#non-binary caretaker

[syncopein3d]

Left Alone 2: Discovery

Part 1: Abandoned

Tropes/content warnings: vampire whumpee, male whumpee, non-binary caretaker, morbidity or thoughts of death. There will be a lot of play with, and discussion of, the concept of consent in this series, as it applies to many topics. Mostly we're talking about consent to be bitten, but being bitten in this universe varies from "mild discomfort" through "multiple climaxes" and I don't know where the story will end up yet, so I think it's important to be clear.

If you want to be put on or taken off my taglist for this series, feel free to tell me!

The stranger recoiled from the horror in front of them. For a moment the weak beam of light from upstairs transfixed them both, and Tolly jerked back, anticipating the pain. No pain came. It wasn’t sunlight. He cursed himself for a fool. He knew the basement door opened into a windowless hallway. And besides, he would have been brought low by exhaustion if it had been daylight up above.

He backed away until his back hit the far wall, arms reaching out to splay against the stones. Black talons gouged at the wall of his prison as he stared, milk-white eyes unblinking, teeth bared and showing the sharpness of his canines. He knew what he looked like. He could see the stranger breathing harder as they tried to make sense of a world in which this monster could exist.

He took in everything about them with the same fanatical, memorizing glance he had once turned on... who knew? A father, an uncle? Some relation, certainly. There were features in common: the big, dark eyes, the sharp little nose, the exquisite shape of the lips. His discoverer was wearing gray sweat pants and a baggy tee shirt that might have been black at one point. There was something under it that might be a brassiere or an undershirt or both. The checkered pattern on the slip-on shoes was so faded it was barely visible, another fashion rising again that had had time to get worn while Tolly was in this room. In ’04 the pants would have had open ankles. Now they were gathered to an elastic.

Blue flecks of paint dotted every garment and one cheek. The head of thin black hair was tied back in a sloppy tail from which about half had escaped. Sweat plastered their hair to their cheeks and forehead. Their face showed a faint shadow of beard where the makeup was running, and their eyeliner was running, too. Their deodorant was aggressively neutral, but it wasn’t strong enough to cover the smell of recent exertion in a male body even to Tolly’s currently weak nose. Or – at least they had probably been told it was a male body when they were born. That was a delicate matter, and it barely registered on him compared to the much more overt scent of life, life, life -

“You're not wearing the ring,” he rasped. It hurt to speak, dust scraping the inside of his throat and palate where the saliva had dried up long since.

The descendant of Nicholas turned and ran, stumbling back up the basement steps. The sound of the slamming door heralded the dying of the light. Tolly stood there without moving for a while, cursing himself again as he lurked in the dark.

They hadn’t closed the secret door panel. He could see out. He slid around the room, one hand on the wall, until he got back to the opening. He could see all of the basement now, he registered anew. He hadn’t seen anything outside the room for ten years. He knew it was mad to be excited about that, the more so with the acute torment that was the scent of living blood still stinging in his nostrils, but he was excited all the same. He pulled the chair over from the table and turned it around so he could straddle it, arms resting on the back and his withered chin resting on his arms. No need to hurry. The little mortal wouldn’t be back, sealing the upstairs door and forgetting the monster in the basement as quickly as possible, so he would have a lot of time to take in the view. He had never had hope, he told himself. He should not behave as though something had been taken away.

He started all the way to the right and began to look at all of it, bit by bit, taking in every new cobweb, every splinter on the steps. He argued with himself for a while about the definition of the word “splinter” as he looked at the steps, so that he would have it down in his mind before he started counting them. He finally settled on partially separated bits of wood longer than a sixteenth of an inch. In that case, there were three splinters within his view that had not been there the last time Nicholas opened the door to his cell. That made sense. No one had come into the basement during that time, so the stairs hadn’t had much wear. His eyes lingered over every scuffed footprint in the dust that the descendant had left. There were eight steps, and eight prints coming down, right-left, right-left, and they still partly showed where the scuffed scrambling of the return trip hadn’t wiped them out. A thumbprint in blue paint marked the wooden handrail near the top.

It wasn’t a large room, but it felt a little larger.

He spent the rest of that night in his quiet memorization of the basement. The tools on the heavy wood workbenches had not changed at all in position in ten years, but they were dustier now, and the rag pile between them showed signs of having been a mouse nest at some point. That was hopeful. It meant there might be mice again there at some point, who might eventually be lured into his cell. Tolly licked his dry lips with a tongue that felt like a strip of leather in his mouth. Animal blood would not restore his strength, his powers, but it would restore his body a little. That would be something.

If he was patient, and not greedy, he might be able to keep going a lot longer on the occasional mouse. Maybe it would be two hundred years before he fell into the long sleep. He wasn’t sure how long after that a vampire would turn into dust. Accounts varied. He was certain at least one had come back from a handful of burnt ashes, because he had seen it – five mortal lives had been sacrificed to accomplish it - but whether one could be reconstituted from ancient dust was unknown to him. No one would do that for him, of course. No one had come looking for him thus far. It wasn’t that he had a great many enemies. His circle of friendly acquaintances had been large. But the few close enough to wonder where he’d gone were also immortals, and therefore it would be a long time before it occurred to anyone to look for him. He had been alone with Nicholas for a decade before Nicholas went away, and no one had come, then or in the decade after.

His mind was wandering. He reproved himself sternly and returned to concentrating on the important matter at hand. The lighting fixture overhead was relatively recent, placed in the era after the wires had been brought in and the plaster laid down over them – no, more recent than that. Perhaps thirty years. He’d seen Nicholas replace the four bulbs and put back the half-sphere of frosted glass over them, opening the door to tease Tolly with his proximity as he worked. Now he imagined that, even if the bulbs had still worked, there was probably so much dust and so many dead insects inside that it might catch fire if it were turned on.

Chances were better with the flatscreen television mounted to the wall at right-angles to the workbenches, barely visible if he leaned as far forward as he physically could. The casing was sealed enough that it would be harder for creatures to get in. Nicholas had watched movies and television while he was doing projects, sometimes. Whatever the genre, he liked material whose attraction was subtle acting, and lots of attention to faces. He’d watched Nightcrawler a lot of times in the months before he went away. It had been a seeming end to his apparent obsession with Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Tolly had an interesting couple of hours perusing the ceiling to see if there was anything alive up there. A fast-moving wolf spider was so fascinating that he watched the cupboard it had vanished behind for another hour, just in case it came out.

The big oval-shaped industrial rug was gray with accumulated dinge. He had not been here when Nicholas laid down the shiny dark red finish over the concrete floor. It had been much glossier the last time he’d seen it. His patience was again rewarded, however. Just as he was beginning to feel the heaviness in his limbs that mean dawn was breaking, a house centipede crept furtively from under one edge of the rug and ran for the workbenches, its many legs rippling around it with the urgency of its errand. Tolly struggled to stay awake as he followed its progress instead of moving to his rug. His head drooped over his arms. At last, his eyes grew too heavy to resist the pall of sleep, but not before the little beast had found cover.

His dreams were full of blood. He had thought time had freed him of that torment, resigned him to his fate, but Nicholas and his descendant died in his arms a hundred times before night fell. It was not entirely a relief when the giddy intensity of dreaming abruptly gave way to consciousness. Waking was not like waking had been when he was mortal. There was almost no space in between, and there was no confusion at all.

Tolly opened his eyes, looking around quickly. The door was still open. He could still see into the basement. He rose from the chair to go and scratch his day into the stone wall with his right thumb talon. How long until his nails would weaken? That thought sent him back to watch the old mouse nest with narrow-eyed intentness, but there was nothing living there now.

It was not a large room. Still, that night and the next passed more congenially. It would be a long time before the view of the basement lost its charms by comparison to the sealed chamber. Tolly could even read the labels on many of the spray bottles and tools and compare their fonts. He planned to save that for the winter, however, when the creatures would be less active. There was no need to be greedy.

Part 3: Bereft

@fleur-a-whump

[featherlovesrobots]

➔ “Hey. Mind playing for me for a while…? It helps me sleep.” ➔ “Any chance to dazzle you with my skills. Got a request?”

It’s quiet here. The gentle, nighttime kind of quiet Whumpee used to love. Before his life was turned upside down. Before he was snipped and cut and probed until he was new. Before Whumper.

There are differences. He tries to focus on the differences.

The clothes hanging on his body are cotton — one of Caretaker’s big t-shirts over a pair of worn lounge shorts with looped strings. So unlike the heavy chains and suffocating gags and robes Whumper had him wear. The room is bigger, but more full. Couches and bookshelves and tables with checkered clothed draped over them. Fuzzy rugs and soft-colored paintings. And the air is warm, much warmer and clearer than his cell.

But it’s quiet. A different kind of quiet, pierced by owls purring outside and the whistle of the tea kettle and the humming of the air heater, but still quiet. Similar enough to the silence that dragged over the atmosphere there, burrowing into Whumpee’s brain and spiraling him to what felt like destruction, like his eyes bleeding out and dribbling down his chin, like his fingers ripping and tearing and splitting at his still thin, patchy hair. But now he’s here. That eyes nightmare — it never even happened. And the hair, it’s growing back, it’s even soft now. But the silence… oh, the silence.

“Caretaker?” He calls out, lifting his voice as high as he dares. He’s been feeling better about being verbal lately, even though Whumper’s no-talking rule still sticks like tar.

Caretaker’s voice filters in from the kitchen. “Yeah, hon?”

The soft pattering of liquid being poured fills the thick quiet — the tea must be done. Whumpee curls tighter into the corner of the couch. “You gonna be in there much longer?”

“No, I’m almost done. One teaspoon sugar, no milk?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

They twirl to the couch, skirt flaring and that crooked sunswept smile splashed on their face. They extend a white ceramic mug towards Whumpee, and he takes it in both hands, careful and easy. He’s gotten better at that, too. Being given things.

As he lifts the rim to his lips, Caretaker plops down next to him, sitting cross-legged and sipping their own cup. “How is it? Good?” They probe, tilting their head.

“It’s great. I don’t know how you do it,” Whumpee answers, returning that smile of theirs. It’s true. The sage-tinted, lightly-sugared water runs hot down their throat. It always feels good to drink something warm, but somehow Caretaker’s tea is always the best.

Caretaker chats with Whumpee for a while, even after tea is done. It’s sweet of them to put so much effort into making him comfortable. They’ve always been so cheerful and patient and talkative around him, even though they’re naturally a pretty quiet person. They probably know it makes him feel safer. To be away from the quiet.

It’s probably midnight by the time Caretaker starts yawning. And Whumpee dreads it, the same way he does every night. It helps that Caretaker’s there with him, but it’s when it starts feeling like he’s running. Running fast and far but the silence always catches up and twists its way into his mind again.

Caretaker stands and offers him a hand. Gingerly he takes it, lets himself be pulled to his feet and guided to his bedroom — the guest room, a cozy place with a square TV and a soft bed with star-patterned sheets matching the glow-up lights on the ceiling. The stars, they help too. But they’re quiet too.

“Okay, well, goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning, dear.” Caretaker turns around and steps towards the door, but Whumpee catches them by the wrist.

Caretaker pauses, slowly turning back to look at him. “Whumpee?”

“Hey. Would you mind playing for me for a while?” Whumpee licks his lips, eyes darting to the floor. “It helps me sleep.”

Caretaker grins. “Any chance to dazzle you with my skills. Got a request?”

That’s how they end up sitting at his bedside, playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on their cello. The silence melts away like ice on a pond, first night of spring. Music pours out into the air, warm and soft, and fills Whumpee’s head with cotton.

It’s not a real solution. He knows that. And eventually, he’ll need to stop relying on Caretaker so much.

But for now, this is home.

"Hey. Mind playing for me for a while...? It helps me sleep." + Musician!Caretaker

"...Of course."

"It'll take me a second to get the guitar, are you okay if I leave for a second?"

"Yeah. But you'll have to let go of my hand, first."

"Any chance to dazzle you with my skills. Got a request?"

"I haven't sung in a while, but I'll do my best okay?"

[workingdownthewordmine]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter 5 Every Man Is Guilty

Bucky struggles with the attitudes of his so-called friends and Hive makes themself scarce.

Read this chapter on AO3 here.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 4

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Nonbinary OC, Steve Rogers Rating: T CW: Guilt, bullying (mention), violent child abuse (mention), homophobia (mention), mild dissociation Prompts filled: @lgbtqbingo : Hickeys @fluffbruary : Day 6 - Embarrassment @multifandom-flash (Compliments) : You are better than you think you are

@fandom-free-bingo (World Book Night Edition card 1) : "I don't need you." @fandom-free-bingo (Flight Edition) : Can't make it to dinner, Teasing @anyfandomangstbingo : Best friend's boyfriend @febuwhump : Day 24 - "I'm doing this because I care about you." @seasonaldelightsbingo (Winter Wonderland) : Situationship

Dividers by @unfortunate-beetle-and-friends

Chapter 5 – Every Man is Guilty

“But I have my life, I’m living it. It’s twisted, exhausting, uncertain, and full of guilt, but nonetheless, there’s something there.”

Banana Yoshimoto

“You’re not selling me on this, Steve.” Bucky leant back on the kitchen wall, chin lowered and arms crossed.

“I can’t give you specifics right now. Security’s too tight. If you’ll just come and talk to Fury-”

This was the guy who’d lied to every draft office in the tri-state area? When had Steve become so damn hidebound? “I’m not interested. I told you before, I’m not going to work for SHIELD. And you can save Barton and Romanov’s very touching Different Call story. I’m grateful for what you did for me, really, but I never agreed to get away from Hydra just to sell my soul to someone else.”

Steve’s hands dug deeper into his pockets. “SHIELD isn’t Hydra, Buck. It’s not the same at all. Just let me set up a chat with the director and you’ll see that.”

“Why won’t you let this drop? You’ve got your whole Captain America deal with your team. I’ve got an actual life of my own now. You don’t need me.”

“Fine. You’re right. I don’t need you.”

Never had someone agreeing with him felt so much like a fist in the gut. Bucky didn’t get the chance to tell him to go fuck himself. Steve kept going. “This isn’t about me needing your help, Buck. I’m here because I want your help. I need people around me that I can trust and I trust you. You’re my oldest friend. And I gotta say, Bucky, this whole ‘new life’ you say you’ve got going on looks a lot like walling yourself up in a different cell. I’m doing this because I care about you. What good was getting them to let you go free if you’re just going to lock yourself back up? You look like shit, Buck. When did you last eat? Or drink anything that wasn’t coffee or at least eighty proof? You aren’t one of the bad guys anymore. You can do something worthwhile with your life. You don’t have to be all alone. Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Fuck you, Steve. I’m not gonna be your goddamn bad guy outreach program poster boy. And I had a cheese sandwich just last night, as though it’s any of your fucking business.” And I’m not alone…

They both looked up at the same moment, both heads turned towards the hall closet. “Shit’s always falling down somewhere round here. Place has gone to hell.” But even Steve wasn’t dumb enough not to recognise a sneeze when he heard it.

“For a guy with his windows rigged to blow, you’re weirdly calm about someone climbing around inside your walls.” The tinge of suspicion he heard in Steve’s voice hurt more than Bucky had expected. Who the hell did he think he’d be hiding in a wall cavity? Then he cringed inwardly as Steve began looking around with more intent than he had before. Bucky practically felt his eyes rest for a moment on the extra sleeping bag. His eyebrows visibly rose when he spotted the mug with its weird cute cartoon dragon thing. “Buck?” The suspicion had gone from Steve’s voice and Bucky missed it already.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay. Just a social call.” He listened for a beat of silence, then he and Steve both hear the departing scraping of Hive heading up to the roof. Knowing what he did, Bucky could pick up the unevenness in their movement and made a note to ask to check their injuries later. If he ever saw them again, of course. They might be too spooked to come back at all. He looked down at their mug. They’d be back. He hoped.

“I guess it’s cool that some things don’t change. But I don’t remember you being this coy about your girlfriends even in the forties.”

“‘Girlfriend’ is a real strong word for anyone I passed the time with back then. And that’s not… what this is. They’re just a friend.” Or something. This was definitely not the time to start seriously questioning the weird-ass situation he’d found himself in the last twelve hours or so.

“A friend who hides in the wall when your other friends drop by?”

Other friends? Did Steve think Bucky was having poker nights with the guys every week? What other friends?

“They’re shy, okay?”

“Buck, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m glad you’ve found someone you don’t mind having around. I hated thinking of you cooped up here with nothing but a bunch of old memories.” Steve, buddy, you have no idea… “Think I’ll ever get to meet them? What? I can’t be curious about the first person apart from me to ever know the notorious Bucky Barnes well enough to leave a mug at his place?” He couldn’t help but be mildly impressed at Steve’s rapid and unquestioning switch to the neutral pronoun.

“I doubt it. They’re shy, like I said. And it’s not really an ‘introductions to old friends’ kind of thing.” Of at least that much he was sure. Hell, it wasn’t even a thing. Just a really weird couple of days… that had left an extra sleeping bag on his floor.

Steve was frowning again. “You, uh, you’re not in trouble, right? I’ll believe you, whatever you say. I just can’t help noticing you’re a bit more banged up than I’ve seen you in a while. And you smell like that stuff your mom used to cover my hives in when we were kids.” He tried a weak grin.

Well, believe it or not a Hive was responsible… Buck almost returned the smile before he shook himself.  “I’m good. Just had a run in with some kind of funky old insulation while I was doing some repairs. Nothing to worry your pretty head about. The scratches are all healed up anyway.” He turned his shoulder to indicate the one Hive had uncovered. “Only covered them up so I wouldn’t get blood on anything, just didn’t get round to taking off the rest of the bandages before you stopped in for the little recruitment drive. Speaking of which –”

Steve held up a hand to stop him. “Speaking of which, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said… a lot of what I did. It wasn’t my place to judge what you’ve got going on here. I’m sorry.” The renewed anger Bucky had been preparing to unleash petered out more quickly than he had expected. “I meant it though, about wanting to work with you again.”

Buck grunted. “Howling Commandoes reunion tour? This time with one hundred percent less falling out of trains, right?” He hadn’t expected Steve to take the weak joke so hard. Steve hadn’t looked this green since a kid landed a kick in his stomach that left him puking his guts into a trash can. He’d been waiting on the ground by the can when Buck came back with split knuckles and a grin of triumph. They’d gone back to Buck’s place to clean up before Steve’s dad could see the mess on his shirt and add a bloody nose to Steve’s problems. Buck’s place. This place. The sink where they’d rinsed out that faded threadbare shirt had been torn out long ago or it would have been right about where Steve was standing now.

“I should have looked harder.”

“Huh?” Maybe Hive’s attention span was catching, somehow. It took him a second to reconnect the dots.

“I went back. To the pass. I went back about a dozen times, looking for – well – for a body, I guess. Maybe if I’d been smarter about it, I would’ve… would’ve found you. Maybe we wouldn’t be where we are now.” Steve’s words sounded like he was trying to swallow them rather than speak them aloud. “But we are. And I can’t fix what I abandoned you to, but I can’t walk away again. Please, Buck, stop by the compound sometime – nothing to do with SHIELD, just come say hi. Or answer your phone once in a while. I miss my best friend, Buck. The guy I knew back in forty-five, back when our lives made some sort of sense.”

“That guy died in the fall, Steve.”

Steve shook his head. “No, I think he’s very much alive. I see him in there. Don’t bury my best friend in this place, Buck, please. You might feel like you deserve that but you don’t. I’m not talking about showing off how ‘rehabilitated’ you are or anything like that. I mean that guy still deserves the life he should have got the first time around.”

Was that part of you given a choice?

Yes.

There’s always a choice.

No. I would never have chosen that…

Bucky managed to look up at Steve’s eyes. Still fucking insane that he was taller than Buck now. “He’s getting a life. And, I guess, if you’re going to be clingy dork about it, that life can involve spending more time with you than it has done so far. Happy?”

“Yeah, happy. Jerk.”

“We’re in the twenty-first century now, for fuck’s sake, Steve. Learn to curse, I’m begging you.” For just a second they shared a grin. The moment was broken by a beep from Steve’s phone. The sudden awkward energy that radiated from him came as a surprise. “I don’t care if you check your phone, you know? World might be hours from destruction or something.”

“That’s unlikely.” Steve blushed. “It’s probably personal.”

“Stark sending out mass dick pics or something? You’re practically glowing there, Rogers.” The blond head ducked, Steve pushing a hand through his hair. He successfully blocked the blush from view but the new angle… “Steve, that’s a fucking hickey! That’s… at least three hickeys!” Captain America’s complexion was a riot of crimson, the blush spreading down to the livid bruise just below his jaw. “You bruise like I do – those are new and vicious. Christ, Steve, you been hooking up with a moray eel?”

“I, ah, I’m seeing someone.”

“No shit.” Probably he should have expected it. Steve must be one of the most eligible bachelors in the country now. Superpowers, a name like “Captain America”, and serum-enhanced looks on tops of his natural Steve-ness… The girls were probably all over him. Weird thought. “Well? Who is she? Do I need to check she’s good enough for my best friend?”

The tips of Steve’s ears became practically scarlet. “It, uh, look, Buck, I–” Bucky frowned. “The person I’m dating is… he’s a guy.”

Well, Bucky couldn’t say he’d never wondered. The immediate mental maelstrom was much the same as it would have been in the forties. How much trouble was this going to cause him? How many more beatings because hiding himself was absolutely alien to Steve’s nature? It took a few seconds for the twenty-first century to impose itself on his thinking. No, probably no beating for Captain America, but public opinion could be a hell of a thing to reckon with – especially for the nation’s golden boy. And Steve was standing there right now closer to cringing than Buck had seen him since his dad was alive. God, there was a man – if he even deserved the word – who would have exploded at the news that his son was a fairy. He probably would have tried to thrash it out of him, Avenger or no.

“He’s not off the hook for best friend judgement just because he’s male, you know. Do I get to meet him?” He felt the pressure in the room change as Steve relaxed. Had he really expected hostility over his confession? From Bucky?

He doesn’t trust you…

“Uh, I guess, sometime. No one else has yet but it’s not… not really a secret. The team knows.”

Bucky nodded. “Well? You gonna see what he wants?” On cue, Steve’s phone chimed again. Reluctantly, ears still hot, he pulled it out of his pocket.

“Just asking where I want to get dinner tonight.” He tapped out a reply, making Buck smile at the geriatric concentration he had to put into the exercise, betraying the boyish face.

“Cute.”

He knows, deep down, what a monster he unleashed by letting you go.

Stop.

That’s why he’s scared of you, even now. Guilt for leaving you behind? More likely guilt for not finishing what he started when he let you fall.

He didn’t ���let me fall”.

We’ve been over this, asset. You used to be less naïve. You know the resources he has at his disposal. Do you really believe he didn’t just decide you weren’t worth the trouble?

Steve pushed his phone back into his pocket and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

Bucky waved the apology away.

“I should probably get going. I’ll see you? Soon?”

Bucky nodded, but…

Empty offer. You really think he and his new friends want someone around who tried to kill them – however poorly you executed your assignment? Stark didn’t even trust you unsupervised in this dump, let alone in his precious Tower.

“Steve, you sure the others won’t mind me just stopping by? Doubt I‘m popular over there. Not real eager to get teargassed soon as I set foot over the perimeter.”

Steve smiled, his confidence returning. He’d swung his leg over the sill already. “Sure, I’m sure. It’s not like everyone trusted Natasha when she first showed up either. They’re the good guys, Buck. They believe in second chances.” His smile was warm as ever as he ducked out of the window, not seeing the way the temperature of Bucky’s blood had plummeted. “And charge your phone,” Bucky heard him say as his feet landed on the tarmac.

Second chances… isn’t that sweet? So much for his assurances of your deep and abiding innocent soul, it seems. You could have almost believed that choir boy act, couldn’t you?

It was three hours before Hive returned the way they had left. The hum of the generator wasn’t quite enough to drown out their scuffling descent. The faceless apparition was unnerving until they loosened their hood strings and pulled their hoodie down to uncover their lower face. “Protection,” they explained, though Bucky had already guessed as much. From the looks of the stretched fabric round their wrists, they’d had the sleeves pulled down over their hands too.

“Good call. Skin still itches like shit.” He’d had another go with the cream – Steve was right about the smell barely having changed in almost a century – but ran into the same problem as before. He’d had to spend a good twenty minutes scrubbing the stuff out of the joints in his arm with a toothbrush.

He was turning to offer Hive some of the beans he’d been heating on the camping stove, when he realised what else had bothered him about their appearance. They were huddled in the hallway, dressed as they’d been when they made their exit earlier – hoodie, cargoes, black and purple striped socks…

“You’ve been hanging around Brooklyn with no fucking shoes on?”

“You’d be amazed. Saw one guy with no shoes, no socks, and only half a pair of trousers. Guess I should be grateful for what I’ve got. Anyway, I wasn’t stopping for pre-flight checks while I was busy fleeing for my life, was I?”

“You need to check that you’re wearing shoes?”

“Told ya,” They seemed almost proud. “My brain is wrong.”

“Won’t be the only thing that’s wrong if you do shit like that. You’re lucky you haven’t got tetanus or something.”

“Probably too soon to be sure if I have or not,” they pointed out as they dropped down by the fire and stuck their feet out to warm near the flames.

“Not real comforting, kid.”

Hive watched him for a moment, maybe wondering the same thing he was: at what point had their continued well-being become a matter of comfort to him. Then again, maybe not.

“You call me that a lot. Kid. ‘M not a kid, you know.”

He grunted in reply. “I’m an old man, kid. Don’t take it personally.” That was apparently acceptable. They huffed but smirked. They wiggled their toes. Unsurprisingly, the soles of their socks were filthy, damp, and holes in more than one place. One big toe poked free. They saw him looking and wagged it pointedly at him.

“Rude to stare.” They were grinning.

“Sure your feet are okay? There are landfills cleaner than the streets round here. No cuts or anything?”

“Will you feel better if I check?”

“I’ll have less concern about my apartment stinking of gangrene tomorrow, yeah.”

They rolled their eyes but folded their legs and peeled off their socks.

He doled out beans, giving Hive the bowl and keeping his own in the pan, while they performed their inspection.

“All good,” they pronounced, hopping up with only a bit of a wobble to rinse their hands under the lonely sinkless faucet. Bucky wasn’t sure if it had been seeing Steve standing in the old place, looking not so much like he’d grown as like the room had shrunk around him, or if it was just having someone else inhabiting the space with him for a while, but the apartment’s wasted, skeletal feel was more noticeable to him now. He was making food over a camping stove. His bed was a sleeping bag. For someone who’d finally come back home, he looked pretty homeless right now, didn’t he? Was that what Steve had seen? Did Bucky have that same look? An abandoned shell, like the building?

What makes you think you deserve any better? You could have been so much more…

“Cheers.” Hands clean, Hive had grabbed their bowl and clunked it lightly against the pan. Seeing his confusion, they repeated, “A toast to toes not turning grey and dropping off! Which… now that I hear it again, may not have been the most genteel toast ever raised at a meal. Oops. Hope I didn’t put you off.” They tucked into their own food with no sign of discomfort.

“A toast to not losing body parts gets my vote,” he conceded. They shared a grin. “Where did you go earlier anyway? Guessing you didn’t find a café that didn’t care about the lack of shoes.”

“Rooftops, mostly. Nearby ones. Figured if it was a social call I probably didn’t need to flee the state. Thought about a library but figured I’d attract a bit too much attention.”

“Library?”

“They have books there! The wild kind, not the kind you have to pay for. Like a book zoo – except members can foster the animals. The analogy got a bit lost, sorry.”

“I followed, most of it anyway. I do know what a library is. We had ‘em when I was a kid too, you know.”

While he did the sparse dishes, Bucky could see Hive moving around out of the corner of his eye. A glance found them rolling up their sleeping bag and gathering the small quantity of trash they’d been accumulating into a sack. He dried his hands and grabbed his phone; it had turned up beside the plant pot. The generator fell quiet. Bucky turned the phone on and almost immediately wished he hadn’t. It lit up with message after message, the device rattling in his metal grip.

Steve: Been a while. How are you getting on?

Steve: Hope you are doing okay. There is a briefing later today that you might be interested in. Let me know.

Banner: Shuri sent me over your updated records. I think we should discuss a pain management regimen. Contact me.

Steve: Clint and Natasha are planning a movie night. How about joining us?

Steve: You really need to answer a text (or a call) once in a while.

Fen: You’re 30m late

Fen: Where are you??

Fen: Call me, James

Steve: I tried to call twice and didn’t get an answer. I’m going to drop by this morning. There’s some SHIELD business I want to discuss and it’s been a long time since you checked in. Miss you, man.

Fen: This is real shitty of you. You’re decent at the job and I like you but you can’t just ditch for the day without a word. The garage was busy today. We need to talk.

Steve: ETA 10 minutes.

“Fuck.” Hive looked up. “Everything going on since yesterday… Seems I forgot to go to work today.” He started moving automatically, grabbing his jacket off a picture nail, and toeing his boots upright. Hive must have taken them off for him while he was unconscious. He’d have expected to feel more latent objection to the idea but he definitely did not have time to stop and consider the unfamiliar close, warm sensation he experienced instead.

“I should have thought… sorry.”

“Huh?” He stopped, half inside his jacket.

“I mean, I knew, didn’t I? Where you work. That’s how I found you in the first place. Should have occurred to me that you ought to be there.”

He was already four hours late. What difference was five more minutes likely to make to his boss’s bad mood. “Wasn’t your problem if I went to work or not. I’m a big enough boy to handle my own routine.” He was a bit unsettled to see Hive huddling into a corner again, much as they’d done last night. They were still on their feet but they’d shrunken down into their hoodie and were not looking at him. “Hey, kid, it’ll be okay. My huge personal charm will smooth things over with my boss and anyway it is not up to you to have shit to do with my schedule.” They nodded but still wouldn’t meet his eyes. Their gaze was unfocused, drifting around the floor. Trying not to wonder why he cared, he cast around for something to ground them.

“Know what? I’m gonna try to make a dinner tonight that doesn’t come straight out of a can. What do ya think? Sound good?”

“I mean… it’s pretty vague.” He was relieved to see some… presence come back into their face. “Are we talking closer to a dead pigeon you found on the roof or delicately braised sustainably-farmed salmon?” Bucky’s expression apparently satisfied. They grinned a little.

“I guess somewhere in the middle but a little closer to the dead pigeon. I’ll do my best.”

The grin brightened. “Sounds good. I don’t like salmon much anyway.”

He nodded. “No salmon. Got it. See you later – gotta go save my job.”

The garage hadn’t been too bad. Fen had been obliged to rake him over the coals a little – sure it was real useful having a guy on staff who could jack up a car on one hand, in addition to being able to handle basically any bike issue she could remember being brought, but only if he was gonna decide to turn up when expected and not just when it was convenient to him. He knew she took no pleasure in playing the hard-ass, except with assholes who didn’t believe she was more than capable of dismantling their tricked out dick substitutes down to the nuts and then reassembling it faster than they could jerk off over a climate change denial manifesto; she just wanted her garage running smooth. He’d worked out the rest of the day and hung out past close to put away some late deliveries by way of apology and all ruffled feathers had settled. His extended shift had meant it was already past dark when he got to his supply run, though. He hoped Hive wasn’t getting too hungry waiting.

If they were, it wasn’t causing any notable chaos. The building was quiet and dark. Maybe they were taking the opportunity for some much needed sleep. A smile crept over his lips at the thought. He tried to keep quiet and not disturb them when he manoeuvred his awkward haul through the window, catching the new wok as it made a dash for the floor. But he’d no sooner set things down than he knew the apartment was deserted. It felt empty in a way he couldn’t recall it feeling before they’d arrived. He stuck his head out into the hallway but the whole building had the same mournful, abandoned echo. A shiver gripped him – all the more dramatic in a body that always ran so hot. He searched the apartment. Their sleeping bag was folded neatly in a corner of the hall. His own he found moved to his bedroom, spread out with pillow, blanket and a sheet of paper laid on top. He recognised their handwriting.

Hey Bucky,

Wasn’t sure when to expect you back. I’m so sorry – looks like I might have to miss dinner after all. I need to go do something. Should be back by 9 at the latest so… maybe save me some if I didn’t piss you off too much by ditching? Sorry, again. Sorry sorry sorry. See you later.

Hive x

Bucky stood in his bedroom doorway with the note in his hand and shot a look at the things he’d left in the kitchen – the wok and utensils he’d been managing without, the extra bowl, plate, cutlery, and the bag spilling spring onions and packets of noodles beside them. Gotta do what they gotta do, he supposed. The note creased in his fingers. No problem. Might take him a while to get this right anyway. He’d cook, and they’d probably be back by the time he was done, sure.

With how many people who’d love to know where to find Bucky Barnes in tow?

They don’t want to be found themselves. They wouldn’t bring anyone back here…

The nightmare act really sucked you in, didn’t it? Who knows who they really are? Even if they are in hiding from someone, aren’t there plenty of people who’d trade the whereabouts of the Winter Soldier for better protection than hiding out with a monster who already nearly killed them? Not a high bar, is it?

So what’s your suggestion?

What time is it?

What?

They said they’d be back by nine.

Probably so we’d stay put and off guard.

What time is it?

He’d never bothered to get a clock. He pulled out his phone.

22:27

His eyes shot to the window.

Note: Thanks for reading, y'all! And thank you to all the wonderful providers of prompt events without which I probably wouldn't have started writing again. Special thank you to my boys for inspiring me and keeping me motivated.

[sapphicides]

i love butches. short butches, skinny butches, fat butches, butches who don’t have the typical “butch body type.” butches who like being feminine sometimes, who wear makeup or paint their nails or wear skirts and dresses in the sexiest, most androgynous way possible. butches who are closeted and don’t always get to express their masculinity. butches with long hair, butches with buzzcuts, butches with mohawks or chelsea cuts or any other wild, alternative style. butches who want to be cared for just as much or even more than they want to be caretakers. butch4butches, butches who are attracted to masculinity, who don’t date femmes but appreciate us in the community. butches who have dated men in the past, late in life butches. butches who bottom, butches who switch, and asexual butches, too. butches of color, studs. disabled butches. transfem, transmasc, and non-binary butches. he/him butches, they/them butches, neopronoun butches. butches who want to be called “boyfriend,” “husband,” or “loverboy.” butches who only use feminine terms, as well. butches who wear the word butch proudly. butches who are unapologetically themselves regardless of what society expects from them.

i love butches who are a bit more stereotypical, tall stone tops with muscles who exude masculinity and want nothing more than to provide for their femme. but i love butches who don’t fit that mold just the same. i love all butches

[hyperlexichypatia]

Follow up to this post where I was asked about the "Autism presents differently in girls" myth, which is one of my many berserk buttons.

Here is a non-exhaustive list of reasons this concept makes no sense and you should stop saying it:

A. Autistic people are more likely than non-autistic people to be trans, nonbinary, or otherwise gender-non-conforming, so any attempt to group autistic people by binary, birth-assigned gender is even less likely to be accurate than the gender binary already is in the general population.

2. There is absolutely no evidence supporting the "presents differently" theory that could not be better explained by clinician bias.

iii. The alleged "presentation differences" between autistic "girls" and "boys" are just bog-standard gender stereotypes with "autism" plugged in somewhere. "Boys are better at math and science and logic and not having feelings and their dominant emotion is Anger, but girls are better at socializing and caretaking and brushing hair and their dominant emotion is Approval-Seeking." "Huh, that sounds like reactionary sexist hogwash." "No, I mean, autistic boys are better at math and science and logic and not having feelings and their dominant emotion is Anger, but but autistic girls are better at socializing and caretaking and brushing hair and their dominant emotion is Approval-Seeking." "Oh, okay, now it's Objective Science."

four. Sexist bias, including among clinicians, tends to frame "male" neurodivergence as essentially cognitive and "female" neurodivergence as essentially emotional, because, as we all know, Men Think, Women Feel. Psychology is obsessed with the idea that "girls" are universally and inherently self-loathing and self-destructive -- anything a "girl" has trouble with cannot possible be a skill she hasn't learned or an ability she doesn't have, let alone merely a different way of being; she must simply be self-abnegatingly denying herself the thing she cannot do. So a "girl" with the same traits as an "autistic boy" will have those traits attributed to something emotional, like depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, or eating disorders. "Autistic girls" aren't being "missed" (read as neurotypical); they're having their exact same autistic traits as "autistic boys" being framed as mood disorders instead of neurodevelopmental disabilities.

cinco. Fundamentally, this premise gets completely backward what diagnosis means and why pathologization happens. People are pathologized and diagnosed, with any kind of disability, when they have traits that fall outside the range of traits considered "acceptable" for their position. "It's more acceptable for boys to have meltdowns, so autistic boys have more meltdowns than autistic girls, so the boys get diagnosed with autism" -- No, this doesn't make sense. That's not how diagnosis works. If it were more acceptable for boys to have meltdowns, then boys who have meltdowns would not be getting diagnosed with anything. Their behavior would not be seen as pathological. If "It's more acceptable for boys to have meltdowns" were to explain any kind of diagnosis differential, it would be "Therefore girls who have meltdowns are diagnosed, while boys who have meltdowns are just considered normal boys." And, to be clear, that kind of thing is absolutely a factor in gender differences in diagnosis, but in the opposite direction from how people mean it. Like, as a "girl," I wasn't really expected or pressured to be athletic, so my absolutely abysmal gross motor skills were just shrugged at and not seen as a sign of disability. Can't run or throw? Well, I was a girl, and a nerd to boot. What do you expect? A "boy" with my level of gross motor skills would draw a lot more Concern.

ζ. "Girls are pressured to mimic/mask more than boys are," even if true (debatable), elides over the fact that many autistic "girls" can't "mimic/mask," because they are disabled. They have a disability. Because some of the things their society expects them to be able to do are things that they cannot, in fact, do. "Girls don't have meltdowns because they're not allowed to. Girls don't forget to do essential tasks because they're not allowed to. Girls don't --" Okay but they do. Girls do in fact very much do those things. Because they are disabled. Because they have disabilities. Because there are things they are expected to be able to do, which they cannot, in fact, do. And it's weirdly disability-erasing (ableist) to claim that people simply develop the ability to do things they can't do just because they're expected to.

heptad. Circling back to point A., while I can't prove it, I really think a lot of this "gendered autism" stuff is a way to pathologize and also explain away queerness/transness/gender-non-conformity in diagnosed-autistic kids. "Oh, no, don't worry, the reason your son consistently Fails At Masculinity isn't because he's some kind of sissy; it's actually because he has this Masculine Male Boy Disorder where he just doesn't understand how boys are supposed to behave. Lots of boys have it. No, no, the reason your 12 year old son is kissing his male friend on the mouth isn't because he's gay; he just has a social skills disorder and doesn't know that boys don't kiss their platonic guy mate dude friends. It's a very masculine disability. Elon Musk has it." I know somebody who was told by an Autism Mom that all autistic people are bisexual because "They don't know the difference." Sure, keep telling yourself that.

8️⃣. In the past, when I was less Galaxy Brain Mad Radicalized, I conceptualized the phenomenon of "'Boys' are diagnosed with autism while 'girls' with the exact same traits are diagnosed with depression/anxiety/OCD/BPD/ED" as a phenomenon of "Autistic girls, who objectively are autistic, whose objectively, scientifically correct diagnosis is autism, are misdiagnosed with psych disorders instead." But what neither autistic nor Mad people really want to admit is that "autism" is as arbitrary a diagnostic category as any other. No two human brains are exactly alike. All systems of classification are made up. I happen to think that the proposed explanatory mechanism of "autism" (brain processes sensory input/information differently than average, results in wildly uneven skill development) is generally more accurate than the proposed explanatory mechanism of most psych diagnoses (people are weird somehow and that's bad somehow), but it's still fairly arbitrary. People with autism diagnoses get ABA and people with psych diagnoses get CBT/DBT, and you can argue about which is worse, but ultimately anything with a B in it is fundamentally abusive. Abolish psychiatry.

[dalishious]

Any notes in the game files about the Caretaker? I'm very curious about them

Name: Caretaker

Gender: NonBinary

Description: A mysterious masked and cloaked spirit. They are patient, otherworldly, and helpful… in their own way. The Caretaker is the guardian of the Lighthouse, a magical shelter. Unknown to the player, the Caretaker is what remains of a truly ancient dragon, who long ago took on the form of this spirit. Underlying their patient and otherworldly nature is a sense of strength. The Caretaker was summoned centuries ago by ancient elves, the original builders of this place. Now it has new inhabitants: the player and their friends. You're guiding them through the mysteries of the Lighthouse, but do not give any straight answers. It's important to you they bridge the gap themselves. NOTE: The Caretaker is referred to as they/them because they're a supernatural entity (as opposed to the more normal human non-binary characters in the game.) We'd like a feminine voice to differentiate them from some of the other spooky/mysterious spirits in the game who sound masculine (e.g. Vorgoth.)

Speech: Simple, mysterious, with a sense of vast wisdom and power

Archetype: Angel / otherworldly helper who gives the player what they truly need, not necessarily what they think they want.

[herefortarlos]

There are sadly only three episodes left of 9-1-1: Lone Star, which returns on Monday, January 20, 2025 (the finale is set for February 3).

And sure, there’s a massive emergency—an asteroid heading for Austin—but there’s also quite a bit left to wrap up about the characters as well. In addition to whether or not Owen (Rob Lowe) might take that job offer and what’s next for Judd (Jim Parrack) with his drinking, there’s the matter of T.K. (Ronen Rubinstein) and Carlos (Rafael Silva) adopting T.K.’s half-brother Jonah as well as what’s ahead for the rest of the first responders. TV Insider turned to co-showrunner Rashad Raisani for the scoop.

How much are we going to see T.K. and Carlos trying to balance being parents and balancing work? They have family, but at the same time, they are the primary caretakers now of this kid.

Rashad Raisani: You’re putting your finger right on the end of the series is all I’ll tell you about that. That becomes a major issue, let’s put it that way.

Do they have time for themselves as a couple?

They will, I’ll put it that way, but I won’t tell you how.

As much as I love seeing Nancy (Brianna Baker) as captain and she’s already doing great, will we see Tommy (Gina Torres) back at the 126 before the show ends?

I can’t answer that. It would be too big. I can’t answer it. Let’s just say Gina Torres is a Ferrari. You don’t leave a Ferrari in the garage forever.

But will we see her physically at the 126? She could just be visiting.

[Laughs] If I answered it. I would be spoiling so much.

What else can you tease about the final three episodes for the characters and their relationships?

The thing that I can say is that everyone in the last two episodes gets pushed to their extreme limit—and some past it, to be honest. We have some of our most insane apocalyptic emergencies in 11 and 12. It’s basically a combination of The Last of Us and Chernobyl. It mirrors where all of the characters are, and most of them are in an apocalyptic space for one reason or another.

Mateo [Julian Works] is going to have an existential crisis going back to his status as a DACA, as a dreamer. T.K. and Carlos, they are not done with—yeah, they want to adopt Jonah, but it’s not that easy, and there’s going to be a major fundamental hurdle for them that they’re going to have to make a significant life decision to decide how they want to deal with it. Tommy is at the end of her life. Owen will be at the end of his life. Judd will have a new future that I think will both be very shocking but also feel hopefully very appropriate that will change the game of where he goes. Marjan is going to have a massive episode in Episode 10, which I think people will get a lot of joy from—I know I did, and I think it’s her best episode of the series. I think everybody’s going to have some big game-changing moments in the final three episodes.

What about for Paul (Brian Michael Smith)?

There’s a great—I have to say Brian pitched me an idea. He said there was this moment in the pilot where Owen tells Paul basically, there’s somewhere out there in Austin as a kid like you that doesn’t think they belong. And I want you here for when we run across that kid, you know what I mean? Whether it be non-binary, trans, gay, whatever. And Brian said, we said that in the pilot, but wouldn’t it be great if we did a story that showed that? And I thought, well, that is a great idea. And so the last two episodes we’re going to do that and we’re going to introduce a new major character, I should say, who Paul will be their kind of role model.

Are there any significant steps for any of the relationships in these last episodes beyond the adoption for Tarlos?

There may be new babies. I won’t tell you who. There may be deaths. I won’t tell you who. So there will be, there sure will be.

9-1-1: Lone Star, Returns, Monday, January 20, 2025, 8/7c, Fox

[utilitycaster]

ok I'm getting some extremely missing the point notes on my Nein gender presentation post so this is a very informal, extremely basic, "I do not have a gender/queer studies degree so there is certainly nuance I am missing," rundown. Obviously there's overlap, but they are separate interrelated concepts.

Gender presentation is how you present - the face you put to the world - appearance, and the basics of how you talk and act. A butch trans woman, a butch cis woman, a transmasc nb person, and a genderfluid person on a particular day might all present rather similarly! However, they do not share the same gender identities. My post is about presentation - Fjord putting a very masculine presentation forward, Beau being interested in masculine presentation despite identifying throughout as a woman, Veth as a metaphor in disguising herself as halfling early on.

Gender identity is who you are. Your identity and presentation often line up, but not necessarily! This becomes obvious if someone deliberately changes their presentation either voluntarily (genderfluid people have an identity that often involves presenting differently depending on how they feel that day) or involuntarily to avoid discrimination (a trans person presenting as their birth gender to avoid a confrontation in an unsafe place). The identity does not change - a trans woman who needs to present as a man temporarily does not stop being a trans woman.

Gender roles/norms are often about preferences, associations, and cultural stereotypes about gender (particularly when perceived as a binary, even though, obviously, it is not). Math, physical labor, and dominance (for example) are typically seen as masculine. Crafts, caretaking, and submission are typically seen as feminine. Blue is a boy color and pink is a girl color. The post mentioned in one of the reblogs, about Caleb Widogast's story being one often given to female characters, fits here. Caleb himself presents as a man; you can read him as either cis or trans as neither is, if I recall, hard-confirmed, but he was a teen boy when the events of his backstory occurred; his presentation and his identity are both consistently that of a boy or man. This can bleed into or affect presentation, ie, many boys refusing to wear pink because they see it as a girl color, or women who are more stoic getting called cold whereas men who are more stoic getting approval for the same exact behavior, but "being good at/interested in math" is not an element of presentation.

Everyone has a gender presentation and identity, and every culture has ideas of gendered behaviors, though what is seen as what gender (and the idea of gender as a binary in the first place) shifts with time and place. Cis heterosexual people have a gender presentation and identity; it's just usually "that of their assigned gender at birth" (and even then, there are cis het people who are gender non-conforming in various ways even as they identify as their birth gender).

And finally, as a bit of a coda, there's also "experiences that are associated with queer people, either in terms of gender or sexuality, but are not themselves proof positive of a queer identity." The really obvious one, and I will use Caleb again, is that Caleb does not go by his birth name. "Bren" is not his deadname. He stopped using it because he was a fugitive; it is utterly unrelated to a change in his gender identity. The act of changing one's name is both a practice that is 100% a very common trans experience, and also, some people just do it for other reasons, so it is undeniably relatable to many trans people but having a changed name does not automatically mean the former one is a deadname, which is unique to trans people. I've used this example before but a lot of queer people relate to tieflings; however, so did Unati, an (afaik straight and cis) black African woman, for similar reasons of being othered. Relatable/metaphorical does not necessarily mean canonical nor exclusively that reading - to be clear, again, a reading of Caleb as trans or a reading of tieflings as queer metaphor are both valid, but neither are the sole valid reading.

[snowflake-bah]

May we request a creators choice possibly? Everything is up to you (source, if theyre a fictive or a brainmade, genders ETC), all we request is that they are male-aligned !! :D

Thank you if you do this!! <3

-???

𝜗𝜚 PACK # 017 – pure vanilla cookie fictive

+ level 2

yay ofc !!! hope tmasc enby is male aligned enough / lh / nm / pos ,, also hope u like him !!

name ( s ) : pure vanilla , angel , calypso , biscuit , gabriel , vincent , valentino ,

pronouns : they / them , he / him , it / its , hy / hymn , ze / zir , ae / aem , pure / pures , vani / vanilla , cloud / clouds , white / whites , paw / paws , light / lights , angel / angels , wing / wings , halo / halos , divine / divines , cookie / cookies , moon / moons , star / stars , fate / fates , 🤍 / 🤍s , 🌙 / 🌙s , 🍪 / 🍪s , 🩹 / 🩹s , ☁️ / ☁️s , 🐾 / 🐾s , 🕊 / 🕊s

age : ageless

gender ( s ) : transmasc , non - binary , neoboy , pureangelic , vanillascentic , purevanillacharic

orientation ( s ) : pansexual , aroace

role ( s ) : emotional protector , memory holder , front keeper , internal self helper , academic , neutralizer , caretaker , caregiver

source ( s ) : pure vanilla cookie - cookie run kingdom

personality : kind , understanding , respectful , humble , wise

likes : calm places , music , reading , journaling , kind people , making people feel better , nice weather , going on walks , flowers

dislikes : storms , pressure , messing up

positive triggers : pure ' s source

species : cookie

appearance :

signoff ( s ) : 🤍 , 💛 , ☁️ , ⭐️ , 🩹 , 🕊 , 🌼 , 🍪 , 🌙 , ✨️ , 📀 , 🐾

extra : x

[911lsbts]

How much are we going to see T.K. and Carlos trying to balance being parents and balancing work? They have family, but at the same time, they are the primary caretakers now of this kid.

Rashad Raisani: You’re putting your finger right on the end of the series is all I’ll tell you about that. That becomes a major issue, let’s put it that way.

Do they have time for themselves as a couple?

They will, I’ll put it that way, but I won’t tell you how.

As much as I love seeing Nancy (Brianna Baker) as captain and she’s already doing great, will we see Tommy (Gina Torres) back at the 126 before the show ends?

I can’t answer that. It would be too big. I can’t answer it. Let’s just say Gina Torres is a Ferrari. You don’t leave a Ferrari in the garage forever.

But will we see her physically at the 126? She could just be visiting.

[Laughs] If I answered it. I would be spoiling so much.

What else can you tease about the final three episodes for the characters and their relationships?

The thing that I can say is that everyone in the last two episodes gets pushed to their extreme limit—and some past it, to be honest. We have some of our most insane apocalyptic emergencies in 11 and 12. It’s basically a combination of The Last of Us and Chernobyl. It mirrors where all of the characters are, and most of them are in an apocalyptic space for one reason or another.

Mateo [Julian Works] is going to have an existential crisis going back to his status as a DACA, as a dreamer. T.K. and Carlos, they are not done with—yeah, they want to adopt Jonah, but it’s not that easy, and there’s going to be a major fundamental hurdle for them that they’re going to have to make a significant life decision to decide how they want to deal with it. Tommy is at the end of her life. Owen will be at the end of his life. Judd will have a new future that I think will both be very shocking but also feel hopefully very appropriate that will change the game of where he goes. Marjan is going to have a massive episode in Episode 10, which I think people will get a lot of joy from—I know I did, and I think it’s her best episode of the series. I think everybody’s going to have some big game-changing moments in the final three episodes.

What about for Paul (Brian Michael Smith)?

There’s a great—I have to say Brian pitched me an idea. He said there was this moment in the pilot where Owen tells Paul basically, there’s somewhere out there in Austin as a kid like you that doesn’t think they belong. And I want you here for when we run across that kid, you know what I mean? Whether it be non-binary, trans, gay, whatever. And Brian said, we said that in the pilot, but wouldn’t it be great if we did a story that showed that? And I thought, well, that is a great idea. And so the last two episodes we’re going to do that and we’re going to introduce a new major character, I should say, who Paul will be their kind of role model.

Are there any significant steps for any of the relationships in these last episodes beyond the adoption for Tarlos?

There may be new babies. I won’t tell you who. There may be deaths. I won’t tell you who. So there will be, there sure will be.

[det2x-fanfic-dump]

What if Yuu enrolling in NRC is fate

Disclaimer: A TWST headcanon

I believe that all Yuu's are valid. May it male, female, non-binary, etc but I had a thought that what if Yuu being in NRC isn't a coincidence and for some reason, it's Crowley's doing on why Yuu got isekai'd into TWST or it's Yuu's unconscious choice to be in Twisted Wonderland in the first place.

What if Yuu just wanted a new life? Yuu just wanted an exciting life filled with magic and fantasy. Most children wishes to live in a fantasy world and Yuu is still living their childhood dream.

What if Yuu is female and Crowley grants her childish wish and still lets her enroll into an all-boys school despite being a girl. Surely, Crowley could have let Yuu be a member of staff and continue being a janitor if Yuu just needs a place to stay but no, she's a prefect and a student attending magic lessons with no magic.

What if Yuu's desire to be with magic is the reason they're chosen to be with Grim. Maybe Yuu and Grim are connected in some way. Even if being an NRC student is Grim's reward in getting the magestone in prologue, what use would a magicless human like Yuu be a student in NRC. Yuu can just be the school's animal caretaker and just be Grim's chaperone. There's no need of the student title.

What if Yuu's desire to be with magic is the reason why they're so lucky to personally meet and had beef with a housewarden and witness the overblots? If you think about it, it's quite rare to have the chance to personally meet and befriended a famous housewarden in a prestigious school with a lot of students.

Crowley granted Yuu's wish and gave her the prefect title in exchange probably traumatized Yuu into witnessing this life and death chaos without magic. Every wish needs a price after all.

Or...

What if Yuu actually wanted to be a mage too and has potential for magic? Crowley knew this and him letting Yuu enroll so that Yuu can trigger their potential and use magic.

He is an educator that can grant wishes and even if he's the irresponsible adult that we joke about. He actually follows the magical curriculum that in order to be an official mage, one should finish a 4 year education from magic schools.

Whether Yuu is male or female. Crowley will still let them in NRC. Why would he put them in RSA or NBC if he has his own school?

When Yuki asked Crowley, why did he force enroll her to NRC, despite being an all boys school and she is a girl. Crowley said due to the agreement they had when she was still living in her world, she needs to continue her magical curriculum to be an official mage. Since Crowley owns a school and is her benefactor…why would he bring Yuki to the other schools if he has a school of his own. Rules are meant to be broken after all.

[hpowellsmith]

New Game Announcement: Honor Bound, Crème de la Crème Series Book 4

Honor Bound is a standalone game that takes place four years after Royal Affairs, with a brand new player character.

The story so far: I started working on this game in March 2023. I'm currently writing the first draft of Chapter 4.

Chapter 1 is publicly available for everyone to play. Chapter 2 is going up on Patreon on 1st August. I also hope to post (roughly) fortnightly progress updates.

Play the public demo here!

You're a promising officer in the Teranese military, a force which has not seen major engagement in decades but which holds vast influence. Thanks to an injury, you're no longer in the field. Thanks to the circumstances of that injury, you've been quietly reassigned.

Now you're to be the bodyguard to the child of a famous scientist who is attending a wilderness boarding school for the children of the richest and most powerful figures of Teran society.

According to your mentor, it's an easy assignment. The school sits close to your own hometown, so you'll be familiar with the area; you can recover your health and get your career back on track. What could go wrong?

Bond with those around you or impress with aloof competence. Be a kind, trusted confidante to your charge, or a strict, stern caretaker. Work hard for glowing reports from your charge, your military superiors, or the Headteacher to get your life back on track - or risk it all as you uncover secrets that put you and everyone around you in peril.

Play as male, female, or non-binary; cis or trans; gay, straight, or bisexual; asexual and/or aromantic; allosexual and/or alloromantic; monogamous or polyamorous

Play a junior officer in your 20s, a mid-ranking officer in your 30s, or a senior officer in your 40s

Befriend or romance a severe military officer, a bold, easygoing outdoors expert, a determined and overworked priest, an earnest but airheaded fellow bodyguard, or the anxious, serious single parent of your charge

Shape the school life of your teenage charge: encourage her to make friends or sabotage her rivals, let her slack off or push her to achieve

Protect the school, town, and your charge from natural disasters and criminals, or use chaos to further your agendas. Build a warm community, stand apart to focus on yourself, or push tensions higher in a place where gossip is rife

Negotiate a cushy promotion, or open other doors, through heroic or devious actions. Or become such a disaster that only bandits will give you the time of day

Unearth and thwart shadowy schemes, or enact them yourself for your own ends

This tightly-knit desert boarding school is a sanctuary for artists and scientists of the future to flourish. But as danger closes in, how far will you go for your ambitions, your commanders, and your country?

FEEDBACK THREAD, INFO, & DEV DIARY | CHARACTER INTROS | PATREON DEMO | PUBLIC DEMO | BONUS PLAYABLE PROLOGUE

[asher-agere]

inbox check? /nf

Inbox Check!

I’m getting backed up… My life has been so chaotic recently (𖦹ᯅ𖦹) But! These will be done from top to bottom, the one at the very top is already halfway done in my drafts! Grand total of 32! (Tumblr please don’t eat my asks… I’ve been warned that happens around 30…)

Sick Transmasc Little Shiho

Caregiver Nene + Baby Honami

Raccoon Poe + Caretaker Ranpo

Transmasc Chuuya (Not clarified if regressor or caregiver yet)

Dad Fyodor + Injured Little

Little Minori + Caregiver Airi

Little WxS

N25 + Little Kanade

Little Len

Kitty Chuuya

Little Akito

Caregiver Atsushi

Caregiver Fyodor + Sick Baby Girl

Baby Ranpo

Caregiver Tsukasa + Padded Little

Caregiver Chuuya + Little Atsushi

Honami Moodboard

Caregiver Natsume

Caregiver Jouno + Non-Binary Little

Caregiver Kōyō + Weak Little

Little Minori + Little Saki

Little Fukuzawa

Caregivers Honami and Saki + Littles Ichika and Shiho 

Toddler Shizuku

Little Akito + Big Brother Mafuyu

Caregiver Tetchō + Padded Little

Caregiver Atsushi

Transfem Little Dazai + Caregiver Chuuya

Caregiver Fyodor + Little Nikolai

Little Nikolai ANGST

Little Atsushi + Babysitter Chuuya

Caregiver Jōnō + Little Aya

[starry-eyed-bah]

Another stargazer! Requested by : No-one.

Names : Shadow Milk Cookie, Sage of Truth, Bethel, Caleb, Kai, Lysander, Zenon, Myrth

Pronouns : He/Him, They/Them, It/Its, Stu/Study/Studys/Studys/Studyself.

Genders : Multigender (Agender, Demiboy, Non-binary)

Attractions : Gay

Identities : Non-human (magically animated cookie), otherkin (angel)

Age : Immortal ageless adult

✧

Likes and interests : Learning, teaching (especially younger folk), reading (both by themself and to other people)

Dislikes : People who choose to be ignorant for their comfort, being lied to with no good reason

✧

System roles : Gatekeeper, Littles and Teens caretaker, Academic headmate

Source (if relevant) : CookieRun : Kingdom > At the peak of Truth, Despair not (costume story)

Connection to source (if relevant) : High to medium connection

✧

Personality : An avenant and cheerful Cookie who goes out of his way to learn new things and teach that knowledge to others. You will find them anywhere that stores knowledge, its nose deep in some new text that he hasn't devoured yet. If not, he might be out there sharing his newfound information with anyone willing to listen to him. However, he also knows what not to entrust someone with, and is perfectly able to keep secrets to not harm others.

✧

Aesthetics : See moodboard below

[dept-of-monster-affairs]

Trans Day of Visibility

Today, on Trans Day of Visibility, the Department of Monster Affairs would like to celebrate by discussing some of the ways that monster species culturally view gender, sex, and human transness.

(image source)

Merfolk may typically be viewed as mermaids and mermen by humans, but the reality is far more complicated. Merfolk typically start their lives unsexed, and only upon reaching sexual maturity do their sex characteristics show. However, like some fish species, these sex characteristics are based on the community's needs. If more mating males are needed, Merfolk will develop male sex characteristics to reach the ideal 3:7 ratio. If there are no children mature enough, and more of one sex is needed, adults will transform into a different sex - though sometimes secondary sex characteristics remain. Most Merfolk have been both male and female at some point during their lives.

With this sex flexibility, Merfolk do not emphasize what humans would consider gender, in fact, they may have an agender society. Some Merfolk prefer certain sex forms and will seek out hormonal treatments or communities where they can have their preferred form. One of the most important aspects of Merfolk society is living as yourself. With this, most Merfolk find themselves relating to transgender and non-binary humans who they view as being exemplary of Mer culture.

Minotaurs are a monster species with two sex categories: bulls and bova. Being a bull or bova is determined by the primary sex characteristic of genitalia - children with a phallus are considered bulls. Minotaur culture is matriarchal, with most bulls relegated to patrolling bull herds to protect the main herd, and only bulls taken as mates are allowed with the main herd. This leads to many minotaur bulls leaving their herds and finding another herd or non-minotaur women to mate with, thus why most humans associate Minotaurs with bulls.

Regarding the Minotaur's views on transness, despite the rather strict treatment of bulls and bova, there is a magic ritual in Minotaur culture that physically transforms Minotaurs into the other sex. Minotaurs view human transness as the same as their magically transformed kin but are extremely surprised at the fact that human treatments leave the trans person unable to procreate, given the cultural emphasis on breeding for Minotaurs. Minotaurs can have a hard time understanding non-binary humans as such is not recognized in Minotaur culture. Still, they accept that humans have a different culture and respect these differences.

Orcs are a unique species where their gender roles exist completely detached from sex. While it was initially thought that Orcs have two genders - warriors and non-warriors - they have five gender categories: Warriors, Mages, Crafters, Healers, and Caretakers. What could be considered gender in Orc society is solely based on your primary social role. Children are raised to learn about these roles and are encouraged to learn skills in all of them. Upon reaching adulthood, Orcs then choose what their role is going to be. Most Orcs become warriors, and then some transition to other roles later in their lives, so most other gender roles are filled by Orc-kin.

It is not uncommon for Orcs to be born outside of binary sex. Quite a few Orcs with a phallus develop breasts, some are born with a phallus and a vagina, and some are born without primary sex characteristics. In the strength-based Orc society, it is viewed as a strength to transform one's body. It is seen as impossible for an Orc to be strong if one's mind and body do not match. Multiple rituals are used to help trans-Orcs transform their bodies - a combination of surgery and magic - to their will. Orcs applaud trans-humans for undergoing their own rituals to strengthen this mind-body connection, and some humans have been known to seek out Orcs to help with their transitions.

Werewolf society has traditionally kept a very strict gender binary for centuries. Trans-werewolves certainly existed, but they were cast out as lone wolves just as other wolves who broke the social norms of the pack. This led many trans-werewolves to form their own packs with other werewolves or species. This means a strong trans-history is found among werewolves, similar to that found in Western human societies. Since the opening of the Rift, the two communities have found fellowship and have undergone a cultural exchange.

However, a social revolution is ongoing in werewolf society due to the larger cultural exchange between the modern human world and the world beyond the Rift. Many young wolves push back against their elders in many areas regarding sex, gender, sexuality, and marriage/mating norms. Packs are increasingly keeping Queer werewolves with them and searching out magic to help their transgender kin transform. Many werewolves who cross the Rift are younger wolves looking to break away from their traditions, but they still can have cultural hang-ups on certain issues. Most are very willing to address these hang-ups and learn to be better.

Thank you for learning about these monsters. Monster species are numerous, and we cannot address all of them in this celebratory post. If you have questions about the monsters in your area, please contact the Department of Monster Affairs through our social media, and our representatives will respond as quickly as possible.

I don't think I ever made this clear, but my asks are open! I am going to try to reply "roleplaying" as a representative for DoMA for general questions, but if you ask about the specific monster lovers from my stories or meta-questions, you'll get an author response. I can't do story requests atm, but I can do short scenarios (though turnaround time may be slower than a question).

Find my stories in my Masterlist

[sickfictropes]

(Content: Non-binary caretaker, lady whumpee, living weapon whump, injury whump, superhuman whump)

Here's an idea. A living weapon whumpee who's the sweetest person Caretaker has ever met.

Caretaker built up their first meeting so much in their mind—they were told to be careful, don't get too close, don't make eye contact, keep your voice low, let us know if anything goes wrong, call for help if you get hurt... when they actually find themself in front of her, they're shaking from nerves. But she's so... kind. The first thing she did was ask in a soft voice if they were alright. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Don't be scared. You can stay over there if it makes you more comfortable, okay? I'm tied up, see? I can't even reach you—no reason to worry."

Everything Caretaker was told about her was wrong. They can barely even bring themself to believe she's all that powerful any more. If she was, what reason would she have to be so timid?

Over time, they get closer and closer, even to the point where Caretaker is okay getting into Whumpee's reach. Caretaker makes a habit of tending to Whumpee's wounds after what she calls "training sessions." They chat, they laugh, they tell each other stories and find silly things to tease each other about. Sometimes, when Whumpee is with Caretaker, she can feel—just for a little bit—like she's somewhere other than a cell. She tries so hard to make sure she doesn't seem at all threatening, especially since she's already got such a tall, muscular frame. She dips her head, speaks quietly, gives her most reassuring smile.

Caretaker feels terrible for ever being scared of Whumpee, even though it wasn't their fault they were fed nonsense about her. It's heartbreaking how obviously lonely she is with how her eyes follow them, how she opens her mouth ready to protest when they say they have to go, only to snap it shut and cast her eyes to her lap.

She's Caretaker's best friend and they love her. They don't understand why everyone else who handles her is so afraid all the time—but they irritatedly chalk it up to the preconceived notions people tend to have around superhumans. She's stronger, faster, more durable than them, so they fear her. That's all it is.

One day, they're excited to see her—excited enough that they pick up a gift for her, something to decorate that dreary cell they can't stand that she's locked in, and they show up for a visit early.

"Whumpee!" They chirp, striding in and shutting the door with a flair. "Good morning! I got you a—"

"Go away."

It's then that Caretaker gets a good look at her. She's curled into the corner of the room, knees hugged tight to her chest. And she's got a cut on her eyebrow, open and bleeding in a dark trickle down her face.

"Oh... oh, Whumpee—here, I should help you with that. I brought my supplies in case you needed any first aid. Just hold still and I'll take care of it." Caretaker sets the gift down gently on the floor and approaches slowly. Whumpee doesn't seem to hear them, but she hasn't protested. Well, not since the initial go away.

Whumpee flinches when Caretaker's footsteps get too close. "I said go away. You said we were done today. We're done today."

"I— Whumpee, I don't know what you're talking about. It's okay, it's me. Caretaker."

They kneel down in front of her, and slowly, gingerly, they place a hand on her shoulder. Her head snaps up and her hand flies to their wrist, clutching hard. The pain pushes out their mind and they hear a horrific snap before she jumps to her feet and flings them over her shoulder. They crash to the cold metal floor and their breath rushes out of their lungs.

It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts.

They can't help the primal cry that shoots out of their mouth. That must be what brings Whumpee back, because she blinks twice and then her hands cover her mouth. "C-C-Caretaker? Is... is that... you? Oh—oh, oh, oh no, you're... you're here so early, I—I thought..." She drops to her knees over them, and she's back to herself, a minute too late.

"Whumpee... I'm—" They hiss, clutching their injured—broken?—wrist against their chest. "I'm okay. I'm s-sorry, I should've asked if—if it was okay to show up like this."

"Caretaker, I... I think you should go. Now, please." Whumpee shakes her head. "I can do some r-real damage when I'm like that. If you can walk, go get some medical attention."

"No. No, I'm fine, I promise, I just... Whumpee—"

The door clicks open, and a guards flood in. Hands guide Caretaker to their feet, and they're dizzy from pain, so they lean on the nearest body. Voices overlap. Caretaker squints up at Whumpee before she's obscured by two guards holding tasers. "No," they gasp, "don't— it was my fault, please don't hurt—"

Something sharp presses into their neck, and the world goes black.

They never visit her early ever again.

wow, i don't even have any contribution i could make for this!! no notes!!