cornerback Ed Oliver proved he's more than just an interception machine or Rasul Douglas taking the ball at will from hapless quasi-competitors.  Some devastating inflictions result from an afternoon of dominance such as fourth-quarter interceptions after methodically marching to a big lead.  By contrast, hoping the guy who’s even worse than Mac Jones literally throws away possessions is unsustainable over time.

The very last regular season game could have been a scripted finish, and not in the bookie-aligned sense.  As with the struggles during wins, it doesn’t matter how this team got there even if we could do with less trepidation.

Playing well from the start offers a chance for this to not be the last game.  That includes the very first kickoff.  The AFC East Bowl constitutes a test in multiple ways.  Speaking of tested, fans acutely recall what’s led to this monumental scenario.  Frequent setbacks accompany even satisfying triumphs.  The Bills haven’t had many of those.  Winning in the face of self-sabotage is impressive in its way.  It’d be even nicer to not treat themselves as their own rivals.

The regular season’s coda is the perfect setup to seize an opportunity they’ve earned despite themselves.  We’re supposed to be impressed by putting away a game that never should have been close.  Please learn the lessons, as there won’t be more examples otherwise.  They finished the job.  Playing thoroughly for a change will keep them from being finished.

[lessthanpure]

Making the Best of it Chapter 5

Fandom: Baseball RPF

Pairing: Pete Alonso/OFC

Others: Jeff McNeil

Summary: A bad day. Then a better one. Then someone else has a bad day.

Word count: 3412

Notes: So this is a little different than the other chapters. A new character gets a chance to shine! Let me know what you think.

AO3 Link

Sloane has an awful day at work. Someone texts and she sighs before she reads it. Pete. 'Do you want to come over tonight?'

'I had a shitty day. Might not be good company.'

'Do you want to talk about it?'

Sloane debates. 'Sure. I could vent.'

'We can talk on the phone or you could come over. Your choice.'

'I'll come over.'

Sloane gets ready and goes. 

Pete lets her in, concern on his face. He stands aside to let her in. He sits on the couch. "So. 'Bad day' as in ‘one thing sucked really bad and it ruined the day' or 'bad day' as in 'everything sucks��,'" he asks. 

"Ugh. Everything sucks."

"Do you want me to just listen or provide commentary on everyone that sucks?"

Sloane laughs. "Commentary would be appreciated." 

"Go for it."

She flops onto the couch next to him and puts her feet in his lap. He puts his hand gently on her ankles and waits. "God, just fucking," she starts. "There's this asshole at work. Devon. Thinks he knows best just because he's an Alpha."

"I hate those types."

"So do I. And he's been there for two years less than I have. I outrank him and he still tries to tell me how to do my job."

"Ugh," Pete remarks. 

"And my boss does next to nothing about it. He does say that I know how to do my job so kudos to him, but he isn't in every meeting. And when he isn't there, Devon tries to take over every conversation, even about things he doesn't even work on! He has no idea what he's talking about over half the time but he acts like every word out of his mouth is gospel or something." 

Pete nods, commiserating. "Sounds like a grade A asshole."

"He really is. And then he had the audacity to bring up that I wasn't at work for two months!"

"Wait, when you were healing," Pete asks. 

"Yep. And obviously I didn't tell him any of my business, but he whined on and on about how I shouldn't have gotten that much time off. I did every bit of the work I missed and he still complained." She growls. "And then he had the balls to ask if it was 'that time of the month' for me."

"He does know that's super inappropriate, right," Pete raises an eyebrow. 

"Obviously not. But I have a couple of guy friends who are in his department, he apparently will brag about how many Omegas he's had sex with in their Heats. According to him, he's God's gift to Omegas." Pete snorts. "I know, right?!" 

Pete looks at her. "Sounds like it was a really rough day."

"That's not even the worst of it," Sloane admits in a sigh. "I have this asshole ex that cheated on me. He messaged me on Instagram, saying he wanted to 'catch up' and 'reminisce.' I blocked him, of course. Thought I did it ages ago but I guess I didn't." 

"Wow. Today really sucked for you, then." Pete doesn't sound jealous, which pleases Sloane. She hates when guys get uppity if their partners even mention their exes. 

"Yeah," she huffs. She sits against the arm of the couch. 

"This may not be the best time to bring this up," Pete says, and she looks at him. "But do you want to go steady?"

"You mean be boyfriend and girlfriend and exclusive," Sloane asks. Pete nods. "Yes." 

"Good," Pete smiles. There's a huge crack of thunder and they look out the window. 

"Aw, crap," Sloane whines when she sees the downpour. "That's gonna suck to go home in."

"Did you drive?"

"LIRR. But I still have to brave the rain to get on the subway." Sloane’s phone makes a noise and she gets it out of her pocket. She checks it. "Fuck!"

"What?"

Sloane sighs and drops her phone, covering her face. "My LIRR line is down. Limb fell on the tracks." 

"Stay here tonight," Pete offers. "I'm sure it'll be cleared in the morning."

"That's sweet of you, Pete. But I don't have any clothes."

"You can sleep in some of mine. Wear today's clothes when you leave." 

"You just want me in your clothes," she teases. 

"That's only part of it," he smiles. "You can stay if you want." 

Sloane smiles and nods. "I do. Thanks."

They watch TV for a bit and then go to bed. Pete hands her some shorts and a shirsey. She changes into them. She gets in bed after she brushes her teeth with a spare toothbrush. Pete brushes his teeth, too, then comes into his room. He rumbles at her back, and she looks over her shoulder at him. "Don't think I didn't see the name, sir," she teases. 

Pete chuckles and gets in. He noses the back of her neck and she relaxes with a sigh. “Sleep well,” he says.

“You too.”

They go to sleep.

Sloane wakes up to Pete’s alarm. He silences it. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t realize I didn’t cancel it,” he says.

“No worries,” Sloane sits up, stretching. “I have to get up anyway.” She checks her phone- her LIRR line is clear. 

She gets ready, dropping Pete’s clothes in his laundry. Pete smiles and kisses her. He tastes like toothpaste, which makes her giggle. She brushes her own teeth and he watches her, eyes soft. She steals another kiss when she’s done. There’s a strong knocking on the front door. Pete frowns and gestures for her to wait there.

Pete goes to the door, confused. “Who is it,” he calls through it.

“Jeff.”

Pete opens it, seeing his best friend. “Hey.”

“Sorry man, this was closer,” Jeff slides past him. “I really gotta take a piss.” Jeff heads straight for the guest bathroom.

Pete rolls his eyes and closes the front door. He goes back to Sloane, who is getting the last of her things together. “Talk to you later,” Pete murmurs and kisses her.

“Talk later.” 

“Thanks, man, I really needed- oh,” Jeff says, appearing in his doorway. “Sorry, I didn’t realize Sloane spent the night.”

“Hey, Jeff. I was just leaving.” Sloane goes to step away but Pete pulls her back and kisses her. She kisses back and then pulls away. “I gotta go. Bye, boys!” She leaves the apartment. Pete looks at Jeff’s red face, amused. 

“Shit man, I’m sorry if I interrupted something.”

“You didn’t,” Pete shrugs.

“But I could have.”

“You didn’t,” Pete repeats. “You need anything else?”

“No. No, I’m good.”

“Alright.” Pete lets him out and then hops in the shower.

Sloane has a better day. She texts Pete. ‘Thanks for last night. I really needed that.’ She sends it.

Pete is in the shower after practice and Jeff is already done and changed. Pete’s phone makes a noise and Jeff leans over to tell him who’s texting like he always does. He means to read just the name, but the whole text comes up on screen. He feels his face burn instantly. “Pete, Sloane texted!” They’re the last two there.

“In a sec,” Pete calls back. He comes out shortly in a towel. Jeff hands him his phone. Pete smiles at the screen and texts back. “Thanks for letting me know, I wouldn’t have seen it for a while,” Pete says, putting it down.

“No problem,” Jeff says too-quickly.

“What’s up with you,” Pete asks, starting to pull on his clothes. 

“Nothing.”

“You saw the text, didn’t you,” Pete laughs. Jeff is relieved he isn’t pissed.

“I tried to just read the name,” Jeff defends himself.

“No worries. Thanks again.” Pete is now dressed and puts his duffle bag on his shoulder. “Later, man.”

Jeff manages to forget the text for the rest of the day. He goes home. As soon as he’s in the door, the text pops into his head. Thanks for last night. I really needed that. Jeff drops onto his couch, hardening. He glares at his lap. That’s his best friend’s girlfriend, he shouldn’t think about her all warm and on her back. He shakes his head violently to clear it. He must be too horny. Yeah, that’s it. He goes to his room and surfs his favorite porn website. The fact that the Omega in the video he chooses looks kind of like Sloane doesn’t make it to his thinking head. He strips and touches himself to the sounds coming out from his speakers. 

“Oh God, right there,” the Omega gasps. Jeff closes his eyes.

"Come on," the Omega urges. Jeff pushes her onto the bed on her back. He slots between her thighs, kissing her. He slides down her body and his tongue finds slick. The Omega whines, pulling his hair. He lets her guide him. How he loves Omegas that aren't shy about what they want. She drapes her legs over his shoulders and pulls him in. He makes her cum twice on his tongue before he lets himself take his pants and boxer briefs off. She purrs when she sees him and Alpha pride washes over him. 

He gets inside of her and fucks her. She moans the entire time and he sets his teeth into her tan shoulder. He bites down gently and she chirps. The sound practically makes him knot, but he holds it back. She puts her mouth to his ear. "I want you, Jeff. I've always wanted you. Knot me." 

"Not yet." He makes her cum on his cock and rocks into her until he knots. "Sloane," he groans. 

Jeff’s eyes fly open, but not in time to stop himself from cumming. He stares at his ceiling, panting. He calms down and glares at his laptop screen like it’s to blame. He huffs and cleans up, closing the video with an irritated click. He jumps in the shower and tries to forget the fact that he jerked off to the idea of fucking his best friend’s girlfriend. And it almost works.

Jeff is having cereal the next morning when his phone chimes. He grabs it. Pete. His hand pauses but he takes the spoonful and chews. ‘Hey, man. You want to hang out with me and Sloane today? She claims she can kick our asses at Guitar Hero.’

‘Maybe another time,’ Jeff replies. When I can look either of you in the eye.

Jeff finishes his breakfast. ‘Aw, come on. I know you don’t have anything concrete,’ Pete texts. Jeff is about to text back ‘how do you know’ when a second text comes in. ‘She’s asking for you.’ 

“Fuck,” Jeff says loudly because he gets kind of hard from the idea. He resolves to pick someone up tonight. Preferably someone who doesn’t look like his best friend’s girlfriend. 

‘Fine,’ he texts back, kind of hating himself. 

‘Sweet. Come by around two.’

‘Sure.’

Jeff works out at home for a few hours before he distracts himself with cleaning. The time rolls around and Jeff grabs his keys, heading to Pete’s apartment. He gets buzzed up and walks up the stairs to work out some excess energy. He knocks. Sloane answers the door. “Hey, Jeff,” she smiles. Jeff’s breath catches. “So glad you could make it!” 

“Well, I couldn’t let my Guitar Hero skills be bad-mouthed,” he replies. She stands aside and lets him in. He tries not to stare at her ass when she walks past him. She goes to sit on the couch but Pete pulls her into his lap where he’s sitting in his armchair. 

“Pete, you have company,” Sloane laughs, squirming. 

“It’s just Jeff,” Pete replies, kissing her jaw. Sloane rolls her eyes at Jeff and pulls away. 

“Still company.”

Pete chuckles and lets her get off his lap. “It’s cool,” Jeff shrugs, sitting on the farthest point on the couch he can and still see the screen enough to where he can play. “I mean, you two are a couple. It’s fine.”

They play Guitar Hero until Sloane has beaten them both five times. Jeff has an excuse- he’s watching Sloane’s fingers and imagining them on his body. Pete might be thinking of the same thing. 

“Now do you believe me,” Sloane asks, looking at Jeff.

“Yes.”

“And all that skill goes to waste,” she teases. Jeff feels his face heat up. Damn his tendency to blush. “I’m just kidding, Jeff.”

“I know.”

“Come on, you pick the next game,” Sloane offers. Jeff gets up and looks at Pete’s game shelf. He picks up HALO. “I love HALO,” Sloane smiles like he had just given her chocolate. Then the image of him licking chocolate syrup from her skin comes into his head. Jeff looks away. “Hey, you ok,” Sloane asks, voice concerned.

“Fine. I have a little headache, probably from staring at a screen for that long. I should head home,” Jeff lies.

“Not even one game,” Pete asks. Shit, Jeff almost forgot about him. 

“Nah, it hurts.”

“Ok. Feel better. It was great seeing you,” Sloane says.

“I will. And it was good seeing you, too.” He stands. Pete does too and they do their handshake before Jeff cuts his losses and tries not to run away. He sits in his car and curses himself out. This has to stop.

“Did Jeff seem a little weird to you,” Pete asks when Jeff is gone and far enough away.

“Maybe. I don’t know him as well as you do, though,” Sloane says. She settles in his lap, curling into his chest.

“True,” Pete says as he wraps his arms around her. 

“Maybe you should ask him what’s up at your next one-on-one hangout session.”

“I will.”

“Good.” 

They kiss softly. Sloane turns on his lap, settling over him. She puts one hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek and kisses him deeper. They slide their tongues against each other’s, panting quietly. Pete presses kisses down the side of her throat, making her whimper. 

“Wanna go to bed,” Pete asks quietly between kisses.

“Yeah,” Sloane breathes. She gets up and leads Pete to his room. She falls onto the bed and he follows her, bracing himself over her. They kiss heatedly and Pete gently touches the bottom of her shirt. She sits up and puts her arms over her head. He pulls off her shirt and licks the join of her neck and shoulder. “Can you knot me?” Pete stills. 

He pulls back, eyes dark. “Are you sure?”

“Green,” she smiles. Pete laughs lightly.

“Green,” he agrees. They undress each other and Pete takes out a knotting condom, putting it on the bedside table. They kiss heatedly for a bit, until Sloane is squirming with impatience. Pete pulls back enough for her to see his teasing smile and slinks down her body. He eats her out and she bucks into his mouth, hands buried in his short hair. He makes her cum three times until she’s pulling at his shoulders desperately. “Tell me what you want.” She shivers at Pete’s voice- it’s deeper than normal and has a growl threaded through it.

“Your knot,” Sloane moans. 

Pete shudders and nods, crawling back up. She helps him with his clothes and he grabs the condom, rolling it down his length. He stares into her eyes.

“I’m sure,” she smiles. She touches the back of his head. “I’m sure.” 

He nods and steadies himself as he enters her slowly. She moans quietly and he sinks in halfway before pulling back out until only the head is inside. He slides back in, trying to keep his movements slow and easy. They might have had sex before, but he’s still a lot to take. Sloane moans again and puts her hand on his back, curling it and urging him on. Pete shudders at the feeling of her nails and sinks in to the hilt. He stays still even as he wants to rail her, letting her adjust. “Pete, move,” Sloane says, voice breathy. 

“You sure?”

“Green.”

Pete nods and pulls out halfway and pushing in a little harder. Sloane wraps her legs around his hips and pulls him down, kissing him. He growls and shoves in harder than he planned, making her gasp. He pulls away from her mouth, about to ask her the color. 

“Green, green Pete, fuck .” Pete laughs in relief and rests foreheads with her, fucking into her. She makes pleased noises and he growls lightly. He inhales when that makes more wetness drip out of her. He growls again and angle her hips up, fucking her harder. “Fuck, Pete!”

He buries his face into her neck and growls and makes other Alpha noises of pleasure. Sloane cums and he snarls, instincts kicking in. He pulls her up more and starts to stretch her more with his cock, angling for the spot that is sure to make her whimper. He snakes a hand down and rubs her clit, and she whimpers and cums again.

Sloane whimpers and moans, addicted to how Pete makes her feel. He’s strong and capable and he’s such a good Alpha. “Pete,” she whimpers. 

“Sloane,” Pete snarls back. She shudders at the lust in his voice, like it wasn’t enough to smell it. Pete’s strokes start to shorten, and she knows that sign. “Sloane, I’m gonna-”

“Yeah, yeah, want it,” Sloane babbles, clawing at his back. “Inside, Alpha, inside.”

Pete snarls and shoves his knot in, shuddering as he cums. He pants as he comes down, tasting slick and cum and sandalwood and vanilla and arousal smoothing down his tongue and palate. He hums as he listens to Sloane’s heartbeat slow down and gently lies on her. She strokes down his back, nosing into his hair. “Good,” he murmurs the question.

“Great. You?”

“Fantastic.”

They both laugh quietly. Pete lifts his head and kisses Sloane again. She hums and they kiss leisurely but passionately. He starts to rock subconsciously, and Sloane doesn’t help matters- she tightens her legs on his hips.

Sloane hums as Pete starts to try to fuck his cum into her. It’s Alpha instincts- shove that cum inside, make sure it doesn’t slip out, give it the best chance to take. It alway feels incredible, but Pete’s huge cock and solid knot makes it better. She gently bites his lip and he growls. She feels it in her tongue. She pulls her mouth away and chirps back. “Fuck, love when you do that,” Pete says. Sloane warms.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s sexy.”

Sloane looks away and Pete strokes her jaw, guiding her face back. “I love all your noises,” he admits. “Love your moans, your chirps, your purrs,” he details, nosing down her neck. He licks the sweat from her skin. “Love your scent, love your taste,” he continues. “Fuck, I’m addicted to you,” he growls, rocking into her. He plants his palms on the bed beside her shoulders and pants as he moves. 

“Fuck, Pete ,” Sloane moans, arching to get a good angle. Pete groans and shudders as he cums again and Sloane moans quietly as she feels it. She’s only been with one Alpha who could cum multiple times- it’s a recessive gene- and it was addicting then. It’s indescribable with Pete. She whimpers and gently pushes at his shoulder. 

Pete slides his hands to her back and rolls onto his back, looking up at Sloane, concerned. “Fuck, Sloane, did I-”

Sloane braces her hands on his stomach and rocks on his knot. He groans through his teeth, all concerns of having hurt her vanishing. He pants and hitches his hips up. He strokes her clit with his thumb and she shudders and moans through another orgasm, her wetness seeping out of her and slicking his lap. He pants. “Fuck, Sloane .”

Sloane hums and lays on him, adjusting only slightly. They fit together well. He wraps his arms around her and settles. 

Forty minutes later, Pete’s knot deflates and Sloane climbs off of him with obvious reluctance. He smiles as he takes off the condom, admiring his Omega stretched out on his bed. She chirps at him. He chuckles as he ties off the condom, getting up and tossing it. He sets a shower to hot and leans against the doorpost. Sloane gets up and comes past him, getting on her tiptoes and pulling his head. He leans down and she presses a lingering kiss to his cheek. She laughs and gets in his shower. He smiles and follows her.

[aquaheartgirl]

I also really really want children but have accepted that I will likely never have the resources to provide a happy and safe life for them ☹️ how do you cope? Everyone I know is either planning to have children regardless of the circumstances or never wanted children to begin with. There's no one to talk to

The short answer is, I don’t.

I’m probably clinically depressed at this point (but I don’t know for sure because I had to give up my therapy sessions a while back when my insurance stopped covering them). I’m in a one-bedroom apartment with my boyfriend of 6 years and we are BOTH regularly forced to ask our parents for help covering rent. I’ve been working steadily for years and I have less money in the bank now than I did when I graduated college. (I was lucky enough to not need student loans; I can’t even imagine having that on top of everything else.)

We would have gotten engaged, married, bought a house, AND had two or three kids by now if wages were keeping up with inflation. But even a half-decent engagement ring is out of reach, let alone everything else. I’ve always been a fierce optimist by nature, but right now I’m legitimately scared I’m going to die childless. I’ve known I wanted to be a mother pretty much my whole life. Never in a million years would I have imagined that the one thing holding me back from it would be… capitalism.

Sorry if this is depressing, anon. I don’t have the answers or I wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with. But we can vent and commiserate together.

[klapollo]

its late so im gonna make a vent post and say i fucking hate most ed spaces i've literally never seen any mental illness space like it. it feels like everyone is so fucking hateful even in the ones that try to be goodnatured and not pro ana. bitch bitch bitch all day long about how everyone else is too fat or too disordered or not disordered enough or their symptoms are cringe or blah blah blah. and dont get me started on edtwt those little gremlins are straight up evil like some of the worst crybullies i have ever seen.

like when i go to the ocd subreddit people r discussing medications, coping with intrusive thoughts, finding treatment centers etc but on ed subs i get 500 daily posts about how the ed kids on tiktok are cringe bc their fear foods make them cry which apparently means theyre acting and how everyone else is faking and wah wah wah. edtwt generates dozens of unspeakably cruel "fatspo with commentary" threads daily that are just targeted harassment and if you tell them to fuck off and eat shit they wail that youre harassing mentally ill people in their safe space as if having an eating disorder makes you a scumfuck bully (spoiler it does not)

the problem with eds i think is that it's so inextricably tied to social beauty standards and ideals in a world that uplifts unhealthy eating habits (i think both binging and restriction are normalized in certain ways but we obviously praise restriction a lot more) compounded by the competitive nature of the illness that makes empathetic commiseration and compassion a lot less common than with say, schizophrenia or bipolar or some other mental illness

and this is just me being petty but they talk about the same fucking shit every day. how many times do i have to see "fatphobia is not the same as racism!" like it's some enlightening thing. lots of shitty things are not equivalent to racism and theyre still shitty youre just saying this to feel less bad about being a hateful little twerp.

sorry this post is so aggro this is like almost half a year of accumulated Angy

[invisibleraven]

"I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified" Reggie x Carrie?? Bonus points if it's Carrie saying it haha

Carrie Wilson is used to people claiming they love her.

Her mother, right before she walked out of their lives, never even sending Carrie a card or a lousy Christmas gift.

Her father before he goes off on tour, or some meditation retreat, or spends two weeks straight in the studio, missing her latest performance.

Nick, in that performative way while parading her around the hallways, power couple of Los Feliz High.

The fans, screaming it from behind their barricades, tossing toys and treats at the stage, only for a flash of her smile.

But none of it's real.

Sure, Carrie had fallen for a few people, but she learned her lesson quickly. Those people who wanted to date her name, her image. But never her. So she swore off guys, off love. She can get by on her own.

She always has.

Then Reggie comes along on her tour; replacing Nick on bass after their disastrous break up that headlined every tabloid from here to New York. Reggie who has a smile that melts like butter, eyes that remind Carrie of springtime, and a sunny personality to match.

Reggie who jokes with the band, but brings her water before she has to find it herself. Who insists she eat, even if it's just a salad while he wolfs down a meatball sub. Who insists that she has to watch the new season of Bridgerton with him, because none of his friends are fans.

Reggie, who finds her in tears after her dad flakes on yet another meet up. Offers her a handkerchief, and sits with her until she's ready to vent, silent and supportive. Then distracts her with stories of his friends back in LA, his MeeMaw and her ranch back in Georgia, and the dogs he wants so badly to adopt just waiting for him. Carrie giggles at that, showing him pictures of her childhood pet, a wrinkled ball of fur that had seen her right up until high school.

Reggie can commiserate with her about parents, though he doesn't say much about his own. "Not playing shitty parent Olympics with you doll, you'll lose." He rubs he hand over his neck, and Carrie can't ignore the small burn mark there, and decides he's probably right. Instead they debate over shitty sci-fi and the newest trends in country music.

But Carrie finds that for every post show chat session, every night she stays up too late writing or rehearsing with Reggie right there keeping her company, her heart starts to flutter. His crooked grin makes her flush and when he winks at her, like the giant flirt he is, she stammers and stumbles.

Fuck

She tries avoiding him, but it seems like he has some sense of where she is, always finding her, with a cookie, or a terrible joke, something to make her light up like the fourth of July. She powerless to turn him away though, so she takes the cookie with a smile, breaking it in half to share. Reggie shoves it into his mouth with a grin, and Carrie knows it's hopeless not to fall for him.

That's why, after her final show, when Reggie greets her with a bouquet of hot pink roses, Carrie bursts into tears. "Oh crap," he swears, "Do you not like roses?"

"I love roses! That's half the problem!" she cries.

"...I'm lost," Reggie admits.

"I think I'm in love with you and I'm terrified!" Carrie shouts. "Everyone who I love betrays me, or even worse, they leave me! I couldn't bear it if you..."

"Carrie..." Reggie draws her into his arms, holding her tight. "Look, I care about you...so damn much. I love you in fact. But I know that's no guarantee of anything. Just know, that I have no plans to betray you, and I won't go unless you tell me to. I know that's scary, but maybe... maybe we can be scared together, and let love conquer our fear."

Carrie let out a sniffle, gazing up into his earnest eyes. "I... I think I'm less scared with every moment that you hold me." She wrapped her arms around him tightly, grinning as she buried her face into his chest.

"Then I'm never letting go," Reggie vowed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and swaying them together, neither one unlatching until security had to all but chase them from the venue. But even then, Reggie held her hand in his, standing on the street, a million choices before them.

"Time to be brave?" he asked.

Carrie squeezed his hand in hers, and started pulling him towards her car. "Let's get a late dinner, and see how brave we feel after that."

"With you doll, I don't feel afraid of anything," he replied, letting her lead him onward towards a potentially terrifying, but hopefully loving, future.

[bytheangell]

I’ve Never Been a Natural (All I Do Is Try Try Try)

(SH re-watch inspired fic: S01E03) ( @shadowhunterbingo square: Meet Ugly | Saphael | Rated: Teen | No Warnings) (Read on AO3)

Simon is pacing. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just a nervous habit he’s never quite been able to break. He doesn’t like to sit still and he finds it particularly difficult when something’s on his mind, preferring to wander around a room while he thinks or talks. It gives his brain different things to look at and focus on, rather than getting stuck on any one thing or zoning out entirely - it helps, and that’s all that really matters to him.

He tries not to do it around others, though, because he knows it can be off-putting or make them anxious while watching him pace. He especially never does it around Raphael, which is why the sudden voice behind him brings Simon’s steps to a sudden halt.

“What’s wrong?” Raphael asks, eyeing Simon carefully.

Simon tenses. “Nothing. Sorry,” he says, being mindful of the way his body practically yearns to move again, to wander away from Raphael, to go anywhere but where Simon forces himself to stand rooted to the spot. He’s so focused on not pacing that he doesn’t notice the way his hands move just as anxiously as his feet were previously, wringing together in front of him before moving to pull at the hem of his shirt.

“Are you sure?” Raphael asks, his tone more concerned than curious now. “You’re fidgeting.”

It’s an observation, but Simon hears the words as an accusation and immediately brings his hands behind his back, clasping them together where they won’t move.

“Sorry,” Simon repeats, quickly adding, “I didn’t mean to.”

Now he’s nervous because up until this point he’s done so well around Raphael. He stands still when they talk, sits without shifting around every few seconds when they cuddle even if he isn’t the most comfortable, and lately they’ve been doing more of that - the cuddling. Lately, Raphael’s been opening up to him more and more, and now Simon’s going to go and ruin it because he can’t be still.

“Didn’t mean to what?” Raphael asks, looking properly confused now as if he and Simon are having two separate conversations. His brows furrow as he looks at Simon more intently than before and Simon shifts a bit under his gaze.

“Fidget. And the pacing. I’ve been trying not to, and I thought it’d be easier to stop than it’s been, but I’m working on it,” Simon admits, hoping it might help for Raphael to know that he’s at least making an effort.

“Why would you have to apologize for that?” Raphael asks, and now Simon joins him in looking properly confused. Is Raphael messing with him?

“Because I know you hate it,” Simon answers almost immediately.

“I don’t-” Raphael starts, taking a few steps closer to Simon, reaching out to pull Simon’s hands back around to his front before holding them in his. “What gave you that impression?”

Simon shakes his head. It’s beginning to dawn on him that Raphael doesn’t remember, and he isn’t sure if that makes it better or worse. “You told me, the first time we met. The night you… uh…” Simon really doesn’t want to say ‘the night you kidnapped me’, given everything they’ve worked through to put that rather unfortunate first meeting behind them. Simon clears his throat instead. “When I wouldn’t sit still, you said you really hated fidgeting.”

Simon watches the realization wash over Raphael at the reminder. Raphael looks upset and Simon thinks for a moment that he’s done something wrong, that maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all about it. Once Raphael speaks it’s obvious that he’s upset with himself, not with Simon, because his words practically drip with apologetic tones and regret.

“Dios, Si, I didn’t mean it, not like that. You were an annoying hostage and you were making a job I didn’t even want a hundred times more difficult for me. I don’t even remember half the awful things I probably said to you… everything I did for Camille that day I regret, you know that, right?”

“Even letting me go free?” Simon asks, knowing he’s deflecting from the serious turn the conversation took but unable to help himself.

“I didn’t do that for Camille,” Raphael points out. “And stop avoiding the point. I don’t care if you fidget. I don’t hate anything you do, Simon, not if it’s part of you and makes you more comfortable. I don’t want you to think you have to change or hide things like that, alright?”

Simon glances down at his hands, still resting between them in Raphael’s, then back up at Raphael with a small nod. “Yeah, alright.”

“I mean it,” Raphael repeats. “I’m sorry I ever said that to you, no matter what the circumstances.”

“It’s fine,” Simon reassures him, giving a proper smile for the first time since Raphael got back. He hadn’t realized how much this one thing was on the back of his mind until just now when he felt the relief of it not being the issue he built it up to be lifting off him. “Just promise you’ll tell me if it does annoy you, once I start doing it around you again?”

“I will,” Raphael promises without missing a beat. “But it won’t,” he adds just as quickly. “Now, are you going to tell me what you were pacing about in the first place?”

Simon, who enjoys watching Raphael roll his eyes and scoff at Simon’s occasional ‘teenage drama’ like fights with his sister or issues with his band or any number of other things that Simon usually lets bother him way more than he should, eagerly launches into his argument with Clary from the night before.

As he does, Simon allows himself to pace, as well as gesturing exaggeratedly from time to time, all the while watching Raphael’s face for any signs it’s secretly bothering him. Finding none, (and knowing Raphael has no problem looking annoyed with him if he’s feeling it), Simon smiles despite the frustrations he just vented about.

“Did I miss something?” Raphael asks from his seat on the sofa where he settled in to listen to Simon’s ranting.

“No,” Simon says, smiling wider. “Just realizing you’re like, even better than I thought you were, which was already pretty great.”

Raphael rolls his eyes a bit. “Do you want me to tell you how ridiculous you’re being, or commiserate over how stubborn Clary’s being?”

Simon laughs a little at that, going to sit next to Raphael on the sofa. “Neither, I’m good,” he says, really meaning it and isn’t just saying it to brush off his worries. Simon presses against Raphael’s side and rests his head on Raphael’s shoulder. “How about you tell me about your night instead?”

[llamamonger]

I feel like I’ve missed my chance to tell my friend how I feel about them. I love them dearly and so deeply that I would have trouble finding accurate words to tell them. There are so many things I love about them that I feel would either come pouring out of me or get completely stuck in silence. I thought I had more time to think of the words & that I was perhaps going to find a window of opportunity soon (or get brave enough make one).

However, they recently met someone they’re romantically interested in. Everything this person says gets more credit—complimenting, commiserating, asking questions, simply being someone to vent to—despite only knowing them less than 2 weeks & only having very surface-level conversations. I’ve known my friend for 2 years & said far more meaningful things, and I question whether half of what I’ve said has been taken as seriously as they take whatever this romantic interest says. That’s the nature of things, I guess.

I don’t want to say I feel a kind of petty jealousy & need to compete with this person—I guess I do feel something like that, but ultimately it’s more of just wanting to assert my place in line? Like, I was here first, let me tell them how much I love them & admire them & all these things I’ve felt for years. I don’t want to be seen as the petty, jealous copycat—and I have far more evidence & experience to back up my feelings! But I don’t want to cloud the issue, either between them & me or them & their romantic interest. And of course I don’t want my friend’s romantic experience with this person to overshadow how they view my feelings (that amatonormative love hierarchy would work against me). But truly, I’ve had plenty of time. It’s my fault for waiting so long. It feels like a just punishment for a petty coward. Maybe I’m being too hard on myself, but even this early, the door seems not only closed but soon to be locked, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.