#my brain just can't handle loss :-) it probably means something

[musings-of-a-rose]

I Don't Want to See Tomorrow (Unless I See It With You) - Chapter 3

Pairing: Benny Miller x f!reader nicknamed "Juni"

Word Count: 5300+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I've had this idea in my head for well over a year and with the Fallout show being dropped (and absolutely AMAZING), I figured now was the time to post it! So this is a Triple Frontier/Fallout crossover au. Huge shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for listening to probably hours of audio at this point of me talking myself through this fic. And to @deathbecomesnerds for listening to me prattle on about video game fics and giving me her own advice.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Benny Miller Masterlist

I Don’t Want to See Tomorrow (Unless I See It With You) Masterlist

My body yanks me from my sorrow. Its need to eat and drink overpowering anything else I may be feeling. I blink awake, noticing the bottle of purified water and a snack are still sitting on the nightstand from when Hawthone brought them. I manage to sit up, my head spinning, vision blurry and reach for the can of water. I pop it open and bring it to my chapped lips, taking a few small sips before setting it back down. I want to chug the whole thing but I don't know where else there's clean water. I nibble on some of the stale Fancy Lads Cakes that Hawthorne had left, but I was never a big fan of them even when they were fresh. Still, it's something. I guess.

Hawthorne rounds the corner and enters my room, his large, round, metallic eye surveying me. "Are you alright, ma'am?"

I shrug. It's the best I can offer. "How long was I out?"

"A few days, ma'am. I was starting to get worried."

I can't even offer him a small smile, my insides still reeling from the loss of Benny. And also the stale cakes. "I'm sorry, Hawthorne."

"Can I bring you anything?"

I look down at the nightstand where the snack cakes and water still sit. "Do you know..I mean, have you talked to anyone in the last 200 years?"

"A few people, ma'am. The ones in Concord didn't shoot at me, at least. They did tell me to avoid a group called Raiders. Nasty people. I had thought to venture out further but the way they described them, I didn't want to chance ending up as parts."

"So...so I'm not the only one?"

"Oh no, ma'am. From what I hear, there are settlements, other groups trying to make the wasteland better."

It's not Benny, not by a long shot, but at least I'm not the only person left in the world. Or at least the area. Relief floods my system, but only for a moment as my body settles back on grief.

"Did they say anything about food or water?"

"They did mention something about a water purifier, but I don't know if they had it with them or they were looking to fix it. They did have food with them that looks like it was grown. Tatos, I think they called them. Small round things that look like tomatoes."

My brain perks up at the thought of studying this, unable to quell my curious scientific side. "Interesting." If there were other people, maybe one of them knows something about the vaults. It's possible I could find where Benny...wait. Vault Tech lied to us and froze us instead of decontaminating us. But if they did it to me...maybe the same thing happened to Benny? He was guarding some fancy to do person. Surely they would've had access to a vault? I stand up quickly, nearly falling over as the edges of my vision darken before normalzing, my head rushing. I need to eat more than stale snack cakes.

I reach out and place my hand on the wall to steady myself, shaking my head to clear the last of the haziness away. "I need to find other people."

"Oh. Yes of course, ma'am. I understand."

I look up at Hawthorne, his metal body seemingly deflating a little in disappointment. "I need to try and find out what happened to Benny. If I made it in a vault, maybe he did too."

"Yes, ma'am. I do hope that Lieutennant Miller made it."

I swallow hard. "Yeah. Me too. But whether or not he's....we'll still need a place to live. Do you think you can spruce up the whole neighborhood?"

His whole metallic body straightens. "Yes ma'am! I can do that! But can I make a small request?"

"Of course."

"There are a few parts and things that I could use to help. Could I give you a list and if you find them, could you bring them back?"

"I don't see why not."

He tells me what he needs and I record it in my Pip Boy. It's a simple list, really. I could find most of this at that Red Rocket Station. If it's still standing. If not, I could always head into Concord, the next closest town. Besides, Hawthorne mentioned meeting people in Concord. Maybe they're still there. And hopefully still friendly.

I re-pack my backpack with my meager supplies, swallowing down my earlier thoughts about Benny. I have to focus on the task at hand. And hope that it brings me some answers at least. I say my goodbyes to Hawthorne, who immediately begins to tidy, as much as he can anyway. As I step outside, I can hear him mumbling to himself about the "abysmal state of the begonias." Despite myself, I chuckle at the thought of a 200+ year old robot worrying about flowers in an apocalyptic wasteland.

I cross over the small bridge that connects our quaint, island neighborhood to the land proper, the waters of Misty Lake bubbling and quietly rushing below my steps. I pause for a moment, looking out over the water. It looks clean, but I know better. If the roach I encountered was that large, there's no way that water is as clean as it looks.

I continue walking about a quarter of a mile, grateful that I haven't encountered any new creatures when I see it - the giant, launching rocket on top of the Red Rocket fill station. Somehow, it had made it! I quicken my pace, rounding the corner, the building coming into full sight. But the commotion outside it's main door stops me in my tracks.

A dog, a German Shepherd if I'm seeing right, is fighting off..what the actual fuck is that thing? It's about the same length as the dog but fat, with no fur but wrinkled, white/tan skin, sort of like a naked mole rat. Wait. Is that a rat?? Before I can look again, it dives into a hole in the ground that it made impossibly fast. The dog stands at the edge of the hole, barking. But then the dog stops, his head turning to the side as he looks at the ground, moving away from the hole. Everything is quiet.

SCREECH!

The rat thing emerges from the ground in a flurry of dirt, catching the dog off guard. It lunges for the dog and manages to nip his back leg, the dog's yelp of pain followed by whimpers echoing off the building behind them. The rat turns on the limping dog, drool dripping from it's open mouth. Without thinking, I draw my gun and aim, firing without hesitating and surprising myself when I hit my mark.

The rat screeches in pain and then crumbles to the ground, motionless. The dog stares at the rat for a moment then, seeing it's no longer alive, slumps to the ground. I holster my weapon and head towards the dog, stopping when its head snaps up to me, eyes boring into mine in judgement. I hold my hands up, palms facing the dog.

"It's ok, buddy. I'm here to help you."

The dog, a boy, I realize, studies me for a moment longer and whines again, licking the wound on his leg a few times before looking back up at me, as if asking me to take a look. I walk up to him an kneel down, looking at his leg. It looks pretty deep, blood spilling from the open gash. I glance over at the rat, its mouth hanging open, its giant teeth protruding out. No wonder it looks this bad.

"Wait here a minute, bud. I'll see if they still have a med kit."

I stand back up, his eyes on me as I move towards the Red Rocket station. I pull my gun back out, just in case, but encounter nothing new inside. I did, however, find a first aid box, still completely intact. I open it and find 3 stimpaks, a sense of relief flooding my system. At least I have something to heal with if I need it. I really hope I don't need it.

I toss 2 of them in my backpack and head back outside with the third. I kneel down next to the dog again and he looks from me to the stimpack in my hand.

"I'm going to poke you with this but I promise you'll feel much better, ok?"

He barks once, like he agrees, and waits patiently. I take a deep breath and poke the needle from the stimpack into his side, a little whimper coming from him at the contact. But then the medicine is inside him and I can see the wound starting to heal already. Once it does, he licks at it to clear the blood and then jumps up, barking and hopping around me. I give his head a scratch and he nudges me for more.

"You almost became dogmeat, dude. You gotta be careful." He jumps up and tries to lick at my face. I laugh and back up. "Ok, ok! You're welcome, Dogmeat." He lets out huff and puts his head on my side. I pat him a few more times before heading back over towards the Red Rocket, bringing up the list that Hawthorne gave me on my Pip Boy. To my amazement, Dogmeat follows me, wagging his tail and staying by my side.

"You staying with me now, Dogmeat?" He barks, panting happily while his tail waggs quicker. What did we ever do to deserve dogs?

"Alright, then. But try not to get hurt, ok?" I scratch behind his ears once more before looking around the station. I was able to find pretty much everything Hawthorne had asked for, my backpack considerably heavier on my small trek back to my neighborhood, Sanctuary Hills.

I spend the next few weeks with Hawthorne and Dogmeat, sprucing up the neighborhood as best as we can. Several of the homes are beyond repair, roofs caved in and the insides all crumbled. Maybe if more people are ever around, we can clear them out and use the wood to build something new. Or fortify something. There's definitely holes in the outer barrier of Sanctuary Hills.

The plants, though. The adaptations to the radiation is more than anything I ever worked on in the lab! Granted that was all on a much smaller scale in a controlled environment. Some plants have merged with others and mutated to be something new, while others just became a more intense version of themselves. And still others seem virtually unphased by any of it, still looking the same as they did 200 years ago.

I was able to forage for some foods, Hawthorne and my Pip boy helping me to scan the foods to see what I should really avoid and what would be tolerable. Some of the other abandoned houses had pre-bomb foods still fully intact, but honestly sometimes, I'd rather take my chances on a radiated berry than a Salisbury Steak that's stayed the same over 2 centuries.

But I can't stay here like this forever. I need to find information about Benny. And now that I've got more food saved up, grateful for the basement full of purified water cans that one of our neighbors had squirreled away, it's time for me to venture out. Hawthorne continues to work on the neighborhood, but I can tell he thinks I won't be back. And maybe he's right. Dogmeat comes with me, not wanting to leave my side unless I tell him to. He's good at finding things and also catching small critters, which drastically improves meal times.

We head over the Old North Bridge and past the Red Rocket where Dogmeat and I first met, and continue down the road towards Concord. It's not too much farther, maybe another couple of miles, but about halfway there, Dogmeat suddenly stops, his ears perked up as he stares intensely ahead at the road.

"What is it, boy?" I speak quietly to him, kneeling by his side. He lets out a low "bufff". I see nothing, but the road does wind away a bit down the road. I don't hear anything right away, but then I decide to close my eyes, focus on hearing. And that's when I finally do hear it - voices. And not just any voices, human voices.

I make a clicking sound to Dogmeat and he follows me immediately into the tall brambles by the side of the road, crouching to avoid detection. We wait about 15 minutes before the people are finally in view. They must be injured for them to have taken this long.

"..all I'm saying, is that we've been wandering around looking for this Sanctuary place Mama Murphy has been claiming she sees in her "visions". And what do we have to show for it? More scars, more empty bellies, and less people."

"Marcy, you know Mama Murphy doesn't lie. She's trying to get us to a safe place."

A scoff. "Yeah, but how many of us will be alive by then? We just lost 3 more people back there to that fucking deathclaw."

What the hell is a deathclaw? I really don't want to find out. The group stops, almost in line with where we're hiding and I get a good look at them. They're all in pretty rough shape, their clothes ripped in a lot of places, bags under their eyes, some woulds still bleeding, and an overall sense of weariness. Their leader, a man with dark skin and a wide brimmed hat, carries some kind of gun type weapon with a crank. One I'm not really familiar with. But everyone else seems to have holstered their weapons. If they had them. They don't seem like a threat to me. In fact, they may have information on the Vaults. I look at Dogmeat and he looks at them, waiting for a few moments before looking at me, seemingly in agreement.

I stand from where I had been crouching, my hands raised in front of me. "Hey there! Is everyone ok?"

The man with the hat immediately turns to me, his weapon raised and aiming directly at my chest. "Stop right there!"

I don't move, my hands still held up in front of me. "I'm sorry. I haven't seen people in...a very long time. Is everyone ok?"

The man with the hat glances sideways at his group before back at me. "We can still fight."

"Oh no! I'm not..I want to help!"

"Yeah? Prove it!" The woman who had been complaining before, dark hair, lighter skin, eyes narrowing further at me, yells snarkily at me. Marcy, I think her name is.

"How do I prove that?"

"Wait." An older woman's voice spoke from inside the group of people and the mat with the hat turned to look at her. An older woman, maybe in her 60's, with a beanie hat and blue coat looks up at me. "Are you the vault dweller?"

I glance down at my bright blue jumpsuit with the yellow paneling. “Yeah.”

Marcy snorts, but the woman stares deep into my eyes. “The one lost to time?”

My eyes go wide, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “She’s the one who can take us to Sanctuary.”

Marcy scoffs. “We just see some random chick in a vault suit and we’re just supposed to-”

“Sanctuary?” I ask the woman, never having taken my eyes off hers. 

She nods. “A place we can make safe and call home.”

How did this woman know about me? A vault dweller “lost to time”? And then she says I can take them to Sanctuary. Like Sanctuary Hills? Where my home is? Sure, it needs some love, but it is on an island. There’s only a few holes in the perimeter, not a bad place to hold up. But still. I hardly know these people-

“Mama Murphy, we can’t just go asking citizens to take us to places and hope they know what we’re talking about.”

Her eyes are still on me, studying me. “She knows what I’m talking about.”

Several long moments pass before the man in the hat clears his throat, holding his hand out towards me. “I’m sorry for the introductions. My name is Preston and I’m with the Minutemen.” I shake his hand but my confusion must show on my face because he continues. “Oh, right. Vault dweller. The Minutemen are made up of civilian volunteers. We’re here to protect the people at a minute’s notice.”

Minutemen. Sounds like a good organization. I’m going to have to trust at some point if I want answers. 

“You can call me Juni.”

Marcy chuckles. “I think I’ll stick with Vault Dweller.”

Preston glances sideways at her before back at me. “It’s nice to meet you, Juni.”

No time like the present. “Do you know anything about any other vaults? Around Boston?”

Preston nods. “Only a bit. Met a couple of them a while back. 2 women. They had some…unique features-”

“If you think one eye and horns are just unique.”

I look at Marcy. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Marcy, we call them mutations. Apparently, they were uh..experimented on in their vault. Not just them but all the generations before them. So…mutations.”

So they were running experiments in all of the vaults. I guess that makes sense, considering they never told us about the cryo and even pretended it was decontamination. What else has Vault Tech done?

“What vault were they from?” I ask Preston. 

He shrugs. “They didn’t say. Got rid of their vault suits before we met too.”

Well, at least there are other vault dwellers out there. That means, I may be able to communicate with them from my vault, assuming the equipment works. It’s not much, but a tiny flutter of hope billows in my stomach at the thought of possibly finding out more information about Benny. 

“About Sanctuary-”

Marcy cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t listen to Mama Murphy. She’s high most of the time she comes up with these visions.”

“That may be, but I live in a place called Sanctuary Hills. It’s not to far from here actually. Would…would you all like to accompany me back? There’s work that needs to be done to refortify it. But with everyone pitching in, I don’t see that being an issue. There’s plenty of space for everyone.”

All of their eyes are fixed on me, wide and bewildered. Except for Mama Murphy, who simply smirks, taking my hand in hers and squeezing it. A man with spiked brown hair, coveralls, and goggles hanging around his neck speaks up from the back of the group.

“Did you say there were things to fix up?”

“I did.”

The man turns to Preston, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline as he waits for his answer.

“Can you give us a moment, Juni?” 

“Sure. Come on, Dogmeat.” I turn and head back in the Red Rocket station, gathering up the few parts and bits that I thought may be useful while the group discussed things outside. Only a minute later, Preston was calling for me to come back. I tossed the parts in my bag and headed back over, wiping my hands on my pants. 

“We accept your offer of refuge.” Preston sticks his hand out and I shake it.

“Great! Follow me.”

The group follows me back over the bridge to Sanctuary Hills, their murmurs growing quiet as they take in the setting. I can hear the man in the coveralls, Sturges, mumbling to himself, making a list of things to fix up and materials he’d need. Preston scans the area as does Marcy, albeit with a more skeptical look. We stop at the house across the street from mine, some chairs and benches already setup under the open garage. Hawthorne had done a great job of cleaning up and arranging what he could. Mama Murphy sat in the chair and groaned, leaning her foot across her opposite leg, sliding off her shoes to massage her foot. 

“Don’t get old, dear. It’s not kind to your body.”

“I’m older than you.”

She looks up at me and starts to laugh. “I guess you are!”

Marcy pauses her pacing and looks at me. “What? You’re not older than her.”

I shrug. “She was right about me. I uh…I was frozen in my vault. I’m-” I think a moment. “-I’m about 228 years old.”

Everyone’s jaw drops. “228 years old? So you were like..here? Before?”

I nod and toss my thumb over my shoulder, pointing at my home. “I grew up in that house. My parents still lived there when…”

My mind races back to that day, a vivid image of the mushroom cloud silently erupting over the city. I shake my head to rid it of the memory and give them a small smile. “Anyway…Hawthorne-” I nod towards the Mr. Handy robot that had floated up to us. “- has been trying his best to get things fixed up, but we really need extra hands.”

“I’m afraid I’m all thumbs. Rather, I’m no thumbs,” Hawthorne says matter-of-factly. Everyone chuckles lightly. 

Sturges looks around. “I’ve been making a list of things we can do to fortify this place. Things we’d need to get. Jung, you still got ahold of that water purifier?”

“You have a water purifier?” I ask him, shocked.

He nods. “Yup! Ah, thanks Jung.” The man that had been hanging primarily behind Marcy hands him a complicated looking device. Sturges looks it over and nods. “Still in good shape! I can put this in the water down there, but we’ll need to secure it. If someone sees this, that river won’t stop them from trying to get it.”

The rest of the night is spent around a campfire, eating some of the food I’d managed to grow, along with some of their rations, while we discussed what needs to be done to make this place like a fort. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little sad about changing the way Sanctuary Hills looks, but I’m not a fool. This world is not the one I came from, and I yield to their expertise in this new adventure. 

We spend the next several months putting up walls and scrounging for parts for a few turrets in nearby Concord. I learn more about this wasteland, or what they call The Commonwealth. Apparently, more than just roaches had mutated, and I listen in horror with all of the mutated creatures that they’ve encountered. While I’ve fought more than just the rad roach and mole rat, I haven’t run across a deathclaw or radscorpion yet. And while I’m still a little unclear about what a deathclaw is other than some sort of giant dinosaur lizard, I do know for sure that I don’t want to ever meet one. No matter how curious I am. 

They in turn ask me questions about life before. What it was like, the food, could we just drink any water, the food, was everything clean, what was the food like. I’m not surprised the food was what they’re interested in most, especially after having the food that is the new normal. I never would have guessed I’d be eating friend radroach or baked bloatfly, but after I threw up from not having enough protein, I had to cave. Hakuna matata. 

Once the wall was up, I started heading back into the vault a few times a week. At first, I brought Sturges and Marcy with me, all of us scavenging for parts and things we could use. The vault was fairly stripped by this point, a mere skeleton of its former glory. We did get everyone out of the cryo pods, digging a small cemetery above ground and giving them a proper burial. So much unnecessary loss. Part of me wonders how long I sat there, frozen, while my neighbors were long since dead.

Once they gathered everything they could, I continued to come down to fiddle with the computers, trying to contact any other vaults. I’m met mostly with static, which makes sense. A lot of vaults may just be empty, people having left them a long time ago. Or maybe they lay dormant. Or dead. 

I did get ahold of a couple vaults, but one spoke some weird made up language and another the reception was so spotty I could barely make them out. All I managed to figure out was they were on the west coast, so they couldn’t really help me out anyway. Still, I kept at it, holding onto that last spark of hope that he was still out there somewhere. Or I could at least find out what happened to him. I fiddle with the controls, turning knobs and repeating my vault number into the microphone, only static in return. I glance at the watch on my Pip Boy and sit up, stretching. I almost didn’t come today, but I wanted to give it one quick shot this morning before I had to harvest the crops we’d been growing: tatos, like a tomato, mutfruit, a small, purple fruit that tastes sweet, and corn. We were growing extra as we could use them to make useful tools, like adhesive or acid, which I was able to make extra potent with my background knowledge in bio-nuclear agriculture. 

I gather up my bag and Dogmeat stretches, standing up to accompany me out of the vault. As we ascend, I kneel down and scratch him behind the ear, patting his head as I stand back up, feeling him give my hand a quick lick. The sun crests over the edge of the metal tube, the gears groaning slightly as they settle into place. I shield my eyes as the light hits them, turning to head down the path back towards Sanctuary Hills. But as I near it, I can hear panicked voices, tools moving quicker than normal. It takes several knocks on the gate before it opens, Mama Murphy standing there, looking worried. 

“Hey, Mama Murphy. What’s going on?”

Her eyes are filled with fear, an emotion I had yet to see in her. 

“Nightshade.”

I cock my head, my eyebrows pulling together. “Like the plant?”

She shakes her head, leaning in close to whisper. “Like the person.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. Or who. “I don’t understand.”

Preston walks up then, beckoning me to him. “Good, you’re back. We could use your help over at the crops.”

I look back at Mama Murphy, her eyes wide and worried before I follow Preston to the garden, jogging just to keep up with his large gait. Marcy and Jung are in the garden, hurriedly trying to gather up crops, tossing them into bags. 

“Preston, what’s going on?”

He looks back at me, the same worry in Mama Murphy’s eyes in his own. “Nightshade.”

“You keep saying that like I’m supposed to know what that means.”

“It means,” Marcy yells from her crouched position next to a tato plant. “That we better have a good choice of crap for him or he’ll kill us all. And that’s if he’s kind.”

I look at Preston for confirmation and he nods. “He’s a courier and a merc. He moves between settlements and Raiders, bartering deals and…contracts.”

“That doesn’t sound entirely terrible. I mean, aren’t the Raiders nasty? This way, less people die?”

Preston grimaces. “Not entirely. I mean, sure. Overall, there’s less mass deaths. Raiders were known to come in and destroy an entire area and then move on. Now, those areas are still getting to be used for farming and such.”

“So what’s the issue?”

“If you don’t comply and give him what he demands…well. It doesn’t end well.”

I look back over at Marcy and Jung, both of them scrutinizing each piece of fruit before deciding if it was good enough for this Nightshade before either leaving it or tossing it in a burlap sack. 

“Is this all for one person?”

Preston shrugs. “Sometimes. Other times, it’s for other groups. Unless he tells us, we don’t ask.”

“This is a lot of food.”

“It is.”

“We need these rations to give out to other settlements, the ones that you said need our help.”

He sighs. “I just don’t see a way we can keep everything here and our lives. We’ll just have to grow more.”

I’ll have to think on that. But… “You said he travels around?”

Preston nods. “Yeah. All around the Commonwealth. Some other areas too like Far Harbor up north and the old Nuka Cola World. Which is basically a giant raider settlement now.”

“When do you have to give him the supplies?”

“Tomorrow at noon. At the Red Rocket where we met you. Why?”

“I’d like to be the one to bring them.”

Preston shakes his head vehemently. “No. No way. I’m not going to let you face this man by yourself.”

“I won’t be alone. I have Dogmeat.”

Preston scoffs. “That won’t be enough.”

“If we have all the supplies he asked for, I don’t see the issue.”

“He’s the Nightshade, Juni.”

“And he could be the only one who has information about Benny.”

Preston opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “I’m doing this, Preston. I’ll be ok. And if I’m not, then just..carry on. You already have Sanctuary Hills. You’ll be fine. The Commonwealth needs you more than me.”

He studies me for a few moments before nodding. “I can’t convince you otherwise?”

I shake my head. “Not when it comes to possibly finding out more information about Benny.”

“I understand. Please be careful.”

I leave the next morning, a few hours before I would need to be at the Red Rocket. It takes about 45 minutes to walk there, especially with the supplies this Nightshade requested, a random mix of provisions and scrap. Dogmeat scouts ahead of me, sniffing the ground, making sure we’re safe. The bright Red Rocket station gleams through the light fog, but as we approach, we see no one waiting there. Figures. 

I drop the bags outside, standing up and stretching my back. Dogmeat sniffs around and then stands in front of me, tail wagging and eyes watching me. Its been a while since we’ve been outside of the gates or the vault and I can tell he wants to explore. 

“Alright. Go get a squirrel or something. I’ll be ok.” He cocks his head at me and whines. I bend to scratch behind his ears. “Go on. I know you want to hunt.” A quick lick to my hand and he’s off, disappearing out into the bushes. 

I sigh, my hands on my hips as I look around. The fog has only lifted slightly and I’m unable to see past the perimeter of the station. It’s quiet, nothing really moving, not even a breeze. I start to pace, kicking the dirt outside a little with my toe. But after a while, I grow bored and decide to head inside the station to do another sweep for things. We’ve been here so many times, but anything to break up the boredom. I’ll count ceiling tiles if I have to. I pick up a box and set it on the counter inside, bending over it to look inside, poking around at the random things in it. Basically trash, but you never know. Suddenly, I feel a cold, metal cylinder push against the back of my neck and I realize with horror that it’s the barrel of a gun. It clicks, a round sliding into the chamber and my heart feels like it’s going to beat through my chest. Is this the Nightshade? I can’t believe I let my guard down.

“Where the fuck did you get this jumpsuit?”

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[aotopmha]

Being too exhausted to play has made me think about the Dawntrail story again.

I wanted to take a break, but it occupies my brain too much, turns out and I engaged with takes on the internet again.

(Some of it is really dumb and a negativity void with zero substance, which is, in fact, unfun and exhausting, as it is designed to be, so it probably is better to not engage with, but I also do very much enjoy discussing what I love and it offers fantastic springboards for that.)

Spoilers for the Dawntrail story!

You know the complaint that it's "not as good as Shadowbringers or Endwalker"?

Well, I think a lot of people have actually echoed this, but I really like that Dawntrail is not trying to one-up them.

It's really good that it's not only pulling back the scale, but also lightening up the tone.

In particular, there was a complaint I saw that said HW, ShB and EW were these "deep and dark" stories and had issues with DT not being that kind of narrative and I think a story being Endwalker all of the time would become boring in its own right.

If all you see is positivity, eventually it means nothing, but this is also true in the opposite sense.

If all you see is misery all of the time, at one point, it doesn't mean anything anymore.

Eventhough I myself mostly enjoyed it, I can see the argument that it went too far in the other direction and handled some ideas too simplistically, but I think the general idea to do this is a really good, refreshing move.

It's similar thematically (which is actually my biggest issue), but I really like that it mostly focused on new stories with new characters.

I also like that the Scions are taking a backseat.

I saw an opinion that "you can't have your cake and eat it, too" in regards of the Scions being minor roles and you should either write them out completely or entirely focus the story on them, but personally I don't see any issue with this.

They were set up to be support and behaved as such. I don't understand the take that they were "teased" too much when the setup was that it was not their story to begin with.

Now, I do think the friendly rivalry aspect was underutilised. I feel like getting to fight Thancred and Urianger in good fun would've been great, for example.

I love the vibe of adventure we haven't really had for such a long time, and I really think the mystery of the City of Gold might be one of the best ones in the entire narrative because many of the mysteries so far at least have some aspect of retconning to them.

The gate and everything with it is entirely new and didn't need any retconning to fit within the current concepts of the story, whereas you could always tell they had to slightly tweak everything with the Ascians once in a while.

I think the fact that most of the characters that people do like from this expansion are entirely new or characters we knew fairly little about before Dawntrail says it all.

People actually do want new stuff. I think the mostly positive response towards the actual gameplay content says this, too.

So I hope they don't give up on what they've built here despite some of the really loud negative voices.

Don't start trying to do Endwalker or Shadowbringers again before building a new bigger picture.

We've talked about legacy and memory and loss a bunch of times already; evolve from this and do something *entirely* new with new characters and ALSO entirely new theming.

Don't give up on making content just a little more engaging.

That's my worry in light of these very loud complaints.

And the thing is, during the Endwalker patch cycle and even before, these are things so many people wanted.

People wanted a break from the Scions. People wanted the story to reset and relax after Endwalker because it had been within that dark tone for so long.

People wanted us to go back to being an adventurer.

People were tired of the increasingly same-y encounter design (and lack of stuff to do during patch downtime, which you can also see improved in terms of certain rewards; thing is what I've seen is people loving the new content so much they just like playing it and I feel the same way, so it isn't always even more grinds or rewards people actually want).

And that's exactly what they gave us.

Again, I don't know the overlap between audience groups here, but in terms of sentiment, that's the craziest part to me.

They kind of gave us exactly what we asked for.

And I really hope they stick to their guns and get braver from here because new is fun and even if it doesn't always succeed, you can look at what people like and don't like and go from there in a more nuanced way, rather than leaning on overcorrective decisions as they have in terms of certain aspects of the game. It just stops the game from stagnating and getting boring in all aspects.

[astridellejo]

Wrestling With the Greased Pig of Speech/Voice Loss Terminology

Okay. So here's my understanding of the terminology:

Selective Mutism (Situational Mutism) This one seems to stem mostly from anxiety (maybe a little autism too). I don't experience that degree of anxiety often, but it has happened on rare occasions. Personally, I hate this term. It implies that not speaking is a conscious choice. I think situational is a more accurate word. "There are some situations in which my anxiety causes me to be unable to speak. This can be short term or long term. But it is by no means a deliberate, conscious decision on my part. It's more like my brain gets hyper-stimulated or something and just forgets how to make mouth noises."

Nonverbal This term appears to be specifically autism related mutism. I'm ADHD, not autistic, so I don't use this term for myself. And not being autistic, I can't really offer more information on the term.

Nonspeaking I guess this is an alternative to nonverbal that is less autism-specific. I guess. I don't actually know for sure. I'm not really sold on it, though, because kind of like "selective" mutism it kind of implies that a person can speak, but for whatever reason, chooses not to. Don't talk if you don't wanna talk. But I suppose people who are physically unable to talk might take umbrage with your conscious decision not to talk. I'm cool with it, though.

Dysphonia/Aphonia One means "messed up voice" and the other means "no voice at all". Aphonia is a neat word. Right up there with anhedonia. (Ahh, Greek!) I use the term spasmodic dysphonia because that's the official diagnosis I got from the ENT doctor. Apparently there's a more recent term laryngeal dystonia that seems to be preferred, but it doesn't seem to be taking root. So for now, I still have abductor spasmodic dysphonia that has rendered me aphonic. Whee!

Mute This word exists. I'm not sure if I like it, though. I don't have a good reason why I don't really vibe with it. Maybe it's because muting is something we can do to our television or computer or Zoom meeting, implying that it's reversible and temporary. Or maybe it's because in my ASL studies I've learned a little bit about deaf history and the connotations the word mute has.

There are other situations that can lead to loss of speech, like throat trauma, muscle tension dysphonia, aphasia, and probably a bunch more that I haven't even learned about yet.

Anyway, I don't know. I'm still sorting through my thoughts on the whole experience of the last seven months slowly losing my ability to speak with a functional voice. It's weird no longer being able to do a thing that I did effortlessly for over 40 years. I'm handling it reasonably well, I think. I do miss being able to sing and hum to my favorite music, though. That right there I would consider a genuine loss that I'm feeling.

[quinloki]

A Light Touch

Fem Reader x Eustass Kid

CW: language, assault, violence, sexual themes and situations, implications of non-con, loss of limbs, blood. 18+ Only.

Chapter 1 - Table of Consent -

Chapter 2: Handy Guy

Kid and Killer didn't come back until late afternoon the next day. They'd left their numbers with the nurse, and she got them into your phone for you. She filled you in on a bit more information as well since you were more aware the next day.

The man who had rear-ended you had been released from the hospital that morning, but he was in Marine custody currently. There'd probably be someone by tomorrow to talk to you about what happened regarding the accident, and she left some materials with you about your options for prosthetics.

Kid or Killer had made sure your bag had ended up with you in your room, and you were grateful for that. Not only did it have your phone and ID, but your insurance information was in there as well. When you gave it to the Nurse she smiled.

"Your costs have already been taken care of, Miss (Y/N), but I can run everything through your insurance still, if you like."

"Uh, yes please." You were trying to think how the cost of a hospital stay had been preemptively handled, but you didn't quite have the brain cells to sort it out. You were still on some pain meds and even then there was a good bit of soreness to be dealt with.

There was no way that the drunk who had hit you had been forced to pay for your hospital stay, or anything else so soon after the accident. You didn't have any family, in the Grandline Metro or outside of it. Your work certainly wasn't going to pay for anything they didn't have to, and you didn't have anything like a sugar daddy.

The only logical conclusion was that Kid had decided to pick up the tab, and something about that irritated you. You didn't know him well enough for him to be giving you charity like this. Even if he did feel guilty for you losing your hand – which was painfully obvious – this was too much. It was like he thought you weren't capable of swinging a hospital bill just because you'd been driving a beater.

By the time Kid and Killer arrived you had become irritated and snapped at them as soon as they walked in.

"What the hell, Red?" You growl, the smile on Kid's face melting away. "I know you feel responsible for me losing my hand, but that's no reason to pay my hospital bills! I'm not broke just cause my car was a hunk of junk!"

"Eh? Don't go assigning guilt to people like that!" He threw a wrapped box against the far wall, though for a second you were sure he was going to pelt it at you. "Damn bitch." He grumbles, turning on his heel and storming out of the room.

Killer stays behind, watching Kid leave before turning back to you. He put his hands up in front of him like he was surrendering.

"I come in peace?" He offers.

"Tch. Fine. Come in if you want." You grumble, sinking back into your bed. Being angry had already worn you out and you'd barely raised your voice.

Killer walks in, setting down a small bouquet of flowers by your bed before walking around to the other side and picking up the box Kid had thrown.

"We didn't pay your tab, (y/n)." Killer says after a moment.

"Then who did? Certainly not the drunk." You grouch.

"No idea." Killer shrugs, stepping back around to the side of your bed that's by the door. "Kid did try to pay. I can't say if he does, or doesn't feel responsible for your hand. He just had the means, and I think he felt sympathetic toward you."

"I don't need-." Your words caught in your throat, and you groan. Kid had a big prosthetic arm. It was really hard to miss, and you'd seen at least two versions of it – a gnarly kind of metal one you remember from the accident, and a more subdued, almost normal looking one he'd been wearing while visiting you. Of course, he'd have some sympathy for you, losing your hand, given he was down a whole arm. "Aw, fuck, I am a dick."

"Eh. You've been through some shit the last couple days." Killer offers. "Kid just needs to cool off, and he'll be back."

"Are you everyone's voice of reason, or just his?" You question.

His shoulders shake a bit. "You seem to be doing better today at least, you've got more energy."

"Yeah." You breathe in deep and let it out. "I miss my hand, but if some money-fairy has descended and handled my hospital bill then that frees up some options."

"You could commission Kid." Killer offers. "He's made all the prosthetics he has now."

You smile. "I... don't know that I should. I think trying to pay him for something like that would just end in a fight."

"I wouldn't take yer money anyway, Mouse." Kid grumbles from the doorway.

"Ah, hey, look, I'm sorry about... uh, earlier."

"S'fine." He mutters, coming into the room.

"I still don't know what to think about you two." You admit as Kid sits down in the corner chair.

"Whaddya mean?" He still sounds a little testy, but you couldn't blame him. You'd read him the riot act earlier and it was unfounded.

"I appreciate you guys visiting, and, honestly, I can swallow my pride and appreciate you wantin' to help financially too. But," you chuckle a bit and smile sardonically. "This can't be how I make friends for the first time since school."

"You really ain't got any friends, Mouse?"

"Ah, I mean, I have some coworkers I get along with, but aside from that, not really. Most of my hobbies are indoors, and I don't dislike people, but well..." You clear your throat. "Most of my school friends moved out of the Metro, and there's a couple I keep in touch with, but they're miles away. I don't know, once my mom passed away a couple years ago, I've just kind of... worked." You shrug, and then look back to Eustass. "I have to know though, why do you keep calling me mouse?"

Kid turns his hand as he talks. "Your key chain." He sips whatever drink he'd gotten when he went to cool off. "You should put less charms on your key ring, Mouse. The extra weight can wear out the starter."

Admittedly, you had a lot of little knickknacks on your key ring. You'd find cute small charms while walking the malls, or from little gacha machines, and the ones you liked ended up on your key ring. Between the options he had to pick from, maybe Mouse wasn't such a bad nickname. The idea of someone like Eustass Kid calling you "kitten" or "maid" or "dog" just kind of soured in your mind.

"What if I really don't like that nickname?" You questioned.

Kid shrugs. "I'm not trying to be your friend, Mouse, so -."

Killer clears his throat, and Kid grumbles, taking another drink.

"If it really bothered you, I could... try."

"Eh. I imagine there's worse things to be called by walking volcano with a metal arm."

Kid tried to glare, but with his face turning pink it really diminished his intent. Killer nearly choked on his own drink, and was silently shaking in his chair, trying desperately to stifle his laugh.

"You're a real brat, (Y/N)." Kid grumbled and you laughed as much as you could muster between your injuries.

"Somehow I feel like you're the type to get along with a brat better than, say, a princess." You point out.

Kid opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and then finished off the rest of his drink. He got up and picked up the box he'd tossed across the room, that Killer had set by your bed. He turned it over in his hands, knocking crinkles off the wrapping.

"Do you know when they're releasing you?" He asks.

"Tomorrow, if nothing opens up. I heal pretty fast, not like Devil Fruit fast, but nothing's infected and they can't do anything about a prosthetic until it's completely healed anyway."

"Decided what you're going to get?"

There were several kinds of available prosthetics for people. There were mechanical-movement versions, which mimicked neural movements fairly well, but the control was all in learning how to manipulate the mechanisms. Most didn't have fine movement capabilities, and all of them required re-learning how to move whatever they replaced. Another type was single-join or stationary prosthetics, commonly for legs or people who were only wearing one to make other folks more comfortable. With only one or no moving parts, they were more for show than practical use.

The kind becoming more common over the last couple decades, were neurologically connected prosthetics. It was a painful primary procedure, and it required both money and capacity to upkeep, but they moved and worked like actual limbs. All the way down to producing sensations of touch and pressure.

You shrug. "Part of me wants a fully integrated hand. But I don't know if that's necessarily because I need one, or if I just want one. I mean, I've had two hands for my whole life. I'd like to have two hands for the rest of it."

"That sounds like a strong enough reason to go for it." Kid states, setting the rumpled box back where Killer had put it. "You don't have a car right now, Mouse, you need a ride tomorrow?"

"I could get a taxi, but uh, I guess if you're offering, I can accept." You thought about it for a second, remembering the fact that it was nearly the bumper of Kid's truck that slammed into you. You were not nearly as tall as the two men in your room, and you had logistical concerns. "Can I even get into that monster truck of yours?"

Kid grunts as Killer stood up and they headed out with a simple, "get some rest." And you were on your own again.

Admittedly, you were really tired, and as you dozed off you wondered if either of those muscle-heads had noticed. They seemed like really nice guys, especially for a couple of dudes who look like they'd fight god with hammer, a rusty screw driver, and nary a fuck to give between them.

The next day, just as the nurse had anticipated, you were visited by the Marines. A young officer with dark eyes and bubblegum pink hair asked you questions about the accident. He had a partner with him, but the taller blonde didn't seem to be interested in even being there.

You explained the turn of events as best as you could remember.

"Did you want to press charges?" The marine, who said his name was Coby, questions you.

"If he's willing to pay restitution, then I have no reason to do so." You admit. "I've already lost a few days of work, and will be out for another couple weeks at least, plus the cost of replacing my hand. But if he doesn't want to even try to pay for damages, then yes."

"That's acceptable, Miss (Y/N). Did you want to press charges against the secondary collision? Technically, you'd be at fault for it, but with the-."

"No, not at all." You interrupt. "The guys that were in the truck have been apologetic and have been visiting me regularly. They haven't blamed me for any damages to their truck, and it's not their fault that, uh, did you say his name was Mr. Vander?"

Coby nods. "Vander Decken the ninth." He reads from his notes.

"Yeah, it's not their fault that drunk bastard shoved me into the intersection." You say with an obvious irritated edge to your voice.

You catch a faint smile across the young marine's face, but he quickly composes himself to a more professional expression. "Very well, Miss (Y/N), that's all we need today. As things progress we'll be in touch. You're due to be released today, correct?"

"Yeah, later this afternoon."

"Alright. I'll reach out to you at your home in a couple days as a follow-up."

"Thank you officer Coby, I appreciate that."

Now all that was left to do was wait for Kid and Killer and go through the discharge process.

Next Chapter

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Sorry sorry but I can't help myself, the power this man holds I swear. I feel like aaron and brian just fit them so right??

Sorry for the angst, I actually wanted to save it for when you're requests are open but I thought it's too sad and you might not want to write it. Is it ok if I extend it a little and send it a few days later? (Apologies if it's too much but you've just awoken something in me that I didn't know I had)

But I'm so in love wirh the idea that you'd be that one unfathomably cool trio that is just so reckless and chaotic. We'd be the brain of the group (if that makes sense) and the only one who thinks before we act. Feel like we would be able to handle ourself in small fights, so he sometimes just stands there, awe struck, watching you like, yep, that's my girl. But god forbid someone manages to lay a finger on you, he'll see red. He WILL choke the man to death, no questions asked.

In the novel it is mentioned that he likes to read while on missions (when he has the time that is) so I can just imagine him grabbing two books for both of you as you sit and read like the classy couple that you two are. ("Killed 12 people and y'all are over here reading." lem, probably)

This is so self indulgent so I apologize but if you're first language isn't english, he WILL learn a few things just for you. He adores the surprised look on your face, followed by that pretty smile and laugh of yours.

In an interview with aaron and brian, aaron looked confused at the word "simp" and I can just picture that with tan and lem. He doesn't spend that much time on the internet so when lem hits him with the "You're whipped." or "Man's got it down bad." he'd look so confused.

Ok but imagine you trim his moustache, omg, he'll have you sit on his lap, his hands gently placed on your waist, you'd be too focused to notice the soft look in his eyes. "Darlin' stop smiling, I'll mess up." he mutter a sorry but the smile still remains present on his face.

Rewatched the movie, love the way this man looks in his full suit. Gotta ask, what's your fav scene of him? Or maybe your fav line of his? I'm in love with the way he explains the white death's backstory, he looks so good in that scene too. Also like the way he says tickety-boo, it's just so silly. Again, I'm so sorry, I said I'll wait a few days but I just couldn't. Just when I send in the ideas I get new ones, no thoughts, head empty, only tan. If you want I'll write them in my notes and save them for few days later.

💺 anon

hii!

1. not to worry, he still has me in one too. and right?!?

2. don’t worry about it!! was a beautifully sad idea. yes yes!! you’re more than welcome to expand it

3. YES!!! like the brainy/ maybe techy one. I feel like he’d let you have your moment/ revenge/ fighting time etc until it gets too close, like he knows you can handle yourself and don’t need a guy to defend/ protect, but tan wouldn’t risk it. like after a few minutes if you’re still fighting, he’ll come and help (he knows you could’ve done it, but again he didn’t wanna risk you getting killed/ really badly injured) you’re like “I nearly had him” and he’s like “yeah, I know” but he’s grinning and checking you over for cuts/ wounds etc

4. UGHH I LOVE THAT!! very classy, sitting in first class, legs crossed reading the same book😩 that lem moment😭😭perfect

5. omg yes!!! even more cute and perfect if it’s broken and the verbs and tenses are wrong and he says something in different language and you’re like “you said, ‘I am very beautiful’” 😭😭😭 and you’re trying not to laugh or embarrass him

6. AHAHAHA yes!! I feel like lem knows lots of the lingo, and tan is at a loss, “peng? what the fuck is peng” “what the fuck does that mean?” so lem is always educating him on the words. I feel like he sounds old when he asks about it, like “when did people stop saying …” “what’s wrong with saying …”

7. 🫠🫠🫠🫠 that’s all I gotta say about that one, omg!!?! melting and crying at that thought. WANT THAT

8. well… I haven’t watched it in a while, but I have many memorable moments. so I love when he walks off the train and lighting his cig (for obvious reasons) when he’s punching the back train window (again, for obvious reasons) when he and lem are debating the 16/17 kill count. and quotes … “you following me? stop… arsehole” and something along the lines of “story about when gordon met percy and how percy’s bleeding from his fucking eye sockets” “not particularly, no” “some 80s dance off, innit” AAAAHH NEED TO REWATCH IT AGAIN SO BAD

don’t worry about it bby, if and evenever you get ideas, keep them in your notes and then like this time and last send them over. don’t worry about sending in a few days, if you wanna, send them when you want. I said send too many times😭😭 hope you catch my drift

[snowmuttgetsweird]

8/9/24, morning

Roommate comes home today I'm so relieeeeeved

It's boring and lonely without him. Just feels like a massive bleak void in my life when he's not here. I'm bored he's not here, I'm lonely, I'm anxious I can't see him, and I get stir-crazy and lost and don't really know how to conduct myself. I would just be standing around thinking about what I should do and then end up doing push-ups or something just to work out some nervous energy.

In the meantime I picked up a handful of groceries yesterday to make sure I can make a nice brunch for him when he arrives, including a couple 5lb bags of rice. I washed out an empty 30lb bucket of cat litter cause it already has a lid and a handle and it seems to work just fine as a rice bucket- not for food storage but as a workout device.

Gave it a shot- get very much covered in rice starch, and the workout is definitely exhausting. Theoretically, it helps strengthen all the micro muscles in your forearms to help protect you from carpal tunnel, tennis elbow, etc; really good for keyboard warriors, artists, heavy lifters- pretty much anyone that uses their hands and fingers for a lot of strenuous or continuous activity. If nothing else, it sure does a hell of a job exfoliating my hands lol. Maybe this will finally fix my fucked up cuticles. Prolly gonna start wearing a mask while using the bucket though- I dunno how much dust it kicks up but I'd hate to develop a rice allergy this way.

Pretty disappointed I couldn't pick up that Gallantmon stuff the other day, but really I should have tempered my expectations more. I'm not as hung up on it now- I'll get it eventually, I just hate waiting for it to happen.

Dunno if I mentioned already, but I started taking metamucil too. I'm not a big milk drinker, but overnight oats and protein shakes and cottage cheese have me consuming a lot more dairy than I usually do, and diets with a lot of meat and dairy tend to cause GI issues, so I figured the extra fiber would probably be a good idea while on a high protein diet. The first few days suck- not particularly painful or uncomfortable, but really gassy, which is just kinda embarrassing and annoying to deal with. It passes after the first three or four days though, and I DO notice that I seem to have more consistent BMs, feel less bloated, less gassy, and a bit lighter. My appetite means I'm trying to pack as much protein into as little actual food as possible too given how hard it is to eat as much as I'm expected to, so I'm actually overeating a lot less, which also probably helps.

That said, I haven't been particularly strict on myself about food- more for philosophical reasons than anything. The goal is just to get the protein I need, and nothing else really matters atm. There's no point in eating anything I don't enjoy, and any goal that's completely miserable to achieve is phyrric. As long as I'm getting my protein and I'm lifting to the end of my sets every time while steadily increasing the weight I lift, I WILL build muscle, and those muscles will burn more calories, which will result in weight loss. As long as I stay on top of it at least 3 times a week (ideally more, but 3 is my bare minimum atm) and don't eat a GROSS excess of calories, all I need otherwise is trust, time, discipline, and patience- all things my ADHD-addled brain struggles with, lol.

I haven't been to the gym the last three days. Skipped one day cause I got home especially late and I was wiped, skipped the next cause I was depressed, skipped last night cause a bit of time-blindness had me going out to the grocery store pretty late at night, etc, so this week has been pretty bad for gym-going, but I'm gonna get back on it. Maybe not tonight cause I close at work and my roommate is finally back home- which does mean I'll be cooking dinner for both of us when I get back- but tomorrow I'm getting back into it with a vengeance.

Wish me luck.

[thoughtsaladblog]

A final Adieu?

Just read my previous post... Probably ought to have read that shit on a daily basis in the days that followed me posting it- because I clearly didn't follow my own advice.

Yeps.. I went all fucking in with my heart, coz why the fuck not? *insert eyeroll here* The more I spoke to the bloke, the more I felt like I want something with him- but chops to the guy, because he didn't really lead me on. He kept making it evident that we weren't in the same place. And finally when I couldn't fool myself any longer I confronted him, he admitted to not sharing the same feelings as I did (for pretty valid reasons), so I decided to do the "mature" thing and choose myself. Somehow it doesn't feel as good as it should.

Choosing to put yourself first sounds good on paper but it certainly doesn't feel good- especially when choosing yourself means giving up on what is an amazing connection with someone, and profound conversations. What makes it worse is how he handled the whole thing. He was such a fucking green flag about it, like wtf??! I can't even hate him or be annoyed at him because he was so mature and respectful in how he handled it- and he addressed my concerns and respected my feelings. What is this fuckery?? I don't know how to get over decent guys- I'm used to assholes.

So yes, now spend most of the day wondering if I made the right choice, or like Dinuth pointed out- did I fuck up something good by trying to make it better? Because God knows I miss talking to him, and hearing him laugh, or laughing at his dumbass jokes.. Or simply just feeling good after a conversation with him.

Yes, above are all the reasons why I walked away when I realised it's headed nowhere... But they're also all the reasons why I miss him and can't stop questioning my decision. I also can't help but wonder if he misses me too? Does he miss our daily convos? Does the break in what had become our routine, feel strange to him too? My logical brain argues that his detached mindset would never let that happen and that for him he's already accepted it, moved on and probably doesn't even think twice about it. But my foolish heart lives in a land of wishful thinking, and for now, while the wound is still fresh, I'll let her remain in it. Believing that for him, it matters that I'm not in his life and that he misses me too. Believing that one of these days he may just reach out on the pretext of something else. It won't happen- but let me remain in this state of blissful hope for a while longer.

The other day Aiyuk (might I add, with concern) pointed out how lonely his life is there (Morally Grey's) and my heart ached for him. I wanted to go and protect him, and just be with him. It hurt me to hear that he's so alone.. Turns out it had the same effect on Dinuth. But it felt sadder because I've seen what a sweet guy he is, and I just wish he'd let people in, more rather, that he would let me in, so that I could show him that not everyone around him is there to get his money- but that there are those of us who are capable of unconditional love just because that's who we are. But there's no purpose thinking about that because you can't force a relationship or love on to someone who doesn't want to feel it.

There's a million thoughts swirling in my head, from wondering if he'll come back to wondering if I should go back and protect him as a friend, to just wanting to be in his orbit because he makes me better and I believe I do the same for him. I can't sought through all these feelings, but they are there and they occupy my idle moments as I grapple the loss of one of the most profound connections I've made since I lost Chon- one that I had waited years for, and finally found, only to lose it in 3 months.

Ugh, I keep coming back to the same thought- did I make the right choice with that goodbye?

[ghostwise]

One thing that happens to me when I’m writing a character’s backstory is that, because I hate backstories involving grief/death, I wind up with tons of presumed dead but still alive characters. So if I decide to give someone a meaningful loss for character development... I will almost immediately say ‘ah! but what if they’re not really dead?’ and it becomes a ‘character seems to come back from the dead after being assumed dead by the protagonist’ trope.

This happens to TONS of my characters. smh

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Could we get some encanto angst? Maybe with Bruno?

OH MY GOD I THOUGHT OF A FUCKED HEADCANON THE OTHER DAY- THIS IS PERFECT TIMING.

Let's talk about Bruno's eyes 👀

"No no no, I'm being serious!! It's been too long, you must!!"

Bruno was out on a guy's night with Félix and Augustín. It had been ten whole years since he'd had been with them, and they were very eager to catch up. Bruno was having a good time, honestly. He looked at his empty cup, and lightly tapped his glass.

"Hey. No drinky, no talky."

Félix was way ahead of him, lifting his cup up high in the air in attention.

"Tabernero! Come on, we're dry here!"

He came over to top off their drinks. They thought about getting something fancy coming in, but they were more aiming for getting tipsy, rather than experimenting, so they settled for Aguardiente, some salt and lime- the basics. After getting their glasses refilled, Augustín looked at his left and right to his buddies, holding up his cup.

"On three?"

"Uno."

"Dos."

"Tres!"

They all took their shots, Félix whooping, Augustín wincing, and Bruno hissing through his teeth. Félix was the only one could handle his shit, while Bruno and Augustín were messes. Bruno was the worst though, especially since he was kinda out of practice, and his rather dramatic weight loss. His head was spinning, and he kinda liked it. He wasn't plastered, but his self conscious thoughts knew they weren't welcomed tonight, and he appreciated that. Félix motioned his now empty glass at Bruno.

"Come on, you got your drink! Now give us a little Bruno info!"

Bruno licked his lips, relishing in the burning sensation the drink left behind. Apparently the topic for tonight wasn't of love or even of their kids- it was him. He supposed it was fair, given how he was someone they only recently started to talk about. They wanted to know more about him, as if they just met him. Fair enough, he supposed, obviously he was a bit different than he was ten years ago. He tapped his fingers on the glass, trying to force a thought out of his dumb, drunk brain. Then it clicked.

"Ah, okay, I got something for ya. My eye's are weird."

Félix snorted, shaking his head.

"And I'm a fat man-come on Brunito! What does that even mean?"

Like total buddies that they were, Augustín motioned for him to give him a second.

"What do you mean by that, Bruno?"

How to explain when your brain was buzzing like bees? He made a motion with his hands to help him think.

"Well, they aren't like normal...eyes. See, they're weird. They can't get hurt."

Félix giggled, licking whatever drops remained in his glass.

"Qué quieres decir con eso? Like, you don't get fucking eyelashes?"

They all snickered at that, because clearly that was fucking hilarious. Bruno shook his head, leaning over the bar and pushing his hair back and out of his face.

"No no no. It means like. They can't get damaged. So like, okay, I'm not sure if I should...tell this story."

Félix scoffed, and Augustín put his hand on his shoulder (after accidentally swatting his tit in a drunken miscalculation), trying to seem comforting.

"Bruno, you tell us whatever you want. We're you're hermanos, through and through."

Bruno trusted their stupid, drunken faces, really he did. He took a deep breath, and nodded.

"Okay so. Here it is. Once, when I was a teenager. Probably like...sixteen, maybe fifteen? And you know how kids are at that age."

They all chuckled, with Félix clearly having a fond memory.

"Aye, I remember. Chasing faldas y vestidos, right until I met Pepa."

"Can't say I relate, but yeah, point is we're all stupid. So I had like, a really bad day. Like, a REAL bad one. I had a vision, one of the involuntary ones. Of...well. Mi Mami dying. It really, really scared me. I'd seen death before, since thats our inevitable future,"

He paused as he fiddled with the salted rim of his glass, feeling the grains in his fingers. It was comforting, especially with how intensely they were listening.

"And it was different this time around, you know. I've seen many deaths. Hell, the first one was my own, when I was like, six- THAT'S a whole different story. Anyhow, it really got to me, since mi mami is my world. So I thought, maybe if I didn't have my powers, it wouldn't happen. It's stupid, but you know. Scared kids."

He chuckled, and he felt a bit out of place when they didn't join In. They were just listening, as if he was telling a ghost story. He started to slide his nail over the lime peel now, just wanting to mess with SOMETHING to keep him going.

"So...I snuck out of my room one night, and I took a knife from the kitchen. And I tried to...get rid of my own gift."

They were staring now. In disbelief or in confusion, as if they didn't understand it. Félix snickered, taking a second to rub his forehead.

"Wait, wait. What. What the hell do you mean?"

Augustín chuckled, a bit uncomfortably.

"Bruno it. It kinda sounds like you...you know."

Bruno shrugged.

"Sounds like I tried to cut out my own eyes? Because that's what it was. I thought 'hey, if I didn't have my own eyes, maybe I couldn't see all this bad stuff'. But it. Doesn't...work like that. And I TRIED. Here, watch."

Under the impression that they thought he was lying, he made sure the barkeep wasn't looking, before reaching over the bar, and plucking a knife. They looked at him, eyes bugging out of their sockets. They wanted to call his bluff, clearly, but Bruno already pointed the knife towards himself.

"WAIT BRUNO HOLD ON-"

Félix was too far to stop him, and Augustín was too stunned. Bruno brought the knife right to his eye. They stared in horror as it just. Bounced right off. Bruno gestured to the blade, shrugging.

"See? It just. Bounces off. Doesn't matter how hard or how much I do it. Like, this whole eye area-nothing happens. Thunk thunk thunk thunk."

He tried it again and again, nothing. It was as if he was using a butter knife against steel. Not a dent, not a scratch, he couldn't even feel it. He put the blade down, gesturing towards it.

"See? Nothin'. And it's weird, because my eyes are like. Eyes. I think. See, I can touch it,"

He rambled, opening his eye and using his finger to lightly poke and prod at his eyeball.

"And if I'm gentle, I can like, feel the eye. It FEELS like an eye. But I can't push on it. Can't dig my thumbs in there. My eyes are protecting themselves. And it's weird, because eyes obviously don't do that,"

He stopped touching it as he continued, not even looking at them as he kept going on.

"So they feel like. They're not a part of me, you know? Like someone took my real eyes and gave me these...fakes. I always thought, if the magic went away, that my eyes would just. Pfffft! Course I was upset back then, so I thought 'hey, what better tool than the hands?' So I sat there, looking at my reflection, and just. Scratched. It's like a rat scratching on wood, if I had to like, give you a visual. I scratched and I scratched till I got these marks on my face and I started bleeding-ugh. It was just a mess. But you know, teenage angst, amiright?"

He finally looked at them, expecting them to laugh alongside him. They didn't. They gawked at him with a mixture of pity, of fear, of concern, of confusion. Bruno shrunk a bit, realizing they were making rather intense eye contact with him. There was silence. Oh no. They thought it was fucking weird, thought HE was weird and fucking creepy and he ruined whatever guy friends he had and-

"I'm sorry, Bruno."

Augustín leaned over to wrap his arms around Bruno, pulling him close to his side. He opened his mouth to speak, only to have Félix rest his head on his as he embraced his other side. Bruno chuckled awkwardly at the embrace, as good as it felt.

"Guys, come on, don't kill the mood! I'm fine. I'm..."

Bruno looked at his reflection in the glass behind the bar. He saw their faces. Eyes closed, but he could tell from their tight grip, that they held compassion for him. Worry, actual concern for him. Bruno reached up for their arms, and held onto them, taking a shakey exhale.

"Maybe I'm...not fine."

[aelaer]

Suicide TW!!! I live for the Nick/Stephen frenemy relationship, so: AU where Stephen is severely depressed and, instead of crashing his car, he parks in a pull-over and attempts suicide (drugs, alcohol, cutting, up to you) only to then be hit by an oncoming car. As a result, he ends up in hospital to realise that not only is he still alive, but Nick knows what he did. He can't stand the shame and humiliation, until he hears the words "I'm sorry" out of nowhere.

Okay nonny, so a couple things:

By relationship I presume you meant “platonic relationship” as my list of (serious) romance-focused stories in the MCU is a big fat zero and will remain that way probably for some time. If not all time. But I never say never.

I altered the scenario a bit and decided not to use a car crash, but the main elements (depression/suicide, Nick and Stephen interaction, Nick Knowing) remain. This also sort of allows it to potentially be in the “realm of canon” with enough stretching, should one decide to want the headcanon. Though IMO this is an AU-verse.

So I hope that’s all okay and you still find it fulfilling. I’ve never actually written Nick before (though I dabbled with the idea of all the events of Doctor Strange from Nick’s POV like, back when the film first came out) so that was also fun. I really dislike fics that make him look like an idiot (or worse, a pervert for some weird ass reason) so it’s great to get my own view out.

And I also didn’t want to write a book because I’ve got too many WIPs that are books that need to get finished first, so I was going for “short and sweet”. In a manner of speaking. I mean it seems I’m still incapable of doing something under 2000 words but it’s shorter than the last prompt so you know, I’m getting there. 

As the prompt suggests, this fic will go into detail about very serious subjects around mental health, including depression and suicide. Please proceed with caution if these are sensitive subjects for you. 

Please also note that the symptoms and actions taken within the story are not a guide or diagnosis tool and should be interpreted as strictly fictional. Please refer to official literature such as those offered by the National Suicide Prevention Hotline (US) and other verified sources for what you should do if you believe someone you know is suffering from suicidal thoughts.

Written for @stephenstrangebingo square, “It’s Not About You”.

—————–

Every employee at Metro-General took the confidentiality of their patients’ conditions seriously. There was no doctor or nurse on staff that could be bribed to leak any celebrity’s medical information; they were known for having some of the best doctors for a reason. Many of the elite of New York went to that hospital in the middle of Midtown for that famous discretion.

There was, however, one glaring exception to this rule that every nurse and doctor learned early on: if one of their co-workers had something very serious happen to them, their status would eventually leak out to the rest of the staff. There was never anything particularly hostile about the whispers, and while curiosity was the biggest fuel to the information train, news tended to spread out from concern rather than scorn. This trend even applied to staff members that were generally seen as assholes.

Doctor Nicodemus West learned this during his next shift. A couple minutes after entering his office, just as he was getting into his email inbox, a quick knock at the open door broke his concentration. He looked up and smiled. “Morning, Alyssa.”

The nurse offered a brief smile in greeting, but stepped inside and closed the door before speaking. “Did you hear the news?” she asked softly; her smile was gone.

His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, news?”

“Doctor Strange was admitted to the ER last night.”

His mind came to a screeching halt. “What? Seriously?” He generally avoided the man if he could, though from what was going around the gossip circles the last couple weeks, Strange was still a raging asshole, but in good health. “What happened?”

Alyssa shook her head. “I don’t know all the details, but he had to get his stomach pumped.”

Nick winced in sympathy; that was not a pleasant experience. “Jeez,” he muttered. “Is he doing okay?”

“Last I heard, he’s stable,” she answered. “Apparently Doctor Palmer’s still his emergency contact, though.”

“She would be anyone’s emergency contact; she’s too good of a person,” he replied in return. “Thanks for letting me know, though; I suspect others in the department may need to take some of his patients that can’t wait for him.”

Alyssa nodded. “The administration is already looking through his cases, though I expect he’ll be up and back at work as soon as he can. Doctor Strange is never really one for breaks.”

“I suppose not,” said Nick. The conversation turned to other topics and the neurosurgeon put the matter with Strange in the back of his mind, left as generally unimportant in the grand scheme of his life.

————— 

Strange got back to work and things got back to normal in the neurology department.

Only thing was, Nick started noticing things.

While Doctor West was no prodigy like Doctor Strange, he would not have the ability to become a neurosurgeon without the ability to notice details. It was the details in life— in the human body in particular— that fascinated him and turned him towards medicine in the first place. No, he wasn’t a prodigy, but he was still damn good at his job.

So when Strange came back to the office a few days after his visit to the ER, Nick decided to break his usual policy of avoiding Strange as much as humanly possible and went to his office to welcome him back. It was good for department morale to act mostly cordial to each other, even if most of the effort was on his part.

The door was open and Strange was still in his outer coat, back to him, when Nick knocked on the doorway. The doctor turned to face him and Nick raised a hand in greeting. “Hey. Just wanted to say welcome back.”

Strange’s brow furrowed and he made a rather weird expression. “Oh… uh, thanks.” He turned to the coat rack in the corner of the room and began to remove his outerwear.

“How’re you…” Nick started, but paused as the coat was fully removed, revealing Strange’s dress shirt underneath. It hung rather loosely on his figure; apparently the man had lost some weight recently. Due to Christine Palmer’s honeymoon phase about two years ago, Nick was more aware than he would prefer to be about how ‘fit’ Doctor Stephen Strange was (which really was unfair).

It seemed that wasn’t the case anymore. When had that happened?

Strange didn’t seem to notice his trailing off. “I’m fine. Perfectly alright, thank you. I hope you didn’t botch any of my surgeries while I was gone.”

And there was the asshole he remembered. Nick pressed his lips together. “All your patients are recovering without setback. You can even see them for yourself.” He did his best to cut back the bite of sarcasm in his last sentence.

If Strange heard it, he didn’t comment on it. “I’ll let the nurses handle it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I do have a lot of emails to catch up on. Close the door behind you, if you would.”

Nick rolled his eyes and shut the door as he left the office, but the detail seen settled in the back of his mind to remain quiet, but not forgotten.

And with that one thing noticed, he started to notice more things as the weeks passed on.

According to Alyssa, Strange was rarely seen in the hospital cafeteria anymore— one of the cafeteria staff  members who had an open crush on the doctor was complaining about it, apparently.

Strange was having bouts of insomnia, according to gossiping security personnel. There were times that doctors did not go home for the night, but his were becoming more consistent occurrences.

As Nick ate with members from both his usual surgical team and Strange’s surgical team one lunch time a few weeks after Strange came back to work, the topic somehow went to Strange and his uncanny recollection for music, no matter the genre or decade it was released. It was well known that he liked to have the others on his team try and challenge him with their song choices while he was performing his operations.

“Not anymore,” said Billy, and Alyssa frowned at him.

“What? But that’s his gig! He’s been doing that for years.”

Billy shrugged. “He hasn’t been doing it for a few months now. He’s told us he doesn’t care what we want to play, but he doesn’t guess at songs anymore. Doesn’t give any recommendations, either. It sort of sucks; my music library has barely expanded this year.”

“Maybe you need to find something really challenging, a song so obscure that he’ll be drawn into it again,” she said. “I wonder how well he knows Jamaican music.”

“We tried British and Australian Top Hits of the ‘80s last year, but we haven’t done Jamaica. Do Jamaicans generally speak English? He hasn’t memorized songs from every language in the world.”

She rolled her eyes, and as Alyssa started explaining the history of Jamaica and Jamaican Creole, Nick stored this new bit of information away in the section of his brain that, somehow, had become dedicated to collecting all these tidbits.

And Nick noticed that every time he bumped into the other neurosurgeon in the hall, he appeared exhausted. Nick did not know if anyone else noticed the clear loss of weight and the dark bags around his eyes, but they were blindingly obvious to him. 

Usually Strange moved with an endless amount of energy when off to surgery, and with some of the more challenging surgeries the energy stayed with him no matter how long the procedure took. It was an exuberance that even he admired, though it was never something he planned to admit to Strange. But now the energy was missing. He was still snarky and aloof, but the spark of genuine joy that was once clear to everyone in the department was gone.

If Strange was a friend, he would have acted weeks ago. If Strange was a colleague he got along with, he would have waited no longer than a month, just to make sure. But two months after his short medical hiatus and Nick remained uncertain, because this was Stephen Strange. Surely no one as big-headed and arrogant as he could ever actually be— yes, there were some signs, but it just seemed too far-fetched. Surely not.

A couple weeks later and some of the doctors from neurosurgery, some from cardiology, and some from the ER were having a rare lunch together. Somehow Christine Palmer had managed to drag Strange out of his office to see his coworkers. And somehow he ended up sitting next to Strange, though the man was mostly quiet as he took the occasional bite from his salad. That in itself was very unusual, as Nick was used to Strange enjoying all the attention of the room.

The conversation turned to a sudden, inexplicable death that happened just yesterday that the hospital was still trying to solve. As theories went around the table, Nick heard Strange mutter under his breath, “Maybe she just realized life wasn’t worth living.” None of the others heard it. Nick pretended he didn’t, either.

But the comment resonated in his head for the rest of the day.

———— 

This was not going to be comfortable. This was not going to be easy. Nick hated that he, of all people, had noticed. Had no one else seen it?

It only took another day to push his discomfort aside. “It’s not about you,” he mumbled to himself in the mirror in the early morning. “Strange needs help.” And he was a doctor, first and foremost. And doctors helped people in need.

He wanted to speak with Strange outside the hospital, in a neutral place for them both. The only problem was that he never saw the man outside of work and he had no idea how to approach him.

The opportunity came a few days later when Nick was already performing surgery while on call. Another emergency craniotomy was required and Strange stepped in at Christine’s request while Nick was unavailable. It was as good a reason as any.

“Thank you for taking that patient yesterday,” he said in greeting the next morning.

Strange looked up from his computer, surprise crossing his features. He looked tired. “No surgeon can be in two surgeries at once,” he said with a shrug.

“Still, I appreciate it,” Nick said. “I know you’re not fond of the ER.”

“A butcher shop.”

He ignored the comment. “So I’d like to thank you. You free after work? Dinner’s on me.”

The other man stared at him. “You want to have dinner,” he said flatly.

“As colleagues,” he added, hopefully unnecessarily, because really? “I’m trying to be nice and show my appreciation, Strange. Don’t be an ass about it and just say yes.”

Strange lifted his brows high, but the fuel to his ego did the trick. “Yeah, sure. Got any place in mind?”

Nick shrugged. “There’s a good Italian place three blocks south of us.”

“Italian’s fine.”

“Cool. See you later.” He ignored the expression on Strange’s face and took his leave.

—————

The walk from the hospital to the restaurant was a bit of an uncomfortable one, but Nick wasn’t certain if it was mostly one-sided or not; Strange was more or less expressionless. He only tried to instigate conversation once throughout the walk, but it trailed off to silence before they reached the second block, so Nick decided then to save all attempts at conversation for dinner.

It was going to be hard enough then.

After they arrived and were seated, he also decided to wait until they had finished eating before approaching the topic. Maybe the food would relax the nerves in his gut.

So in the meantime he talked shop. It had been some time since either of them had discussed their cases with each other, so he figured that it was a safe enough conversation topic until the end of the meal.

Unfortunately Strange, bastard that he was, threw him off his planned course. It was just after they ordered food; both had a glass of wine and their waiter had already set down a basket of bread and a saucer of olive oil for dipping. Strange caught Nick as the latter was ripping off a piece of bread to smother in the dipping oil.

“What is this really about?” he asked.

Nick paused mid-dip. “What?”

“All this.” He waved an arm to gesture to the restaurant. “I’ve helped in the ER several times when your hands were full. What is this actually about?”

He set his bread on his plate, frowning. “You can’t wait until after we eat?”

Strange raised a brow. “Consider yourself fortunate I said yes to this at all. I only came because, admittedly, I’m curious; I cannot begin to guess what you could possibly want to talk to me about outside of work.”

“Fine, fine.” Nick sighed and set his elbows on the table. He pressed his lips against his closed fists as he figured out how to start. All the while, Strange stared at him with an odd mix of exasperation and puzzlement. “You…” he started slowly. He trailed off.

“Me,” said Strange.

Fuck it. “You’ve been off lately.”

His brows shot up. “Off?”

“Yeah, off. Not yourself. Different.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly that. You’re acting differently lately. For a while, apparently.”

He bristled in clear irritation. “If you’re just going to waste my time—”

“You don’t enjoy your work anymore.”

That shut him up. Nick continued in the silence. “You used to always enter and exit your operations with this excitement that echoed down the halls. That’s completely gone.”

Strange recovered his voice. “If you’re implying that my work has suffered—”

“No, no,” he interrupted. “Not at all. This isn’t about the quality of your work; this is about you.” Strange didn’t have an immediate retort to that, so Nick continued, “Or maybe it’s not about you but about this man that’s taken over you the last several months. That man is clearly not eating and sleeping well, barely comes out of his office, hasn’t bragged about his newest studies and speeches in months, and mutters about life not being worth living at lunchtime.”

His colleague’s mouth hung slightly open as if he wanted to say something but had forgotten how to speak. Nick couldn’t quite read the emotion in his eyes, either. Before he completely lost his nerve, he said one last observation. “And that man,” he muttered, “had his stomach pumped two months ago, and those circumstances combined with the rest paint a picture of a man who… might be a bit lost.”

Something raw flashed through Strange’s eyes that made him appear more vulnerable than Nick’s ever seen him before. That brought on a strange and discomforting feeling that joined the rest of the jumbled nerves in his stomach.

Quickly he continued, “You don’t need to tell me anything. I’m not demanding anything from you. I just wanted to say that— no matter what differences we have— that if you do need someone for— for anything— that I’m here. Even if it’s just to listen.”

He fell silent, and still Strange didn’t say anything immediately, which was unusual in itself. Nick wasn’t sure if he should continue looking at him or if he should look away, or what.

And thank God, dinner arrived and gave him the perfect reason to look away and leave Strange to his thoughts.

The silence sat for the remainder of the meal. Strange didn’t eat much (though he couldn’t blame him) but also didn’t leave. Nick didn’t know what that meant, or if it meant anything at all.

Still, he had one last thing to say.

After he paid the bill, he pulled a card from his wallet as he stood up. “She came with high recommendations,” he said as he put down the card of a therapist that most certainly did not work at Metro-General. “Think about it.” With that, he took his leave, allowing Strange time alone to dwell on what he said.

————

When they next saw each other at work, neither of them made any indication to each other that they had dinner last night. Their last conversation never crossed the threshold of the hospital. Strange never called him, and Nick never inquired about his well being more than he did any other coworker.

But a few months later, when he got word that Strange was starting his music challenge games in his operations once more, Nick allowed himself a small smile at the news.

[oleanderblume]

Catastrophizing a lot recently.

Specially cause I just got done filling out top surgery consult forms.

So I'm thinking about like, how having top surgery is gonna change my experiences in day to day.

I'll pass better, which is fantastic. Conversely, I'm am still deathly terrified of using the men's room 100% of the time and when I'm feeling particularly scared (usually when someone is right in front or behind me when I'm going into the restroom) I don't my mask and use the ladies. Totally relying on the fact that I just have massive honkers.

Or the very uncomfortable idea of basically outting myself everything I show my license. And as a commercial driver, I do that quite a lot.

But like, I think that's something I can handle.

Right now, my brain is going mostly to worries about hippa, roe v wade and stuff because I'm terrified that if it gets overturned and my medical records are able to be viewed, it would be ridiculously easy to point at me and say "trans" and that is, to say the least, terrifying.

Cause I'm of the mind that if something doesn't change and change fast, I'm gonna be on a train to the nearest ghetto along with every other "undesireable" in the US.

And then, in the corner of my brain, on a completely different note, I am fucking terrified of the idea of spending a month post on at my parents. Cause that's the only place I can be realistically, since I don't have my own house and my sister has a toddler.

My parents aren't...very accepting. My mom had a big breakdown over me simply mentioning top surgery, and I legit asked my sister to take the consult pictures for me cause my mom is weird and really likes to talk about my breasts. Like, in a very strange "I'm jealous of your titles even though mine are cosmetically perfect in comparison" and she's done that since I started growing them.

So I just know that she is going to be "mourning" the loss of my boobs or some weird and frankly posessive shit like that.

And my dad, well. I fucking hate my dad. He beat my brother on more than one occasion and he's a chronically narcissistic abusive jackass. He gets violent when he's angry and I have had a consistent terror of him physically harming me in some way purely because I'm not what he wants.

He's blown up at my nephew (the toddler) over my name. Because my nephew corrected him, as taught by his momma (my sister is fucking awesome)

So it's not like I'm not hyper aware of his behavior.

The worst fucking thing though is this fear is mixing with my trauma and a very very deep seated fear that I deliberately shove down and ignore on a consistent basis.

Being a survivor of csa and all. I'm legitimately horrified by the prospect that my dad had anything to do with that abuse.

So of course, my brain immediately goes to "when you're recovering and less mobile and hopped up on drugs he could do something awful to you"

The awful thing ranges from strangling me to death (yay) to taking advantage of me because I'm loopy and can't easily move around.

And it's great because it's all on the basis of him really fucking hating me being trans. Like. He doesn't like me as it I because I was the first one to go to therapy, come back and call him out on his bullshit.

And he's constantly under the impression that I can somehow hurt him or put him in jail (wonder why that is, dad...what did you do??)

On top of me being the family tranny and openly lgbt+ person who doesn't take his shit anymore, AND makes more money than him.

He harbors a lot of resentment for me to say the least. And the idea of being as vulnerable as post op for at least 3 weeks, in a house with a disingenuous mother and a downright abusive father, and the only means of separation being my scrawny ass brother and a thin, hollow door...is really fucking scary.

I know I'm probably freaking out like, 10 times more about it than the actual threat of the situation. Doesn't help that I have 11+ hours a day to have vivid imagined scenarios of whatever could possibly happen.

Mostly this is me just venting and putting the fear out into the void cause if I don't I'm worried it will make me hesitant to get the procedure in the first place. Which is put of the question, I've saved up for 4 years to do this I'm not fucking backing out now.

[filthy-darkweaver]

Interview with the Kael... pire? 4

The conclusion. It's... it's all over the place.

Faltheriel: *whispers over the phone in the royal office while he can see Kael'thas out in the hallway dancing to his own Boy With Hate tik tok that Faltheriel secretly made* The door is closed now. But I can still see him through the stupid, fancy window thing he had installed... I dunno what it is? It's a weird enchanted mage window where he can see me working. Help!!

Rachel: *a beautiful, dark-skinned Human woman lounging at home on the couch with a newspaper, beside Night Elf Dannox* Oh, that's horrible. Faltheriel honey, I'm so sorry you have to deal with this at work.

Dannox: Did Filthy tell you it was all my idea? This is so sweeeeet that it's actually happening!

Rachel: A scheme to rival Kael's own fel-addicted, hair-brained ideas? I'd gathered that.

Faltheriel: Shut up, Dannox.

Rachel: *nudges Dannox with her foot, but he tries to tickle it*

Faltheriel: Please, Rach! Kael'thas wants me to come up with a new tik tok handle for him by the end of today! And he doesn't actually know I'm going to re-name my own tik tok because he still doesn't know I'm the one really behind this. I've been trying to come up with something perfect all day, but I'm just... I'm freaking out here, I can't! And, I could lose everything if I screw this up!

Rachel: So. In my experience as someone who writes for various Horde and Alliance newspapers under a monniker... What to call Kael'thas Sunstrider on tik tok? Hrmmm...

Dannox: Something from his past? Like phoenix... something.

Faltheriel: *harsh whisper* What is Dannox actually doing right now? He's not helping! Tell our useless trophy husband to go play outside while the adults work.

Rachel: He's tickling my feet, actually. Now it's turned into a massage. Mrmmm...

Faltheriel: Stop seducing our wife while I'm at work!

Dannox: Oh. So today can't be like every other day of our lives because...?

Rachel: Filthy means it, cut it out. He's really worried. And let me think. Hrmmm.

Faltheriel: He's vain. He probably wants it to sound like it's really him, but he wants to seem trendy, like it's not him?

Rachel: I'm afraid because I think I do understand where he's coming from. You know, Kael'thas really is highly intelligent. If the Convocation of Silvermoon had survived, he'd be surrounded by advisors and PR professionals. We'd never know about his more annoying traits.

Faltheriel: I think about that a lot, too. I mean, consider a day at the office for me if there were, well, a hundred of me.

Dannox: You could stay home and play with us. *hugs Rachel*

Rachel: You know, all those stories and videos out there with Kael'thas cast as a complete simpleton do him no favors. It's robbing the fandom, really, of a very dynamic, complex character. There is dark in him, as well as light. Not necessarily a good man, but we can all understand how Kael was driven to the edge. He's almost a tragic character, possibly Shakespearean.

Faltheriel: But there's a playfulness as well, a kind of fun irony. I thought more Dickensian?

Rachel: Possibly. But that's really bleak. No, I just... *she takes off her glasses, twirls them* Sometimes it pains me that he's not more regularly depicted with great depth. It's all there. The loss of a great love, or a perceived one. And the loss of his father, his country, all weighing on him. The worst betrayal of all from his rival. Nothing, nothing I've read or watched in all these years seems to get at the heart, the real thorn in there, the true reason--the how, if you will--that explains Kael’thas' downfall. What, specifically, broke him in the end? Who was there to watch? And wasn't Illidan supposed to be there, too? Witnessing this beautiful youth crumble? *puts her glasses back on, unfolds the newspaper* All that.

Dannox: *Pretends to snore loudly, Rachel moves her cute feet out of his lap*

Faltheriel: *rubs his temples* Well, I suppose on social media sites, we're forced to boil Kael'thas down into a more easily digestible format.

Rachel: It's why I turn to fanfiction every time for the real good stuff. Long-form appeals to me I guess. Boiling Kael down into a memey joke on places like tumblr must cause some fans real suffering; though I guess it's also fun too, sometimes.

Pooktales god-voice: It SO is and yes it does.

Faltheriel: *back behind the fourth wall* And, Kael is damn funny so it's bound to be tempting. And, he's a very good-looking man. He is, in fact gorgeous. I mean, hello?

Rachel: But I want the whole man, not just the gristle. The meat, the bones, the whole meal. His life has expensive, award-winning historical drama written all over it. With fancy elves! I'd watch it.

Faltheriel: Me too! Oh man, who would you cast to play Kael'thas? *coils the cord of his office phone in his manicured fingers*

Rachel: That guy who plays the Witcher? You know, he also plays Warcraft. He'd be perfect.

Faltheriel: Oh you just like his muscles. If I could just... freeze the guy from Interview With the Vampire, Lestat you know? And use him? I don't know why.

Dannox: *snores even louder* Is the sleepover party done yet, girls?

Faltheriel: Well. I adore that maniac, but it looks like I'm out of a job if I can't turn over my tik tok for him in like... five minutes. I'm just here staring at the screen. He's gonna find out everything. I feel just horrible about what I did, turning my own sovereign's private moment into a joke on the internet. This is all too much for me. I have to be honest with him. As you say, and I agree my love... he's been through enough in his life.

Rachel: Oh no, Faltheriel! Don't give up. It's just one more tiny lie, and you'll be running his social media! That's like a promotion. The tik tok account for Kael'thas Sunstrider!

Faltheriel: He's done dancing. He's walking back to my office. That's his signature 'I know what I want and heads will roll' strut, alright. Same as back in Dalaran. Same as in Tempest Keep. In the Shadowlands, he more floated. But you get my imagery. Yep, he's waving at me.

Rachel: Let's see... his brand... so his name?

Faltheriel: I can't use his name, Kael already said not to. Look, hun. I should hang up.

Rachel: Wait! It's coming to me... Sunstrider... Sun... uh...

Faltheriel: I can't hold him off any longer.

Dannox: Hold up! Wait, Filthy, please! Don't lose your job over what I stupidly started. If anyone can do it, Rachel can!

Rachel: Some play on... Sunstrider... Sun...

Kael'thas: *comes in the office door* Are we all finished? I have a game of Hearthstone to play with Grand Magister Rommath. So show me my new tik tok... thing.

Rachel: Sunstrut!!!

Faltheriel: It's! Well, I was just typing in the new name. See? Take a look and, tell me if you... *he wilts* Like... it.

Kael'thas: Hrm... Ha! Sunstrut. I adore it. Could it be that one wonderful thing has gone right in my life? That looks very good. Nice work, Faltheriel. *leaves* You run my online stuff from now on, alright?

Faltheriel: ...

Rachel: You still there? Did you get the job?

Faltheriel: I just got my dream job, doing social media for King Kael'thas Sunstrider himself. Woohooo! Yes!

Rachel: So. Had you thought about what you'll tell Kael'thas when he asks if you punished the guy who did that?

Faltheriel: Oh damn. I forgot all about it. I guess I might be a bit late--

Rachel: No, don't you stay in that office a moment longer. Hurry home, dear. Potroast is already in the oven, and I went and got Dannox all tied up in our boudoir. He's eager for his beating. Well, he'd better be.

Faltheriel: I so love you.

-fin-

[clumsyclifford]

Thanks for sharing your talents with us! 3, 4 for yssdf, 18 for i can't be just friends (you're messing with my head), 22 for yssdf annnnnnd 42! <3

hey thanks for indulging me homie!!! i'm gonna put the rest of these under a cut because i think they got long. while im at it, panic attack tw from a snippet of a fic under the cut

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics? friendship. tea. if it's an atl fic, any mention of the baltimore orioles at all. blink-182 references. first kiss. humor. KITCHENS!!!! lots of kitchens somehow i always manage to put a kitchen in there.

questions for fic writers

4. What detail in you seem so damn familiar are you really proud of? LOTS of them. the scientific accuracy of the memory stuff (insofar as i was able to be accurate rather than just kinda vaguely guessing because ~we really don't know a lot about memory loss~), i'm proud of that. the part in chapter 6 where alex has a panic attack because he doesn't know where jack is because he doesn't remember that jack told him where he'd be is one of my favorites because its accuracy is twofold. first of all: alex's memory takes a hit from the head trauma. it's not just that he loses his memories, past tense, but like it says in the fic, he's also worse at remembering things in the present. like, he's just not as good at encoding information (to put it technically). and when jack told alex, at the end of chapter 5, that he'd be going out the following morning, alex was already tired and kinda thinking about something else. he's not used to needing to be extremely attentive and make an active effort to encode something in order to remember it. so memory problems are a real symptom of head trauma and that includes short-term/working memory, and it was important to me to include that. also as a member of the bad memory club i wanted everyone to know what it's like to be me. my entire life is forgetting basic things people have told me. that was one thing.

the other thing is that jack says it himself: before the incident, alex was not an anxious person. that wasn't some throwaway line; that's true. alex did not have anxiety prior to the incident. anxiety and panic attacks and that genre of thing are symptoms of a traumatic brain injury. and for alex a lot of that anxiety is around feeling like he's never going to remember everything he forgot. i mean if you read this part in the middle of his panic attack:

he doesn’t know what to do because he’s not the type to panic like this, he’s not, he doesn’t even— he’s not even an anxious person he’s fucked up enough as it is and he’s completely at a loss right now maybe if he could just remember his past decade he would know what to do but that’s the whole fucking problem is he doesn’t remember shit. Like someone took a cookie-cutter to his brain and removed a whole ten-year section and left absolutely fucking nothing not a trace not even a helpful hint telling Alex if he’s used to having panic attacks and what if he never fucking knows! What if he lives the rest of his fucking life missing a whole goddamn decade! What if he has to relearn how to handle anxiety he didn’t even know he had!

so he's panicking because he doesn't know where jack is but the fact that he's panicking is itself making him panic more because he's not used to being the kind of person who panics and now he's wondering if this is something he's supposed to be used to and supposed to be able to handle but he can't because he doesn't know if he's used to having anxiety and that's only adding on to the stress. so anyway, this was a very long answer just to say that i'm really proud of all the details in this fic that indicate that alex has other symptoms of a traumatic brain injury aside from just the amnesia.

18. If you wrote a sequel to i can't be just friends (you're messing with my head), what would it involve? probably some good old-fashioned established relationship fluff! also probably alex coming out to zack and rian. and subsequently jalex coming out as Together. and possibly a conversation where alex admits that he thought jack and zack had a thing, and then everyone laughs about it.

22. Who is your favorite character in you seem so damn familiar and why? there aren't that many characters but i like that jeff cried when alex first called him so maybe jeff. JUST KIDDING. i don't know, i think alex is my favorite character, but it's a tricky question. i like that alex has memory problems that i can project onto him. and his whole internal conflict is so interesting to me. like...knowing you're supposed to be one person, feeling like you're a different person, but at the same time not feeling like either one of those people? experiencing the past as if it's the future? i don't know it's fascinating. and he is doing his goddamn best.

42. Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason? i still think about TL's comment on neon weekend. honestly i felt like i did not deserve a comment that nice lmao considering i was drawing from zero expertise. OH! and adri's comment on dearly depressed and brokenhearted. they left me a BOOK REPORT. that comment was almost the sole reason i wrote that cake friendship fic later. a lot of the time ill be rereading my own fics and when i get to a certain line ill think of what someone commented about it like i remember anna mentioning this line in the bday fic i wrote for her (feels like this could be forever right now)

It’s not a question of whether or not Luke is tired. Now that he’s sitting down, at peace in a room that feels locked in an alternate dimension, of course he’s tired, but he doesn’t want to sleep. Doesn’t want today to become tomorrow. Doesn’t want Calum and Michael to leave.

and she said that she really understood that feeling? and that stuck with me and i think about it every time i reread that fic. stuff like that.

[jbankai89]

Never Let Me Go [8/37]

A/N: Next update will be September 26th. 

Chapter Seven – Missteps

“I hate this.”

Yuuri slowed to a stop and turned to look at Yuri, his head cocked to the side.

“Hate what?”

“This!” Yuri gestured wildly with his arms, “I feel like a child, with them watching us like that.”

Yuuri turned away from Yuri and glanced over to where Otabek and Viktor had been watching them surreptitiously from across the gardens, and doing a very bad job of hiding it. Otabek was nursing a beer, while Viktor was drinking tea from a truly horrid floral teacup. Viktor was smiling indulgently at the pair of omegas, while Otabek seemed to be glaring at the tabletop.

It had been just over two months since Yuri had seen Yuuri last, and the older omega overall looked the same, if a bit more anxious than usual. Yuri wasn't certain the same could be said for him—he felt completely wiped out after coming down from his second miserable heat in Otabek's company. It had played out very much like the first—Otabek waited until the heat actually hit before he offered Yuri the suppressants, as though hoping Yuri may have suffered some sort of extreme brain damage that would cause him to welcome Otabek's touch, and not reject him again.

Needless to say, it had been another miserable heat, where Yuri all but begged Otabek to leave him be.

“Viktor's just...protective,” Yuuri replied awkwardly, his face flooding with colour as he spoke, and he looked away from the alphas to focus his gaze on his feet.

“I'll bet,” Yuri said sarcastically. “Protective of his offspring, maybe, but what about you?”

“He cares for me...I—I think,” Yuuri answered awkwardly, and moved a hand to the mark on his throat; the movement seemed to be unconscious, rather than deliberate. “I mean, he's good to me, I'm not afraid of him or anything, and...he's just...eccentric? He's a little weird and over-the-top at times.”

“Is that Japanese for he tries too hard?”

Yuuri smiled weakly.

“Just a little.”

They kept walking, staying out of earshot of the two alphas, though they kept their eyes on the omegas like two birds of prey. Yuri kept an eye on Yuuri, and could not help but notice how often his hand strayed to his abdomen, which was still completely flat.

“You...uh, go see the doctor yet?” Yuri asked awkwardly, and nodded towards Yuuri's stomach. He seemed to pale a little at the words, and nodded meekly.

“Yeah.”

“And...?”

“It's...it's...I'm looking at a C-section,” Yuuri replied weakly, and Yuri blinked in confusion.

“What? Why?”

“Well...” Yuuri paused, and swallowed audibly. “Um...the doctor didn't find one heartbeat...he found three.”

“Oh...oh. Ow.” Yuri winced. “I don't like the idea of pushing one out of my...but three?”

“Viktor's even more excited than he was before, but I have to be extra careful I don't tire myself out and stuff. He's sort of given overbearing a whole new meaning.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.” Yuuri smiled weakly at Yuri's sarcasm. “How do you feel about it, though?”

“Mostly? Still scared,” Yuuri admitted, his hands still on his abdomen as he dropped his gaze again. “The idea of having to be a dad to three kids instead of one...what if I'm a bad dad? What if Viktor's working too much to help me? What if something happens and they die?”

“Yuuri, breathe,” Yuri said quickly when it looked like Yuuri was a step away from having a total mental breakdown. “First, you're a great caregiver. You took care of me when I first got to the Omega House, and I was a fucking wreck. I'm sure if you can handle me, you can handle three babies.” Yuri paused, then offered Yuuri a small smirk, “besides, they're not just Viktor's kids...they're yours, too. Their first words will probably be sorry.”

Yuuri chuckled weakly, he but did not contradict him.

“I suppose it'd be easier to deal with if we didn't feel like...their kept boys or something,” Yuri continued, and cast a quick glare over to where the alphas sat. Otabek still was staring at his feet, and it looked as though he hadn't touched his beer.

“Otabek never takes you out?” Yuuri asked, and Yuri shook his head. “Maybe...maybe that's because he hasn't marked you yet? Viktor takes me out a lot, but...”

“But what?”

“Well...he says he likes having me on his arm, so maybe I'm just his...what's the word...arm candy?”

“Alphas are so charming,” Yuri added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You could replace us with blow-up sex dolls and they wouldn't know the difference.”

Yuuri smiled weakly at that, but he didn't answer. Instead, he turned his attention to the scenery as he eased down under the willow tree at the edge of the property, the same one that Yuri was so fond of. They sat almost out of sight of the two alphas, and as Yuri eased down next to his companion, he spotted the alphas moving their table to keep them in view.

“Maybe Otabek hasn't taken you anywhere because of this...?” Yuuri reached out and touched the obedience collar, and Yuri flinched a little. He still hated the damn thing and wanted it off, but he hadn't yet worked out how to do that. “Sorry,” Yuuri said quickly, “I just mean, maybe he's worried that you'll run, or get taken away by another alpha, since he hasn't marked you yet?”

“And so his solution is to lock me away here until I go insane from the solitude, since the only time he ever talks to me is when he wants to discuss my heats or whatever...” Yuri mumbled miserably, and glanced over to the pair of alphas again. This time, he caught Otabek watching them, and he narrowed his eyes into a glare.

Otabek looked away.

“Yurio, I know it's not the greatest situation in the world...but...maybe let him in, just a little?” Yuuri asked timidly, “I mean...things with Viktor are...confusing, but he's nice, and he takes care of me. Otabek wants to take care of you, I can see it—we all can. What do you have to lose by letting him...you know...be close to you?”

“You mean besides by body autonomy?” Yuri asked snidely, and Yuuri flinched. The older omega's hand immediately moved to his abdomen, and Yuri felt the first tendrils of guilt worm in his stomach.

“Fuck, Yuuri, I'm sorr—”

“—no,” Yuuri interrupted with a small smile, “it's all right—you're right. I mean, maybe it's not the most healthy thing in the world, but...Viktor makes me happy. He does all he can to make me feel cared for, and I'd hate to see you alone and miserable out here because you and Otabek can't find some sort of common ground.”

“I think he thinks he's being noble, letting me choose when I'm marked,” Yuri muttered, and glared down at the grass.

“In a way, he sort of is,” Yuuri replied meekly. “I mean, Viktor marked me practically the second he took me home, and Otabek letting you acclimate to this life before...it's nice. I think it's sweet.”

“Sweet? Sweet?” Yuri sputtered, and the older omega recoiled a little in alarm at Yuri's tone of voice. “What the hell is wrong with you? He's just...he's trying to break me so that I'll say yes. I can't—I won't let that happen. I'm not going to turn into his...his...whore and his brood mare. I can't do that—I won't.”

~*~

When Yuuri left that evening, the possessive arm of his alpha draped over him, Yuri could not help but feel a distinctive loss as he watched them descend to Viktor's painfully flashy red convertible and speed away.

A hand at the small of Yuri's back made him jump a little, and he whirled around to see Otabek frowning at him. Yuri glared, and stepped out of his reach.

“Leave me alone,” Yuri growled, and moved to storm away, but Otabek was too fast for him. Otabek grabbed his forearm, the hold just firm enough to keep Yuri from breaking free, but not hard enough to be painful.

“Let me go, asshole,” Yuri growled, and Otabek's scowl deepened.

“No,” he replied firmly, and half-dragged a protesting Yuri down the hall and into the parlour. He did not stop until they reached the antique leather settee, and he forced Yuri down onto it.

“Yuri, I have tried to be nice, I have tried to give you space, I have tried to be close to you, I have tried to give you what you need to be happy here,” Otabek said, a note of frustration in his voice. “What will it take to make you happy?”

“Let me go home.”

“You are home.”

“No, I'm not, when are you going to get that through your thick skull?” Yuri snarled, his eyes narrowed in his fury, “I'll never, never see this as home. This is a prison. My home is that tiny shack by the sea, with my grandfather, and it reeks of fish and wood smoke, and there's barely enough room for the two of us but I don't care because that's home, and I haven't been there for five years, and it's likely that I never see it again, thanks to you. If you won't let me go home, send me back to the Omega House, I don't care, but I don't want to be here.”

Otabek stared at Yuri following his rant. His gaze was clouded, dark, and very close to fury. Yuri did not back down, but glared right back at him.

Suddenly, Otabek lurched forward, almost as though he'd intended to make a grab for Yuri, but stopped himself short, and with an angry shout he jumped up and stormed from the room.

Yuri watched him go, his skin tingling with nervousness.

He couldn't quite explain why, but he felt as though he'd dodged some kind of bullet.

Still shaking a little, Yuri decided to make an early night, and hastened from the parlour and up to his bedroom.

~*~

Movement.

A strange jostling, and Yuri could feel arms across his back and under his knees, like he was being carried somewhere.

He cracked his eyes open. Above him the silhouette of Otabek was thrown into sharp relief by the dim lights, which were whisking past them steadily.

“O-Otabek?” Yuri croaked sleepily, “what are you doing?” Yuri blinked up at the figure above him, and he hushed the omega.

“Shh, my Yuri,” he murmured softly, “you're dreaming, go back to sleep...”

~*~

When Yuri woke the next morning, it was so early that it was still pitch-black outside. The sky was a deep indigo, and Yuri could hear the soft chirping of songbirds greeting the day. He was momentarily overwhelmed by confusion by what had woken him, but after a moment, he realized—this was not his room.

It was then that Yuri became acutely aware of the gentle weight of an arm across his ribs, and a warm body at his back.

Yuri's eyes bulged in sudden understanding.

I'm in Otabek's room, he thought.

I wasn't dreaming.

He really was in my bedroom last night.

How strange that the thought did not distress him in the same way it normally would have.

No, no, no. Yuri shook his head a little, careful to not wake the alpha. I can't think like that. That's what he wants, for me to break down and let him in. I'm still waking up, I'll start panicking any minute now.

“Yuri...”

His name was vocalized like a sigh, and he whipped around to face Otabek, only to find him still in a dead sleep.

Is he...dreaming about me?

Otabek sighed again, and seemed to unconsciously shift closer, as though keen to eliminate the space between them. Yuri froze, startled, and uncertain what to do, while he watched as Otabek snuggled close, and seemed to radiate sleepy contentment.

“Yuri...” he mumbled again, but beyond that, he did nothing else.

His voice softly speaking his name made Yuri's heart flutter in a strange, uncomfortable sort of way, and he was glad that Otabek was asleep, and would not see this reaction.

~*~

Yuri could not recall falling asleep again, but just as suddenly he found himself waking up, and bright autumn sunshine was filtering in through the huge bay window.

He was not alone in the bed; Otabek was stretched out next to him, on his side with his head cradled in his hand, and elbow braced against the mattress. Yuri could feel the soft tickle of the alpha stroking his hair, and he hated how his body seemed to come alive from the gentle touch.

“Morning,” Otabek said when Yuri's eyes fluttered open, and he smiled warmly down at the omega.

“Morning,” Yuri croaked, while Otabek continued to stroke his hair lightly. Yuri closed his eyes again; it felt nice, and he felt far too groggy to protest it—yet.

“I took the liberty of asking Stephenson to bring us breakfast in bed,” Otabek hedged awkwardly, “I wanted to talk to you somewhere comfortable, and I figured you'd be more open to it if there's coffee and pastries involved.”

Yuri's knee-jerk reaction was still to go against anything and everything that Otabek said, but at the mention of food, his stomach gave an audible gurgle. He deflated a little, but still eyed Otabek distrustfully.

“...what kind of pastries?”

“Strudel, danish, turnovers, croissants...” Otabek reached for his bedside table and produced a platter of a number of different pastries, some with fruit filling, some drenched in icing, and the croissants seemed to be of the chocolate variety, with its tips dipped in dark, tempered chocolate.

Yuri eyed the tray uncertainly as he sat up and crossed his legs. Immediately, Otabek balanced the buffet of fat and carbs across Yuri's knees, and the omega licked his lips as his stomach growled again.

“This doesn't mean I've forgotten that you basically kidnapped me from my own bed last night to bring me in here,” Yuri warned, “I'm just...not awake enough yet to be mad at you.”

“That's fine,” Otabek replied in a mild tone, as though wholly unbothered by Yuri's promise of an impending temper tantrum. “Coffee?”

“Please. Black.”

Otabek lifted a sleek French Press off the night stand, and filled one of the available mugs. Yuri accepted it from the alpha, and felt his face flood with colour when their fingers lightly brushed together.

He did that on purpose...

The thought did not improve Yuri's mood, but as he sipped the hot drink, it took all of his strength to not moan out loud.

This isn't coffee, Yuri thought dazedly, this is the nectar of the Gods.

“Is it good?” Otabek asked, and Yuri cursed inwardly. How much he liked it must have shown on his face.

“It's all right,” he replied simply, and picked up the chocolate croissant. “Uh...what did you want to talk about?”

“Well...us.”

Yuri definitely saw that one coming.

“What about this time?” Yuri asked sourly as he bit into the croissant, and nearly choked in surprise, for there was a full-sized brownie in the centre of the thing.

“Well...how much do you know about alphas?” Otabek asked, “I mean, how we differ from omegas and things like that?” He spoke in a light, unassuming tone while he filled his own cup and began to sip it, though made no attempt to close the distance between them, or help himself to any of the available pastries.

“All I've ever been told about you alphas is that you're big, sex-crazed brutes who are obsessed with having children,” Yuri replied, his voice thick, given that his mouth was still full of food. To his response, Otabek frowned a little.

“I wouldn't say sex-crazed, but for me, the children part is fairly accurate. It's something that I want very much, Yuri.” Yuri opened his mouth to respond in anger, but Otabek continued before he had a chance to. “But that's not to say I want to pressure you into it before you feel ready. I stand by my intent to wait until you want it, not just me.”

“You'll be waiting a long time...” Yuri muttered under his breath, but if Otabek caught the comment, he didn't react to it.

“Anyway,” the alpha continued, “there's other things, too. When there's an unbonded omega nearby, even out of heat, it can be disorienting, especially if we're interested in that omega—that's part of why the Omega House program exists, to protect omegas from rape, and to help the alphas feel less...well, fucked up.”

“What do you mean by...disorienting?” Yuri asked uncertainly as he gazed up at Otabek.

“You know that feeling when your blood sugar is low, and you're very dizzy, you can't focus on anything, but the second you sit and eat, your head clears?”

“Um...I think so...”

“Well, when I smell you, but I can't go near you, it's kind of like that,” Otabek said, and reached for Yuri. He flinched slightly, but the alpha did nothing more than brush a few blond strands from his eyes. “The moment I get to touch you, even if it's something as simple as this, it's like a healing balm or something. I feel so...alive.”

Yuri felt a blush rise in his cheeks, and he stared down into his coffee mug. He knew what Otabek wanted in the grand scheme of things, but as to what he was getting at from this conversation, he was drawing a blank.

“I'm not sure what you want from me, here,” Yuri mumbled, and squirmed uncomfortably. His knee-jerk reaction was still to rebel against anything and everything Otabek had to say, but this morning he felt far too drained to go forward with his usual routine of being as big a pain in the ass as he possibly could. At the same time however, speaking to Otabek softly like this was making his pride bristle with negation. The whole thing left Yuri feeling terribly confused and unsettled.

“I want you to give me a chance, and I want you to come back to our bed,” Otabek said, his voice soft, but Yuri could easily discern the pleading tone in it.

Suddenly, he didn't feel so hungry.

“So you can groom me to be your baby factory?” Yuri sniped as he set down the coffee on the night table, pushed the tray away, and gathered his legs to his chest.

He remembered now why he hated Otabek.

Yuri buried his face in his knees, and shivered when he felt a large hand brush through his hair. Like before, it tickled his scalp, and he hated how calming the tiny action was. It wasn't fair. He didn't want to be calmed by Otabek, he wanted his hatred of the alpha to be pure.

But the more time that passed however, the more confusing his feelings towards Otabek became.

“I don't want you to be any more or less than yourself, Yuri,” Otabek murmured, and Yuri shivered when he felt a kiss brush against his temple. Yuri's arms tensed around his legs, and he did not move. “All I want from you right now is the honour of holding you at night as you sleep—protecting you, if you'd let me.”

“I can take care of myself,” Yuri cut in, his voice muffled slightly by the fact that he hadn't lifted his face from his arms. He heard Otabek chuckle, and the bed shifted as the alpha moved to sit behind him,  and resumed stroking Yuri's hair.

He could feel the lift and fall of his hair as Otabek's fingers carded through the blond locks, and Yuri shivered a little. It felt nice. He hated that it felt nice.

“I know that you can, Yuri, but sometimes it's okay to let someone else take care of you, too.”

“Someone like you, maybe?” Yuri asked; he'd meant the words to be cutting, but they came out more feeble as his body responded to the alpha's gentle touch against his scalp. It was so calming, like Otabek was draining all the fight out of him. Yuri tried to muster up some anger for his situation, for how Otabek had snuck him into his own bed without his consent, but it wouldn't come. He felt calm, and pliant, and Otabek seemed to know it, too. Yuri couldn't be sure of this, of course, given that from his current position he couldn't see Otabek's face, but  somehow, strangely, Yuri was certain that he could sense it.

“Yes,” Otabek answered smoothly, “someone like me. I do care for you, Yuri. I wouldn't have chosen you if I didn't want you in my life. Is it really so bad?”

“Yes,” Yuri deadpanned. “You chose me like a shirt off a rack. That's not really how dating is supposed to work.”

“We are alpha and omega,” Otabek pointed out, “we aren't betas. Our social interactions are not the same.”

“Easy for you to say,” he mumbled in reply, “you're not the one enslaved, here.”

“You're not my slave,” Otabek growled, the danger in his tone so intense that Yuri jumped a little in surprise at the sound of it. The alpha's hands dropped to Yuri's waist, and he held tightly to him, not unlike a child with their treasured toy. “If you were, I could just order you into my bed, and order you to carry my children. Instead, I am asking, and trying to win your affection.”

Yuri glared into the crook of his arms, and wondered whether it was worth pointing out that his attempts to win him, as he put it, involved leaving him in seclusion with no one but him to talk to. He'd been to school long enough to know what psychological torture was.

Trouble was, he couldn't remember how to properly fight against it.

A hand brushed Yuri's cheek, and he jumped. The angle told him that Otabek was now in front of him, not behind him, but he couldn't recall feeling the alpha move.

Yuri looked up reluctantly, the change in lighting enough to make his eyes sting, and he gazed up at the alpha—his keeper—nervously. What was he planning? His face was always so blank, and Yuri often found that his actions were scarily unpredictable, and he'd only realized that he'd gone too far when Otabek snapped.

At the present moment, Otabek's expression was the same impassive one Yuri had come to know so well. This time, there was a note of tenderness to the look, and it caused a shiver to run through him.

What did Otabek want? What was Yuri supposed to say?

Unconsciously, Yuri inched backward.

Otabek reached out for him, his expression shifting from tender to mournful.

“Yuri, please...”

“Please what?” Yuri asked nervously, and watched as Otabek inched forward to close the distance between them again. Yuri froze, his breath stilled, and he felt once more that strange combination of fear and want overwhelm him as Otabek's hot hands closed over his own, and the alpha's lips stopped scant inches from Yuri's.

“Can we start again?” Otabek asked, his breath tickling over Yuri's lips. “I want you in my life, not just my bed. The only time we ever see each other is when I want to discuss things regarding this claim or my hope to have children with you. I think maybe that was the wrong approach. I was trying to give you space, but I think I created more of a rift, and made you think I only wanted you around for one thing.”

“Um...what did you have in mind?”

“Viktor is throwing a party next week, and he's invited a handful of mated alphas to the event. Sort of a pre-baby shower shower thing. I wasn't going to go since things between us are so tense, but...would you come with me?”

Yuri bit his lip.

To go meant finally to escape this house, even if only for a little while, but it also meant that he'd have to play the part of a happy little omega hanging on the arm of his alpha, which didn't exactly sit well with him either.

“You won't be expected to hang onto my arm the whole time, and there'll be no free alphas there, so there's no worry that someone might try to take you from me.” Otabek murmured softly,  and he reached out to card his fingers lightly through Yuri's hair.

There's no worry that someone might try to take you from me.

Yuri frowned; in that simple sentence, Otabek proved once more that he still did not see Yuri as anything more than his possession—something to own. How could Yuri even contemplate being with someone who felt that way about him? If he were to be with anyone, he wanted to be on equal footing with him, not this freak show.

The thought made Yuri feel—if possible—even more depressed, but with Otabek hovering over him and waiting for an answer, he knew he wouldn't be able to brood in peace until he responded to the alpha's request.

“I'll think about it,” Yuri said at last, and Otabek's face broke into a brilliant, sunny smile. He brushed his lips over Yuri's in a soft kiss, then slipped from the bed and headed for the adjoining bathroom.

The moment Yuri heard the rush of the shower running, he wasted no time, and bolted from the room.

A/N: If you like my work, please consider throwing a few bucks into my Digital Tip Jar. I am a starving artist, and I like not actually starving to death :P NLMG Masterpost

[aslightstep]

Sorry this is so random, but I saw your tags on that Steve post and his "Sometimes you can't save everyone" line, and it got me thinking. I've finally figured out some of the reasons it rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it'll line up with what you're thinking. They'd just said they feel guilty/responsible for the deaths in Lagos because of their mistakes (Steve missing the bomb, Wanda doesn't go into it, but I think not controlling the blast and not moving it away from the building). (part 1)

Steve’s lines after seem to ignore that though, and they should find a way to live with people dying sometimes instead of working to not make the mistakes that led to those deaths. I get trying to make sure the guilt doesn’t consume Wanda, but it also shouldn’t be hand waved away. Giving her a “here’s what we can work on so less/no people die from our mistakes” would help Wanda so much more than saying more people would die if you can’t deal with the guilt/what you’re feeling. (part 2)

I don’t know, just wanted to get your thoughts since I love your writing. Thinking of putting together a post to flesh out my reasons, and to rewrite the scene to match what I think Steve should have said. (part 3)

Groundwork: I think my main problem with that line was from my perspective, it sounded weird coming out of Steve’s mouth. And I don’t know how much of that is influenced by 616/Hickmanvengers Steve who ‘uplifts the helpless’ or however that speech went. I’ve never been shy about admitted that I don’t quite understand MCU Steve Rogers, though I try, but I know he’s different. But there’s a certain level of not only pragmatism but moral calculation to that line that I wasn’t expecting and it always just twigged something wrong with me. I don’t disagree with him on principle, either. You do have to accept losses and not let them drive you crazy in that line of work.

But, onto your post, I agree with what you’re saying for the most part, but I also can’t imagine Steve didn’t have that conversation with Wanda at some point. Of course the movie does not show/imply this at all, but still. Urgh, okay, let me try to sort out my own thoughts here. The thing with Wanda is - if she hadn’t done what she did, more people could have died. And like you said, it wasn’t completely her fault (I mean obviously the real blame lies with Crossbones, but you mentioned Steve not seeing the bomb/detonator.) But because she didn’t have full control or because she didn’t have enough training, people died unnecessarily still. Everybody in the movie was trying to protect Wanda for good reason - raking her over the coals for Lagos would help no one. But it also can’t just slide (one of the many problems I have with AoU is that everything slides). Why did it happen, will it happen again, how can we prevent it? Does Wanda need more time and training before she goes out into the field and who decides? Does Cap decide? Who does Cap answer to? Or the Avengers? Does someone need to step in? And from there, the more stringent parts of what the Accords are or could be (since the Accords are rather vague in the movie beyond you will work with some UN body as far as I remember) start to fall into place, but that’s another story. 

I take issue with many things about Wanda and Wanda’s situation in CACW, but just unpacking this scene alone, that series of lines certainly fit the situation - Wanda needed someone to tell her not to beat herself up - but also, idk, Wanda needed to beat herself up. In a healthy way. Does that make sense? In the ‘you can do better and this is how and I’m going to help you’ way that Steve is really good at. I agree that it would have been more constructive (but I also think that line was probably supposed to echo Tony confrontation with Mrs. Spencer.) 

And honestly, like I said, I’m pretty sure Steve did have that conversation with Wanda and we never saw it, but that’s the problem. We never saw it. I’m fine with superheroes accepting losses and processing them and moving on. Policemen do it, firemen do it, military does it. Steve’s not wrong: if they couldn’t do it, they couldn’t do their jobs. I’m not okay with that seemingly being the end of it. 

You can’t just let guilt sit. You’re right; you can’t let it eat you. But that’s not what guilt is for, if you know how to handle it. Guilt/regret is there to set an alarm off in your brain that you’ve messed up somewhere and you need to try to fix it. I’ve never had much patience for the side of Tumblr that lambasts Tony Stark for doing something ‘because he felt guilty’ because yes, while Tony’s guilt can lead to terrible things, on the other hand: Good. That’s what guilt it for. To feel guilty and do nothing isn’t much better than overcompensating for it. 

So yes, absolutely help Wanda process her guilt and her grief and her fear. Don’t let people or herself destroy her for what in the end was a terrible accident. But absolutely let her own up to her mistakes and learn from them. You’re the boss, Steve. This is what you do. 

But this is the MCU. If anyone were allowed to do that the whole thing might explode. 

(Bluntly, it’s an underwritten scene and that’s the real truth of it.)

[remy-daybreak-wright-archived]

Call-Mom

Mom: Remy? How are you? I saw your pictures on your instagram! Everything looked beautiful.

Remy: It was a great trip. Really needed for both of us honestly.

Mom: I was meaning to ask about that. I know you don't want to worry me about everything that is going on over there, but I'm the parent here. It's my job to take care of you and not the other way around.

Remy: Yeah but it doesn't feel like that anymore. The hard truth is I'm going to outlive you instead of the other way around and I want to make sure every second is spent well that I have. I want you to be happy and not worry about the shit I'm worrying about because you don't need to.

Mom: Is that what you're worried about? Remington, we've both come to terms with what....what you are means. Am I happy about it? No, but you're my daughter and I've always supported you no matter what. I'm pissed as hell at who did it still. I always will be because what he did was murder and my rational brain doesn't understand why supernatural or not he can't be put in jail for that.

Remy: Well it doesn't work like that. Being mad is all you're going to get. [a pause as she pulls away the phone so her mom doesn't hear her starting to cry]

Mom: What's really going? Talk to me, please. I know you're not telling me everything. What's the matter?

Remy: I'm just...I'm overwhelmed. Seth's family hates me and that's not that unusual except for them being original werewolves and it makes it more challenging. Then this woman shows up and says she's Seth's daughter and I haven't been able to wrap my head around it yet. Now Seth's not sleeping and something's wrong and he won't tell me what. God the bakery....the bakery is so freaking busy-

Mom: Remington, take a breath. Just take a breath for me alright? If they don't want to accept you then their loss. You know what I say about changing for other people. It's not worth it. You've struggled since the beginning to handle what you are and I think you've done well. Mistakes aside but we're all entitled to them. As for Seth having a child...did he even know about it or? I'm sorry things are such a struggle, but honey life is life. It's not going to play nice because you're stressed out. You've done so well so far and I think you really just need to take a step back and look at things from a distance before you get ahead of yourself.

Remy: I know I know. I'm trying. Outside opinions don't matter, I get it. Seth didn't know. He was just as surprised so it's this weird awkward figuring out thing for both of us. He doesn't talk about it all that much, but Demi's really nice. I went shopping with her the other day. [pauses] Right, take a step back. You're right.

Mom: I think you two need a bit of communication. Don't ignore things until they build up and you have a handful of issues to deal with at once. Take everything when it comes. You do something you consider a mistake then that day you two have dinner together and sit down and talk about it. You can't dodge things for the sake of feelings, Remy. You think something's wrong then ask. If you're worried about something then bring it up. He should too, but nothing ever works on its own. I'm no poster woman for working relationships, but your father and I at least understood communication. Didn't we always have dinner together as a family? Then your father and I would sit down together after you went to bed and worked out all the adult things. I think if you take a step back and get down to what's bugging you so you know, then you can have a talk. After that, take it one thing at a time. Don't let it build up like that because now you're in the position you're in. I hate seeing you so upset. Is there a weekend I can come visit?

Remy: I hate when you're right sometimes. Honestly we probably need to do something like that. I mean it's not like we don't discuss things, but I think I end up figuring I don't wanna stress him and hold things in. Goes both ways. So good advise. You and dad were fine to be honest. He chose to go for his own reasons and that's not your fault. Uhm, let's see....[pauses as she looks at the calendar hanging in the kitchen] I mean you have this weekend coming up. I don't recommend being here when it's a full moon so...

Mom: Talk to Seth about it. I'll let your Aunt know and maybe we'll both come if that's not too much. I need to meet him and I can't help if I don't know everything.

Remy: Yeah alright. I'll see. He's at work right now so I'll just bring it up at dinner. Thanks mom.

Mom: Always. You try and cheer up. Everything will be fine. You always did like to make things worse than they were.

Remy: Don't I know it.

Mom: Give me a call when you know. I love you sweetie.

Remy: Love you too.