#this is the best worst thing i have ever made

[kismetlotts]

cw: angst, mentions of sex, best friend Simon Riley, mentions of knives, mentions of hurting yourself but no implications of actually doing so or having done in the past, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, clueless Simon Riley, crying in each others arms, helping out your best friend, reader is self less

part 2 of Best Friend Simon Riley Angst (I recommend reading part one first to understand certain elements better)

You woke up in the morning, daylight shining through your curtains and you already knew it wasn’t sunshine- bound to be nothing but grey clouds out there, flooding the sky like a polluted ocean. Your nose and head ached in the silent flood of last nights memories, your crying, your actions and worst of all, your best friend.

Oh Simon, what a dickhead you were. Why did you have to come here?

Your body flushed against the cold sheets behind you, a weightless bed, giving you the impression he’d done a runner. Typical him honestly- you wouldn’t be surprised if that was what initiated their breakup; the same breakup that was at fault for all of this.

He was always so forward, front and confrontational within the field. The notorious ‘Ghost’ that installs fear in every enemy he has to face. He’s a fighter at work but ironically, in life, all he knew was how to retreat. Pull away before he can cause anymore damage, pull out before the mess gets bigger.

You flung the covers off you, their pretty, pink, innocent pattern already making vomit surface in your throat. He’d flopped down on that bedding countless times in the past: memories which made it hurt more came to mind. The knives that were already jammed in your gut, heart and what’s seemed as your brain, twisting a little deeper before freezing up in place.

You remembered the times when his body would accidentally fling you around the mattress, grunting and smirking while he settle down and got comfy. You remembered the way his fingers tapped on the cotton as he leaned over to see what you were looking at on your phone. Nosy but never prying in too much.

Imagining how you looked when you watched his hand sweep across the duvet on movie night, pushing every crumb onto your bedroom floor with a laugh and an apology leaving his lips. His hands, shooting into the air as he surrendered in playful shame. Not really paying attention as your voice scolded him for eating in your bed.

Your fingers stripped the bedding from its covers. Tossing them into a pile on the floor beside your laundry basket, the sheets so stained with both of your sweat and dirt from the situation, your nose scrunched up at the sight. You left it there ready to put in the wash later.

Though, a part of you can’t help but wonder if they will ever feel as clean as they did before.

If they’ll ever give you the warm, comforting sensation you got every night before nodding off to sleep. Would you ever hear their soft cries to slip back in bed when you wake up early for work? The covers flopped back in agony, silently pleading for you to come back and have five more minutes?

No. Now they just feel like you never got out of that bed, the duvet still wrapped around your body keeping you hostage and forcing you to go about your day. The weight of everything on your shoulders enough for you to trip and fall on the material.

You’d burn them if they weren’t so big.

The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, why the fuck did you let it happen anyway? The sex with him wasn’t anything like you’d wished or dreamed of nor would it have never been.

He didn’t love you but something inside you obviously can’t comprehend that. Every chance you get to show or pretend that the two of you were more than what you were- you’d leap for it: eyes sparkling with the same hope a lost kid has.

He used you last night and you let him like the pathetic, lovesick loser you always were. It wasn’t sex, it was nothing more than a mere distraction and waste of time. A waste of his time, more hassle just for him.

Your fingers wrapped around your smooth doorknob as you pushed open your bedroom door, trailing into the kitchen before an aroma of pancake batter and fresh baking gripped you by the throat. Your big eyes meeting Simons, his familiar, large figure pressed against your kitchen counter as he sucked on his bottom lip.

His face was pale and his brown pupils never left the plate of fucked up pancakes, left on a placemat on the table.

You laughed. You laughed because you couldn’t trust anything else to come out- You couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t break down crying, that you wouldn’t scream or hurt yourself in front of him, that you wouldn’t wince at this- idiotic gesture.

Was this an apology? Was this all you meant to him? A plate of sweet treats you’d have to force yourself to eat, to swallow down and help you forget everything bad that happened. Maybe, or perhaps it was pure coincidence it summed up his perspective of the night; perfectly.

“Did you make me pancakes?” The tremble and nerves in your voice was apparent and he nodded slowly, gesturing to the massive bag of groceries on the countertop.

“With berries and sugar on top. I’ve got some other things here though, chocolate- all kinds, some syrup and honey and other fruit in that bag if you want any. I just added berries because I know they’re your favourite.” He rambled on.

“When did I tell you that?” Your head turned to the side, twitching in uncertainty as you sat down in front of the plate. Eyes squinting as you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You said when we…-oh.”

That’s not her, Simon.

His hand lifted to his eyes, rubbing them to avoid looking anywhere. The rise and fall of his chest grew faster and you just knew how is heart felt, flooding with guilt and embarrassment at his own actions.

Staying mad at him was hard when you knew him so well. Mistakes get made and feeling get trampled on but he wasn’t a bad person. That’s why you fell for him all that time ago.

The knife in your hand cut through the pancakes like butter, your posture up straight and distant from the plate while your appetite warned you not to bite. Your eyes flickered over to Simon again, seeing his hands still firmly placed over his eyes, broad shoulders retracted inwards as his body jolted in silent cries. The metal rattled against the table as you put the knife down and jumped out of your chair.

“Simon don’t do this-“ You spoke comfortingly, lunging over towards his body. Your soft skin met with the roughness of his arm but before you could say another word he shoved your body away from him.

A voice you’d never heard before coming out loud and brute, as you took a step back from his harsh rejection.

“Can you just fuck off trying to make me feel better constantly- I know i’ve fucked up and I know i’ve upset you. Stop acting like everything is alright when it isn’t, you do this every time- i’m not a kid!” His fist clawed at his shirt. Pulling it away from his chest as if he wanted to rip his heart out to stop the torture he was suffering.

Spit flew from his mouth and his eyes looked red, sunken with despair. Your voice died in your mouth, tongue soaking up all your saliva and you tried to swallow.

He was lost. He ruined the thing he needed the most- fucked about and caused chaos with his lifeline. You were his saviour and always had been. He didn’t need for you to fix his relationship or his problems, he needed you to fix him. He didn’t sleep with you to use you intentionally, it was a drunken mistake and a shitty timing.

He inhaled through his mouth, his throat croaking as he gripped the counter for stabilisation. Face was locked down to the floor, glued and staring at his shoes on your kitchen floor.

The drops of his tears on the black leather of his boots and the drops on your tiles reminding him of how pathetic he was being. He was a man, he worked in the military. He had slept with people before, cheated, and ruined relationships but nothing hurt like this hurt. Nothing knocked him down so hard he was afraid to get back up, he was afraid to lose you. Simon was scared.

“I made a mistake and I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I can even do to make it up to you- fucking pancakes- it is stupid I should know better and I should know what to do but I-” The whiteness in his knuckles disappeared as he lessened his grip on the counter. Hands falling to his side as he broke down on the spot.

The hard armour he lived in unraveling like flimsy pieces of ribbon. His wet eyelashes hitting his cheeks as he wiped his nose and face on the back of his wrist.

“I can’t think. I can’t be me without you here and I don’t know what to do, please, i’m so sorry just please come back to me. I know i’ve lost a part of you and I will fight until the end of day to get it back, but for now just let me have the rest back. I need my best friend back.” His hands met your lower back as you flung your arms around his neck, your own eyes dripping with tears of outrage and hurt but above all you needed Simon too.

You sobbed silently into his shoulder as he held you close to him finally getting his breathing back to normal. You bit your lips shut and breathed slowly so he couldn’t feel your body shake for air. You didn’t want him to realise how much you were struggling in his arms- how lost and abused you felt. You didn’t want your emotions to worsen his because he had to come first.

He’d lost the love of his life and he needs someone to be strong for him, help him get on his own feet. Be beside him with wide arms and a welcoming face. It wasn’t him being selfish, it was something you had to understand Simon to understand.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before you hesitantly sat down and talked. It was a long talk hidden by cheap smiles and forced laughter but of course, he didn’t catch on. You let him speak, you gave him advice- hugged it out and as weeks passed by, the two of you were back to normality again.

He’d found a new girl quicker than you thought he wouldn’t, pretty girl and ironically she your figure and eye colour. The more you watched them interact the more they seemed to happy together, kissing, hugging, buying each other gifts. It felt just like how it was before.

Back to Simon and his lovesick best friend that will always be there for him even if he’s never there for her. Back to Simon and his awful dating life as he hops from one awful breakup to the next because they all are missing something.

All he wants, is girl with your hair colour. A girl with your eye colour and your smile. All he longs for is a girl that he can hold hands with but can also roll his eyes at when she teases him for being too cheesy. He wants a girl who can laugh and joke with him but still support him and by there for him in more ways than one. Not just a girlfriend but almost as if a best friend at the same time. That’s all he wants and asks the world for but for some reason she just isn’t out there for him.

And until he realises why he looks for you in every girl he meets. Until he steps back and opens his eyelids to everything right in front of him. She won’t ever be.

[callmeizukunotdeku]

The worst part, of course, is why they notice.

It's because Robin got in over his head during patrol and Red Hood broke his no-kill streak.

Bruce's rules snapped back into place, just as taut as before.

Jason pulls back. He doesn't visit anymore and then Alfred's giving him the cold shoulder too. Dick is insisting that he get over himself.

"What was it that made you accept him? What made you okay with him before, B?"

"I...just got some good advice before."

"From who?"

Quietly, he admitted, "Tim."

The name jolted Dick, as he realized that his brother had slipped his mind.

He couldn't remember the last time he talked to Tim.

He couldn't remember the last time he thought about him.

"Call him," Dick said, "and put him on speaker."

If Bruce had taken Tim's advice just once--taken it and implemented it long term--then that was more than he'd ever done for Dick.

Bruce took out his phone.

It rang and rang and then--

"This number is not available."

Bruce furrowed his brow and muttered, "No, that can't be right. This is his contact..."

He messed around on his phone for another minute before calling again, and--

"This number is not available."

Dick swallowed, and thought, bitter and hopefully, that maybe Tim blocked Bruce, before remembering that they didn't want any more problems. Their family couldn't handle going back to the way they were before Bruce came back.

Dick couldn't handle a return to the way things were.

He'd break under the pressure. He knew he would.

Dick called Tim, but--

"This number is not available."

He didn't get a response.

"Try his secretary?" Dick suggested and Bruce called Tam.

And again, the phone rang and rang and--

"You're speaking to Miss Fox, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, how can I help you?"

You could have heard a pin drop in the room.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Bruce."

"And Dick," he added, "hi, Tam, how've'ya been?"

"Busy," she said, with some amount of humor in her voice, "Tim wasn't kidding when he said this job was grueling. I still wanted it though, and he thought I was the best person for it, so...here we are, I guess. Why are you calling, though? Y'all never call."

"Um," Dick started, not trusting Bruce to form a proper answer, "we were wondering how Tim was doing. We couldn't get ahold of him."

"Oh," she said, voice flatter than it was before, "yeah, he has a new number. I'll tell him you're trying to get in touch with him--"

"Give us the number," Bruce said.

It was silent on the other side of the line before there was a brief beep.

Tam hung up.

Bruce tried her number again, but it went straight to voicemail.

Dick was in the middle of trying to figure out a reasonable plan when Bruce called out, "Clark."

The man was there not a moment later, "Bruce. What do you need?"

"Where's Tim?"

"Ivy, I presume. Why do you ask."

"What's he doing with Pam?"

Clark gave him a confused look. "Who?"

"Pamela Isley? Poison Ivy?"

"He's...I meant to say that he's in Ivy Town. He's been attending university there for a few months now. Kon visits him often--brings him back to the farm, sometimes. Ma loves him--says he's a natural baker but Tim just always argues that it's because he's studying chemistry and--I'm sorry," he cut himself off, "why are you asking?"

Again, it was quiet for a moment before Dick said, "We were just trying to get ahold of him."

"Ah," Clark nodded, "his number changed again, didn't it? Do you want his new one?"

"No," Dick said at the same time that Bruce said, "Yes."

Dick glared at him, "No. We'll wait for him to call us."

Bruce comes back from the dead and wants to make things better. Bruce comes back from the dead and Tim was the one who brought him back, so it's obviously Tim who'll know best how to help him reconnect with everyone.

It's Tim who should give him advice on how to bond with Dick. Dick has always been his idol, after all. Tim would know best how to bring him back, and he does. He gives good advice and the two of them begin to get closer.

So Bruce asks about Jason, too. Asks about how to bring his son back into the fold and Tim wished for a brief and brutal moment that it weren't so obvious who the favorite was.

Tim told Bruce to give Jason his space, to loosen his rules, and make it clear that no matter what the Red Hood did, no matter what the Batman believed in, Jason was always welcome. Bruce would always want him.

It worked. Bruce wasn't surprised. Tim was a special sort of bitter.

Bruce asked again for Damian and Tim had to push down his anger. "That boy tried to kill me," Tim wanted to say. "I hate him and I want you to hate him too so that I can remember a time when we had something in common," Tim didn't say, but he got close.

He instead told Bruce how Damian liked art and animals and loved hearing stories of the wonders of Batman.

He told Bruce just how much Damian loved being Robin. Told Bruce to tell Damian what a good Robin he was.

God bless or maybe damn him, but he did and it worked and Tim wanted to start screaming and clawing at something because that would have never worked if Tim tried it and it wouldn't have stopped Damian from cutting his line--something Bruce did not and would never know about.

Bruce asked about Babs. How should he make sure she knew that she was a part of the family? They they loved her and not just for the work she did?

He asked about Steph. How should he make sure she knew that she was more important than his rules and that, if something else should go wrong, she didn't need to run away?

He asked about Duke. He never got the chance to get to know him before leaving--not as well as he wanted to, at least. How should he let him know that he was just as much a son as everyone else? That, whether or not his parents woke up, he'd always be welcome?

He asked about Cass. How should he show her that he loves her even though he has nothing to teach her? How can he convey how much he cares about her, his first daughter?

Bruce gets brought back from time and he makes things better. He brings his family back together by following Tim's advice.

And Tim?

Tim brings his dad back from the dead and Bruce changes, becomes a better father.

Bruce changes, but not everything can.

That, Tim thinks, is why Bruce never calls Tim his son.

[warping-realities]

2k Special - Coach Knows Best: Tight Ends

So we’ve come to the end of the 2k special. I’d like to thank again @johnbrand and @mrrharper for letting me borrow one of their ideas, but especially the great @callmecallmecrazy who I’ve been following for almost 20 years (I was underage and shouldn’t have been, but still). The Jocking has been and still is one of the most impressive things ever written in our niche; it’s not just about transformation, there’s a plot, character development and a cohesive story, and it’s something I’ve always tried to follow while writing my own work. Here, I made a little homage to his seminal work and to Clifton Jocks, which I’ll say for the thousandth time is my favorite story of all time and an impressive demonstration of developing writing skills.

Lastly, there’s a pun (or more) in the title of this story. 🙃

Just two days before the final game of the season, Steele sat in the stillness of his home, the weight of his thoughts pressing down like a heavy fog. The transformation of Tyler had been a double-edged sword. On one hand, he had become the player Steele always knew he could be. On the other, the pressure of the BACS protocol loomed ominously over everything. As he contemplated for the millionth time how to navigate the challenges ahead, his phone buzzed violently against the wooden surface of the table in front of him shattering the quiet.

Startled, he reached for his phone, glancing at the caller ID. It was Jenkins. The feeling of unease settled deeper in his gut as he answered. “What’s up?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with tension.

“Steele, we’ve got a situation,” Jenkins said, his tone serious. “Lee Dawson has gone missing from his dorm at college. He was supposed to hit up a study group and now no one’s seen him.”

Steele’s heart raced. “What do you mean missing? How long has it been since anyone last saw him?”

“Just a few hours, but it’s enough to raise alarms. From what I gathered from my guys on the team, he’d been complaining about his brother’s behavior for days, saying Tyler was acting weird. At my request, they pressed Lee for any major signs that a glitch was popping up in the BACS protocol, but whenever pressed, he backed down. There was nothing to suggest any major failure or need for intervention so far.

“I told you Lee is smart and you know why BACS has fallen out of favor, and yet you insisted. What the hell do you expect me to do now to clean up your mess?”

“What I want is for you to keep an eye out. It seems like Lee is gonna go searching for his brother or even come to you. In that case, you need to find out what’s going on. This could have serious implications,” Jenkins urged, his voice quickening.

“Implications? What the hell are you talking about?” Steele shot back, a sense of dread creeping into his thoughts. The last thing he wanted was to be linked to the board’s experiments or Tyler’s recent transformation if shit hit the fan.

“Let’s be real, Steele. If the government finds out what we did with BACS, we could all be in deep trouble. You need to act fast. In the worst-case scenario, you’re authorized to use BACS on the older Dawson.” Jenkins warned, urgency unmistakable in his voice.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m on it, but I warned you, Jenkins, you idiot!” Steele replied, his mind racing. He couldn’t let this situation spiral out of control. As he hung up the phone, he felt the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. He had to find and protect Lee, and somehow make him understand the whole program before the kid, who was Steele’s greatest pride, ended up consumed by it like his brother had.

Steele woke up before dawn, the clock reading 4 AM. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, battling the heavy feeling that seemed to have settled in his mind. The morning darkness enveloped the room as his thoughts churned about Lee and Tyler. It was a constant struggle between the determination to keep his legacy as a coach intact and the guilt that consumed him.

He got up and started his morning routine. The first task was to run. He laced up his running shoes, threw on a simple T-shirt, and headed out, feeling the cold morning air against his face. Each step took him further away from his worries, and he tried to keep a steady pace. Running had always been his way to release built-up tension, but today felt harder. His thoughts kept drifting back to Tyler’s situation and what he could have done differently.

After 30 minutes of running, Steele finished his routine with calisthenics. Push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups; all done in silence, but his mind was far from what he was doing. He felt like a robot, following a routine without really being present. The joy he used to feel while working out was missing, replaced by a sense of emptiness.

With sweat dripping down his face, he returned home and made breakfast. He brewed a strong cup of black coffee, letting the dark liquid fill the mug. Coffee, once a comforting ritual, now tasted bland, as if bitterness had seeped into his life. He served himself an absurd amount of food: eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit. But even while eating, he couldn’t savor the meal. Each bite felt like an obligation, a meaningless ritual.

After breakfast, he shaved, staring at his reflection in the mirror, noticing the deep circles under his eyes. “What the hell happened to me?” he thought, doubt creeping into his mind. He had been a passionate coach, someone who inspired his players to become the best versions of themselves. Now, he found himself trapped in a cycle of manipulation and politics that was corroding his soul.

After getting ready, Steele finally left for school, his car cutting through the quiet morning. But upon arriving at the school parking lot, he hesitated. He stopped the car and sat there, watching the students arrive, the laughter and chatter floating in the air. He felt like a spectator in his own world.

“How did I end up here?” he murmured to himself. He remembered when everything seemed so simple, when his love for football was pure and genuine. He had a dream: to turn young athletes into champions, to guide them through hardships, and help them shine. But over time, he became obsessed with winning, accepting the machinations of the board, believing it was all worth it. He convinced himself he was offering insignificant kids the chance to experience the same glories he had. But now, after what happened with Tyler, those certainties were crumbling. The kid had been the kind of athlete who, with the right encouragement and training, could have been for the Tight Ends what Brock Purdy was for quarterbacks: a last pick with seemingly no shine but whose effort and skill landed him a spot on one of the big league teams. Now? Sure, the kid was great, almost perfect. No doubt he’d shine, but it���d be an artificial shine, risking being marked more by a influencer life than what he did on the field, more like a Garoppolo than a Purdy. And then there was Lee, the incredible Lee, Steele’s greatest victory, shaped just right, now at risk of going through the same shit as his brother. Thinking about that made Steele’s gut churn, and a new determination surged within him. He could lose everything, but he was going to make sure Lee wouldn’t get caught up in this, even if it meant making some subtle tweaks, a little memory alteration… maybe something to boost his stats before the Combine… Then, without realizing the hypocrisy and contradiction in his own way of thinking, the coach let out a long sigh and headed off to start the day’s work.

…..

The locker room was in a state of controlled chaos. The boys on the team were undressing and getting ready to put on their practice uniforms. The distinct smell of deodorant mixed with male sweat hung in the air, and the atmosphere was filled with laughter and teasing.

“Look who’s here! The king of farts!” Trey shouted, letting out a loud fart. The room erupted in laughter, and the boys started mimicking fart sounds.

“For God’s sake, dude! You need a deodorant for your ass!” Connor teased, making everyone laugh even harder.

Rafael, always ready to stand out, raised his hands as if he was about to make a speech. “Attention, attention! The champion of burps is here!” He then let out a burp so loud it echoed through the locker room, causing another wave of laughter.

“You and your special talents, Rafe. One day you’re gonna win an award for that!” Miguel joked, while getting dressed. “Most retarded award!”

The boys continued to talk nonsense, sharing stories about weekend parties, the girls they had hooked up with, and the drunken escapades they had. The vibe was carefree, a celebration of the brotherhood that existed among them, but also tinged with machismo and arrogance.

“Dude, did you see the new cheerleader? The transfer girl, blonde with blue eyes?” Miguel commented, winking at the others. “She was totally checking me out during practice. Bet she’s in love with me!”

“Probably out of pity for your malnourished state!” Adam replied, laughing. “But it’s true, she’s hot. I’d hit that too.”

“Malnourished? I’m ripped, you fatass!”

“That’s just jealousy of my muscles, scrawny boy?”

“Jealousy is what you have of my abs, fatty!”

As the chatter continued, Tyler, sitting a bit further away, looked at Brock with a frustrated expression while tying his cleats. “Man, my brother’s been an ass lately. Lee’s always been a bit too uptight, but lately, he’s just straight-up unbearable,” Tyler said, trying to keep his tone light, but irritation was evident.

“Like, he keeps nagging me about my grades, and I can’t deal with it anymore. I stopped replying to his texts. I’ve told him Cs get degrees,” he vented, his voice dropping lower, almost lost in the locker room noise.

“Well, the problem is you hardly ever get Cs, do you?”

“As if you’re any better, you dumbass. You know Coach is gonna sort this out and we’re all gonna get into college with football scholarships. But for Lee, that’s not enough; it’s like he wanted another brother instead of me.”

Brock looked at Tyler, sensing his frustration. “Dude, I get it. It’s tough when you have a brother who seems to be trying to control you. But at the same time, he just wants what’s best for you, right? Maybe he’s just worrying too much.”

“Maybe… but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s being a total pain. He doesn’t know how to have fun. It’s like he thinks life is only about training and studying,” Tyler replied, shaking his head, visibly irritated.

“Man, you need to put him in his place then. One day, he’s gonna realize life isn’t just about work. You gotta enjoy the journey too, just like we do here on the team!” Brock said, trying to encourage Tyler to feel better about the situation.

“Whatever, maybe I should try talking to him again, but just thinking about it makes me tired,” Tyler mumbled, crossing his arms.

What the boys didn’t realize was that Coach Steele had entered the locker room just as the conversation was heating up.

“Is that what I heard, Tyler?” Steele asked, his gaze fixed on the young man. “You’ve been ignoring your brother?”

Tyler hesitated before answering. “Uh… I’m just tired of hearing the same old shit, coach. He just wants me to fit into the image he has of me. I just wanted some space,” he said, trying to justify his behavior.

Steele shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. “Look, Tyler, you might not like what Lee has to say, but he’s your brother. What he wants is what any brother wants: the best for you. Ignoring his texts isn’t the solution. You might not realize it, but he cares about you,” Steele said, his voice firm.

“Yeah, I know. I just… I just need some space, that’s all,” Tyler muttered, a bit frustrated.

“I get that you need space, but that doesn’t mean you should push him away. Promise me one thing, if he tries to reach out again, don’t ignore him, but more importantly, I want you to tell me right away,” Steele said, with a serious look. “Now, let’s go, finish getting ready. It’s almost time for practice.”

The boys nodded, and the conversation quickly dissipated as they hurried to get ready. When everyone was ready, they headed out to the field. The sun was shining brightly, and the energy of the team was palpable. Steele watched as the players lined up, each carrying a confidence that was contagious. He felt a little lighter, even knowing the precarious situation he was in.

“Today’s the last practice before the finals,” Steele began, capturing everyone’s attention. “That means we need to give it everything we’ve got. Remember, the opposing team is gonna come onto the field wanting to take us down. But they’re gonna face the Titans, and we’re gonna show them what that means!”

The players shouted in response, adrenaline coursing through their veins. The practice began and Steele moved around the field, watching every move, every play. The boys were in sync, their skills at their peak and their energies channeled toward a common goal. Steele watched it all with a satisfied smile. The hard work and dedication were paying off. He remembered his own experiences and what it meant to form a cohesive team. “Great job, boys!” he shouted, as the players regrouped in the locker room after practice. “You’re ready to face the Knights! What we saw today was magnificent. Each of you gave your best. Remember, tomorrow is the big day. You have a chance to show everyone what it means to be a Titan.”

The players shouted in response, the spirit of unity filling the air. “One last thing: rest up! I don’t want to hear that anyone partied or drank alcohol before the finals. If you do, I’ll skin you alive!”

Laughter and shouts spread through the locker room, but Steele’s seriousness conveyed the message that he truly cared. The boys knew he was there to guide them and protect what they had built together.

With practice wrapped up, the players dispersed, ready to rest up and prepare for the big game.

…

Night fell, and as the city prepared for the game the next day, Tyler lay in bed, heart racing and mind full of expectations. He knew he had a role to play, and he was determined to do it to the best of his ability. In the darkness of his room he was lost in thought, recalling the day’s practices and what awaited him in the big game.

At that moment, Lee walked into the room unannounced, his expression serious. “Tyler, we need to talk,” he said, looking intently at his brother.

Tyler frowned. “Lee? WTF? What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

“You. Something’s not right with you,” Lee replied, worry evident in his voice. “I can’t pinpoint what it is, but I feel like something’s changed.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Tyler asked, confused and a little irritated. “I’m great! I’m about to crush it in the game tomorrow!”

Lee shook his head, frustration growing. “It’s not that, Tyler! It’s like you’re… different. Like you’re not really you. I… I’m worried.”

“What the hell, Lee? Who else could I be? And worried? You don’t know anything about me! I’m never good enough for you, right? You’ve always been the favorite, the family talent!” Tyler shouted, anger boiling over. “But I’m gonna prove to everyone that I’m better than you, that I’m the best player!”

Lee looked at him, pain in his eyes. “Tyler, I’ve never cared about that. For me, there’s never been a competition between us. I just wanted you to be happy in your own way. You don’t have to try to be what I am or what you think everyone expects from you. What matters is that you’re yourself.”

“You don’t get it! I can’t just be me, with a Mr. Perfect brother I always have to be the better! And now that I’m finally getting attention, I can’t let it slip away!” Tyler shot back, his voice filled with frustration.

“I… I think I understand more than you realize,” Lee said, sadness weighing on his words.

“You’re not making sense, Lee! I just want to be recognized, and that involves winning! For me, that’s everything!” Tyler replied, anger replacing insecurity.

“I really thought I could trust him… I don’t know what I can do to help you, but I’ll try. Just know that I love you, little bro. I hope that next time we see each other, we can recognize each other for who we really are.”

Tyler sat there, alone, frustration and confusion flooding his mind. Until a memory popped into his head. He grabbed his phone and called Coach Steele. “Coach, I… I need to talk to you,” he said as soon as the call connected.

“Sure, Tyler. What’s up?” Steele replied, his voice calm and attentive.

“It’s about Lee. He was just here… and he doesn’t seem right; he said a bunch of nonsensical things… he thinks something’s wrong with me, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I act all tough, like I’m the best Dawson, but the truth is, Lee is my biggest inspiration, and seeing him like this… please help him!” Tyler poured out, tension evident in his voice.

“Tyler, I need you to try to remember what else your brother said. Did he say where he was going?” Steele asked, his voice now more concerned.

“I don’t know, coach. No, he didn’t say. He just mentioned he thought he could trust someone and that… that he’d try to help me… and that he hoped next time we met, we could… recognize each other. I have no idea what he meant by that.”

“I do. Try to calm down and get some sleep; tomorrow is the big day, and I promise everything will be alright. Better yet, Lee will be there to watch you shine, trust me!”

“Always, Coach!”

…

Steele hung up the phone, poured a generous shot of bourbon into two glasses, and waited for Lee. It seemed the time had come for him to answer for his choices in front of one of the few people he cared about in this world.

….

Lee walked toward Steele’s mansion, his heart racing and his mind a whirlwind of emotions. The worry for Tyler consumed him, and his brother’s words echoed in his head. “What’s wrong with him? Or is it me? Ty is right; I’m not making any sense! Still, I know… that’s not who he should be!” Lee thought, feeling frustrated for not being able to understand what was happening, but he knew there was someone who understood and worse, could be responsible for it all. As he walked, fear and frustration overwhelmed him. For it wasn’t the first time he felt that way; if he had done something sooner… maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to go through this with his own brother.

As Lee walked through the familiar streets, he couldn't help but remember those times he felt that same awkwardness when he was on the team. Not in the same creepy way as now, but it was there, this uneasy feeling, as his teammates came and went. He figured it was 'cause he never really clicked with the others off the field; his life was all about discipline, totally grinding to improve. His body was a temple, and football was his religion. Of course, there was the Pastor: Steele. They had a tight bond, with the coach filling the gap left by his dad when he bailed on the family. Maybe that’s why Lee ignored what his gut was telling him every time a new player joined the team. It’s also why he asked Steele to treat Tyler the same way he treated him. Now, Lee felt like a total fool for thinking Steele would keep that promise. The coach was the one who drilled into him the idea of winning at all costs... he just chose to overlook that to Steele “at all costs” also included everyone else. And now, his brother was paying the price for that mistake.

Standing in front of the big mansion gate, Lee felt a chill in his stomach. Without doing anything, it opened, and he walked up to the porch where the imposing figure of Steele awaited him.

“Lee, I was expecting you,” Steele said, his expression serious. “Sit down and grab a glass.” The man settled into a magnificent leather armchair and pointed to a glass of bourbon.

“You know I don’t drink. My diet is strict to not affect my performance. Besides, I need to know, what did you do to my brother?”

“To explain what happened to Tyler, I need to tell you a very long story. And I know you don’t drink, kid, but trust me, with what we need to talk about, you’re gonna need it.”

Lee complied, but the tension in the air was palpable.

“Coach, I don’t need a story; I need to know what happened to my brother… more than that… I need to know who my brother really is… or I think I’m gonna lose my mind… I need you to reverse what you did.”

“It’s not that simple, kid. What you’re asking isn’t impossible, but highly unlikely. So I need you to understand. And to understand, I need to tell you everything from the beginning, so please take a sip and listen.”

Still reluctant, Lee conceded and positioned himself to hear his former coach, feeling the drink burn his throat and warm his stomach.

“Good, good. The story I’m about to tell you starts way before Tyler, you and even me. Back in the mid-2000s, a decline in the number of young men dedicating themselves to contact sports, notably football, began to be noticed. You might question this info due to what came shortly after, but trust me, it’s real. Continuing, due to this decline, a group formed that is now known as The Board, whose goal was to find ways to prevent this decline from becoming irreversible. And thus, the so-called Enhancement Protocols emerged. Due to the shady nature of such protocols, it was established that the test fields would be some schools across the country and always with individuals over 18. Colleges would be a highly unfeasible field, and the NFL, with all its scrutiny, would be unthinkable. What happened next was… revolutionary but also opened the doors to a true hell.” Steele said, pausing to take a long sip of his own drink before continuing.

“In one location where I have no access, one of the coaches responsible found gold. A way to alter the very fabric of reality and turn insignificant kids into perfect players. The techniques used were multiple as long as there was a catalyst; clothing, food, even the presence of another altered player was enough to modify an unsuspecting target. It was groundbreaking. But there were two problems: it messed with things that shouldn’t be messed with. A bunch of mumbo jumbo occult stuff whose details are better left unsaid. The other problem is that he went rogue. The modified players of his spread like a wildfire, hitting colleges and schools all over the country to the point that the fabric of reality became so thin it allowed certain things that should’ve stayed out to come in. At that time, I was already playing for the Eagles, and I’d like to believe the NFL wasn’t affected, but I can’t know, the man’s insanity was that great. The Board can’t say for sure, nor can the government, because the one who finally ended that coach’s megalomania was an apparently ordinary individual, but whom I believe is still imbued with more power than any man should have. But thanks to him, reality got back to how it should’ve been, that is, more or less…” Steele let out a long sigh before continuing.

“The kid had no way of knowing about the board’s existence, and it reestablished itself, and from what was left of that mad coach’s work, developed the current protocols.” Steele continued with a serious air.

“I discovered the protocols in my first year as a coach. At that time, the board was still being inconspicuous, the group that took down the coach I mentioned was still active. Initially, I was against using such methods. But the decline of the 2000s was nothing compared to the mid-decade past. Suddenly, kids became these delicate little flowers that can’t handle anything, snowflakes is the term you’ll hear the most. A lot of people associate this with sexuality. Frankly, I don’t give a damn who you fuck with. But watching a bunch of crybabies dominate the school hallways while my team, a place where real men were being formed, dwindled to the point of risking disappearing? I couldn’t accept that. So I let the board into my life and my Titans. Initially only to fill some gaps, cover some deficiencies. I justified it to myself. But over time I used the protocols more and more to the point of having no justifications. Not that I cared anymore, because the Titans had become the team I always thought it should be…

“You… I… did you do something to me?” Lee asked, his voice trembling.

“No, you, Lee, you were a gift to me, a perfect player with no need for intervention, totally focused and dedicated, even not fitting into certain specifications of the board. Specifications I never cared about, by the way. But even the board never dared to ask me to intervene with you given your impressive stats. And I don’t know if I would’ve done anything, even if they asked. The truth is, you reminded me of myself, and I would’ve never had the guts to do anything to you. But then came Tyler. Tyler was a younger version of you, unfortunately without the same impressive talent. Not that the kid lacked talent, but it just wasn’t enough. And the board intervened in the worst way possible. Right before you left for college, taking advantage of the calm environment after so many years acting in the shadows, the they became bold. They developed a method that traded the elegance and subtlety of the previous ones for a much faster and seemingly just as effective one. They called it the BACS Protocol, a stupid acronym that doesn’t matter right now. What’s important is that with this protocol, all it takes is a signal sent by a simple smartphone to a previously exposed individual to a catalyst that can even be dispersed in the air around him, and out of nowhere you have a perfect player ready under all the specifications of the council. To avoid a bunch of clones walking around, the signal uses the player’s own perceptions of what each of the acronym’s specifications represents and uses the individual’s genetic base to update him. For someone like you or Tyler, this can be… disturbing, a change so fast and radical in the fabric of reality without a safer catalyst, an anchor. See, with a stable enough catalyst even the transformed's family members can be modified to better fit their new narrative. BACS has no such capability, which in retrospect may have been a blessing, just thinking about what could have happened to you... sorry, I lost focus. The truth is that unlike safer methods this absence leads to some glitches. Like the ones you’ve been feeling.”

“You mean to say that Tyler…?”

“Yeah… the protocol was shut down due to failures, but for some obtuse reason, the board decided to pick it back up and Tyler was chosen as an example.”

“And you didn’t do a damn thing???” Lee asked, outraged. “You just let my brother be taken like a pig to slaughter? And turned him into this?”

“That’s still your brother, just like many of your teammates with whom you sweat and bled for victory. They’re still people, Lee, with dreams and desires. You might even disagree with their way of life, but don’t treat them like things.”

“I can’t believe the size of your hypocrisy!”

“Yeah, I’m a hypocrite. But I’ve always treated my players the same, the naturals and the modified ones; to me, there’s no difference between them. Except for you, like BACS has its glitches, you were mine.”

“Then help me, help revert what happened to Tyler!”

“It’s harder than you can imagine, Lee. There’s someone out there with that capability, but you don’t want to get in his way!”

“Why not?”

“Because he would destroy everything I’ve built, everything you know too, because that’s his mission. And I can’t allow that.”

“And what’s stopping me from going after this guy on my own?”

“The fact that you ingested a high dose of the catalyst compound and are in the presence of a very strong physical catalyst right next to you, namely me. I swear I’d rather not do this to you, but after letting what happened to Tyler happen, it’s better this way. I promise the only thing that will change for you is accepting reality and Tyler as they are now!”

Upon hearing that, Lee tried to move, but it felt like he was glued to the chair, as if trapped in an invisible trap. While Coach Steele, the man he considered a substitute father, betrayed him a second time.

Seated, paralyzed in that armchair, Lee felt a strange pressure in his body, followed by a wave of heat, and then the first transformation took over his arms, which began to swell, the muscles expanding under the skin. He looked down, perplexed, as his biceps became so bulky with muscles and fat they seemed ready to burst through the shirt he wore. Seeing that, Steele’s eyes widened, and he shouted: “That wasn’t supposed to happen!” But as he tried to get up and somehow intervene, he found himself glued to his own seat. With nothing left to do, the coach watched in growing panic as what came next unfolded.

As he struggled to comprehend what was happening, Lee's legs began to change too. His already huge thighs swelled even more, becoming the size of tree trunks, while a layer of fat started to accumulate, softening the sharp lines he had worked so hard to achieve. Lee felt a mix of horror and a strange pleasure as that transformation unfolded, as if his body were rebelling against his will.

“Lee, you need to resist!” Coach Steele shouted, but his voice sounded distant and powerless, for he knew there was nothing that could be done.

The pressure in his abdomen intensified, and Lee could feel his belly protruding. The famous eight-pack he valued so much was disappearing, replaced by a still firm belly, but now with a more robust appearance, a true muscle gut. He felt as if he were in a nightmare, struggling against the waves of transformation that dominated him. As he attempted to speak, a loud burp escaped involuntarily… buuuuuuurp…

“This can’t be happening!”, Steele repeated, thrashing in his chair. As the change reached Lee’s face, his jaw became more square momentarily only to be hidden by a layer of fat, and then by a thick, scruffy beard. The straight, well-kept hair he always sported now fell in messy locks, giving him a wild look. Lee tried to protest once more, but another burp escaped, and he felt even more frustrated. “Why is this happening?!” confusion dominating his thoughts.

The changes reached his feet, once slender, now starting to expand, going from a respectable size 11 to a gigantic size 15, ripping the sneakers he wore, each thick toe covered with a layer of dark hair. His firm, muscular backside turned into a big cushion. Coach Steele, watching in a mix of horror and despair, shook his head. “No, Lee! Please, no! What have I done?!” he shouted, his voice trembling. The horror of the situation enveloped him, and he felt powerless, unable to help.

As the transformation peaked, Lee found himself in a more muscular and robust body, more like an offensive guard than a tight end. Not that he could think of that, for at that moment, his mind was invaded by conflicting information. The strict diet with complex carbs and high-quality proteins and zero alcohol was replaced by a ogre diet and occasional binge drinking, nothing that would harm the team, but off-season is off-season for a reason. The obsession with being the best remained, but the way of looking at it shifted from almost military-level self-demand to the belief that he would be the best because he always had been; it was inherent to him. The serious and even somber demeanor was replaced by a carefree joy and an unshakeable teenage humor. As a smile spread across his face, it was all over. There was nothing else Steele could do, even if he managed to move, which was still impossible for him.

Lee’s worried and quick thoughts were replaced by an almost absolute relaxation; he was someone who knew his place and what he had to do. Anyone looking from the outside would have the impression of a big teddy bear, but once against him, they’d see he was, in fact, a raging grizzly bear when on the field.

With a carefree attitude, he looked at himself. His clothes were bursting at the seams, the fabric struggling to keep up with the growth of his new body. His shirt was stretched so tight it looked like it could rip at any moment, while his shorts looked more like strips than actual clothing. What the hell had happened? But before he could even think of worrying, his gut acted up, and Lee let out a loud and uncontrollable fart, while the room echoed with the sound he burst into laughter, any trace of horror turning into a moment of pure joy.

As Lee reveled in his new form, patting his powerful gut with a goofy grin on his face, Coach Steele just watched, horrified and powerless. “What have I done...,” he murmured, his mind whirling around the implications of his pupil’s transformation.

Without either man noticing, Jenkins entered the room just as Lee’s transformation completed. He observed the now-imposing young man with his muscular and robust body. A satisfied smile spread across his face. “What did you do?” Jenkins said, with a tone of disdain, startling Steele, who hadn’t seen the sly man but realized at that moment who was truly behind what had happened. “Just what you should’ve done a long time ago. But the specifications weren’t yours.”

Jenkins then turned to Lee, who now looked like a true giant. “Hey, Bull Dawg, how’s it going?” he asked, the provocation evident in his voice.

Lee, exuding the chill vibe that now surrounded him, smiled back. “I’m feeling kinda funny,” he replied, as he stood up and admired himself in one of the mirrors in the room.

“Must be all the whiskey you’ve been drinking,” Jenkins remarked, laughing. “You’ve always been the type to not miss a chance to have fun.”

Lee shot a quick glance at Jenkins, winking playfully. “You know me too well,” he replied, flexing his huge arms and biceps, completely ruining the shirt he wore and exposing his powerful pecs and exuberant muscle gut covered in wild hair.

"Alright, alright. Now, if you’ll excuse me," Jenkins said, turning to Lee, "Steele and I need to hash out some big kid stuff."

"Whatever," Lee shot back, all nonchalant. "But I’m taking the whiskey with me." He turned, the power of his new, impressive body filling the space around him as he grabbed the bottle of bourbon but no glass.

Jenkins and Steele watched as Lee strutted out of the room, one with a smug grin and the other with a dead-serious look. The giant’s heavy footsteps echoed on the floor, his muscular back and well-defined glutes becoming a spectacle in their own right, while the shorts several sizes too small threatened to rip with every step those powerful bare feet took.

“A true masterpiece.” Jenkins said, settling into the chair where Lee had been sitting moments before, the leather still warm from his presence. He crossed his legs, a satisfied smile forming on his lips as he looked at Coach Steele, who still seemed to be digesting what had just happened.

“So, Steele,” Jenkins began, his voice calm and controlled, “what do you think of all this?”

Steele, unable to move, finally found his voice. “What did you do, Jenkins? Why make such a drastic decision with a talented athlete like Lee?”

“Oh, Steele,” Jenkins replied, shaking his head almost condescendingly. “You yourself pointed out that BACS has its glitches. And Dawson became a problem. We needed a solution; he was a valuable asset, but the market is changing, so I decided to kill two birds with one stone. What you need to understand is that even though there’s always room for the disciplined athlete like Tom Brady, that’s so 2000s… no, no, with Jason Kelce’s retirement, a niche opened up, that of the wild giant who turns out to be a cute clown. Men identify with him thinking illusionarily that a body like his is more easily attainable than a “more fit one”, and women see the figure of a future husband, someone not so worried about having a sixpack. Which reminds me that I need to find a good girlfriend for the kid and maybe twin boys in a year or two… So, a big teddy bear with a younger, more rebellious bro? All that's left is to find a pop diva to make that winning combo happen again, right? I wonder if I still have Olívia Rodrigo manager's phone number. I’ll have to figure that out too… So the boring, regimented and suspicious Lee needed to go so that the fun, lovable yet aggressive when necessary Bull Dawg could emerge. Ahh the amount of profits these brothers will bring!

"I believed the board wanted the best athletes possible," Steele said, his voice thick with anger.

"The board wants profits. And believe me, someone like the old Lee doesn't do a tenth of what Bull Dawg promises. The public wants their idols to be close to them. They want to feel like they're part of their lives. They want them to be fun. Trust me, Lee Bull Dawg Dawson is someone who knows how to have fun, especially with the products and facilities of our sponsors."

"You and I have very different opinions of what a football fan wants."

"And so we come to the real reason I'm here today. Dawson was just an appetizer, the main course is you, you and your damn insubordination."

Steele took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure as Jenkins’ words echoed in his mind. “I’ve always been loyal to the board’s guidelines, Jenkins. You know that. I’ve always put the rules first.” His voice trembled slightly, but he fought to maintain a firm tone.

Jenkins leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and disdain. “Loyalty? Is this what you call loyalty? The admiration you feel for Lee Dawson blinded you, Steele. You didn’t see that the younger Dawson needed enhancement. Your focus was so fixated on your precious Lee that you ignored what was right in front of you.”

Steele felt the blood rush to his head, indignation forming like a storm inside him. “I didn’t hide anything from the board! I always did what was best for the athletes, not just for one of them. You can’t just…”

“Can’t just what?” Jenkins interrupted, an ironic smile forming on his lips. “Hide the truth? Like you did? Since the incident years ago, you know the board can’t allow any coaches to go rogue. And you, my friend, have crossed the line. Your romanticized vision of what Lee and Tyler could be became a trap, and now you’re gonna pay the price.”

Steele tried to stand, but found himself glued to the chair, as if an invisible force kept him there. Panic began to spread through his body, and he turned to Jenkins, his expression turning to desperation. “Jenkins, please, I beg you!”

“Oh, but I have no choice, Steele,” Jenkins replied, his voice now wrapped in a chilling tone. “Did you really think we wouldn’t have a way to deal with types like you? You’re gonna go through the COACH protocol. Complete Overdrive and Assimilation to the Command Hierarchy. It’s what the council decided. On the field, your attitude is impeccable and should continue that way. But you have no idea how happy I am to be free of your stiffness and bitterness, of your unbearable righteousness.” Jenkins said with a mocking smile that showed all his satisfaction before continuing to speak.

“But cheer up, after the step taken with Lee today, the board decided it’s finally time to expand to college, and you, my future and less uptight best friend, are gonna be the pioneer of this. A spot coaching your old college team awaits your new media approved showman self. A self that will pave your way back to the NFL when the board deems it necessary.”

With one last effort, Steele tried to break free, but the pressure was unbearable. He looked around the room, searching for an escape, but everything seemed to fade around him. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Jenkins’ smug grin, a smile that symbolized both triumph and betrayal, as darkness enveloped him.

….

The celebration at Coach Steele's house after the championship was epic. The Titans, once again, showed their power on the field, snagging the title with an impressive victory. The atmosphere was filled with euphoria, and the players were ready to party. Steele’s house was packed with food, drinks, and laughter, with the guys from the team having a blast while reminiscing about the best moments of the season.

Brock, Adam, Connor, and the rest were all there, laughing and making toasts. Lee, who had been given a break from classes until after the Christmas holidays thanks to Mr. Jenkins, was in his element. He moved through the party like a king, surrounded by friends and admirers. Upon finding his little brother, he couldn't help but smile.

"You really gave it your all this season, T-Dawg!" he said, raising his cup. "I’m so proud of you!"

"Thanks, big bro! And this is just the beginning! I’m ready to head to college and show everyone what I can do!" Tyler replied, his smile shining even brighter.

Lee looked at Tyler, a satisfied grin on his lips. "You know, I’m really glad I won’t have to face you on the field. With you playing like a beast, I’d be in trouble!" He laughed.

Tyler smiled back but couldn't help thinking about what that meant. "Oh, but who knows, maybe one day we’ll meet in the NFL? You could still be my rival on the field or worse, we might end up competing for the same position on a team."

Lee gave Tyler a pat on the shoulder, his smile turning into a rare serious look. "Listen, don’t worry about that. The truth is, when I come back from break, I’ll probably be moved to another position, maybe as a guard or center. I’ve outgrown what a Tight End should be.” He said with a grin while giving a little pat on his muscular gut. “So, if all goes well, we’ll never have to compete for the same spot, better we can be an incredible duo on the same team."

Tyler looked surprised by the revelation. "Seriously? That’s amazing! But… how are we gonna figure out who’s the better player?"

Lee chuckled, shaking his head again. "Fuck who’s better, Tyler! What I really want is to play football and go pro. If it’s alongside you, even better. But enough talk, we should be having fun."

As the party progressed, the energy was through the roof. The guys started competing in an impromptu arm wrestling championship in one corner, while flip cup and beer pong dominated other spots. The music was blasting, and the drinks flowed freely. Lee, in particular, seemed to be enjoying himself more and more, his confidence soaring. His teenage behavior, despite his age, was not out of place among the Titans boys who saw him as an example to follow. He began bragging about his achievements, cracking jokes and teasing the others.

"Hey, who wants to see Bull Dawg do a backflip? Bet I can nail it!" Lee shouted, seizing a moment when Steele were momentarily absent, drawing everyone’s attention in the backyard.

"Go for it, bro!" Tyler shouted, as the crowd's excitement peaked.

As everyone gathered around the pool, Lee climbed onto a small platform, determination etched on his face. He was visibly drunk, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to impress his brother and friends. Tyler and the others watched, a mix of anxiety and fun on their faces, as intoxicated as the older man.

"Go, Lee! Show what you got!" Connor yelled, cheering on his friend.

Lee got ready, taking a deep breath before launching himself into the air. The backflip was perfect, and the impact of his massive body hitting the water was violent, soaking everyone around and sending the team boys into a frenzy.

“Bull Dawg!!! Bull Dawg!!” they all shouted in unison. As he came out of the pool laughing excitedly. Meanwhile, Tyler hugged his brother, saying, “Now I gotta do something bigger!”

“Chill, T-Dawg, you’ve already done enough! You're way cooler than I am! But you are a bit too dry for my taste!” Lee replied, shoving his little brother into the pool and falling in with him amidst laughter.

At that moment, Coach Steele approached with his usual off the field chill smile. He watched the scene, pleased to see that everyone there, just like himself, perfectly fit the board’s criteria, but he also felt the need to maintain at least a certain level of discipline. With a firm movement, he stepped closer to the group, calling everyone’s attention.

“Hey, boys! Time to stop the show!” Steele said, his voice booming over the party noise. The music faded into a whisper as heads turned to look at the coach. Lee and Tyler, still wet and smiling, climbed out of the pool, with Dawson boys striking a triumphant pose of gratitude.

“Come on, coach! We’re just celebrating!” Tyler said, laughing.

“Celebrating is great, but I need you all to remember what it means to be a Titan!” Steele began, his voice gaining strength as he spoke. “This season wasn’t just about winning on the field. It was about teamwork, overcoming challenges, and what it means to be part of a family. Each of you proved that together, we’re stronger. And that’s not just a motto; it’s our truth.”

The boys listened intently, the festive atmosphere shifting quickly to a more serious tone.

“You learned to fight for what you believe in, to support each other, and to never give up. Most importantly, you discovered who you really are. That’s what makes you Titans. And I want you to carry that with you forever. No matter where life takes you, always take with you the team spirit we built here,” Steele continued, his gaze steady and determined.

“Now, I have something important to share with you. I’ve been invited to take the position of offensive line coach at Ohio State,” he announced, and a murmur of surprise spread through the group.

“Wow, coach! That’s awesome!” Rafe shouted, clapping.

“I know many of you dream of playing at a higher level, and this is the chance I need to take the experience you had here to a new level. But that means I’ll have to leave the Titans, at least for now,” Steele said, his voice firm, but a bit melancholic. The atmosphere became heavy, the reality of his departure starting to settle in among the players.

“I want you to know that this team meant everything to me. Each of you has incredible talent, and I’ll be cheering for all of you. As soon as I get there, I’ll make sure to stay in touch. And I hope to see some of these faces in September,” he said, looking into each player’s eyes.

“And for the rest, don’t worry! I’ll personally choose the next coach for the Titans. You can trust I’ll pick someone who will continue what we started here, someone who understands what it means to be a Titan. Trust me, after all, as you all say, Coach Knows Best.”

The boys started to applaud, the energy filling the room again. “Thank you, coach! You’re the best!” they shouted in unison.

“Now, get back to having fun! Go Titans!” Steele exclaimed, raising his beer glass in a toast.

The players shouted in response, excitement taking over again. They gathered in a circle, raised their cups, and yelled: “Go Titans!”

[deusvervewrites]

I would say it is weird that people think Midoriya is childishly naive when his very first phrase of the story is "not all men are created equal", when the first chapter has Midoriya going about how he was deluding himself, when he talks again and again how lucky and blessed he is, but we have already concluded Horikoshi needs some sledgehammers.

But yeah, people seem to look down in a way at empathy, when having empathy despite everything Midoriya has gone through shows his strength. He could have easily just have given up, but that isn't who Midoriya is.

I've touched on it before, and others have gone into far more detail about it, both in other media and in general, but there's a deceptively cruel undercurrent throughout an alarmingly vast percentage of media. A single, insidious idea that has been reused and recycled and repeated.

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

Think about that for a moment. Really, think about it. Why does the villain have to die? Think about all the works out there about the cycle of revenge. Think about all the works out there about how you should be kind to one another. Hell, just pick a Disney film. No matter how Heroic the hero. No matter how central mercy is to the theme. And yet.

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

Sometimes they dress it up fancy. A Villain rejects the offered hand only to accidentally kill themselves, as in Tarzan or countless others. Or their own scheme ends up killing them without the Hero doing it. Sometimes it is the hero, by some accident.

And it makes sense, right? The villains do horrible, awful things, and many of them show no signs of remorse or even stopping. Taking them out is for the best, right?

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

Why.

How can they not choke on the hypocrisy. How can they stand there and tell us that love and compassion and understanding will lead Darth Vader from the Dark Side but the Emperor needs a one-way trip down the reactor chute?

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

It's much cleaner, as a narrative. When the noble hero slays the evil king, there's never any depiction of the inevitable succession crisis that would ensue. Imagine having to... reform? From the worst possible version of yourself, a character in blood stepped in so far that, should they wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er? Having to try and do better? Even if they could never atone? Even if it could never be made right? But yet. But yet. You still have to live and do better?

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

Why?

I know. Help us all do I know that there are people out there that will not change. Are staunchly against changing. Would die before they ever had a second thought about their actions. But. But. They are still, first and foremost, people.

And yet.

THE VILLAIN MUST DIE

WHY?

This world has no end of fools who mistake weakness for strength and boast their foolishness from the rooftops. People who think that kindness is a weakness and compassion a curse.

I can't help but wonder what this world could be if we all held each other with a bit more empathy.

Since recorded history began, people have sold their hearts for power. This weakness should not be celebrated. Power means nothing.

Midoriya's empathy is his greatest strength. It's the thing that makes him a Hero.

And I'm glad that there's been a trend lately in Shonen Jump towards empathic protagonists. The Promised Neverland. Demon Slayer. Dr. Stone. My Hero Academia. All of these works can't help but wonder what this world could be.

How are we meant to make the world better if we can't imagine a better world? How are we meant to dedicate our lives, knowing that perhaps that kind world is far away from here, that we may have to miss it because it's far beyond our years, if we think it's impossible?

WHY DOES THE VILLAIN HAVE TO DIE?

WHY IS IT EASIER TO SEE THE ENEMY THAN A PERSON?

WHO ARE YOU LETTING CONVINCE YOU THAT DEATH CAN BE DESERVED?

People act this way about Midoriya because that's how we are trained to experience media. He is, by the nature of his kindness, a subversion of expectations. The idea of treating the enemy like a person, understanding why they act the way they do, why they want to hurt, that's... difficult. It can be hard to remember in the face of human cruelty and depravity. But you must. If you can't understand then you can't prevent it. Yes, there are people who must be stopped. Yes, characters in fiction reflect this fact.

Even so.

To say that the villain must die, that is a justification of violence that has been used by real humans to cause real harm.

But it doesn't have to be that way.

As I said above, media has shifted recently. It's small, and I doubt it will be mainstream anytime soon, but the shift is there. Not just in shonen, but other places as well.

"We have a saying, my people. Don’t kill if you can wound, don’t wound if you can subdue, don’t subdue if you can pacify, and don’t raise your hand at all until you’ve first extended it."

-Wonder Woman, Gail Simone

[sturniololuv08]

TreeHouse Chapter 11

"Matty wants to see you in his room."

Summary: Matt gets angry.

"Anger is like hot blood rushing through your veins."

⚠️This Fic Series will NOT be for people with triggers. This Fic Series will have very descriptive moments of abuse.⚠️

Please Read At Your Own Risk.

Chris' POV:

She said she wouldn't let it go; honestly, I didn't want her to. But I knew the things she didn't. I knew if Matt found out I even talked to her, I would probably die. I thought about death often. Not in the sense I wanted to die necessarily but more so in the sense if it happened, I wouldn't be surprised anymore. I decided to walk home instead of taking the bus to help avoid Sienna—my Nessie.

I remember everything about her now. I accidentally trauma-blocked her. Leaving her behind, not knowing I wasn't going to see her for years, was the worst thing to ever happen to me. Worse than any beating I have ever taken. I remember that evening clearly. We got home, and Mom was livid that Father allowed me to go over there. She punished me by hitting me with the kitchen broom over and over. I begged our dad to help me, but I think that was his breaking point. He stopped being my father that day.

Since then, everyone in the house has treated me this way. I was alone. I lost everything. I held onto Nessie for a while. I imagined us playing together in the treehouse often. Sometimes, when Matt would use me as his personal punching bag, I would picture her doe eyes lighting up when I did something silly. She was my anchor until I forgot her. No matter how hard I try, I can't pinpoint the exact moment I forgot; I just did.

I was coming up to her house. I walked a little slower, secretly hoping she would see me and stop me. It's not that I didn't want to talk to her or be friends again. I didn't want the assaults that I knew would come with her friendship.

"Chris!" I looked up and saw her walking to the gate. I felt a sense of relief. "Can we talk?" She asked. I knew I didn't have much time to talk, but I wanted to. I needed to hear her voice.

"Not long, okay?" I just needed to be home at a decent time so no one got suspicious of my absence. She opened the gate, and I passed through. I followed her to the treehouse. For some reason, coming here during the day felt different. It felt heavier. She climbed up without issues. I tried my best not to show the pain in my arm, but I still winced enough for her to notice.

"What happened to your arm?"

"We can talk, but not about that." I was stern. She had to know not to press the issue.

"Okay." Her voice was soft and a little broken. I looked around the treehouse. Nothing had changed.

"It looks the exact same," I told her.

"I haven't been in here in years." She was also looking around like it was brand new.

"Why?" I asked.

"You left, and it just reminded me of you too much." I felt my words lumping in my throat. I wanted to tell her everything. I needed her to know it wasn't my choice to leave her behind. I never would have. But I couldn't. If this was still the same kind-hearted, strong-willed Nessie, I knew she would try to help, and it would just make it worse. I avoided looking at her.

"I'm sorry," I muttered. I could feel her eyes on me, but I couldn't bring myself to look up at her.

"Are you guys brothers?" She asked again. I felt the lump in my throat dissipate into tears. I needed to leave.

"I have to get home." I lied. Nothing pleased me more than not being at home.

"Chris, you can tell me." She reached for me and grabbed my hand, which made my skin crawl. I lurched away from the unwanted contact. She looked hurt.

"I have to get home," I said, starting to climb down. She followed me, as I expected.

"Chris, what happened to you?" She pleaded for an answer I couldn't give her no matter how badly I wanted to. I kept walking. Eventually, I heard her footsteps stop following behind me. I didn't dare look back at her. I felt like I already knew what she looked like. I made it to our house. On the outside, it was well-kept and looked nice. You'd never guess the hell that happened inside of it.

"What took you so long to get home?" Mother was right by the door in seconds.

"I wal -" She smacked my face. I looked down at the floor.

"I didn't say you could talk." Her threat didn't make sense since she asked me a question. I nodded, still not looking up. Part of me didn't like looking at her face. She was my mother, but her disdain for my presence distorted how she looked at me. I wanted to envision a mother who loved and cared for me just like Matt and Nick. She smacked the side of my head again for nothing. "Matty wants to see you in his room." Her words made my blood cold. I felt a jolt of fear sting through my body. I lifted my head to look at her now. "Fucking go." She pushed me towards the hallway leading to their rooms and my old one. I sulked slowly, knowing nothing about this was going to end well. I stood outside his bedroom door shaking. My whole body already felt light, and my head was full of air, ready to pop. I knocked, knowing I had no choice but to.

"Get in here." Nothing about his tone was calm. I could tell he was already mad about something. I stepped into the room. "Shut the fucking door." He was standing in the middle of his room with his arms folded. I quietly shut the door. I noticed Nick's absence, which meant this would be very personal. "Drop your bag." I knew I had to do everything I was told to do because if I didn't, then I would just get punished by Mom. I dropped the bag on the floor with a thud. "Why were you talking to Si today?" I was going to die. My eyes widened, realizing he had seen her chasing me around at some point.

"She talked to me." I tried to explain.

"Why the fuck did you talk to Sienna?" Matt's voice boomed, and I whimpered at the sudden volume change. I knew it didn't matter what I said. He wouldn't care.

"I used to know her," I told the truth.

"Well, you don't fucking know her anymore." He walked up to me and slammed my back against his door. "Got it?" Before I could respond, he grabbed my uncut, shaggy hair and started slamming my hand back into the wooden frame. "I asked you a question." He hissed.

"Yes, Matt. I won't -" He threw me to the ground. I turned over to see him walking over to me. He reared his foot back and kicked me right in the stomach. I curled up. This was it. He kicked me again and again. I felt the sole of his shoes kissing my blood vessels until they popped, creating purple splotches.

"Sienna is fucking my girl." He was carelessly aiming his kick but ensured his white shoes made contact with my body. I started coughing and groaning from the fire rising inside me. "If I see you talk to her again -" He kicked my mouth. My head lurched back from the decisive blow. I felt warm liquid start oozing. "I will fucking kill you." He screamed. I'm sure everyone in the house heard him. I knew it would be the worst whenever Nick wasn't involved with Matt's special attention towards me. He kicked my face again, and I felt the blood splatter like a flicked paintbrush. He kept going, stomping on me every once in a while when he felt like really putting the pain on me. I was feeling sick to my stomach. I felt like I was going to throw up from the immense pain. "I better not see you talk to her ever again." Matt gave me one last kick to the face. He left his room to go somewhere. I lay on the floor with my tiny blood pool and splatters. His blood stained shoes left red foot prints leading out the door.

I wanted to cry, but no tears came out. I couldn't breathe, and for the first time since ever being treated this way, I wanted to die. I lay in his room, uncomfortable, fearing his return. The door opened, and I couldn't even move to look and see who it was. I was picked up and dragged down the hall with my feet sliding against the floor. I was tossed in the tub with all my clothes still on. The water was turned on, and I was left alone. I felt something bubbling inside me, and I let it out of my mouth. The bile burned coming up. There were red blood streaks mixed in. The water imediately started washing it away. As soon as I felt myself catching my breath, my eyes became too heavy to keep open.

A/N I promise everything happening is for a reason lmaooo

TreeHouse Taglist:

@trevorsgodmother @mintsturniolo @wysmols @chriss-slutt @middlepartmatt @blushsturns @shadowtheism @fratbrochrisgf @loveparqdise @courta13 @sturniolo-fann @verstarkey @chrissweetheart @bluetalia @sturns-mermaid @wattttttttno @sturnioloshottiekay @pair-of-pantaloons @sophia-77n @adoremattsturns

This fic is TAGLIST SPECIFIC, meaning in order to be tagged in this, you HAVE to be on the list. I'm doing this because of TRIGGERS.

REBLOG INSTRUCTIONS: I don't mind just please stress the trigger warnings so no backlash comes back to me!

New Info: to be removed from the taglist just DM me.

[manicandobsessive]

Icarian | L.H.

Chapter 2: July

“But you arrived like sunlight in the gloom. And burned off the haze when the year was still new. Keeping me going, how you show up like July.” Andrew Hozier Byrne

Ch 1. > Ch. 2 > Ch. 3

Warnings: swearing, pet names, pure fluff, seriously it’s so sweet, mutual pining, no use of y/n

A/N: i have returned!!! apologies for how long this took, i went back and made a plan and outlined chapters and whatnot. i really love this one i hope you guys enjoy it! <3

WC: 4.1K

“Logan! I swear to fucking-”

“Swearin’ to what now, sweetheart?” The man asked with a smug grin. Logan was leaning over the railing of the mansions’ staircase, two floors up from where you stood. You scoffed at him in irritation, absolutely exasperated with his behavior. Which only further fuelled his amusement.

“Fucking get your ass down here.” You grit out through clenched teeth, even more agitated at the deep rumble of his laugh in response. It wasn’t so much his behavior that angered you, but the desire that burned beneath it. Every chuckle he let out sent shivers down your spine, every smile made the hair on your neck stand on end. It was pathetic, if not for the fact that it was Logan.

It’d been no more than three months since Logan suddenly showed up. Three months since you and had him clicked instantaneously. You could confidently say at the current point in time he was your closest friend.

And at times your worst enemy. For example, this moment exactly.

If there was one thing you’d learned in the period of time you’d spent getting to know the mystery that was Logan Howlett, it was that he absolutely loved to instigate. A sucker for drama if you’d ever met one. And while, yes, you and him terrorized Scott frequently. He seemed to love getting a reaction out of you independently.

He soon learned with great pleasure that you gave back as good as you got. He reveled in it. Logan annoyed the living hell out of you at times, but simultaneously- you were too in deep. Somehow his ridiculousness- his unwavering immaturity, only made him more appealing. ‘

And sure, maybe you’d fallen a little deeper than friendship. But you assured yourself it wasn’t like that to him. You guys were friends, best friends. That was it. That was all it ever would be.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Everyone saw it. Everyone around both of you knew. Seemingly, Logan and you were the only oblivious ones.

Logan walked through those halls like ten tons had been lifted from his body. He no longer hunched his shoulders. He didn’t stomp from point A to point B subconsciously. He even went so far as to say a brief greeting to those he passed by. You, the same. While you never were as outwardly reluctant to social interaction as Logan had been, there was a notable exchange. The other X-men, who’d known you more closely, had seen your distaste for being cooped up at all times flip to being almost excited to stay inside. There was a skip in your step. You smiled more. Logan hung outside the confines of his room more often.

And when you were in a room together, it was good luck to everyone else. There had been a bond that always existed, you two just had to find each other.

On the downside, both of you having been stubborn fucks prevented any further growth of the relationship.

Logan was aware. He was, in fact, way too aware of the effect you had on him. Seeing as he’d stuck around for three months straight. No plans for anything else. Not even a thought or consideration of leaving, not while he knew you would be here. He wouldn’t be able to, he thought. He felt this invisible thread practically tethering him to you. It was something that no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t shake. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to in the first place. You had been a light, and not just to him- but to everyone. You were oblivious to the way you lit up a room. The way your warmth had effortlessly radiated to those around you. A simple flash of your smile made his day.

He often wondered if that was your mutation. If you weren’t really just a human, and you had some unknown gene of heightened empathy. How he wished he could match that level of gentleness.

Logan was burdened by his mutation. Originally, he planned on making sure you’d never find out. He was convinced you’d never accept him the way he is.

But that didn’t happen. The day you’d found out was one he’d never forget.

~

“Fucking shoot me then!”

His voice echoed through the halls. Claws extended and all. The whole nine.

He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through his adamantium skeleton. His heart thudded behind the cage of his chest- he knew in that moment exactly what he needed to do.

A few of Strykers’ men charged at him- apparently with the lack of knowledge that he could, in fact, not die. Logan took their bullets like they were nothing but a mere inconvenience. He felt no more than an itch from them, after all. He sliced through the men one-by-one. Not a single fucker survived. He’d be damned if he let someone danger the entirety of the mansion.

The rest of the X-men appeared, all at the front door at one time. Seemingly having taken care of the remaining nuisances from the outside. Logan tensed and whipped around. His hostility was evident in the way his muscles contracted under his thin tank top and how his claws stayed extended.

“We took care of the rest.” Ororo stepped forward, speaking up after a moment of silence between the group and Logan. Who seemed less than thrilled at their lack of assistance.

“Thanks for the help.” Logan grunted sarcastically, having been already pissed at the intrusion. Now, even more so at the fact that he took the blows of most of the men. The team seemed to always rely on him. His healing, his strength, his violence. He felt partially used, when he cared to look into it. But most of the time, he didn’t give enough of a shit.

His eyes scanned over the group of X-men: Jean, ‘Ro, Summers, hell- even Chuck.

Pause. Where the fuck were you?

He spoke your name in a whisper. It was soft, almost intelligible, and his heart began racing yet again with the idea that they could’ve gotten to you. He was under the impression you were an X-man of course. Why wouldn’t you be?

He never would’ve assumed you were any less than the others. You radiated the confidence of someone ten times more powerful than any of his teammates combined. He respected you beyond words. And of course, he found himself caring more than he should. More than he could deny.

Your soft spoken- slightly raspy from sleep- voice calmed his frantic movements in an instant. His shoulders dropped to his sides with the breath he let out. One he wasn’t even aware he was holding. Damn you had him whipped.

“Y’alright?” You rasped with half lidded eyes and a yawn. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your knuckles, a movement he’d noticed you do when you’re tired. You furrowed your eyebrows in crystal clear confusion. Having slept like the dead through the entire event of the night.

Logan huffed the smallest of laughs. An imperceptible smile playing on his lips. You’d have thought he’d seen a ghost with the expel of air that left his body, loudly at that.

Your eyes widened at the sight of his, still reflecting light off of them in the dead of night. You weren’t scared, just- surprised. And obviously still half asleep. You had no idea what mutation Logan harbored. Clearly, he’d had one. He was much stronger than the average man, and a million times bigger. Figuratively and literally with the way he towered over most of the tenants of the mansion. But that was the extent of your knowledge. You never thought to ask, as you gathered from your first few interactions that he wasn’t one to just open up. But you trusted that he would eventually.

He retracted them almost immediately at the look on your face. Standing frozen in the middle of the common area. He was bracing himself for the reaction that was bound to occur. He was used to it, people running from him. People being scared. Calling him a monster.

Didn’t make it sting any less.

The last thing he wanted was for you to be scared of him. He softened his posture, an attempt to seem less intimidating. Which he couldn’t really do if he tried his absolute best. It was in his nature to be on the defense. So naturally, when you blinked, your eyes opened wide in shock- his walls were built high.

You took the first step. Walking downstairs in the most graceful manner, at least from Logan’s point of view. Anything you did was perfect to him. He wasn’t a religious man by any means, but you looked like an angel.

You composed yourself. Determined to make sure the man knew you weren’t scared of him. To show him that this didn’t change any part of how you saw him whatsoever. You could sense it from the moment he’d made eye contact with you. You quickly pieced together the reason he didn’t tell you what his mutation was in the first place. He was afraid. But you wouldn’t have that. Not with Logan.

You silently walked up to him, resting a hand on his arm. He tensed just slightly. Afraid of the next thing, the next word. You looked at his face. A small smile gracing your own. He refused to meet your eyes, he focused more on your hand. The one now comforting him in the smallest of touches.

“Logan.”

You spoke in such a manner that he could never ignore you. Doesn’t matter if it were life or death. He’s not sure if the world was ending that he could ignore your sweet voice to save it. To that, he turned his head just slightly. Meeting your soft eyes, which made his own soften in return.

“Sweetheart,”

He spoke so rough, so rugged. He seemed like he was on a mission to make you flinch away. To prove himself right yet again. But you were nothing if not stubborn. And he wasn’t going to get you to back off that easily.

“I’m not scared of you.” You took the words straight out of his mouth. He stood there, soft eyes, his mouth agape. His expression was one of relief and surprise. He wasn’t sure why he doubted you in the first place. You with your unwavering kindness, your beautiful soul. Something that even a blind man could see.

His mouth opened and closed a few times. He felt like a stupid fuck. He was left with no words to say. No attempts to push you back, it was useless. You and him both knew it to be. Plus, he was in no rush to let you go.

“I’m not scared. Not of you, Logan.” You repeated. Stern but gentle, just like every other aspect of your being.

To your surprise, he smiled. He looked into your eyes with his own and he flashed you that grin that only few got the luxury of seeing. It wasn’t prideful. It wasn’t cocky. It was a smile of appreciation, something to convey what words couldn’t express. He’d only hoped you’d gotten the message.

And while you two were no more than friends, your approval seemed to be the only thing that mattered to Logan.

~

From that day on, Logan hung around like a shadow. The two of you were inseparable and even more so, unstoppable. It was clear that this wasn’t some typical surface-level relationship. Whatever was between you two ran deep, and it was only a matter of time before it became more.

You were something to Logan that was unable to be disregarded. Like a light straight to the great beyond. Like you were created for him and him alone. He so desperately needed to keep it in his clutches. Even if he was dead-set on never falling in love. He had to have you around in some capacity, though it was hard not to let himself dive in head first.

You made even the darkest days feel like the brightest, no matter what you did. Simply existing near you whether it be watching TV or silently admiring you, made Logan’s mood instantly become brighter. The whole of the mansion noticed. Charles being the first, of course.

Logan warned him from the start. He was stubborn enough to go as far as telling Scott he’d sew his mouth shut if he so much as teased either of you. He wanted no part in making anyone think you two were more than close friends. Despite his wild imagination creating a perfect world where he wasn’t concerned you’d get hurt because of him. A world where his past was merely a memory and you were his present. One where the two never mingled.

As long as he kept you at as much a distance as he could, he could keep from worrying himself sick. Didn’t mean he wanted to though. He craved to be closer to you. To hold you, kiss you, know you inside and out. The three months you two had been like this, it had only gotten significantly worse. And his desperation was even more conceivable to the naked eye.

~

Ororo, on the contrary, had a blast teasing you.

“So,” She began, pretending to innocently be catching up with you. You were more than accustomed to her nosy behavior. Her meddling didn’t bother you, it was amusing so to speak. But when it came to Logan, that was a sensitive subject. And you were well aware that she was all in on the drama when the pair of you were involved.

“How’s he been?”

You scoffed, your eyes practically rolled to the back of your head. Perhaps an attempt at seeming indifferent to the situation when you knew damn well your heart sped up at the mere thought of him.

“Drop it.”

“Drop what? He’s been around you more than anyone, it’s a simple question.”

You almost laughed at her terrible acting skills. Almost being the key word, if you weren’t so reluctant to ruin the precious bond you had with the man. Ororo wasn’t exactly known for subtlety, at least for you. She was a close friend, definitely the person you confided in the most at the mansion, even if it wasn’t much. If you were to tell anyone about this infatuation, willingly, it would be her.

It was just infatuation, right?

She could sense the gears turning in your head. A smirk plastered on her face at the sight. You looked down before muttering out a response.

“Just, he’s a good guy is all.”

“Mhm, a good guy who you wanna-”

You were swiftly interrupted by a rumble of another voice. The sound now a distinct indicator of who had entered the room.

“Whaddya wanna do?” Logan quirked an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe with the corner of his mouth twitching. A dumb attempt to hide his smile. His arms crossed over his chest, as they always were. He seemed to love making appearances like that. At least from what you’d known. The creak of the floor as he sauntered towards the two of you made you take a deep breath in and out. One you’d hoped he hadn’t caught.

He flopped into a recliner, his arms on both armrests and his legs sprawled. It made your entire body feel like it was on fire, the way he could do the most basic of motions and look effortlessly attractive. It was annoying, to be frank.

You rolled your eyes. Not only to mask- once again, your clear state of nervous desire. But also because of the way Logan managed to invite himself into your space, not that you had an issue with it. He had made it known that he followed where you went. It was a sign of endearment, as the telling smirk on your lips showed.

“Oh. Nothing, just talking about who’s bones your woman over here wants to jump.” Storm instigated, all with a telling smile, of course. You almost screamed, if it weren’t for the bark of laughter that escaped Logan. And the way your mind raced with the fact that he didn’t stop Ororo from calling you his girl.

“‘N who would that be, darlin’?” Logan asked you, smiling all the more. He had to have known. He’d probably fucking known since the day you’d met him. And yet, three months later, you still had convinced yourself it was an infatuation. You had only spent every waking moment with him, after all.

“Nobody.” You mumbled, looking at your feet. Fully planted on the ground and ready to skip town if necessary at this rate.

“Don’t sound like nobody to me.” Logan urged a response, the one you’d given wouldn’t cut it. And if, god forbid, there was someone out there that wasn’t him who’d caught your interest. He’d have their fucking head on a platter.

“She’s just messing with me,” You look up, regaining some form of composure. You were reluctant to show Logan any type of romantic affection, despite the nagging feelings inside of you. The truth being- if you were really reflecting on it- you wanted nothing more than to do exactly that.

Logan hummed, clearly not convinced whatsoever. He read you like a book, no matter the time or place. And additionally, he had no shame calling you out on it. As you did for him. However, for some odd reason he didn’t press the matter. Which you were silently thankful for.

He knew if it were someone else he’d have lost it. So with the little self control he had left, he brushed the issue under the rug. For your sake, of course.

~

A knock startled Logan and he stirred from a restless sleep. Not that he ever had a restful sleep. He grumbled, throwing a forearm over his eyes at the sudden light spilling in from the windows.

You walked in, as you had done before. You always knocked, but Logan rarely responded with more than a simple grunt. Sometimes so low that you missed it, so you started to just invite yourself in.

He lifted his arm slightly, catching a glimpse of you in the light. You stood at the foot of his bed. Clad in a summer sundress, something he couldn’t resist on any woman. And you, well he was a lost cause. He was just a man after all.

He smirked, you caught it. Despite your obvious annoyance, the position you always ended up in with him was amusing. Him being the one getting scolded for yet another missed mission debriefing, you being the one to lecture him since the team was well aware of his soft spot for you. He’d never get mad at you, he was sure of it. He couldn’t. It was impossible to.

You started to believe that he was skipping meetings for these moments alone. Maybe the thought was a little delusional, but he’d missed at least four and at the rate he was going, it seemed he didn’t plan on stopping.

“Sorry, doll-”

“Don’t gimme that bullshit.” You crossed your arms, puffing your chest just slightly while you cut him off. Logan thought it was adorable, you trying to be defiant. He knew deep down you anticipated these moments just as much as he did.

“I gotta sit down there and listen to Scott bitch about you not showing up. And I’m not even a fucking mutant!” You huff, your annoyance was clear with the way your voice raised ever so slightly. Though, Logan was bold to assume it was more towards Scott. And if he’d asked, he’d have been correct. Logan could be insufferable, but he was still Logan. And though you were irritated, you knew he could take the brunt of your frustration for you without flinching.

“You better get your shit together, or I might start thinking you’re doing this on purpose.”

“So what if I am?” He countered with a raise of his eyebrow. You scoffed, despite the crimson that dusted your cheeks. He sat up against his headboard with a victorious smirk.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave way to your true feelings.

“You’re insufferable.”

He shrugged, his smug expression still present on his face. Oh how you wanted to kiss it off of him.

“I could hit you right now.”

“But you won’t.” He countered, always a response.

You groaned, throwing your head back and turning your back to him. Walking towards his door.

“Wait, doll.” You paused, back still to him while you glanced over your shoulder.

“C’mere.” He gestured for you to sit next to him. On his bed.

Sure, you’d been in his room before. And maybe you two hung out there once or twice. But you always made sure to sit in another chair, or if anything the edge of his bed. Never had he invited you in it, let alone next to him. And so close, too.

You hesitantly shuffled over to him. Slowly lowering yourself to sit down. His broad shoulder brushed yours. He smirked, as he always did with you. He looked down into your eyes as you looked up into his. Your face was the epitome of how shy you felt around him. Especially at times like this.

Your big innocent eyes, the soft reflection of the light on your skin. The way your lips looked so soft and inviting. It was all too much and not enough for Logan.

And then, he moved your hair behind your ear. A movement so subtle it could’ve meant nothing.

Or everything.

You blinked, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Ya mad at me, sweetheart?”

You scoffed, knowing damn well you never could be. And Logan, well he may just have wanted to see you get all flustered. Hearing your heart race made his own pick up speed.

You subconsciously leaned into his touch, a small smile on your pretty face. He wished he could have stopped time and taken a picture. One to keep for himself alone.

“No, asshole. Just, go to the meetings. So Scott will leave me alone.” You added onto the end, a little something that would hopefully give him a push. You wanted to believe that if you asked him to do something for you, he’d do it.

And you were right.

He huffed and smiled, dropping his hand to now rest on to of your own. You weren’t sure if he was doing it consciously or not. It made you a flustered mess either way.

“M’kay. I’ll go.” He replied, his voice gruff and soft all the same. He brushed his rough thumb over your soft knuckles. It made your heart grow ten sizes. The way he treated you so gently. It didn’t go unnoticed.

He stood from his bed, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Only for ya’ though, darlin’.” He added the last part, the small kiss spurring on your emotions even more. He smiled as he left the room- his room. All but leaving you sitting on his bed, wide eyed and flustered. You scoffed in disbelief, a smile following promptly after.

You up and left his room moments later, once you’d finally composed yourself, and you practically skipped to your room. The energy eminanting off of you was prominent. Your thoughts so loud that Jean, who was just passing through, caught them without even trying.

Jean despised the way the two of you had acted with each other. It was sickening how sweet he seemed to be for you. He’d never once given her that same softness. He’d never given anybody that softness, to her knowledge. Even in the deepest depths of his infatuation with her. It was a type of gesture that nobody had seen from Logan.

And while everyone else found it adorable, the way he followed you like a lost puppy. The way he talked about you like you were his entire world. Two people who could be no less than meant for each other in every sense of the word.

She was disgusted.

Part of her wished desperately to be happy for you guys, to act like the rest of the X-men. But the inconsolable jealousy she felt took over the mere fiber of her being every single fucking time. And not only was she upset with Logan, who no longer spared her as much as a second glance. But she hated herself for how she felt. For having her own boyfriend, one who loved her like no other, and still having the nagging thirst to ruin you and Logan.

Something was up with her. Something nobody except her and Charles had known was coming a long time ago.

[seokmn]

chapter 11.

wc: 1.7k words

another rock was thrown in the lake as you sighed. “i cant believe he did that to me, and i cant believe they hid that from me!”

keeho rubbed your back and listened to you quietly, knowing that all you needed at that moment was someone to listen to you. “he couldve talked to me! he knows im a good listener! it shouldnt need to end up like this…”  you looked at your hands that were resting on your lap while your fingers were playing with the little rocks you were holding. you let out a frustrated sigh and looked at the lake that reflected the moons light. “ah, i dont know,” you threw a rock far away in the lake. the rock jumping a few times before finally leaving your eyesight as it fell down into the water.

“wanna know the worst part?” you chuckled bitterly and didnt even give keeho time to answer, you were already talking again. “i love him way too much to even say that i hate him or wish him the worst. id probably break up with him either way… i just didnt want things to end like this.”

“youd break up with him either way?”

“keeho, i love chan too much to let him keep me by his side after i become a burden for him. ive already met him when he had his dream of becoming an idol clear as day, how would i let him give up on his dream just for the sake of a relationship? he can get over me, but he cant get over his dream,” you said as you looked at keeho with so much sadness in your eyes. you knew that what you were saying was the most rational and right thing to think, say, and do, but deep down, your heart is broken, and you are screaming to have chan back deep inside.

“so, you want my opinion on this, or do you want me to just listen to you?”

“no, you can speak up.”

“first of all, you have all the right to be mad and upset at him, yeri and sieun, but you have to understand their sides as well. about sieun and yeri, they knew about this, but should they really tell you? some people would say yes, some people would say they did the right thing because this is between you and chan and they found out without wanting to. chan didnt tell them, he has no clue that they know,” keeho took a rock out of your hands and threw it in the lake. “now, about chan… he was an asshole, yes. he shouldve never treated you like that. but hes torn between you or his career, and that shows how much he loves you, dont you agree? imagine having someone loving you so much to the point of not knowing if they should choose you or pursue the dream they have had since they were a little kid.”

listening to keeho’s words made your eyes tear up and your lips tremble. he was right, chan loves you that much. “i think you should listen to what he has to say, but not right now. do that when youre feeling ready, okay? and dont be mad at sieun and yeri, they did what they thought was the best for you, and by sieuns message she was feeling really bad from hiding that from you, and you know how yeri is, i bet she was feeling bad as well.”

keeho patted your back and gave you a small and reassuring smile. you studied his face, and you saw nothing but love and empathy in his eyes, not a single hint of pity. he didnt pity you for being lied to and having to break up with the love of your life, he never once pitied you, and thats one of the countless reasons that you love about keeho. he loves you for who you are and always showed you how theres no one better to be your best friend but him.

you closed the distance between you by pulling him into a tight hug. the way he hugged you back immediately made you finally break down into tears.

you knew that even if it hurt and it would take a while to heal from this, everything would be fine because you have the best friendship ever and because you were making the right choice for the guy you romantically love more than anything.

the ride home just wasnt silent because keeho knows how to crack a joke and light up your mood. a part of you was almost forgetting about chan for the moment until your eyes landed on him sitting on the ground outside your house. the boy who was looking down at his own feet immediately looked up when he heard your laugh—your laugh that died once you noticed him—and felt his heart beat faster. he stood up while you stayed still with keeho beside you.

“do you want me to tell him to go away?” keehos question came out as a whisper. its not easy to tell that keeho adores chan, but he would fight him if you asked him to. even tho youre older than him, keeho thinks that he has to protect you just like an older brother would protect his little sister. “no, its fine. you should go tho.. see you at school, and thank you for today.”

keeho nodded and pat your shoulder before glancing at chan and flashing him a smile as he walked away, leaving you and chan alone.

“what are you doing here and how long were you waiting for me?” you made your way to the front door while taking your keys out of your pocket. “i wanted to talk... if youre up to, of course. ive been waiting not for much time,” chan lied. he went to your house a few minutes after you left with keeho. “when i came i saw that the lights of your room were off and supposed you were out. i didnt want to bother your parents by asking for you and waiting inside in case you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“what do you even want to talk about, chan?” your voice showed a hint of frustration, which didnt go unnoticed by chan, making him frown a little bit. “i want to apologize, yn. i shouldnt have acted like that, i recognize my mistake. i dont know what i was thinking… i was under do much pressure yesterday and- and…” his eyes started to be filled with tears, and his voice started to crack, he was trying his best to hold back his tears, but was failing miserably. “and i love you so much, i dont want this to be the end. i just dont know what to do. im so sorry.”

chan started to cry for real, sobs coming out from his mouth as he fell on his knees and looked up at you with a hopeless and extremely hurt expression. “i was supposed to show you every single day how much i love you and never be the reason of your worries, insecurities, and tears from sadness or anger. gosh-“ he choked on his own sob before continuing. “im so sorry. i dont know what to do. this is killing me.”

it was impossible to see that sight of him and not start to cry as well. it hurt you more seeing him like that than the whole situation itself that led you to this. “chan… stand up, please.” he shook his head and stayed on his knees. he tried to speak, but his sobs interrupted him, and his voice didnt even need to threaten him to fail, it was already a fact that if he tried to speak, his voice wouldnt go out. chan’s throat was tensioned, it was like there was something huge and painful stuck in it, and that feeling was more than agonizing.

you took a few steps closer to him and gently wrapped your arms around his head, which made him instantly lean into your touch and hug your hips as he mumbled countless im sorry against the beginning of your thigh.

you let him be as you waited for him to calm down and took the opportunity to calm down as well, trying your best to stop crying and ease the pain in your chest.

“i… i know why you were acting like that. its better for us to break up, chan.” as soon as the words came out of your lips, chan immediately looked at you. his expression showing a hint of shock, confusion, and horror. “w-what? how..? why?”

“dont ask me how, just be aware that i know the reason,” you sighed, ran your fingers through your hair, bit your lower lip, and looked at chan while he slowly started to stand up. “this is your dream, chan. why would you throw that away?”

“because you also became my dream, yn! i mean- fuck! im so in love with you, ever since we started dating, my dream is to see you walking down the aisle in your wedding dress and saying yes to me! i want you and you only! dont do this to me, dont do this to us.”

you clenched your fist. why is he making everything more complicated? all you wanted to do was kiss him until you lost your breath, but you couldnt. you had to stay strong and not back down.

“dont make this difficult. the decision has been made, chan. i dont want to keep in this relationship anymore. you should go after your real dream, not your little fantasy.”

“yn, please-“

“enough, chan,” you cut him off. “stop embarrassing yourself and go home.”

you opened the front door and went inside without even glancing at chan. you knew that if you looked at him one more time, youd give up, and you couldnt risk.

once the door was closed, all your walls were destroyed. you sat down on the floor with your head in your hands and started to cry as hard as possible, even losing your breath.

on the other side of the door, there was chan staring at it with no expression or thoughts. he had cried so much before that there were no tears left to cry, he just stayed there staring at the door for a few minutes before slowly turning around and making his way to his house with his heart broken.

if humans had seven hearts, chan was sure that all of his seven heart would be absolutely destroyed

HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS

yn and chan date since their freshman year and are truly high school sweethearts, but will chan’s dream of becoming an idol get between their relationship?

masterlist — prev — next

taglist: @ivehypnosis @wonkierideul @ateez-atiny380 @noircheols @222brainrot @odxrilove @vixensss @starshuas

[rabidlittlestrawberry]

OKAY SO.

this inspired me. I made a lil jegulus photographer microfic. I have not read this over but ENJOY

1,308 words, cw - brief mention of workplace harassment but other than that it's fun

Click, click, click

Goosebumps rise on James bare skin, as he does his best to focus, to breathe. 

Click. Breathe in. Click. Breathe out. Click. 

“Look up for me?” 

Shit. 

James looks right down the lens of the camera, trying to keep his mind on the job. To remind himself that this is his job. And he’s good at it. That’s the worst thing. He’s been modelling for years, been in all kinds of compromising positions in front of the eyes of others. And none of it has ever phased him. 

Until now. 

The man behind the camera is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. He’s currently staring intently into the camera, eye pressed right up against the lens. His black hair curls over his forehead, falling into the eye not pressed against the camera. James clenches his fist in an attempt to keep himself from leaning in and brushing it away. Then he remembers that he’s supposed to look relaxed, and unclenches his fingers. 

The photographer had walked in like he owned the place, barely glancing at James as he’d set up his equipment. James had felt heat rise in his face watching him work. Nimble fingers tightening screws and assembling tripods. 

Then that attention had turned to James, gaze as cold and analytical as when he’d been setting up. And that. That does something to James, something he hadn’t expected. 

And to make matters worse, this is an underwear shoot. It’s not a new experience for James, who hasn’t felt a drop of self-consciousness in years. But with Regulus’ eyes on him, sizing him up, analysing, calculating, he suddenly feels like his skin is on fire. Every inch of him burning up under the detached scrutiny of this beautiful man. 

“Can you turn to the left, arm up?” Comes that soft voice, and James’ brain short circuits. He hesitates for enough time that Regulus raises his eyebrow in silent question, undoubtedly wondering if James has forgotten his left and, right, or maybe is temporarily unable to locate his own arm. 

When he comes back to himself, he scrambles to comply, his limbs feeling heavy and clumsy as he moves. The camera clicks away, and shit. James once again tries to breathe through his nose, to steady himself. Because he’s suddenly very aware of how exposed he is, of how inconvenient it would be for him to get hard in his ridiculously expensive underwear right now.  

It isn’t something he’d ever had to contend with before, no matter how attractive the photographer. In fact, he’d laughed when people asked him about it. He didn’t think of his work as inherently sexual. But this? Regulus directing him with soft words and hard eyes that seemed to pierce right through him. 

Yeah. He’s fucked. 

He mustn’t have got the pose right, because he hears Regulus huff, before reluctantly making his way out from behind the camera. Every cell in James’ body tenses in anticipation as Regulus moves closer. 

“Put your hand right…there,” Regulus mutters, more to himself than James. He reaches his hand forward, but stops just short of actually touching him, fingers hovering an inch from his skin. 

Some base part of James is screaming: touch me, touch me, touch me, while his rational brain grateful that Regulus understands professional boundaries. And James does too. He does he does he does. 

He’d started modelling at eighteen, been in various states of undress around strangers, and he’d had his fair share of photographers who were keen to push boundaries in a variety of ways. Over the years, he’s learned how to hold his ground, but not before he let people poke and prod and move him in ways he’d never stand for these days.

Click, click, click. 

It’s fascinating and frustrating, the brick wall of the photographer’s expression, his stony demeanour. Because surely, it can’t be all in James’ mind. Sure, he’s attracted to Regulus, but that alone wouldn’t cause this. Wouldn’t make the air crackle and spark between them. So thick with tension that James can barely drag it down into his lungs. 

As time ticks on, James slides into a dreamy state, following each direction Regulus gives him without much thought, letting the soft words and the click of the camera lull him into a trance. 

“Can I… I’m going to get a close up,” Regulus says, bringing James back to the present. It’s the first time Regulus falters, and James’ breath catches in his throat. His eyes flick up to the other man, noticing a flush of pink rising in his cheeks. 

Oh. Well that’s interesting. 

He grins, letting the cocky energy overtake him. Now that he can see Regulus isn’t immune to him, he suddenly remembers who he is. What he looks like. The effect he knows he has on people, when he puts the work in. 

“Go ahead,” he says, swallowing down any other comments that might be trying to rise to the surface. Apparently his change in tone was enough, because Regulus coughs awkwardly, his blush noticeably deepening. 

“This okay?” James asks, smirking slightly as he thrusts his hips towards the camera. He knows he looks good, but he wants to hear Regulus say it. 

There’s a pause, and a few more clicks until Regulus nods, with nothing more than a quick “Mhm.” 

James feels his smirk deepen. Regulus’ grey eyes meet his briefly, before he looks quickly away. James takes the opportunity to study his profile, the sharp cut of his jaw, the freckles on his nose, the blush which has, impossibly, deepened in the last few seconds. 

After what feels like a lifetime, Regulus takes a step back, announcing that he has everything he needs. James has to admit, as uncomfortable as it was, he’s disappointed that it’s over. As he starts to dress himself, he finds his mouth moving before he has a chance to think it through. 

“If you need another model, you have my number…” he says, relieved that it wasn’t something worse. 

Regulus freezes, and rakes his eyes over James’ half-dressed form, making him feel completely naked. Finally, he nods, and James feels his whole body relax. 

Being given an inch, James naturally takes a mile. He grins impossibly wider, picking his trousers up slowly, never taking his eyes off Regulus, who is determinedly avoiding meeting his eye. 

“What are you dong tonight?”

That, at least, makes him look up. “I — what?”

“Listen, that was…” he blows out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Intense.” Regulus flinches slightly, and James rushes to backtrack. “No, not… not bad. I just. I do this a lot. And it doesn’t usually feel like that. And so I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink. With me.” James clarifies uselessly, back to wondering if he’d read the signs all wrong, and if he’s just lost himself a future job. It might be okay if he has, because James isn’t sure he can go through that again if Regulus were to turn him down. Being photographed by him after that would be nothing short of torture. 

Regulus stares at him for what feels like a long time. As the seconds tick by, James feels himself falter, trying not to visibly squirm in the thick silence. 

“I have your number. I’ll call you,” Regulus says, words as clipped an efficient as his photography. Then, before James can begin to feel pleased, Regulus is turning around and heading out the door, leaving James feeling dizzy and flustered and wound up. He wants to kiss Regulus senseless, wants him under his hands, wants to make him laugh, and take him apart. 

But Regulus has put the power in his own hands, so for now James will have to wait. Which is not a skill he has yet managed to master. 

Fuck. 

James Potter as an underwear model and Regulus Black as his photographer

Give regulus a chance to let him stare avidly

Regulus ‘can I take a close up please’ Black

James ‘do you want me to just take them off for you it might be easier’ Potter

am I right or am I right folks

[phopollo]

I'm so interested in your stex cartooniverse! I'm really fascinated by the whole factory/family built aspect, and am really curious about how rolling stock who are factory built view those who are family built and vice versa:)

OH IM SO SORRY, I TOTALLY MISSED THIS

For the most part, no one really has like.... strong views or opinions on whether someone was factory or parental built. To them, it's mostly just like having a family structure that was different than your own. It's just another part of life!

Its also not unheard of or uncommon for factory built stock to end up being adopted by older trainers (see Porter adopted by Momma and arguably Electra by Purse & Krupp)

Of course though, there's always some bad eggs. Some factory built stock think they're the best thing since sliced bread because they get to work immediately off the factory line, and they view parental built stock as weak for getting hurt so often, or stupid for needing to wait so long to be cleared to work. On the other hand, there's some parent built stock who view factory built stock as stuck up and air headed because they tend to make more mistakes-- socially and physically-- as a result from not having the time to develope before being shoved into the world. Parental built stock can also view factory built as extrenely dramatic and-- also weak, actually-- because the factory builds don't handle injuries well since they don't have the natural repairing abilities that parental built stock do, so while their parts are typically tougher, when they do get hurt it's usually much worse

From the main cast though, the only one who really buys into any of that is Belle. But she has that quickly knocked out of her once Pearl comes along and she bursts into tears because she doesnt know what she did wrong and doesn't know why Belle is mad at her, and Belle remebers she was like literally born yesterday, of course she's a little naive and doesn't know rhe unspoken rules yet and this pain she's feeling now is the worst pain she's ever felt she literally doesn't have any other experience to compare it to. And suddenly she realizes she's made some huuuuuge judgement call errors in the past as she's trying to apologize to Pearl bc its not her fault for not knowing

[echo-riot]

Sevika/Abby/Ellie: Love letters

Warnings: fluff

•|||——————————————————————|||•

𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕜𝕒

Hey Brat,

I don’t know what you want me to say in this. You should know by now that I’m not one for long speeches or anything sappy. But since you’re still here, I guess I’ll give you something to chew on.

You’re mine. That’s the only thing you need to remember. No one else matters. No one else will even get close to you while I’m around. I don’t care if you think it’s possessive or crazy, but you’re not going anywhere. And don’t even try to argue with me about it. You wouldn’t win.

It’s cute how you think you need to take care of me sometimes. You’re not the only one who knows how to survive, but I’ll admit—your little touches, your care, it’s not the worst thing in the world. But don’t go thinking I need you. You’re not my damn therapist, and I’m not your project. But I’ll let you fuss over me anyway, since you seem to enjoy it. I’d kill anyone who made you feel less than adored, so don’t get any bright ideas about being too independent.

You’ve got a good thing going, so don’t fuck it up. I might not say it outright, but I’d burn this whole damn city down before I let anything happen to you. So yeah, maybe I’m a little soft on you. But don’t get any funny ideas. You’re not gonna change me, and you’ll never hear me say anything cheesy, like those damn love words. That’s not me.

But in the quiet moments, when you’re all tangled up with me, I’m not thinking about anyone else. Just you. Keep that in mind next time you get all worried.

So, there. That’s your “love letter,” for whatever the hell that means to you. Take it or leave it.

-Sevika

•|||——————————————————————|||•

𝔸𝕓𝕓𝕪

Hey,

I’m not great with words. Never have been. So, you’ll have to bear with me.

I’m not some romantic, and I don’t do the whole love-letter thing. But I guess I owe you this, if only because you’re the one thing in this messed-up world that’s made sense. You’re the constant, the one person who’s been there even when I didn’t deserve it. I don’t know if you get that, or if you’ll ever really understand how much that means to me.

I’m not good at talking about feelings—hell, I’m not even sure what they are half the time. But I know this: I trust you. I trust you in a way I haven’t trusted anyone in a long time. And yeah, maybe that’s not saying much, but I’m not exactly the type to let people close. You’ve earned your place, and I’m not just letting anyone in. So, don’t take that lightly.

I won’t sugarcoat it—I’ve made my share of mistakes. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make things right, but I’m trying. I’m fighting for something, for us, and I don’t know where that’ll take me, but I know I’ll keep pushing forward as long as you’re by my side. You’re the reason I keep going when it’s easier to quit. You make it worth it.

I’m not perfect, and I don’t expect you to be either. We’re both broken in our own ways, and that’s okay. I just want you to know that, no matter what happens, I’ll fight for you. You mean more to me than I can say.

So, yeah. Maybe not the flowery words you expected. But that’s the truth, and it’s the best I can do.

<3 Abby

•|||——————————————————————|||•

𝔼𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕖

Hey you,

I don’t even know where to start, but I guess that’s pretty typical for me. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what to say, how to say it, and if I even have the guts to send something like this. But here it is, I guess.

I’m not great with words—never really was. I tend to get stuck in my head, and even when I have something I want to say, it comes out… wrong. But I hope you understand that I mean every word, even if it’s clumsy or awkward.

There’s something about you that makes everything feel… right. Even on the days when I’m a mess, when I forget to text back or I zone out for a bit because my head’s too loud—whenever I’m with you, I feel like I can breathe. And I don’t know what I did to deserve that, but I’m grateful for it. I’m grateful for you.

You make me want to be better, even if I don’t always show it in the best ways. I know I can be a little weird and I overthink things like a lot, but the truth is, I’m just trying to make sure I don’t mess things up with you. You mean more to me than I’m probably letting on, and sometimes that freaks me out.

I catch myself looking at you sometimes, like I can’t help it, and I know I probably look like an idiot when I get all flustered, but it’s because you’re… I don’t know. You’re just everything to me. It’s hard to explain, but I think you already know.

When I’m with you, I don’t feel like such a loser anymore. I don’t have to be perfect or say the right things or try to impress anyone. You make me feel like I don’t have to be anything other than just… me. And that’s probably the best gift anyone could give me.

So, yeah. I guess I just wanted to tell you that. You mean the world to me, more than you know. And I’m sorry for all the weirdness, the moments when I get quiet or lost in my thoughts. It’s just… I think about you a lot.

I’ll stop before I get all awkward and ruin this, but I hope you understand.

I love you. And I’m so damn lucky to have you.

Love,

Ellie

•|||——————————————————————|||•

[florenceisfalling]

Just curious… are there any examples you can imagine of male privilege enjoyed by pre/non-T trans men that may not be automatically perceived as male? From one of these people to the other :3. Or is this mostly about those who largely pass as male?

hi derek!! good question ..

the thing 2 remember here is that trans men having male privilege does not cancel out their transness - i do not believe that trans men are more privileged than cis women. you ever see people talking about sexism and then someone brings up "but what about disabled/gay/poor men? what about men of color?" - ignoring the fact that disabled/gay/poor women and women of color have to experience the same bigotry compounded with sexism? same kind of deal generally applies. i don't think trans men have privileges over cis women, i do think they have privileges over trans women.

for one, regardless of whether or not they pass, trans men/transmascs* are not generally subjected to the same institutional dangers trans women face. trans women experience higher rates of job rejection, severe violent crime, etc. trans women also deal with specific forms of transphobic violence like vcoding, which is when they are commonly forced into sexually abusive roles in men's prisons. the way that hypervisibility hurts trans women is especially obvious wrt men's prisons generally. look at the current transphobic executive orders - the order is described as protecting women from the expansion of what "woman" means, and even only specifies that trans women will be moved to men's prisons, not the other way around. the entire executive order is constructed on the idea that "real" women need to be protected from trans women. trans men go mostly unacknowledged in this order. while the lack of transmasc visibility has its downsides for the community, it ultimately puts trans men in a much safer position politically and socially than trans women.

pre-transition transmascs are also afforded inclusion in queer spaces that transfems aren't, which is visible in things like the terf movement. its important to look at where the idea of trans exclusionary radical feminists began - michfest, a lesbian feminist space that included trans men but excluded trans women. many terfs will proudly insist themselves that they aren't really trans-exclusionary - they're fine with cafab trans people! just not trans women. and obviously them being "fine" with transmascs is a misrepresentation- plenty of terfs infantilize trans men and act entitled to their bodies constantly -but it isn't as extreme as their choice to awkwardly separate trans women from their communities at best and fully commit to painting them as inhuman and violent predators to the point of rallying alongside conservatives for "ok groomer" shit at worst.

transmascs in queer spaces also tend to direct transphobia towards trans women. resources on transmasc modes of expression that are accessible pre-hrt, like guides to binding, are widespread. meanwhile tucking, breast forms, and other means of transfem expression are often suppressed as "nsfw". community spaces for nonbinary people are often implicitly carved out for cafabs, and nonbinary people in media are often represented solely by transmascs. many points of discourse popular in transmasc communities bring up "male and female socialization" (terf rhetoric, in fact used to exclude tgirls from michfest back in the day) rather than finding other ways to acknowledge how misogyny affects trans men. this ignores the varied experiences of transfems - many of which transitioned young and did not actually grow up in a "male" role anyway! - and implies that transfems have male privilege that they either somehow gradually lose or cannot transition out of at all. i've gone into pretty extensive detail before on how this site specifically has made being transfem a living hell, with transmascs mass-sexually harassing tgirls, #tgirl being a banned tag for a time while #tboy and #terfsafe were both fine, and online pedojacketing campaigns against transfems often spearheaded by transmascs. and im sure you're familiar with some of my own irl experiences - despite me not being transfem, the majority of people who have labeled me as such in order to harass me have been transmasc, some of them even being self identified terfs despite their own identity.

to even more directly address the passing bit: i don't enjoy being often perceived as a cis woman, and it certainly puts me in the position of having to deal with a lot of misogyny that i might experience a little less directly if i passed as a man - though passing trans men definitely deal with misogyny too, especially through things like a lack of reproductive rights. and society certainly hates what they see as "gnc women", for example the shit butch women face. but society's hatred for deviation from cisgender masculinity is bad enough that trans women don't even usually get to be seen as just "gnc men", they get entirely third-gendered about it. historically, cultures love to treat transfems as an entirely deviated social underclass- not female enough to be validated and not male enough to be seen even as broken men. there's a reason "effeminate" and "emasculated" are words that exist and hold the connotations that they do. in a world where a common and righteously-defended position is that "we must protect little cis girls from drag queens perving on them in bathrooms" or whatever, i think i'm safer in the camp considered perpetual victim than in the camp considered perpetual perpetrator.

*ofc including in the transmasc umbrella not just trans men but a variety such as she/theys with no intent on transitioning to male in the first place, like me a few years ago. this applies throughout this post

tl;dr: i don't think trans men have male privilege over cis women, especially non-passing, but i do think they have male privilege over trans women- on a statistical, social, and political basis. i think being falsely misgendered and perceived as a gnc or even conforming cis woman sucks but is still safer than being seen as the socially stigmatized third "faggot" sort of gender transfems get misgendered as.

ty for asking !

[ghost-draws-art]

This meme has been making the rounds where you draw your comfort characters with it and I just couldn't not. So enjoy this thing

[ducktracy]

compilation of my villagers bullying me. this will be a growing collection. these are all from today alone.

[thewardenisonthecase]

btw tw for talking about abuse

I've seen a lot online about how the game never mentions Caterina's abuse of Lucanis while he was growing up (being beaten and starved, which is mentioned in the Wigmaker Job) and I think there's a small mention to it if you're a crow (when asked, he says it was torture training under the first talon and that he resented her for a long time)

And while I do think part of the reason why this isn't brought up is just due to how sanitized this game is when it comes to the crows, I think I do understand why in world wise it's not possible to just be like hey lucanis, fuck your grandma.

It's really hard, loving someone who hurts you. Because you know they're hurting you and yet, you still love them. It's even harder when they're family.

Because its not like Lucanis doesn't know that she hurt him. He says so himself - he hated her, he resented her, and althought I do think him 'justifying' it by saying that at least it prepared him for the life of a crow, at least he still admits that it happened.

But the thing is that despite all this shit, she's still his grandmother. And like, yes, blood shouldn't excuse justifing this behaviour, I feel like it's cultural. Idk how spain or italy works when it comes to family, but here in brazil, you'll hear so many stories of physical abuse happening in families, and its still a situation like Lucanis - i hate them, i resent them, i love them, they're my family.

It's a...complicated situation and I think Lucanis's situation is made worst by the fact that he only has two family members alive and that he cannot let go of.

She beat him, she starved him, he hated and resented her, and he was afraid of dissapointing her, even if in her eyes, i don't think he could. I mean, he comes back an abomination and she still tenderly says 'my poor boy' when you rescue her in the Villa.

All in all...it's tought and I think that it would not be Rook's place to suddenly make Lucanis want to kill his grandma bc he wouldn't. Sorting out those feelings is something he has to do himself, and i'l almost glad the game doesn't make rook do a therapy session with him to talk about it.

[vulptilla]

I find it so ironic that there's so much good about DATV, the combat mechanics are fun and it's visually very pleasing, and yet it lacks everything that made me fall for this franchise in the first place.

[gritty-big-naturals]

gritty big naturals