#This started as a face study and quickly devolved into madness

[rspixart]

I relate to this man's struggle to get a fucking tan

[mmvalentine]

Your Name Around my Neck | Jurdan

I UMMMMM found this somewhat bloody fic in my drafts holy shit i forgot that past me wrote this I am...in need of help anyway indulge with me in this madness if you like

We get in late tonight; the revel is still going but I’ve been on the throne three years now and I’m finally feeling like I can leave when I want to. After a lifetime of wearing through my shoes just to prove I can keep up with the fae, it is a pleasure to simply stand and sweep out of the room when I tire of the event. And of course Cardan trails after me more often than not, not because he’s tired too but because he hates everyone.

Our bedroom door snicks shut behind us and the music is immediately muffled. I start stripping off as I walk through the room, discarding shoes and gloves and jewellery before sitting down at my vanity to remove my make up. Cardan has not bothered. He’s slumped over the bed fully clothed as is toying with something he’s pulled from his pocket while I swipe at my face.

“Well I thought that went well,” Cardan comments.

We hosted the Court of Termites tonight, and got through almost four courses before Nicasia made a snide remark and Kaye threw a fistful of mashed potatoes in her face. It always amuses me that Kaye is perhaps my opposite- while I have honed my court sensibilities in efforts to make up for my being human, Kaye is fae girl who has all the thoughtlessness of a mortal. Perhaps I’m just jealous that I don’t have the luxury.

After the flung potatoes, the evening devolved quickly. Lord Roiben ushered a shouting, fist-shaking Kaye away but many of his court stayed on to drink and dance and smear food over each other, and I lost interest not long after that.

“I don’t know about ‘well’ but it was certainly entertaining,” I concede, and tilt my chin up at the mirror. “Fuck’s sake Cardan, have these been here all night?!”

I peer at my reflection, and staring back at me are four long bruises down the side of my neck. I turn my head and find the thumb mark on the other side.

My husband smirks from the bed.

“Ashamed of my handiwork, Jude?”

“They weren’t this bad when I got dressed I’m sure…”

“They usually take a few hours to settle in, I’ve noticed.”

I scowl. “You needn’t sound so pleased with yourself, you know.”

Cardan rolls his eyes. “What do you care, you liked getting choked while we’re-”

I throw a brush at his head before he can finish the sentence.

“Prick,” I say.

“Prude,” he returns.

But it’s not that I’m afraid of what people will think of my sex life. The fae are anything but shy when it comes to amorous oddities. No, it’s that I’m the Queen now and I can’t bear to have them think of me bested.

Held down and strangled. At the mercy of a another.

Submissive.

I shake my hair out and throw down the last of the pins before climbing into bed. There are some parts of myself that Cardan might know, but that I’m not willing to share with the court.

“If you’re that self-conscious, I have something that could cover the bruises,” Cardan says. And then lifts aloft the object in his fingers. I look and I am horrified.

“Is that a collar?!” I stutter.

Cardan turns it over in his hands and the little silver buckles tinkle like bells.

“It would hide your neck,” he replies, looking at the leather as he speaks.

“The problem isn’t my neck, the problem is the mad things I let you do to me,” I mutter. I think I’m blushing at just the idea of walking into a public space like wearing that thing.

Suddenly I’m yanked backwards. Cardan’s got his hand under my hair and when my head falls into his lap, he leans over me and stares hard like he’s studying the bruise patterns of his own fingers.

“I like the mad things you let me do to you,” he murmurs, and his voice has dropped to that place that loosens my grasp on how much I need to be in control. His cool fingers slide down the front of my nightshirt, as if to demonstrate his freedom to touch me. “I like people knowing you’re mine.”

Cardan’s thumb brushes over my nipple and it peaks readily for him. I close my eyes, and he squeezes my breast slowly in his hand. His other hand is still in my hair, and he makes a fist and uses it to tilt my head back.

“Still not wearing the collar,” I gasp. Cardan cocks his head, and flourishes my own knife between his fingers.

“I could carve my name into you instead,” he says, and I swear his canines get sharper in the candle light. The sweet, heavy feeling evaporates.

I twist fast, surprising him so he lets go of my hair, and pluck my knife out of his hand. I push him back by the chest so that it’s me straddling him now, and the anger feels fortifying.

“Are you not mine also, beloved?” I hiss. My dagger rests under his chin, and the metal glints down the length of it.

I hate my knives being stolen. I’ve cut off fingers for less, and so far Cardan is the only one who’s successfully lifted them off my person without my noticing. Worse still when I know his nails are sharp enough that he doesn’t need them. I haven’t told him how much it bothers me because I think that would just make him do it more often.

The King just blinks dreamily up at me.

“I wouldn’t mind,” he says, and bares his throat to me.

I slice the top two buttons off his shirt and pull the fabric back. The marble of his chest is so smooth, so unmarked, and suddenly I’m sorely tempted.

“Don’t tease a girl,” I tell him, and press the point of the knife just below his collar bone. Cardan only pulls his shirt further open for me, and how can I describe the rush of feeling I get when he pours himself at my feet like this?

Back and forth we go, me and Cardan. The Queen and the King. Power like a golden ball tossed between us, so fast it spins my head sometimes. It’s not so much who rules today but who rules in this hour? In this minute? In this moment?

I flick my knife and a second later, the letter J wells up scarlet at the base of my lover’s throat.

Cardan’s eyes gleam but he doesn’t make a sound. I am filled with a savage satisfaction, and when Cardan sits up to meet me I crush my mouth against his. The kiss is biting and harsh, and I slice my lower lip on his teeth but only press closer to him. When I finally pull back, we have blood smeared on our chins. I wipe my sleeve over Cardan’s mouth but he just leans forward and licks my chin roughly like a cat and I shiver. We walk either side of being human, him and I, and sometimes I look down at my feet and I can’t remember which side I’m on and it thrills me.

“Wear my collar Jude,” he says, and it’s a growl in his throat when he says it. He holds the leather between us and the J sends a single red drop down his chest.

I take the thing and buckle it around my neck while Cardan watches. It’s got a small silver ring in the front and in the curve of the ring is his name. His eyes glaze over as my hands come down, and his gaze has not left my neck.

“Now that’s a good girl,” he says, and then hooks two fingers into the ring on the collar and uses it to yank me back into him. I thud against his chest and he lifts my hips to settle me properly in his lap, while my hands flutter about his shoulders. I grit my teeth, misliking losing my balance, but as soon as I get settled Cardan rocks the hard length of himself into me and I'm off kitler again. His tail wraps tightly around the smallest part of my waist and steadies me.

Not to be outdone, I shove my hands into the black curls at the back of Cardan's head and grind down in his lap. The knife is still in my fist. Cardan gasps a little and his hips buck under me, responding automatically even as his eyes roll and his fingers twitch in the ring on my collar. I pull his hair harder, letting my nails dig into his scalp, and he uses the ring to tug my mouth back to his.

The kiss suprises me with its tenderness. It's a strange thing; I'm held in place and bound about the throat, yet he kisses me with sugar in his mouth. His hand curls around the front of the collar so that it tightens painfully at my neck, but his tongue is lush and lazy. And his hips roll under me like a current thirty fathoms deep.

Cardan's free hand slides between us, moving my skirts up so the fabric is not between us. I take my dagger and cut the cords of his breeches, and if the tip nicks the pale skin of his stomach it's only a sharp inhale through his nose that gives him away. Cardan shoves at the front of the trousers while I keep slashing the buttons of his ridiculous shirt. The ruffles fall open and it strikes me that my initial is so red against all that white. And then Cardan's pushing inside me.

We both still for a moment, while my body makes room for him. Our breathing is mismatched and our eyes flicker while we stare at each other. His eyes are more black than the night.

"Jude," he murmurs.

I glance down again, and the tip of my knife hits his skin. I make a tiny dash, and Cardan doesn't flinch. I do it again, and complete the letter 'D.' Cardan looks down slowly.

"What does it say?" he asks, unable to see so close to his chin.

"J. D.," I tell him. He looks up sharply.

"J. D. G.," he corrects me.

I don't know what appalls me more, that he's asking for this or that I want to do it. I oblige him, and carve one more letter in his flesh. Cardan shudders this time, and then sinks the rest of the way into me. I finally drop the dagger, and wrap my arms around his neck.

"My vicious love," he whispers, and moves in me so sweetly I can barely stand it.

I cling to him, bury my face in his neck and cross my ankles behind his back. Cardan keeps the skin at my shoulder between his teeth and moves my hips in slow circles, and the way he holds violence in one hand and honey in the other makes him feel all at once a mirror and a balm.

"Cardan," I breathe. I try to move faster on him but he's holding me too tightly. "Cardan I need..."

"What, little villain?"

"Harder," I whisper.

"What was that?"

"Harder," I say again, and I watch his pupils blow out as he hears me.

"You want it harder?" he echoes, and as I begin to nod he punches his hips up so fast it makes my teeth clack together. He grips my hips and slams into me, and it hurts in the best way possible.

"More?" he asks, and before I can reply he does it again. "Answer me, Jude." I try, but the breath keeps getting knocked from my lungs. "Use your words, my darling. Is this what you like, hm?"

"Yes," I manage. It's a moan, it comes out strangled. "Yes, just like... oh." Cardan grins with too many teeth and all of a sudden stops moving and falls back onto the sheets.

"Ride me then," he says.

The sudden movement has me falling forward and my palms hit his chest. He hold my hips down, pushes them forward and back and I don't need the encouragement. He's so deep inside me I can feel him in my stomach and I lean forward so that I'm getting friction on my clit while I fuck him. My fingers dig into his muscles and smear the crimson letters under the hollow of his throat. Cardan lifts to meet me and his nails scratch angry lines down my thighs. He groans long and low, and the sound of it is the most obscene delicacy I want to never stop swallowing.

"You're so good," he tells me. "Who the fuck taught you to be this good?"

"My previous lover," I answer, and receive a sharp slap across my hip for the daring. I slap him back, hitting him in his left pectoral and faster than blinking I am flipped onto my back while Cardan's still inside me.

"Liar," he says, and holds me down as he takes control. His hand is so big that his thumb touches one of my ear lobes and the tip of his index finger covers the other, while the rest of his fingers curl around my throat. The collar actually prevents me from being choked too hard, but his weight has me pinned so that I can barely move. He keeps fucking me, faster now that he's on top, and my hands slide up his arms. He grabs a hold of my wrists with his other hand and holds them down too, and all I can do is dig my knees into his ribcage as he shifts into a hungry frenzy that's making it hard to draw breath.

"Cardan..." I whimper. It's such a pathetic sound I almost hate that I sound like this in bed. But my husband thinks differently.

"Say it again," he says hoarsely. I shake my head, and press my lips together. Cardan lets go of my throat and pushes his thumb into my mouth and onto my tongue. Hooks it behind my bottom teeth and tugs my mouth open.

"Say my name again."

He moves the thumb to my clit, and as soon as he touches me, the pleasure ratchets up unbearably.

But I am silent, and he shakes me by the neck so the buckle behind my collar rattles. My newly freed hands grip the headboard as he fucks me harder. His thumb keeps moving and I'm quickly losing control.

"Say my fucking name when you come."

"Cardan," I gasp. "Cardan, Cardan..."

"That's it honey," he croons. His pace is steady now and I'm so close. "Good girl. You can come now, little liar. Come with my name in your mouth."

And I break open, so obedient to the command of the King that perhaps I'd be embarrassed, if I hadn't decided that the King making me come this hard wasn't an act of service itself. As it is, my toes curl and my back arches and the bright heat of my climax sweeps through my fragile, mortal body. And Cardan has to wait for me to come first and that's delightful.

"Fuck Jude..." he moans.

And just as he begins to lose it I say, "Wait." For no other reason than my own amusement.

Cardan freezes, and then lets out a frustrated groan against my neck. I smile, count to five, and then relent.

"Okay, you can come."

Cardan growls and immediately resumes his mad rhythm, making me gasp at the blinding pace he sets. I'm oversensitised from having just come, and the second orgasm hits me moments before he's shuddering into me, snapping and snarling as I'm filled up.

I hold onto the lean muscle of his body and I can feel his racing pulse everywhere while he catches his breath. Fae heartbeats are quick and light, and it's like a hundred moths in the cavity of his chest.

When he rolls over, he pulls me with him, and I scrape my canines over his shoulder once he's collapsed onto his back. After a minute, his fingers come up and trace feathery patterns over my spine. He turns his head without opening his eyes, and presses his lips to my hair.

"Thank you, my sweet torment," he says.

"For what, husband?"

"For wearing my name around your neck."

I nuzzle into his side.

"I think I like it," I confess. The corner of his mouth curls, and he fingers the ring in my collar.

"I like it a lot," he tells me.

"And my name?" I ask him. "Do you like there on your chest?"

Cardan sighs.

"My dear nemesis," he says. "I've always had your name under my skin."

***

Oh shit it's been a hot minute, I posted this and then realised i forgot to do the master list tag list thing

JURDAN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @swankii-art-teacher @loosingdreamss @feysand-loml @cityofbookishthings @story-scribbler @thebonecarverer @realbookloverproblemss @elessar-writings @euclavender

[kj-munch]

!! actno POLEASE! Why wont backspace worjk

DR CHARLES ACTON-DOLLO my bestie. its been a while since ive posted any legit lore with him and some stuff has been tweaked so im gonna do a pretty hefty recap, so forewarning this is gonna be long as fuck

starting in pre-canon, he used to be a high school bio teacher! he has a degree in biotechnology so he was a bit overqualified for the job, but he struggled to find work closer to what he studied for. he felt a little disappointed with himself for that, but he DID love his job as a teacher a lot, plus he had his husband murphy at his side! things werent perfect but they were damn close, and the two of them planned to have a child together in the very near future.

UNTIL the madness hit nevada full swing. plans for a child went out the window with the hellscape nevada was devolving into with no sign of improving. acton lost his job as a teacher, but was quickly picked up by the newly forming AAHW due to his expertise in biotechnology. things were shitty, but he was able to find excitement in finally becoming a respected scientist! one of the leading figures in the development of the MAG program in fact!

some time later, following a close call incident in which acton was nearly a casualty, his husband murphy convinced him that he needed to be there to help protect him. the two of them agreed that the best course of action would be for murphy to become MAG, as those are powerful enough that the risk of murphy being seriously injured or even killed on the job was very low. additionally they agreed to it because it was intended to be temporary (murphy signs a contract to agree to work for the AAHW in year long stints, at the end of each year long period he would be able to either renew the contract or quit and be cloned back into a regular grunt body)

but only around a month after murphy was magnified, he began showing signs of something having gone wrong. acton could do nothing but watch from the sidelines as the man he married rapidly devolved into a bitter, cruel and work-obsessed MAG agent who answered onto to law and snapped at anybody who dared try to compare him to his old self.

obviously watching this happen and not knowing how to help in the slightest, actons own mental state began to deteriorate. being completely loathed by the man who’s still your husband on paper does things to a guy! especially when youre the head of the department dedicated to monitoring him and youre forced to interact with him almost daily! acton began to avoid law in face to face interactions the best he could, but his job position and his own desperate attachment never let him go too far

this went on for months, the tension on both ends only continuing to build until eventually it finally all came to a head. during a standard monitored training session, law snapped and attempted to murder acton. as a heat of the moment decision it was poorly planned. law shatters and reaches through the observation window and manages to kill several other scientists in the project law team in his attempt to reach acton. (important side tangent i shoulda mentioned earlier probably but w/e, when murphy was magnified they implanted a remotely controlled detonator in the back of his neck. as a powerful and dangerous MAG, this was intended as a safety measure in the case he ever turned on his fellow agents. as the head of the project law team, acton was entrusted with the controller)

actons remaining attachment made him hesitate to resort to the detonator, along with a mix of shock at what he was seeing. he hesitated long enough for several other people in the room to die, in which acton finally activated the controller and killed law.

despite everything, acton cant bear to lose law. hes beat down by months of open hatred from him, but he’s still desperately hopeful that murphy has to be in there somewhere. he goes back and forth with AAHW higher-ups to negotiate laws revival, which is eventually granted. learning this news, the remaining members of the project law team (many of which actually good friends of acton) turn on him and are hurt and shocked that he could STILL be defending law after EVERYTHING. many refuse to work with him and demand to be moved to a different department.

when law is revived approximately a week after his death, acton is the one to greet him. the conversation goes south fast and law lets loose how deeply his loathing runs, for acton AND himself. law doesnt attempt to physically harm him again, and i want to depict this scene in art one day so i wont go too in depth now, but actons still left deeply wounded.

with his social circles now COMPLETELY destroyed and having no one to talk to, acton finally just relents under the pressure. barely a week after laws revival, acton quietly dissents and goes completely off the grid. hes working under his own contract and cant simply quit, as a higher ranking scientist he has too much insider knowledge to risk trying to escape to another city where he could still live in some sort of comfort. he’s forced to completely go it alone.

actons time after his dissent is 90% spent feeling miserable and sorry for himself, and 10% scavenging for the bare minimum resources to keep himself alive. hes a weak scientist, he’s not built for surviving on his own out in the wastes, and he only manages to scrape by by laying low and hiding from any passerby. this doesnt always work, a few times he is found by bandits who rob him for what little belongings he has, and beat the shit out of him for the fun of it.

its a fucking miserable existence. but hes afraid to die, so he spends his last days thinking about what he couldve done different. how he couldve saved murphy, or not let it happen in the first place. he reminisces on the good old days quite a bit too. ultimately hes just wasting away out there, a far cry from the bright-eyed respected top scientist he once was.

[hoe-doroki]

Between Fear and Guilt

pairing: Shouto x American cisfem!Reader

wc: 2.5k

genre: light angst, comfort

warnings: sex is mentioned? rated pg-13

summary: You and Todoroki only started being intimate a couple months back, but somehow you’re already experiencing a dry spell—not by your choice. Today’s the day you’re going to figure out what’s up with your boyfriend once and for all.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Getting Shouto alone in your room had been your favorite sport in your third year. First of all, it was generally easy and, secondly, you were good at it. 

It was that generally that made things tricky, though. At first, it had been easy almost all the time. The two of you would separate yourselves from the class to do homework—and you always would!—but then you started kissing. And over time that had turned  into petting and, as of a couple months ago, the evolved into the whole shebang. But lately, Shouto had started hitting the pause button preemptively, often wanting to actually get your studying done before the evening would devolve into debauchery. And it really was your studying, since you always had to do more than him. Naturally smart, native Japanese, handsome bastard.

You’d been at the tail end of your English homework when you’d pounced tonight. The two of you had been sitting on the floor, leaning your backs against your bed when you’d set down your pencil and started running the back of your hand up and down his arm. He’d glanced at you, expression blank before turning back to his work. You, of course, always got easy grades in English. Shouto always did just as well, if not better since he never made the mistakes a lazy native speaker would. So you’d calculated it as a good opportunity to get frisky. English was the subject the both of you could finish—or bullshit through—the quickest. Since Shouto knew that too, you were hoping that he wouldn’t insist you finish before he let you touch him. 

It seemed you’d bet right. When you started kissing his jawline he caught your lips with his, dropping his pencil as well. You hummed happily as he gave in, his cold hand coming up to the back of your neck to bring you closer. Taking that as an invitation, you pushed his work off his lap and swung a leg over to his other side, quickly situating your lap in his and grabbing both his cheeks in your hands. You were careful of escalating things too quickly, so you sat back a little, comfortably resting on his muscular thighs instead of slotted core to core. Your hands traveled up to his hair, marveling in the slightly thicker texture of his red locks to the white ones. He breathed into your mouth as you closed your fists, not quite pulling but giving a soft scratch and tug to his roots.

His hands were traveling under your thin shirt, feeling your bare sides and grabbing him, and you shivered under the different temperatures of his hands. Neither one was too hot or too cold, but the contrast was always sharp enough that your body would react at first touch. You pulled him closer to you, whispering, “I’ve missed you,” pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

He stiffened and you knew you’d misstepped. In the past few weeks, the two of you had kissed, touched a little, but that was as far as things had gone. It wasn’t like you were dying for affection—you knew your boyfriend wasn’t the most sensitive guy out there; it was what you had signed up for and you were happy with what he could give you—but come on. You’d only started having sex a couple months ago and already you were in a three week dry spell despite being two of the lucky few to have rooms on the only floor without any pervs (Mineta or even Kaminari or Mina), and no one who would yell at you (Iida or Bakugou).

You tried bringing your lips up to his mouth, but it was a lost battle. Already, your boyfriend was far less responsive, his hands coming out from under your shirt and his mouth hardly impassioned as it met yours. You already knew what he was going to say when he pulled away and stated, “We should finish our homework and go to bed.”

You sighed. “I don’t suppose you mean the same bed?”

Shouto wasn’t really one for euphemisms so you didn’t wait for an answer as you pulled your leg back and slumped back beside him, your heated cheeks suddenly more pronounced now that you weren’t as close to him. You wondered if his cold side was putting a chill in the air—it certainly would have made ironic sense.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and it sounded like he meant it. But you didn’t understand why. All you could do was try to push down the toxic answers your brain was feeding to you—that you weren’t good enough, not pretty enough, not talented enough. If Shouto actually thought those things, you had no doubt he would have broken up with you.

“Let’s just finish,” you said, every ounce of your strength going into sounding casual instead of bitter or pouty. You could finish this in ten minutes, five if you didn’t double check your work, and then you could go to sleep and forget about your failures in seduction.

“Y/N,” Shouto said, a hint of insistence coloring his otherwise low monotone, “could you go on birth control?”

Your eyes widened as you turned to Shouto, his long, white bangs hiding his face from you. There hadn’t been a stutter in his words nor even more than a breath of hesitation, but he wasn’t meeting your eyes either.

“Do…Do you not want to use condoms anymore?”

The both of you had only ever been physical with each other so, technically, it should be safe to rely on birth control without an external barrier. But you couldn’t imagine why Shouto would have been withholding sex just because he wasn’t a fan of condoms. It’s not like he had anything to compare them to.

“No, it’s not that,” Shouto said, his breath heavy as he kept eye contact with his kneecaps. “I’ve been looking into the effectiveness of condoms in preventing pregnancy and they can have an eighteen percent failure rate. Meanwhile, the pill, the patch, and the ring are nine percent, the shot is six percent, and an IUD or implant are less than one percent.”

Honestly, you hadn’t even heard of all of those methods before—what in the world was the ring? You’d thought that you and Shouto had been prepared and careful your first time—and all subsequent times, few as they had been—but you suddenly felt that maybe you hadn’t done enough research. Surely some of that failure rate had to come from condoms breaking, right? And if that happened, you could always buy an emergency contraceptive*, right? Although, you’d have to go to a drug store for that and you’d need permission to leave campus, and you’d heard those pills worked the best the sooner you used them…God, maybe you really hadn’t planned enough.

Shouto continued, “I understand if you don’t want to because almost all of those things involve hormones and some necessitate medical procedures. I would do it myself if I could but it seems male birth control research halted when quirks appeared and is only just now making progress again. I’m really sorry to even ask but…eighteen percent? Isn’t that terrifying?”

The last words came out more like a whisper and you could see that your boyfriend really was terrified. His hands were clenched and you could see all the pronounced muscles on his arms flexing with tension as he tried to keep the worst of his feelings in. He didn’t seem embarrassed, but he was obviously caught somewhere between fear and guilt and you wanted to kiss it away, but you kept your distance, not wanting him to pull away from you again.

“And then if something did go wrong, you have irregular periods, so we might not know until it’s too late,” Shouto said. “What would we do then?”

You could see the cycle he seemed to have been putting himself through these last many weeks, the catastrophic thinking. You weren’t sure if he’d imagined that since you’d started having sex every intimate encounter had to go all the way, but maybe it didn’t matter. If you’d been having these kinds of thoughts, you probably wouldn’t want to be touching anyone intimately either, even in ways that couldn’t cause pregnancy. If you’d been that scared.

“Shouto,” you said, your voice low and soothing as you could make it. “You’re right. Okay? You’re absolutely right. I’ll make a doctor’s appointment as soon as I can. You can even come with me if you want, so that you know what’s happening.”

“You’re not mad?” he asked, finally looking at you, and you smiled.

“Of course not,” you said. “I just wish you hadn’t kept this fear so bottled up. I mean, I don’t want to get pregnant either!”

You cupped his cheek, turning his face even more towards yours so he could see exactly how not mad you were. “I know that,” he said. “I guess I was just nervous. Some of these methods can be really hard on people with internal genitalia. I read about side effects with mood swings, more painful periods, weight fluctuation, possible ectopic pregnancies—”

“We just might have to try a few different things then,” you interrupted. “We have time.”

Shouto cracked his first smile of the night. “Of course.”

You put a hand on his leg, giving his cheek a smooch. You didn’t try for more than that, though. If Shouto wanted to hold off on sex until after you were better protected that was fine. It didn’t mean you couldn’t do other stuff, but you didn’t think the moment called for it. You were content to stay connected hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, glad he’d finally filled you in on his fear.

But then a little thought wormed its way into your brain. It started small, probably the way Shouto’s had before he’d dived into the apparent ocean of research he’d done. But it was already growing, creating a million what-if scenarios in your brain. You glanced over at Shouto, who now looked at peace as you rested next to each other. You didn’t want to ruin that just after he’d gotten something hard off his chest. But, at the same time, now was the time to ask. You didn’t want to wait another three weeks or however long it took for the conversation to come up naturally. No, you had to ask. You had to know.

“Shouto…do you…” You weren’t quite as good at being straightforward as Shouto was. You were honest and always said what was on your mind when the moment called for it, but sometimes getting the thought out was still hard, even with your boyfriend. “Do you…ever want children?”

It wasn’t a question you really wanted to ask. You were both eighteen and this wasn’t something that should make or break a relationship at your age. But you liked Shouto so much that you couldn’t help thinking about things in terms of forever. Maybe it was an immature byproduct of this being your first relationship—you were sure it was, actually—but you didn’t care. For you, what felt real was real.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Shouto said. “I just know that I don’t want them right now. Do you want children?”

“Like in ten years, but…yeah,” you admitted. “I’ve always imagined having children.”

Truly, ten years was a minimum. A pro hero career would not be made easier by pregnancy or children, so you wanted to wait at least ten years, if not until you were comfortably in your thirties. After all, you were realistic. Your twenty-four-year-old sister had given birth to her first baby last year and, though happy, her life had been totally upended. You couldn’t imagine that being you in just five years.

But you did want them. And even though there were no guarantees that you and Shouto would be together in ten years, the idea of being with someone who wasn’t imagining that same kind of future as you were saddened you. What would you do if he decided he didn’t want them? And with the childhood he’d had, he had every reason not to.

“Hmm,” Shouto hummed. At some point, his arm had slung around your shoulder and he was idly rubbing your bicep. “How do you know that?”

You shrugged against him. “I don’t know. It was always a given. When I think of my future, I see children. Probably just two, not a litter like our families. And I know it’s probably a societal thing, but I don’t care. I still want it, even though it will make being a hero hard.”

“It’s really hard having one parent as a pro hero,” he said. “I couldn’t imagine having two.”

“It’s really hard having one parent as Endeavor,” you corrected. “Iida’s parents are heroes and he has a good relationship with them.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Shouto said. “But his brother.”

“If fear kept people from having children, no one would ever have children, Shouto,” you said. “I’m not saying it’s not a valid reason, because it definitely is for some people, but every parent fears for their child and every hero fears death. When combined, those things are compounded. But that won’t stop me.”

You didn’t want to have to sacrifice your career for having a family—that was too painful a cliché to live up to. You wanted the other cliché, the cliché of having it all. You already knew you were unlikely to ever be a top-ranked hero—your quirk was just too specialized for that. So you were already working on a side-career to have on top of that, one that would work better with having a family down the line. But Shouto’s dreams were that of being the number one hero, so it was probably harder to see. Harder to see past anything but his father, the actual number one hero.

“I don’t understand how you’re so sure,” Shouto said.

“Because I’ve thought about it for a long time,” you said thinking of your plans of being a therapist, all your life goals—the specific way that you would save people. “You don’t have to decide today. But it would do you some good to work through the fear and find out if there’s anything underneath it.”

“Okay. I’ll think about it.”

He said it like it was easy, but you knew that he wasn’t taking it lightly. He was squeezing your shoulder tightly and when you glanced at his face, his eyes were thoughtful.

“But for now…” you said, bringing him back, “doctor’s appointment. I’ll make one tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Shouto said.

“Of course,” you replied. “You should feel safe with me. All the time.”

He pulled you towards him, but the only way you could get closer was by resting your head on his shoulder. Which is exactly what you did.

“I already do.”

*PSA: Emergency contraception (plan B) is mentioned but, since the reader is of an unspecified weight, this is a great time to remember that plan B doesn’t work for all weight classes! Read that fine print before use—you might have to take two doses or buy a more expensive product (horrible, I know!) We don’t want any unexpected pregnancies around here!

[untaemedqueen]

The Bird Cage

Mafia!Jimin x Reader

Chapter 12.

Warnings: (In This Chapter) Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Death, Defiling of Dead Bodies

 Eventual Smut, Blood, Guns, Knives, Smoking (Cigarettes)

Tag-List: @imaforeigner​, @q1st1na​, @gensneverland​, @autumnnflowers​, @toddsgirl27​, @yaniposts22​, @babyboytae1​, @dearlydreadful​, @vivpurple7, @kthfeed​

"I was born in Busan. Do you know where that is Y/N?" Jimin taps his fingers on the arm of his chair. You sit up straighter and nod. 

"I was born and bred in Busan. Was born to a family that lived simply. I had a brother, I had a mother and I had a father. We had a dog, named Money. We lived in a two bedroom apartment. We lived by the ocean, I would go swim in the sea and dig my toes into the sand. Simple." Jimin stares into his whisky glass before clearing his throat. 

"I went to school, I was good in school. Did my homework, did extra studying like they say to do to be sure to get into college. But then one day, I came home and my father wasn't there. And he was always home before me, he was a watchmaker. He made fucking watches so he was always home before seven. He was a good person." Jimin's voice begins to get strained and he takes a sip of whisky. You don't dare utter even a sigh, Jimin seems as if he's devolving into some sort of animal. 

"One day, he wasn't home. So I asked my mom, 'Where's Dad?' And she told me he was gone. He left. He had business to take care of in Seoul. And I thought to myself, what kind of business would a watchmaker have in Seoul? Hours away from his own home. A week passed, two weeks passed. He didn't come back. I had assumed he had gone on the class bread run, y'know? Like in the movies, he had just abandoned us. So I stopped going to extra studying after class. Stopped meeting with friends from school, on weekends I would take the train into Seoul to try and find my dad but I could never find him. People at school would make fun of me, always used to tell me my dad wasn't coming home because his watch broke and he was stuck in time. Used to bully my little brother, too. They beat him over the head with rocks and threw him in puddles and fountains because without my dad we were poor and we couldn't even after good clean clothes." Your chest tightens as you see his rage build, his eyes darting back and forth between his whisky glass and the knocked over king piece. 

"I met Jeongguk, he helped my brother out when he was bullied so I liked him. I started to hang out with him, forgetting that my father even existed and if someone brought him up. A fire would ignite inside me, burn through my veins like butane. And I would beat them, beat them until their eyes were swollen and they couldn't see. Beat them till their lips were split open, scalps cracked nice and bloody. It felt good, I would make them eat their words. So me and Jeongguk decided that we would become a brotherhood. People around me started to call me a lion. Because I roared as fierce as one and I would hunt you down and make you bloody." Jimin scoffs before sipping his whisky, his hand shaking as he sets the glass down on the table. 

"But, once I beat up a kid named Kim Youngju. And his dad was a mafia boss. Nobody touched Youngju until I came along and heard him muttering under his breath about my dad. So I beat him till he was in a coma. He was on a feeding tube, couldn't breath on his own, they told me. So his dad, Kim Shin-" You take a deep inhale putting your hand over your mouth, "-told me I was something special. Something like a caged bird, I needed to open the cage door and fly free."

"So I started working for Kim Shin. I brought Jeongguk with me, Shin gave me money and guns and knives and names. And then those names wouldn't exist anymore. They would disappear. I got an apartment, just me and Guk in Daegu. Just the two of us, like a little sinners den we were living out our days drunk and killing people. Murdering them how we saw fit, didn't even need names anymore. You looked at me the wrong way you were gone." Jimin runs his hands through his hair before looking at you.

"Then I get a phone call. From my little brother, my dad came back. After six years the watchmaker came back. My brother, he tells me that dad came back. And, he was rich! And I said to my brother, 'How? How is dad rich? He's a watchmaker.' And my little brother over the phone goes, 'He said a lion brought him some money.'' You close your eyes as you hear Jimin rabble off his story. 

"So my dad was Kim Shin's watch maker. He made him beautiful little watches that could rival a Rolex. And Kim Shin told him that if he was to leave me, he would turn me into an exemplary case of poor to rich. So me and Jeongguk got on a train home to Busan, but not before meeting Taehyung and Yoongi. Two other fucking delinquents that had sob stories like mine, I told them I would protect them. I would make sure they exact their revenge against whoever fucked their brains up. Because that's what I was, fucked up in the brain. So I get on a train, take my sorry ass back to Busan. And I see my father after six years. He was wearing an Italian suit, nice haircut, beautiful leather shoes and I was going to fucking murder him. Hmm? Murder him for leaving me, letting me turn into some mongrel, for money no less."

"But, then I saw my mother. She was wearing a Chanel dress, had a nice haircut too. Pretty Louboutin heels. And, I couldn't kill him. Because he gave my mother pretty things, she was the only woman in the world that I have ever loved. Until my last breath I will love my mother. My dad gave my brother nice clothes, too. Wanted to send him off to a good school. So I told my parents we would move. Go to the countryside, I would stop all this killing, all the blood and murder on my hands. I would wash it away like I was John the Baptist in the river." You take a sip of your whisky, your heart beating in your ears. Jimin stands up quickly.

"Excuse me, I don't do this very often." He says before opening up his bureau drawer and taking out a pack of cigarettes. He pulls out a cigarette before grabbing a lighter out of the same drawer. You couldn't say anything, this story is a big deal for him. He also pulls a file out of his drawer before throwing it on to the chair opposite him as he sits back down. He pulls from the cigarette, his eyebrows furrowing before he continues on with his story. 

"So we moved here, hmm? We moved to this beautiful house. I saved up money when Guk and I were living in our little den so I could buy a maid for my mother. So she didn't have to do anything ever again. I got rid of everything from Busan, bought new stuff. I tried to get rid of the evil in this house but there were two evils. Me and my father." 

"I was out with Jeongguk one day. Seven years ago, we were shopping for a dress for Guk's girlfriend. Her name was Lee. Just Lee. Lee Lee. Isn't that funny?" Jimin snorts before pulling from his cigarette, "We get home, silence. Mirae doesn't meet us at the door, I call out to my parents. Silence." You begin to shiver, wrapping the comforter around your body tighter. The moon began to illuminate on Jimin's face, the moon was going down. The sun would soon rise. 

"So I run upstairs with Guk, he's calling Lee. I'm calling out for my parents. Nothing. And then I get up to the third floor and I see little drops of blood all over the floor." 

"Jesus." You whisper bowing your head. 

"No, Jesus was not with me that day. So I'm panicking calling out for my fucking parents because now something is wrong, right? There's blood on the fucking floor. I get to my parents bedroom. I open the door, and..." Jimin stops his eyes wide as he stares at his bedroom door. 

"And my parents are dead. Just fucking dismembered, all of their body parts laying in their bed. I remember the first thing I did was I threw up. Just fucking vomited all over the goddamn floor. I cried, and then I saw a note on the bedside table. Hmm?" Jimin stands up opening the folder he pulled out before walking over and handing you the laminated note.

You don't get to leave when there is work to be done. This is a reminder that Lions do not out run Cheetahs. - KS

You feel queasy, your stomach rolling and your palms get sweat as you throw the laminated paper down before wiping your hands on the bed sheets. 

"Then Gukkie screams, hysterically. And I know they killed Lee. There was cum all over my parents bodies. They fucking jacked off over my parents fucking limbs. Then I ran to my brother's room. And he’s fucking nailed to the wall like Jesus Christ himself. They cut his eyes out and put them in his mouth." Jimin takes a pause before watching the cigarette smoke roll out of his mouth. 

"Now, I didn't see what they did to Lee, Jeongguk wouldn't let me see but she was pretty so I'm sure it was fucking disgraceful. So I got mad, I got furious. I became a monster. I didn't laugh, or smile. I made deals with men that would shake your little soul to the ground. I fucked women for good standing so they would give me their men to help me. Because Kim Shin was not going to fuck me over. I got my other brothers, my Jin, my Namjoon, my fucking Hoseok. I made Taehyung and Yoongi move in here. Because a lion does not back down from a hunt. I started fucking an older woman named Jaeyun. Not for fun, but for resources, she was a nasty bitch that liked to leave me tied up for 6 hours all for the price of one gun. By the end of that I had hundreds of guns. Because, you can't start business without a fucking sacrifice and if I had to sacrifice my body like my parents did, then so be it. It took me a long time, a long time to build up my business. So, after a while, I made my business and I was going to parley with Kim Shin. You know what parley is, Kitten?" You shake your head at him as he sits back down away from you. 

"It's a business meeting. I sat down, at a business meeting with fucking Kim Shin. Because, he was not going to fucking walk all over me. It took such strength to sit there across the table from that blue eyed fucker. To sit there and parley without shooting that fuck in between the eyes and watching his blood traipse down his skin. Y'know fucking blur his eyes and taste his own iron, it was difficult to not do that. So, we sat down. Talked business, talked whores all that shit." Jimin spits on the floor angrily before inhaling more smoke. 

"With Jeongguk there, with me there we made a pact with Kim Shin, that he would not give loans or promises of money to ANYONE after what he did to our families. He respected my opinion because I built myself up. He knew how vicious I am, he knew I would do anything to get my way so he took the deal. He spit in his hand and I spit in mine and we fucking shook on it. We went our separate ways, I made more money. Brought my business to what it is now, killed many men to make my own way. Then last week, I saw you and I got this." Jimin holds up the folder from the chair. 

"What is it?" You find yourself asking as Jimin stands up. He burns his cigarette out in the vase of roses on his bureau before walking over to you and handing you the file. 

"That's you. Everything about you, where you were born, why you're in Korea, who your parents are, everything." You open up the folder peaking through the pictures of you from when you were little, your school report cards and even your family's finances. 

"You did a background check on me?" The question drifts off into the air as Jimin sips his whisky before nodding. 

"Of course I did, you think I would just let anyone in my house?" You begin to feel small as you find pictures of your first boyfriend, your first vacation as an adult. You throw the folder aside before folding your arms. 

"Yeah, okay. So, you saw my folder and?" Jimin runs his fingers through his hair before putting his head back. 

"In that folder is the contract between Kim Shin and your parents for the loan. A blood contract. But, what did I just say not to long ago, Kitten?" Jimin looks at you widening his eyes. You clear your throat before sipping your whisky. 

"That Kim Shin shook on never giving loans again." Jimin points at you before smiling.

"Bingo, baby. So now, he's going to fucking die. You don't fuck over a lion. Especially when I shake on it." You both go silent for a little while. The both of you staring at each other in the large bedroom. 

"Kim Shin doesn't know what's coming for him. Lions hunt their prey in silence, and then they spring on them and rip their carotid artery out. We're going to do that to him." You hum in agreement before picking up your folder again. 

"So he betrayed me, and he preyed on your family. Now that you're mine, it only makes the pay back more enjoyable. I tried so hard to make my pain from my family go away but it still eats at my brain. I've pushed it back countless times in order for business to carry on. But, not anymore. Now, Kim Shin is getting war." Jimin looks off into the distance, his eyes glazing over as he sighs. You look through your folder once more before scoffing. 

"Really? My clothes sizes? My fucking ob/gyn check up?" You hold up the papers, Jimin doesn't answer you as he finishes his whisky. 

"You heard my story, will you come with me to the ball or not?" The sun begins to rise, a dark night's sky beginning to turn salmon and orange. You shake the papers.

"My ob/gyn fucking check ups Jimin!" He leans forward in his chair. 

"I wanted to know if you were fertile. You might just carry my fucking legacy one day, alright? I fucking care about you. So yes, I got your fucking doctors records." You roll your eyes before putting the papers back in the folder and standing up. Jimin watches how your night gown ripples down to the floor. Your bare feet padding towards him quietly as you hand him back the folder. 

"Why would you think I wouldn't go with you if you told me your story?" You sit down across from him as he places the folder in his lap. 

"Because I'm a monster, Y/N. And you haven't even seen it yet. I can tell you I murder people and I run guns but you haven't SEEN it yet. That changes a person, seeing someone drop. When you kill someone, you open up a door in your mind and all the demons come in." You hum at his poetic speech.

"I stabbed a man not to long ago, and I told you how good it felt." 

"But, then you stayed awake all night thinking about it, you couldn't sleep. And, when you did you talked in your sleep. Begging for forgiveness." You begin to blush, you weren't aware that you spoke while sleeping. You sit up straighter before putting your hand on Jimin's knee. His eyes looking straight at you as he cracks his neck. 

"I said I'm not going anywhere, and I meant it. I keep promises." Jimin closes his eyes before grabbing your hand. 

"I hope that's true, baby. Because, when you see me turn into a lion, you'll be very disappointed you chose me." Jimin stands up as you click your teeth with an eye roll. He picks you up bridal style before walking over to the bed and laying you down. He props himself in between your legs before bending down and kissing you. His hand caressing your cheek as he puts his forehead to yours. "Will you come with me tomorrow?" 

"Yes."

[mikauzoran]

Ladrien/Marichat: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Thirteen

Read it on AO3: Drunk Ladybug on My Balcony? Yeah. This is Fine.: Chapter Thirteen: The Revelation

“Here we are. Safe and sound,” Ladybug announced with forced chipperness as she set Adrien back down in his room.

Reluctantly, he removed his arms from around her and stepped back, doing his best to put on his own fake smile.

“Today was really fun,” he remarked with a lightness he didn’t feel.

“Yeah,” she agreed enthusiastically, but the joviality didn’t make it to her eyes. “I had fun too. I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”

“I did,” he affirmed earnestly. “It was really great, and I seriously appreciate you going to the trouble of organizing all that for me. I’m never going to forget today.”

“Me either,” she whispered, a bit of the false cheer wearing off, revealing the bittersweet melancholy hiding below the surface. “I had such a good time getting to know you better.”

“Me too.” He braced for impact as he added, “We should do it again sometime.”

She winced, averting her eyes. “Adrien… I’d love to, but we can’t. It was madness for me to even think of dating you as Ladybug in the first place.” She looked back to him with pleading, desperate eyes. “This is too dangerous. Like I said before, I don’t know what all Papillon is willing to do to get to me, but…I would never forgive myself if my selfishness and carelessness got you hurt. We’re lucky no one recognized us today and posted pictures where Papillon could see and start targeting you.”

“I know,” he sighed, gaze dropping to their shoes. “I don’t care about the risk for myself, but…I would never want to bring that kind of guilt on you if something did happen…. This wasn’t a good idea.”

“No,” she agreed softly, stepping in closer and taking his cheeks in her hands, making him look at her. “But today was the best mistake of my life, Adrien Agreste, and I can’t bring myself to regret it.”

“Yeah?” he breathed, letting himself get entranced by her swirling, sea-like eyes.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, smile infused with light and warmth and love.

“Well,” he chuckled, taking heart in looking on the bright side. “At least you can still ask me out as a civilian. This doesn’t have to be the end.”

Her smile flickered and faded as her brow pulled into a conflicted frown. “Adrien…I don’t think that’s possible now.”

Her words were like a cold shower, sending a jolt through his system.

“Wait. What? Why not?” he demanded, a whine creeping into his voice.

She gazed at him sadly, shaking her head. “What are you going to think the next time some black-haired girl comes up to you and asks you out for coffee? You’ll know it’s me right away, and that can’t happen. I have to keep my identity secret at all costs, not just for myself and my own safety but for the safety of all of Paris and the Miraculouses and kwamis in my keeping. I have to think about the bigger picture,” she informed him ruefully, feeling the weight of her yoke of duty then more than ever. “I can’t just think about myself…so this has to be the end of this. I’m sorry, Adrien.”

It occurred to him that he could simply ask Marinette out, but the unfairness of the entire situation agitated him.

“If you’re not allowed to think about yourself, who’s going to?” he challenged. “This isn’t right. It’s not fair that you have to bear such a heavy burden alone. I know what it’s like to have to keep secrets from everyone, Ladybug. It’s exhausting and isolating, and, after a while, it makes you feel like a bad person because you feel like you’re always lying to everybody in your life. I don’t want that for you.”

He eyed her pleadingly, willing her to relax her guard and let him in, let him be there to help support her.

“I don’t really want that for me either,” she admitted with a tired sigh, tears beginning to build at the corners of her eyes. “…Sometimes it just can’t be helped, though. I’m sorry, Adrien, but I can’t do this. Please don’t make this harder than it already is,” she begged, just barely managing to resist the temptation he offered.

He could see her on the edge of breaking, but pressing her further felt wrong and manipulative. He didn’t want to push her into something she would later regret, so he backed off with a soft, “Okay. Sorry.”

“Me too,” she whispered, her hands dropping to take his and give them a squeeze. “…Maybe the stars will align and we’ll get to date someday.”

“Maybe I’ll find you and ask you out first,” he hummed impishly.

“Please don’t try to find me,” she entreated, feeling sick with worry. “You can’t know who I am.”

He bit his tongue, knowing that it would only scare her off to tell her he already knew.

“Kiss me,” Adrien pleaded.

Ladybug blinked, startled by the urgency in his voice. “What?”

“If this really has to be the end of things between us, can’t you at least kiss me? You said that you wanted to earlier. If we can’t be together, can’t we at least have this much?” he reasoned. “Give me a kiss to remember you by.”

She worried at her bottom lip as she studied him carefully, weighing her options.

“Please, Nelle?” he whimpered, and his yearning gaze nearly did her in.

Reasoning that one kiss couldn’t hurt, she stepped in, taking his face gently in her hands and bringing it down to hers.

She’d intended the kiss to be brief and sweet like cherry blossom petals floating on a river, but she did not anticipate the spark she felt inside of her when her lips met his.

It was like an electric zap radiating through her body from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair, and, judging by the way he gasped into the kiss, Adrien felt it too.

What Ladybug had intended to be a chaste brush of lips quickly devolved into a sloppy, hungry crush of lips and tongues and teeth and hands.

Before she could really think through what she was doing, she’d pushed Adrien back and down onto his couch and was on top of him, seeing what kind of noises he made when she bit, licked, or sucked on different parts of his neck and throat. She quickly found out that he purred when she massaged his scalp, and the sound only encouraged her.

“Wait,” Adrien gasped, getting a hold of himself several minutes later.

She lifted her head and blinked blearily down at him, mind hazy with hormones. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t lie to you anymore,” he groaned. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want, but things have gone too far and gotten out of control. I can’t keep secrets from you anymore, My Lady.”

She opened her mouth to seek clarification, but he alleviated the need by calling, “Plagg, transform me.”

In a green flash of light, it was Chat Noir beneath her on the couch in place of Adrien.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, eyes begging for her forgiveness. “I shouldn’t have agreed to go on a date with you right after we’d just talked about waiting to start a romantic relationship until it was safe, but…when you showed up to ask me out, I figured that Adrien must have been your mystery boy all along, and it was just a dream come true, so…I should have said no, but I didn’t. I’m sorry. You know I think with my heart far more often than with my head.”

Ladybug did not respond right away. She was too busy gaping at her partner with her mouth hanging wide open as her mind bluescreened.

“Please say something,” he pleaded through a grimace, starting to feel ill. “I can tell you’re not taking this well, but—”

She cut him off with a guttural curse.

He blinked at her for a moment, and then a sly grin slowly curled up the corners of his lips. “On a first date? I’m sorry, but I’m a little old fashioned. You’ll have to marry me first.”

“Oh my God,” she groaned, covering her face with her hands as she had a mental meltdown.

He winced. “Sorry. I really am sorry. …On a completely serious note, are you okay?”

A muffled, “No,” leaked out through her fingers along with very Marinette-like sounds of despair.

“Sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just…I really did understand earlier when you were talking about it being unfair to Adrien, him not knowing your identity. I felt guilty for keeping this from you this whole time, but I knew you didn’t want to know, so…” He shook his head. “But I couldn’t keep lying to you. …Sorry for messing things up,” he summarized dejectedly, ears drooping.

“…Do you hate me?” he whispered, half afraid to learn the answer.

She dropped her hands down to her sides and looked at him with eyes full of sorrow, compassion, regret, and love. “Chaton, I could never hate you. Ever,” she stressed, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “In fact, I think I love you now more than ever before.”

“O-Oh,” he choked, so happy it was hard to breathe.

“And you didn’t mess anything up,” she assured with a cloudy smile. “I did.”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Detransformation.”

In a swirl of pink, Marinette appeared, wearing the same blue dress as she had their last movie night.

A broad grin stretched across Chat’s lips as he sat up, taking her face in his hands.

She hesitantly peeked one eye open and was surprised to find him beaming at her like she had arranged the stars in the night sky. She blinked, noting, “You don’t look surprised. Or angry.”

“Because I’m neither, Princess,” he chuckled, running a hand down the side of her face, neck, and shoulder. “What better outcome could I hope for than for the two girls I’m crazy about to be the same person?”

“And, let me guess,” she snickered. “You’re not surprised because you were able to see Ladybug in your ‘Everyday Ladybug’?”

He bit his lip. “Actually…it was more like suddenly seeing Marinette in Ladybug earlier today when we were browsing in the Place du Tertre.”

The grin dropped off her face. “What?! Wait. What?! You figured out my identity?!”

He made a half-hearted, wobbling gesture with one hand. “I mean…sort of? I didn’t know for sure until just now, but…”

“Oh my gosh. All those questions you were asking!” she gasped as she mentally reviewed their day from that point.

He winced. “Yeah, well…I mean…”

She slapped his arm, and not in a fun, playful, joking away. “I can’t believe you! You were purposely trying to figure out my identity!”

“To be fair, I had already figured out your identity,” he reasoned, hoping she magically accepted this loophole and decided not to be mad at him. “I was merely seeking confirmation.”

She smacked his arm a second time, clearly not amused at his semantics.

“Hey, you’ve been in love with me for years and never said anything,” he whined, trying to shift the focus off of himself. “To Adrien or Chat Noir. If anyone has the right to be upset, it’s me.”

“I had my reasons,” she spluttered indignantly, hoping he wouldn’t ask for the receipts. “It’s not like you told Marinette you had a big, ridiculous crush on her either!”

“I’m sorry,” he snorted. “I just thought it was painfully obvious to anyone who listened to me rant regularly about how amazing and talented you are. If you’d shown interest in return, I would have gladly confessed to my gigantic crush on you, but, unfortunately, someone has been lying to my face the past seven years about how they’re not interested in me, they’re just a fan of my father’s work,” he returned with a sour pout.

“You are literally a model,” she whined in her own defence. “I thought you’d laugh in my face.”

“Princess,” he cooed, reaching up to stroke her face. “Who could say no to you?”

He leaned in to give her hair a reassuring nuzzle. “Marinette, you are the most awe-inspiring woman I know. You’re kind and brave and funny and gorgeous, and I would have to be a bigger fool than I already am not to fall deliriously in love with you.”

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Minou.”

“Shhh,” he comforted, pulling her in closer. “I’m sorry too. Maybe…can we try to accept that we both screwed things up and attempt to move beyond this?”

“…Yeah,” she decided, giving a little nod. “What’s done is done, so let’s just try to do our best going forward.”

“Sounds good,” he agreed, savoring the warmth of her body pressed to his, her sweet scent.

Earlier, he’d catalogued them in sorrow as she carried him back home, wondering if he’d ever get to experience them again. Now, he took stock in joy, planning to appreciate these sensations for years and years to come.

Suddenly, Marinette pulled back with a gasp and stared at him wide-eyed. “What are we going to do about akuma fights?! We just talked last week about how every second counts and how romantic feelings could cloud our judgment and get in the way in battle. What are we going to do now?!”

He grimaced, beginning to massage her shoulders in hopes that it would help her calm down. “My Love, I’ve had feelings for you for years now, and you just told me the other night that you’d loved me for almost as long. We’re going to have feelings that could potentially get in the way no matter what. We’ve had those feelings all this time, and I think it’s been pretty okay. I mean, I know I’ve sacrificed myself more times than you’re comfortable with, but the point is that we’ve managed all this time, haven’t we?”

“I guess you’re right,” she reluctantly agreed, slowly coming to see that what he said was true.

“Yes, we could have a fight or, God forbid, break up, but I’d like to think that our friendship and our partnership is strong enough to see us through, so…we’ve gone years suffering through trying to suppress our feelings, I, for one, would like to try making a romantic relationship work,” he suggested timidly, mentally crossing his fingers. “Who knows? Maybe when we stop holding ourselves back, we’ll be a better team than ever before. Want to give it a try?”

She didn’t need to think about it. “Yes. Definitely. Yes.”

“Really?” he laughed in joy and relief as his wildest dreams came true before his very eyes.

She nodded enthusiastically, joining in his laughter. “Yes. Really, really.”

He surged forward, capturing her lips once more in an exuberant kiss of celebration.

This one was more playful, less heated, but still full of fireworks and emotion.

Several minutes in, Marinette pulled back and glared at Chat Noir. “Heeeey. You sneak into my bedroom. Adrien Agreste sneaks into my bedroom.”

He quirked an eyebrow, wondering at the relevance of this revelation. “Technically, you invite me in. I always knock, even when the skylight is open.”

“Adrien Agreste has seen the inside of my bedroom,” she groaned in embarrassment, covering her face with her hands and letting out a moan of misery. “You’ve seen me in my laundry day sweatpants!”

He rolled his eyes fondly, gingerly taking her hands in his own and prying them away from her face. “Princess, look at me.”

She did so, her cheeks stained red as realization after realization informed her of all the unflattering sides of her he had seen.

“It’s just me,” he soothed. “Just your big, stupid cat, and I think the world of you.”

She pursed her lips, considering this for a moment. “…Yeah. You are, aren’t you?”

He nodded encouragingly. “Remember that time I got my tongue stuck to that lamppost?”

She burst out laughing, accidentally spraying him with spit which he gracefully wiped off, not minding in the least.

“Oh my gosh,” she giggle-snorted. “You did. You’re such a dork!”

“Your dork,” he confirmed.

“My dork,” she hummed and went back to kissing him.

They didn’t make it ten minutes before the next outburst.

“I tried to give you the Snake Miraculous!” she gasped.

Chat’s ears flattened. “We’re going to be having moments like this for years to come, aren’t we?”

“What the hell were you thinking?!” she demanded.

He shrugged. “You said you needed Adrien. I’m stupid in love with you. Emphasis on the stupid.”

She frowned, debating on her reaction. His reasons weren’t exactly good, but they were flattering, so maybe she could forgive him.

He took the liberty of kissing the crinkles from her brow. “Later, you’ll have to tell me how you pulled Multimouse off because I’m dying to know, but, for now, could we maybe kiss and snuggle? Maybe watch some movies?”

She instantly perked up. “Can we have a Disney singalong? I’m sort of in love with your voice.”

“Just the voice?” he asked again with a teasing eyebrow waggle.

“All of you,” she informed softly, leaning in to press a butterfly kiss to his lips. “…But your voice in particular.”

“I can live with that,” he cackled, pulling her back down onto the couch with him.

 Alya and Nino were lounging on her bed watching X-Men: Apocalypse when her phone buzzed.

“Why are you grinning like you just got the biggest scoop ever?” Nino inquired cautiously, lifting a suspicious eyebrow.

“My ship has sailed!” Alya cheered, nearly jumping for joy. “Adrien and Marinette are dating! Aaaaaahhhh!!! This is the best day ever!”

Nino frowned, pausing the movie. “Wait. Adrien’s dating Marinette or Ladybug? They should still be at the Eiffel Tower, right? Did she tell him her identity? Did he tell her his?”

Alya’s mood immediately plummeted. “Hold on. Let me figure this out.”

She shot quick texts to Marinette and Adrien, asking if they’d revealed their respective identities and who was dating whom.

“Okay. Full identity reveal. Everybody is dating everybody,” Alya reported with a contented sigh, sinking back down onto the bed. “These two are exhausting.”

“Tell me about it,” Nino snorted. “Why do they have to be so complicated?”

Alya shook her head. “Thank God Marinette locked us in the panther cage, right?”

“We never really thanked her for that, did we?” Nino snickered.

Alya shrugged. “Meh. I’ll work it into my maid of honor speech at her wedding. I consider my debt paid in full after all the identity shenanigans I’ve had to put up with getting her and Adrien together. I single-handedly defeated the Love Quadrilateral. My job here is done.”

“Awesome work, Al,” Nino chuckled, leaning in to give her temple a light peck.

The

End

[depths-of-hope-and-despair]

Doubts

The next day, Aditi opted to clear her conscience by planning for the future. The next few days, she could visit Hajime and talk out her concerns. The Trifle situation was... more difficult. She paced outside her sister’s door for.. hours it felt like. In reality, it was only five minutes of hyping herself up, only to chicken out and speed walk back to her room. Her brain being so busy with ideas and studying dreams means she felt exhausted by the end of the day. Enough to fall asleep normally instead of with alcohol.

She suspected these dreams in her sleep was a form of self-analysis. That Albert was merely a character that existed in her head, that she could use to learn about herself. But, his reactions were independent of her? That wouldn’t make much sense. Least to say, when the dream blurred into her vision, she was the first to speak this time. “Do you exist independently from these dreams?” She blurred out without giving a second to consider waiting.

“Good day to you too.” Albert responded without the usual bravado, reading through the notebook he had been writing in the whole time, clapping it shut again, the usual smile appearing back on his face as he responded casually: “I don’t see how this is relevant to our progression, Aditi. If we were here to smalltalk and dilly dally, I would have met you in a cafe.”

He smirked a little as he remarked: “Dilly dallying is quite the entertaining word, don’t you think?” He chuckled to himself as he opened a drawer in his desk, procuring some papers, eyes roaming over them.

“You’re as humorous as you are straightforward, Doctor.” Aditi muttered in annoyance.

“For today I thought we could do a little personality test. Nothing too intrusive, it is just there to distinguish your basic characteristics, like punctuality, empathy, introversion or extraversion etcetera etcetera, you can also choose not to answer if you are not comfortable. All of these questions can be responded with ‘yes’ or ‘no’, you do not need to elaborate in any way.”

Aditi folded her arms together, much like a pouting child and rolled her eyes. She figured that questioning him any further was a dead end at this point. He was fair too cryptic and waffling to let her in on secrets. With a disappointed huff, she nodded to give her agreement to the test.

He wrote Aditi’s name on the paper and then read some of the questions to her:

“When I see someone crying, I feel the urge to hug them and try to make them feel better.”

“I often miss public transportation.”

“You can find me at the club every Friday night.”

“Family is extremely important to me.”

“I need social interactions every day to function.”

“I like to try out new things.”

The first, made her pause. Did she feel the need to hug or comfort anyone she saw crying? The answer was no. Crying only immediately provoked curiosity in her. Her sympathy pains only seemed to be accessible only with her loved ones. People she knew, and already could appreciate. Both being true, her choice was to stay neutral. “No answer.”

The second was simple. The few times she relied on public transportation, she was never late. Rather she stressed about being early. “No.”

The third took no time either. Easily assumed, she was a wallflower, and hardly ever had fun at parties. Unless illegal means were involved. “No.”

Family. The ones she chose as family, yes. Celia? Trifle? Knifu? The first name, no. The second.. yes? And the third was yes. So, she decided to follow suit. “Yes.”

Did she need to interact with someone everyday? No. She went without it for years being raised by Celia. “No.”

Trying new things? Adventure. Discovery. Absolutely. “Yes.”

He nodded along to her answers, occasionally looking down to jot the right square, a smirk edging on his face at the attitude Aditi was giving him. “Are you doubting my measures? Just wait for it. By the end of this test you might be surprised by how much more I know about you. I’ll just need a day to properly evaluate it.”

Amusement was edging on his face, a weird static atmosphere starting to fill the office as he continued with his questions, making sure his voice was clear so there wouldn’t be misunderstandings.

Aditi stared back defiantly, clearly not buying his claim. Answering a few questions with yes or no wasn’t nearly enough to get an idea of what that person was like. The static noise and atmosphere didn’t phase her outside of a more narrowed sharp gaze. He continued:

“I regularly go on holidays.”

“I suffer from thoughts that don’t seem to be my own.”

“I don’t understand social cues often.”

“I have a hard time imagining myself in someone else's shoes.”

“I feel the urge to physically harm people that have done me wrong.” His eyes flicked up to her for a moment to see her reaction.

Regular holidays? That referred to taking breaks and enjoying the company of others, didn’t it? “Yes.” She nodded.

Hear thoughts that aren’t her own? She remembered struggling with this since childhood, even before Celia. “Yes.”

Social cues. At first, she struggled with them desperately. Nowadays? She was fair better at reading the room, but not too comfortable to call herself an expert. “Yes.”

This one was easy. A perspective empathy question. She often exorcised her ability to relive the memories of others, in order to gain more empathy for them. While it was intrusive, it was the fastest way to understand. “No.”

The last question caused some amount of discomfort. She clearly didn’t like the question. But she disliked her answer even more so. “... Yes.” She admitted, glancing away while doing so.

His grin widened at her answers, quickly writing down the answers and reassuring her. “You‘re doing great. Don’t worry, we are almost done...” He flipped the page, a soft singing was audible, so quiet it could almost be missed. It sounded like a little girl singing a nursery rhyme, but in another language, so it wasn’t sure what she was singing.

When he talked, it sounded like multiple voices, hushed whispers accompanying him like backup singers, but the man himself didn’t pay it any mind, continuing as if nothing weird was going on.

“I wish that I had more friends than I actually have.”

“I feel the urge to harm people for no clear reason.”

“I feel scared of what the future holds for me.”

“I feel guilty.”

“I feel disliked by people around me.”

“Get out of here.”

His voice was very quiet compared to the whispers that were accompanying him, maybe those weren’t actually the questions he was asking and just the whispers, but he looked at Aditi expectantly. The whispers were still audible, telling Aditi to leave.

Aditi listened to the whispers and singing combining together into a whirl of madness. It was much like a nightmare, one of the standard ones that showed anxiety in others. People could hear voices of disdain talking to them mostly when they themselves felt judged by others. None of this triggered her into a breakdown thankfully, only medical themes or visions of past mistakes caused her to falter. While unnerved, she pressed forward, eyes narrowing in response to his encouragement.

Did she want more friends? She has been told many times that she isn’t easy to approach, and when she takes initiative that can turn poorly as well. Part of her wishes was that she looked more inviting. “Yes.”

A desire to harm others for no reason. Generally, no. She didn’t want to hurt people without reason. Only when she lost control did she feel that impulse. Of course, she considered herself a sadist to an extent also. Those factors made this question difficult to answer. “No answer.”

Scared of the future? Who isn’t scared of the future? Of the unknown? It’s only natural to feel that way, right? “Yes.”

Guilty. She barely had to think of her answer. “Yes.”

Does she feel disliked? That’s strange too. Her whole life, she was surrounded by people who wanted to kill her, or adored her. The laboratory experiment children would’ve gladly watched her drop dead. The cultist would’ve given their lives for her. Only now was there a happy medium. But... the bitterness of the past wouldn’t let her see on the brighter side. “Yes.”

“Very good, Aditi. You are doing great. We are almost done actually.“ He jotted more stuff down, his expression looking a little off from just a few seconds ago.

“I just have 5 more questions for you and then we can end tonight’s session.“ he informed her, turning the Page, fingers tightening around the paper and crumpling it lightly. He opened his mouth, but suddenly his voice was completely gone. It was like he got muted, in his place the whispers filling the room. He still held eye contact, though it was more like he was looking through Aditi, something clearly on his mind. And instead of the questions she heard:

“I’m sorry this is all my fault.”

“You don’t deserve this.”

“It should have never come to this.”

“He’s hunting you. He’s a monster.”

“Get out of here.”

His mouth closed again and he looked at Aditi expectantly, waiting for her answers. He looked less worried and more hopeful now, a giddy glint in his eerie eyes.

While shutting out the instructive thoughts was easy enough when she could hear a voice over them. Now? No. It wasn’t easy at all. Not easy to stare straight again. Not easy to keep from flinching every time the voice asked a question. Not easy to hold her neutral gaze. It reminded her all too much of how it felt to lose control. To be consumed by despair. Her thoughts no longer being her own, only whispers and taunts, keeping her at bay, pulling her down to let her instincts do all of the work. Her head felt.. fuzzy. Aditi felt similarly at this moment. Her lips curled into an uncomfortable scowl. What the hell is this? It hadn’t been nearly this unsettling the other times they spoke. What was getting in the way?

Or.. was this the plan all along? To earn her trust more, only to make the dreams devolve into hellish nightmares? She sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case.

The whispers suddenly stopped as he opened his mouth again, asking Aditi: “Are you alright, Aditi? You look a bit pale.“

Something really didn’t want this session to continue. But if the doctor noticed, he did a good job at hiding it.

“..... I couldn’t hear your questions.” She admitted quietly, her eyes shifting around the room carefully. “Voices spoke over you. Whether they were in my head or not, I’m uncertain. They are...” She paused once again, thinking over if she should be honest or not in this situation. Ultimately, she decided against lying. “They are.. apologizing to me? Saying I do not deserve this. It should’ve never come to this? He, whoever that is, seems to be hunting me. He is a monster? They are.. telling me to leave..”

He regarded her, expression serious as he listened to Aditi, contemplating something for a few seconds, then ultimately sighing. He looked around the room again, as if he could make out the voices and silence them, ultimately deciding to try and explain: “It is probably your subconsciousness running wild from stress...“

He set the test aside, leaning forward to give Aditi a comforting touch. It was cold as ice.

“Let us end the session a little early, alright? You don’t need to answer those questions. I’ll just review the test without them.“ he reassured her, a sad glint in his eyes.

“Orabelle.”

The voices were a lot quieter now, but it was probably for the better to end this meetup earlier to start better off on the last one.

“Rest easy, Aditi. I’ll see you tomorrow.“

Aditi didn’t understand. She sat with shifting eyes, looking left to right like a frightened child. It made her feel weak for her emotions to be easily sensed or stated. It felt wrong to hear her dead name be spoken aloud in her ear, so wrong that it caused her to flinch back and fumble. Her eyes narrowed so angrily at the voice, she nearly forgot to take his hand. “... This was a mistake..” Her grip on his hand was uncomfortably tight now, she seemed to seethe with contempt.

This only happened after she put faith in him and gave away sensitive information about her past. She thought it was of little consequence, yet here it was... being shoved in her face. Taunting her. This being was taunting her, wasn’t he? Mocking her. Before she could convey her distrust, the dream had faded away like the smoke of fireworks.

[sylvesterlestermanchester]

Love is the Fulfilling of the Law

Summary: Dan’s happy in his relationship with Phil. If only everything else could start to fall into place, that’d be great.

Word Count: 5,700

Genre: Humor, fluff, angst. Isn’t that life?

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of homophobia, allusions to conversion therapy.

A/N: This won’t make much sense unless you read the first fic in the Fearfully and Wonderfully verse, Fearfully and Wonderfully! (I was really creative with that title huh.) Also, ty for all the love on the past two fics! I don’t have much free time to write these, so I appreciate a few people actually saw it lol.

Dear God. 

Hey, God, it’s me.

Our father, who art in heaven...

Wait, am I supposed to pray to God? Or Jesus?

Dan let out a quiet groan, burying his face in his hands. It was way too early in the morning to be thinking, let alone trying to connect with a higher power. 

Why couldn’t Dan pray like Phil did?

Yeah, Dan could’ve asked his boyfriend for help with this. His boyfriend, literally the most religious person Dan had ever met. His boyfriend, who had plans for seminary. His boyfriend, who...his boyfriend…

A sleepy grin spread across his face as he pushed all other thoughts out of his mind and snuggled up closer in his boyfriend’s arms, their bodies squeezed together on the tiny twin mattress that barely fit just one of their lanky bodies. In the month that they had been dating since coming back from the retreat, Dan still wasn't tired of calling Phil his boyfriend-when nobody was around, of course.

“Boyfriend…” Dan sang quietly as he moved to play with Phil’s shaggy hair, biting back a laugh as he received a quiet snore in response. “Oi, boyfriend.”

“Shush your hush.” He hears back after a moment, voice low and tired, but still fond. “Shush your hush?”

“Mmm.” “Wow, quite eloquent. Shush your hush. I’ll write it down for later, so you can-”

“Shush!” Phil suddenly rolled on top of Dan, pressing a sloppy, wet kiss to his cheek.

“Wha-Phil, guh-ross!”

“It’s what you get.” Phil laughed, nuzzling his nose into Dan’s hair.

The sleepy cuddles only last a bit longer before they force themselves out of bed, getting ready for class. It’s only when Dan tugs on a new shirt and catches a glimpse of Phil kneeling beside the bed and looking up at the ceiling that he remembers why he woke up early to pray-or at least try to. 

Phil looks...peaceful. Transcended, almost, from their cozy but cluttered dorm room. Part of Dan winces for his knees, but part of Dan is jealous. This is something so deep, so meaningful to him, and it’s something Dan feels this need to share with him. 

How could he be with Phil if he can’t even share the most important thing in his life with him? He’s pulled out of his thoughts this time by Phil’s soft giggle. “Are you watching me?” He asks softly, pushing himself to his feet and moving over to wrap his arms around Dan’s waist. 

“W-What? No. Just zoned out. I need coffee.” He whined, running a hand through Phil’s hair and pushing it back lightly.

“You were creeping on me, creeper.” Phil giggled and tickled Dan’s side lightly, watching as he squirmed.

Before Dan can argue back, Phil leans closer and presses a lazy kiss to his lips. One month in, his knees still weaken as he feels his boyfriend’s soft lips on his. 

“C’mon, we should get going.” “We could just kiss the day away.” Dan murmurs. “We could. But I could also buy you coffee and we can try to focus on these midterms you guys keep warning me about.” Dan grumbled and pressed a quick peck to his lips before pulling away reluctantly. He was dreading the mid-semester exams that were coming up just a couple weeks from now, and he knew Phil wouldn’t be prepared at all, considering he hadn’t even known they were a thing until last week. 

Once they gather their things and share a final kiss (okay, three) they both pull away, Phil smoothing his shirt down and Dan fixing his hair before they step out into the hall.

Phil trails behind-close, but not too close. Far enough away that they look like just roommates. Close enough that it keeps Dan from reaching back and tugging him into his arms, just wanting to envelop himself in Phil.

It’s when they’re walking that Dan sees the glint of the silver cross necklace bouncing against Phil’s chest, and his eyes trail from that up to the clouds in the sky, finally getting as close to a prayer as he figures he’s going to get.

Hey, God. Speak to me, yeah? If for nobody else, for Phil. 

-

“Okay, I’ve done the math-we can do this! With a week left before everyone’s first exam, we just need to keep up the studying, and-and maybe sleep, like, three hours less a night each.” Phil rambled, hands shaking from the abundance of caffeine rushing through his veins. He looks up from his calculator before looking at Louise and Dan across the booth, a nervous smile on his face as he tries desperately to cheer up his sullen friends. “Y’know, three hours isn’t even that much, especially if we work really hard and study non-stop. These tests should be easy then, right?” PJ chuckled dryly, rubbing his temples slowly. “You sound insane. You really never had to take tests in your little homeschool world up North?” He asked, pawing through the mountain of books in front of them. The fun “study session” that Phil had suggested had devolved into madness once the sugary coffee drinks had gone through their system, and Phil was desperately trying to scrape it back together.. “Well, not really. Once a year, we did this one just to prove we were actually learning. And then I took that weird G-C-E test or whatever, but I didn’t even take that seriously, because I barely knew what it was. But I must’ve done okay, because I ended up here, right?”

Louise stared at him before groaning. “Only you could half-ass the GCSEs and manage to score high enough to get a fucking huge scholarship.” Louise rolled her eyes playfully as she reached out and ruffled his hair. “The rest of us are doomed. Hey, Speaking of the North, why didn’t Chris show up, again?”

Phil giggled a bit as PJ shrugged, slurping his Frappuccino. “Just said he couldn’t make it, that’s all.” “He’s been ‘busy’ a lot lately.” Louise rolled her eyes gently. “He’s gonna bomb if he just stops studying.”

“What is he even doing?” PJ raised his eyebrows. “Seriously, I’m getting concerned-”

 “Less gossip, more studying, c’mon!” Phil interrupted suddenly, shaking his head quickly.

Louise and PJ rolled their eyes but reluctantly grabbed their pens, but Dan is too focused on Phil’s slightly trembling hands thumbing through his textbook. His nearly-neurotic obsession with studying wasn’t anything new-Phil had been studying a lot lately, breaking both the coffee and all-nighter limit they had set earlier that semester. 

Dan...well, he wasn’t exactly doing the same.

Pre-law was boring as fuck. Dan could feel his soul dying every time he went to a seminar. He couldn’t stand anyone else in his major. His eyes glossed over if he read case studies for more than 15 minutes, and if it came between studying and, well, literally anything else, he would gladly take anything else. 

Especially when that anything else was kissing Phil. 

Kissing Phil sounded really good right now. If their friends hadn’t been around, he’s sure he would’ve dragged Phil out of here by now and to one of the dozens of hidden corners of their campus for a good secret-kissing session. In fact, he’s tempted to make up some excuse and pull Phil away now when Louise nudges him. 

“Earth to Dan? Dan, aren’t you slipping in this class? C’mon, stop zoning out and get to work.” “You’re slipping?” Phil frowns, head jerking up. “Oh, Dan, why didn’t you say anything? You know I would’ve helped you study.” Dan groans under his breath. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. I can’t help that it’s just so incredibly dull and stupid and-” PJ rolled his eyes. “We get it, you hate it. Less bitching, more studying, all of us.” Dan ducks his head down and begrudgingly starts to read along with the rest of them. He doesn’t miss the way Phil’s eyes glance over at him, offering him a sympathetic smile. If he had to, he would. If only just so he could trudge through it and get to the other side already. 

After a moment of debating, he glances up at the ceiling. God, if you’re there-let me get through this?

-

“Remand.” “I want to re-mand you that you’re my boyfriend, not my tutor.” Dan flashed Phil a grin, wiggling his eyebrows.

His grin wavered a bit as Phil shook his head, biting his bottom lip and giving him a stern look.

“Remand.” He repeated firmly, and Dan sighed.

“Um...the case in the court below it was incorrect?”

Phil shook his head. “Close, it’s actually-” He gets cut off by a dramatic groan from Dan, only muffled as Dan buried his face in their mattress. “Dan, I know you had your English exam today, but this law test is in two days. You need to-”

“Give me another one.” He snaps, and Phil sighs.

“Preemption.”

“That’s not a word.” “Dan, yes it is.” Phil says, voice softening as he reaches out and rubs Dan’s back. “Head up. What does it mean?” “Wait....is it when two courts, can-can...they can hear the same case at the same time?” Dan asks hopefully, looking at Phil, who’s grimacing.

“Not-Not exactly.” Before Dan can start up again, he quickly jumps in. “Let’s try an easy one-Plaintiff.” “Who even cares?” Dan snapped, kicking his feet childishly. He’s being annoying, he knows. He knows it’s late, and Phil has his own studying to do, and that he’s just trying to help. But Phil’s been on him since their study session last week when Louise let it slip that Dan wasn’t doing well in this class.

“I care, Dan.” Phil sighed, looking down and speaking quietly. “I-I just want you to do well. I’m praying for you and everything, but you gotta put some work in as well.” That shuts Dan up. 

“You’re praying for me?” He asked quietly. “I mean, I pray about you all the time.” Phil lays back down and gently pulls Dan with him. “But yeah, I’m praying for you. You just-you don’t seem happy with what you’re studying, and I just want you to be happy and successful. So I’m praying you find that.”

Dan pauses, not sure how to react. He doesn’t have a chance to when Phil gently adds “Even if...even if that means not doing law.” At that, Dan turns to look at Phil. “Don’t say that.”

“Seriously, Dan, if you want to study something else-” “Phil, drop it. I mean it.” “Fine, fine.” Phil pulls away, rolling off the bed and padding over to his desk. “You take a break, I’ll study on my own.” Dan curls up slightly into himself, his stomach turning. Phil sounded...defeated, almost. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or maybe Phil was more stressed than he was letting on. And Dan was only adding to it, oh God, what a fuck-up he was- “Pray with me?” Dan blurts out suddenly. 

Phil freezes mid-highlight before turning to Dan, eyebrows furrowed.

“You just...you look so calm when you do. It’s worth a shot, right?” Dan says, but it’s a weak lie. He doesn’t just want the calm Phil has. He wants that relationship with a God, that spiritual awareness. He wants to feel close to Phil in the way that seems to keep them apart, moreso even than the physical distance that they keep when out in public.

After a moment Phil’s expression softens and he gives Dan the kind smile that always makes him melt. Before Dan knows it he’s back on their bed, pulling Dan close. “Why don’t we do the Daily Examen?” “More exams?” Dan raised an eyebrow, smiling as Phil giggled.

“Examen. It’s a guided prayer. It helps me when I’m all over the place and can’t think as clearly.” 

Dan nods a bit, taking Phil’s hands and watching as his eyes fall shut. “Dear God...we’re now entering a space where you’re with us.” Dan watches as Phil takes a deep breath before realizing he should probably close his eyes, too.

Phil starts them by listing their gratitudes (coffee, a kind professor who let Dan finish the last bit of his essay despite being over the time limit, a sunny day), focusing on emotions (Dan’s a bit surprised with how empathetically Phil agrees with Dan’s overwhelment), picking one area to pray (peace), and then their hopes for the next day (just to get through it). 

As he leads Dan, Phil gets that serene smile on his face, and Dan opens one eye slightly to watch him. He wants what Phil has, really. But he can’t shake the feeling that, well, they’re just talking to someone who isn’t there. 

When Phil opens his eyes, he gives Dan a slightly hopeful look. “Better?”

“I feel...calmer,” Dan says, and it’s true. He feels a bit better, but he’s not sure that it’s as much because of the prayer or because of Phil’s soft, guiding voice. 

“Good. Now, let’s forget about vocab, yeah? We can study more tomorrow. Let’s get some rest.” He presses a gentle kiss to Dan’s forehead, and suddenly Dan feels the guilt build up further. He wants to feel this sense of closeness, and he’s pretty sure by the relaxed grin on Phil’s face he wants it as well.

“Night, love.” Dan whispers, watching as Phil snuggled up close before drifting off. With a sigh, Dan looks up at the ceiling.

Okay, God, I had Phil with me this time. He thinks, furrowing his eyebrows a bit. And you still can’t talk to me? Give me a break here, yeah?

-

Dan and Lou stand in the cold a couple days later when they're outside the church for study group, waiting for Phil.

PJ had to cram right before an art exam, which seemed like an oxymoron to Dan, but he couldn’t be envious of how cool that sounded. They both had tests-Phil a math exam that he was surprisingly confident about, and Dan’s law exam, which, well…

“How’d it go?” Phil asked cheerfully as he jogs up to them both, and despite the heavy feeling in Dan’s chest as he flashes back to the test-he had barely finished in time, and he knew that a lot of guessing was involved.

“It’s law. But, um, you know. Decent.” Dan lies with a small shrug. Louise quirks her eyebrow subtle, a trait that Phil doesn’t seem to pick up on as Dan asks about his exam and smiling as Phil lights up.

“Good! I know I nailed the extra credit. I’m exhausted, but-” “Chris? Hey, I thought you said you weren’t going to come!” Louise says as Chris walks over. It’s only then that Dan realizes he hasn’t seen him for more than a passing wave in the halls for about two weeks now. 

All their study sessions, and group de-stresses, and snack runs, Chris hadn’t been there. But here he is, Bible in hand and with a weird grin on his face.

“You know me!” He says, sounding just a bit too cheerful. “Unpredictable Chris. Let’s get inside, yeah?”

Phil watches as he makes his way through the chapel. “Oh-yeah, that sounds good. How is everything, by the way? It seems you’ve gone MIA-”

Chris waves him off. “I’m here now, Phil, c’mon. I need some snacks.”

They head down the stairs and make their way to sit in their regular seats, Phil and Dan exchanging quick glances. After a few minutes, they begin-brief introductions, a few announcements, and finally the starting prayer.

Before Caroline can direct them to a verse to study for the day, Chris butts in. “Can I ask a question?” 

Both Phil and Caroline smile widely and nod, and Chris flips open his Bible.

“I was reading some 1 Samuel, about David and Jonathan.” He starts, gripping the book tightly in his hands. He taps a bit of a highlighted text, raising his eyebrows. “And they talk about how “David loved Jonathan more than women,'', and how, and I quote, ‘the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David’. I mean...they were gay, weren’t they?”

The group seems a little taken aback by Chris’ bluntness, and Dan doesn’t need to look over to sense Phil shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Caroline jumps in quickly. “I-I mean, people have interpreted it that way, yes. But they could have just had a deep, brotherly bond-”

Chris’ snort cuts her off. “I dunno, it seems pretty gay to me. I mean, they literally start smooching it up.”

“I think that they were gay, actually.” A girl across the room says with a shrug. “I mean, there had to be gay people back then. And Chris is right. They seem to act pretty romantically.” “You really think so?” A guy furrows his eyebrows. “I never read it like that. Judas kisses Jesus, but they weren’t gay.” “Yeah, well, I guess that’s not exactly the point. Here’s my question. How can you guys read and live by this book, but even though you claim that God is all-loving, some of you guys hate gay people?” The group falls silent, but that seems to only spur Chris on further. 

“Seriously. You guys talk so much about loving God, and God loving us, and loving brothers and sisters, but what if somebody in here was a guy, who happened to love guys? Like…” Dan holds his breath, eyes wide as he stares at Chris. 

“Like me?” He continues. Dan blinks a few times, looking equally as stunned as everyone else as his eyes dart around the room.

“Well-we want to be tolerant of everyone in here, so let’s start off with that.” Caroline jumps in again, but Chris shakes his head and barks out a laugh that doesn’t sound funny at all.

“I don’t want to be fucking tolerated, I want to be respected, and loved, and cared about-not just in spite of my sexuality, but because of my identity.” 

Chris stands to his feet, gritting his teeth as he slams the Bible shut and starts pacing around the circle. “It really, really fucking hurts when people don’t respect that. It hurts when I have to hear from my friends-” With that he whirls around, walking over to Phil suddenly. 

“Chris…” Phil whispers, sinking down in his seat somewhat as he looks up at him.

Chris stops in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down at him. “When my friends talk so much about loving one another, but I’m not sure that they would love me if I was authentic with him.”

Phil sucks in a deep breath, slowly standing up. “Chris.” He says, voice shaking. “Chris, I promise I had no idea.” 

“Yeah, well, forgive me for being nervous.” Chris snaps. “I mean, you-Phil!”

Chris lets out a small yelp as Phil suddenly tackles him in a tight, desperate hug. The entire group is watching their every movement. Dan feels like his heart is going to explode. Finally, Phil pulls away, still holding both of Chris’s hands in his.

“Chris, if I haven’t shown you that I love you dearly as one of my greatest friends, I have f-failed you. As a friend. As a man. And as a follower of Christ.”

“You haven’t failed-” Chris laughed shakily, trying to hide the fact that his eyes were welling up, but then he looks shocked as a small sob erupts from Phil.

“I love you s-so dearly, Chris.” He says, quickly trying to control himself. “ ‘If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?’ “

“Chris, I-I know what love is because of the undying love of you as my brother. Through that I know God, and I know that God loves you so, so much. E-Even if you don’t believe, nobody ever-and I mean ever-should use him against you or your sexuality.” 

Chris is full-on sobbing now, and Phil pulls him to his chest, rubbing his back.

“If you’re gay, or bi, or-or whatever, I love you, and I love you b-because of it. I never want anyone to f-feel hated for that.” Phil pulled away after a moment before turning to the group. “And-And if you call yourself a servant of Christ, and you want to perpetrate this hate, or intolerance, I-I’d ask you to question why seeing someone-someone like Chris love another person with a pure heart makes you s-so uncomfortable.” Phil hugs him again as Chris’s shoulders shake and he balls up Phil’s shirt in his hands, mumbling “Thank you, thank you, thank you...”

After what seems like an hour, Caroline speaks quietly. “I think you both brought up some great points. Why don’t we wrap up early today, and-and we can try to pick this up next time, okay?” The group stays silent as Caroline leads them in their closing prayer, Chris’s quiet sobs the only noise besides her soft voice. People stand, a few shuffling over to give Chris hugs and murmur in his ear. “I think I’m gonna go for a walk with him. Y’know, help calm him down.” Phil murmured to Dan when he got a moment away. “Clearly a tough time, yeah?” “Yeah, yeah, of course.” Dan nods quickly, still a bit shell-shocked from the sudden outpouring of emotion. “Are you gonna-” He glanced between the two of them, and Phil bit his lip.

“I don’t think this is the best time to tell him about, um...that. It’s about him right now, me.” He said, glancing back at Chris nervously. “I just want to give him time to decompress. But we���ll grab dinner later, yeah?” 

Before Dan can answer Phil is back over with Chris, a supportive hand on his shoulder as he leads him out. The next thing he knows, he’s alone in the small room, and he takes a few deep breaths before looking up at the ceiling.

Why do you have to make this so hard, God?

-

It’s just about eight-thirty when Dan’s phone buzzes.

We had a long talk-tho i guess u guessed! Lol! 0_o U want 2 meet @ snake path? -Phil! 

Dan couldn’t help but grin in spite of the heaviness he had been feeling for the past several hours, practically jumping off the bed. 

Omw in five. 

Snake Path was Phil’s name for this little curvy path near the edge of campus, totally obscured by trees. The two had shared plenty of kisses and mini dates there, hiding out from the world when it all got to be too much. Some time with Phil sounded perfect-time where he didn’t have to think about God, or Chris, or coming out, or God forbid the fucking bombed law exam.

Dan can practically feel the sadness dissipating as he makes his way down, pulling his jacket tighter with a happy hum under his breath. Once he sees Phil, he picks up speed, laughing a bit as Phil gives him a small wave.

“Why didn’t you ask me to bring you a jacket?” Dan whined, wrapping his arms around Phil tightly. “You must be freezing!” “Well, good thing I’ve got you to warm me up.” Phil grinned and sat down, pulling Dan into a kiss as soon as he was sat down as well.

Dan giggled and started to speak, but Phil was kissing him again, hands moving to gently hold his hips.

“I missed you.” He murmured against his lips. “I know it’s stupid, but we haven’t had enough time to ourselves lately.”

“I missed you, too.” Dan sighs, wiggling slightly under Phil’s hold as he pulled him into another kiss. 

Phil kisses back, and for the first time all day, Dan feels good.

Dan’s totally lost in the feeling, letting out a happy sigh. Before he knows it, he’s climbing into Phil’s lap, hands cupping his cheeks. 

He doesn’t even realize that he’s sliding his tongue into his mouth until Phil makes a surprised noise, quickly freezing as he feels guilt swarm inside him.

“Phil…” He starts to push him away, but Phil giggles a bit, looking a bit stunned, before he slowly tries to pull him back. “Nobody’s out here…” He assures Dan, shrugging a little bit. “If-If you want to keep going-” 

“Phil, I-what are we doing? What am I doing?” Dan quickly moves off of Phil’s lap, hugging his knees to his chest.

Phil blinks a few times. “...Kissing your boyfriend?” He asks, tilting his head to one side. He’s giving Dan a clueless look, like he really doesn’t get what’s going on. That only makes Dan’s stomach hurt worse.

“You know I want to do a bit more than kissing, don’t lie.” Dan’s snapping now, but he can’t help it. All the frustration is bubbling up, and the way Phil’s face turns red and he looks away sheepishly. “And I think you do, too.”

“Is that such a problem?” He said quietly. “That I want to...do more, with you?”

“Yes, Phil!” Dan groans. “Are you-Are you kidding me right now?”

Phil takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry-you just came on kind of strong. I-I guess I must’ve gotten the wrong idea.” “Yeah, well, you sure did.” Dan grits his teeth, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’ve had the worst fucking day of all time, and now look what’s happening.” Phil looks completely beside himself, curling up a bit further into himself, but before he can speak Dan’s going off. All these things he’s been holding inside him for so long, they just seem to be exploding out.

“Everything sucks, yeah? I get that for you, it might be different. You know what you want to do with your life, and you love it. It’s your calling or whatever. And you’re naturally some freaky genius who gets to do everything right the first try.” “Dan, c’mon-”

“No! It’s true! You’re Mr. Saintly, you can do whatever you want! My parents think I’m some delinquent, and I have to become a shitty lawyer to convince them I’m not!” “Hey, hey-” “You don’t get the pressure I’m under!” Dan snaps finally, slamming his hand against the grass. “I don’t know pressure?” Phil says, voice quiet. Dan opens his mouth to speak, but freezes as he catches the glare Phil shoots him. “You’re telling me I don’t know pressure? The model Catholc ex-homosexual?” Dan nearly shivers as the way Phil’s voice raises in anger-it’s not even that he looks that mad, but it’s so foreign that it terrifies him.

“I mean, really, Dan! I’ve never taken exams like this, I’m exhausted, I’m worried about you, I learn my-my friend thinks that I’m just as bad as the people who tried to ‘cure’ me, and now my boyfriend is getting mad that we just want to kiss after a long day and telling me I don’t know pressure?”

Dan gulps audibly, wrapping his arms around himself. “I didn’t mean to get mad.” He says finally. “Then why were you?” Phil sounds exasperated. “I don’t understand how you can kiss me like that and then just freak out and expect me not to get worried!”

Dan sniffles a bit, looking down. ”Well...we were getting kind of intense. And we’re Catholic, so I thought-”

He falls silent as Phil’s anger fades away and is replaced with confusion.

“Wait, hold on.” He shakes his head. “We’re Catholics?”

Dan freezes before looking over at him with a guilty look, feeling his insides physically ache at all of the hurt inside him. “Well...I-I’m trying to be one, anyways.” He explains shakily,

Phil gently rubs his hand with his thumb, letting Dan continue.

“I-I’m always trying, you know that? Even if I seem like I’m being a little bitch about flashcards, or-or slacking off, or just being weird and watching you pray. I’m trying! I’m trying to believe in God, I’m trying to not flunk out, I’m trying t-to not kiss you in front of everyone, I-I’m trying so hard, and it’s just-it’s not enough…” “Baby…” Phil reaches out and pulls Dan into his lap again, this time only to hold Dan as tight as possible. 

“Why isn’t it enough?” He hiccupped out as he started crying, breath coming faster. “E-Everyone else g-gets to do everything s-so easily, s’not fair!”

Phil didn’t say anything, just humming sympathetically and rubbing slow circles onto his back. After a bit, Dan finds himself slowly starting to calm down, and when his crying has been reduced to sniffles and a shaky sigh, Phil pulls away. 

“Do you want to start brainstorming solutions?” He suggested gently. Dan shrugged, rubbing his eyes. “Okay, let’s start with an easy one.” He says, voice somehow managing to be matter-of-fact and still loving. Dan feels himself shrink slightly, pressing his cheek to Phil’s shoulder. “You think you’re going to fail?” Dan laughed weakly, nearly about to start crying again. “It’s not really a question at the moment. I totally bombed that test today.”

“Do you care?” Phil said, quickly clarifying. “Do you care if that hurts your chances of having a career as a lawyer?” Dan pauses, taking a deep breath. “I don’t...I want to be in college. I don’t wanna flunk. But, fuck, if I become a lawyer I think I’m gonna be sad, and miserable, and having a miserable mid-life crisis, fuck-” Phil tugs him closer. “Hon, you don’t have to do law. You can do something else.” “You don’t get it, my parents-” “Dan.” Phil nudged Dan’s side. “Remember, I’m supposed to be an ex-homosexual and a future man of God. My parents expect me to be holy. Literally. I know it's tough. But it’s your life, right?” Dan nodded, rubbing his eyes. “I just...I don’t wanna be aimless.” “Then don’t be. Use the rest of this year to explore what you’re into, and then we can regroup and come up with a plan.”

Dan bit his lip. At first, the thought terrified him, but really after this semester there was only a semester left. Maybe Dan could take that theater class he had heard about...and the idea of not having to do another law seminar didn’t sound too bad…

“Mmm...I suppose I could.” He mumbled, rubbing Phil’s chest absentmindedly. Phil smiled and kissed his nose. “Now. About the religion stuff.” He started, sighing as Dan groaned in embarrassment before continuing on. “Are you really wanting to be Catholic? Like...really?”

“I want to be Catholic with you.” Dan said softly. “I want to share that-that idea of God with you. Because what if, when you-you go to seminary-which I know is a million years away, but still-what if you realize you need to be with another Catholic?”

Dan’s voice broke at the end and Phil cooed, rocking him back and forth gently in his arms. “Daniel, I-I...I don’t even know if I want to be Catholic anymore.” He admitted. As Dan shot his head up, 

“I want to follow God, and be a leader for Him. And I love some of the ways that the Catholic church does. But the idea of trying to be a religious leader for a religion that can’t support me and my relationship...” He took Dan’s hand and laced their fingers together. “Maybe I could check out some more, um, progressive Christian denominations.” 

Dan took in a deep breath, cupping Phil’s cheek with his free hand. “Wow. Just...wow. You see us lasting that long? Even if...I’m sorry, but even if I don’t think I could ever believe in God?” He asks, a bit doubtful. “Owe no man any thing, but to love one another: for he that loveth another hath fulfilled the law...” Phil began, nuzzling his cheek. “Love worketh no ill to his neighbor: therefore love is the fulfilling of the law.” At the blank look on Dan’s face Phil laughed. “It means love is the most important thing, out of all the rules and commandments of Christianity. I think you’re a wonderful person who acts with love as much as possible, and I think that’s why I love you, and honors God-whether you call it that or not.”

Dan blushed. “You really think so?”

“Of course. And we can share deeper, spiritual things together, if you want to get close in that way. We can try meditation sometime. Or-Or more midnight talks, you know I love those.” “And what about...getting close, y’know, in that way?” This time it was Phil’s turn to blush, looking down. “I’m not exactly saving myself for marriage anymore.” “Can’t you become a virgin again?” Dan asked, and Phil turned infinitely redder.

“I-yeah? But do I really want to do that? I mean, I did what I did. And I don’t want to be a virgin until I can sign some piece of paper. I-I don’t want to wait that long at all, actually.”

“Oh?” Dan gulps thickly.

“I want to share it with you, because I love you, so much. I’ve never done it with someone I’ve, um, loved before.” He whispered softly. “Only quick, desperate stuff when I was...y’know.”

Dan cooed and cupped his cheeks, kissing him slowly. “I want to share it with you, too, love. We can figure it out later, yeah?” Phil grinned and nodded before leaning into the kiss, Dan giggling a bit. It might sound stupid, but he just felt so good. So light. Like he could just sit here in Phil’s arms forever, and nothing bad could happen. Like-

“Are you two tonguing right now?!” Louise shrieked, and Dan yelped as suddenly Phil was scrambling away, both their faces bright red as they turn to look up and see Louise, Chris, and PJ looking down at them with amused looks. “You totally were!” “Noooo…” Phil whined, burying his face in his hands as Chris snorted out a laugh. 

“Wow, Phil, kinda bummed you didn’t show me this kind of brotherly love.”

 Dan and Phil exchanged small glances, a slow smile spreading across each of their faces. “The soul of Daniel was knit to the soul of Philip.” Dan teased.

“Oh-shush your hush!”

[3hobbitsinatrenchcoat]

Soosly - Week 2 - Games

Week 1 - Youth -- Week 3 - Wisdom -- Week 4 -Family

Second Prompt for @soosly and only a day late, haha. This one started out as a study in FCLORP culture and devolved quickly into what the heck Soos was wearing during weirdmageddon. I don’t even know anymore. Half the dialogue is lifted straight out of the show.

-----

Soos's life is full of the detritus commonly accumulated by nerds of his caliber. Comic books, video game cases, pose-able figures bought on impulse at conventions and then left in their boxes until a suitable shelf can be build. (A suitable shelf is almost never built.) The remnants of his latest FCLORP project lay across his bedroom floor: some duct-tape reinforced pauldrons and a really badass sword.

Many versions of this sword litter the room, actually. There are a few clearly made by Soos himself over the years, flimsy things made out of packing tape and shipping boxes held together by childish wishes and little else. A couple really nice foam and latex numbers are hung respectfully on the walls, only to be used in larger events. No way he was going to waste that sweet paint job on Toby.

Sometimes Soos remembers vividly how he got involved in the hobby. A big group from town had carpooled the nearly three hours to the Oregon Renaissance Festival the summer before he entered high school. He'd seen so many cool medieval things but the FCLORPers? They had been the absolute coolest.

He'd spent hundreds of hours since then taping together his own armor and joining the local group. They spent long weekend days waving their foam and cardboard weapons at each other and screaming increasingly nonsensical phrases at the top of their lungs.

Occasionally the group would go to big state-wide events. Even with his salary from the Mystery Shack, Soos really couldn't afford to create and maintain a stable character but there were other options available that seemed just as fun. He fell neatly into the role of helpful NPC, handing out valuable knowledge and staging ambushes with the rest of the staff. In a lot of ways it was  almost like he was back in the shack spinning tales for tourists on Stan's day off.

Soos wished for those golden afternoons now.

When the sky splits open above him, Soos spends several precious minutes staring in horror at the tear in the fabric of the universe. Then his instincts kick in and he's running for home, slamming the door behind him. His Abuelita pokes her head out of the kitchen with a frown.

“What is it, dear?” she says, wiping her hands off on a towel and stepping into the living room. “You're running like the devil himself is after you.”

“He might as well be,” pants Soos, scrambling over to the window to peer outside. “Aw man, I wish my armor was more durable. It sure would come in handy right now.” In the distance he can see Bill's “friends” pouring through the rip in the sky and he swallows shakily.

“What do I do? I'm not prepared for this.” He turns back to his Abuelita, who has a concerned look on her face but shakes her head.

“Do not ask yourself what to do, ask yourself what you can do right now. Don't you guide others during that cardboard knights game of yours?” She raises a single eyebrow at him and he can't help but chuckle.

“Of course. I do enjoy helping others find safety away from the monsters...” The ground shudders and he whips around to peer out the window again, sucking in a shocked breath as their grill grows legs and runs away. “AH! Abuelita!” He scrambles back from the window. “A tidal wave of madness just went over us!”

“Oh, Soos, such an imagination.” Her voice sounds different, slightly muffled, and Soos turns around with dawning horror. Where she had been standing is now a comfortable, doily-covered armchair... with a face.

“Ah, you've turned into a chair!”

All earlier sense of unease seems to be gone from Abuelita and she smiles placidly at him. “Why don't you have a seat and relax?”

Soos fights against the rising nauseous sense of horror. “What about you? And my friends?”

“I'll be fine,” she says, and Soos will never forget the uncanny horrible sight that is chair-Abuelita raising her arm. “Go and help the others.”

Shutting his eyes for one brief moment, Soos nods. Right. “When the universe is broken, only one handyman can fix it!” He lays a gentle kiss on what he hopes is the approximate area of his Abuelita's cheek, then spins away before she can see the tears in his eyes.

With a deep breath he grabs his oversized NPC robe from it's usual peg and steps out the front door to face the end times.

“I'm coming for you, friends!”

[ceruleanchillin]

Fitting

Modern Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

Note -  I just went to a word generator and took random words to use for plot ideas. It switches from the Reader to Arthur’s POV by segment (in case you get/got confused).

Annnnd, hooray for technologically illiterate, and borderline luddite, Arty.

Finally, I need to apologize to all the mobile users. It’s gotta be HELL scrolling past my shit in the tag ugh, I wish keep reading worked on mobile.😩

1. Rain

Arthur didn’t used to be too fond of the rain. It made travel hell on earth. If you were in a cold place, you froze. Hot place? It made you feel sticky, and teased you about feeling cooler. He didn’t understand why people were so in love with it. That was until he found a home.

The gang had worked long and hard to set themselves free from their former lives. Freedom looked like a sprawling, luxury ranch resort, staffed by former criminals. It amazed him that people were willing to pay big bucks to vacation the way he’d lived the majority of his life for free, but they were. He couldn’t knock the weirdness too much, because it allowed him to meet you, and gave him a place for a new start with you.

So he got it now. Why people enjoyed the rain so much. Sitting on a cozy living room’s window seat of the ground’s main house, your back to his as you dozed lightly, the rain painting the window next to you. He understood.

He looked down at you, and couldn’t stop what he’d been told was a “goofy” grin from spreading across his lips. You looked stunning, long lashes touching your cheek and lips pouting in dream concentration.

Absentmindedly, he ran his thumb across your cheek in soft swipes, enjoying the moment. He’d have to remember to draw this later.

You shifted lightly, paused to realize he’d been studying you, yawned cutely, and narrowed your eyes. “You watching me sleep Morgan?”

“Yes ma’am, you’re goddamn beautiful.”

“Translation, ‘I wanna fuck you on these new cushions-”

He quickly silenced you with a kiss, one that quickly devolved into laughter from both of you.

Yeah, Arthur Morgan could appreciate the rain. He would go so far as to say he downright loved it.

2. Bedroom

When people asked what you missed the most on your travels, it now came down to two answers. Arthur, and your bedroom.

The first one wasn’t surprising. In your five months working for the gang’s resort, you and Arthur had grown inseparable. The two of you let instinct and feeling be your guide, and it hadn’t disappointed you yet.

The second one was a bit more strange for most people. Being settled for most of their lives left them taking personal space, such as a bedroom, for granted. Residing with your new family had been the closest thing to settled you’d ever been. You found out it was pretty much the same for them, and Arthur shared your appreciation for a space away from constant prying eyes.

You burrowed your cheek into the pillow, trying to appreciate your bed and the sunrise at once. For the next three-and-a-half weeks, you would be in Australia, and would miss seeing the sunrise this way.

A warm arm came over your side, and you relaxed into the body attached to it. Arthur buried his face in your hair, his hold tightening when he breathed in.

“Your plane doesn’t leave til’ twelve, you trying to get away from me already?” he was teasing you, but you could still hear a slight edge to his tone. He respected your love of travel, but he missed you terribly when you were away from him.

You laced your fingers with his, and gave a tight squeeze. “Don’t even try it, you know I cry on the plane every time now. I didn’t do that before you.”

“I am both delighted and upset to hear that.” his voice was still colored by sleep, and somehow managed to hold a rougher tone to it.

“I suspect more of the former than the latter.”

He chuckled and moved his lips from his hair to your cheek. You hummed and sunk further into his warmth, allowing him to claim more of your skin with his kisses. The comfort of the bed, the warmth of Arthur, and the softness of his kisses, started to make you dizzy in the best way. Who knew Arthur Morgan was king at cuddling?

He pulled you under him, lips now on your own.

“I have to get ready, I told Mary-Beth I’d help her with giftshop duty before I leave.” very few of your words managed to surface between kisses, but you knew he’d heard you.

“Mary-Beth ain’t stealing my last few hours with you.” his reply was rough in tone, his next kiss firm to back up his point.

You felt your body abuzz with adoration for the man and his cute declaration. He was pouring how much he’d miss you into his actions. He wouldn’t outright declare he’d miss you, but he would show you.

Your hands danced across his back in gentle motions. “I’m going to miss you too Arthur.”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. His gaze said a lot, and his follow up kiss said whatever it left out.

When he pulled away, he touched his forehead to yours, eyes closed. You recognized his expression as one that said he wanted to tell you something, so you waited.

“I was thinking, you might be able to come home to find your bedroom in mine.”

It took you a moment, but you realized what he meant when the poor man’s expression got panicked. He wanted you to move in with him.

“I’m thinking I might like that.”

A look of relief crossed his handsome features, before he ducked his head by your ear. “I’m thinking you might like something else to.”

3. Dizzy

The most important moment of Arthur Morgan’s life came at 4:45 AM on a Saturday.

He hadn’t been expecting anything beyond seeing you for the first time in weeks. That’s all he needed to be honest. He hadn’t seen hide nor tail of you, with the exception of a frustrating FaceTime (was that what you called it?) that everyone felt they needed to be a part of, in two weeks.

Every other moment of communication boiled down to phone calls, and confusing texts (goddamn, why couldn’t you let him keep his flip phone?!).

Arthur was a simple man, and he liked his communication the same way. Nothing was more simple than talking to you face to face. He could hold you, see your face clearly, and not make a complete fool of himself for lacking poetic graces.

So when he got a call from you, asking him to pick you up from the airport a week ahead of schedule, he nearly ran out of the house in his underwear.

The bustling airport pickup wasn’t the best place to play catch up, so the two of you followed what was tradition at this point. A tight hug, and then a comfortably silent ride to your favorite diner. There you would share a million questions and a million kisses, until your food was cold, and the sun was unbelievably hot through the window.

“I can’t imagine what’s back here in Texas that’d make you leave those Australian fellers behind.”

You flashed him a tired smile from across the both. Knees drawn up to your chin, hair messily piled on top of your head, and swathed in a colorful t-shirt, Arthur would bet money you were the most gorgeous thing on earth.

“I have a pretty good answer I think.” you carefully raised your hot mug of peppermint tea to your lips.

“Yeah? They wouldn’t wake up at the break of dawn and kill spiders for you?” he chuckled, raising his own mug of coffee.

You shook your head, and when you lowered your mug he saw you were smirking. “None of them got me pregnant.”

The coffee went down the wrong way, and aspiration kicked in. He spluttered, a hand coming up to grip the table. You leapt up, and circled the table to slide into his booth.

“Are you ok?!” your voice was wrought with concern as you thumped his back. “I hoped you’d have a funny reaction, but I wasn’t trying to kill you!”

He sucked in a mouthful of air, a burning pain snaking through his chest. “You pranking me? Like in those stupid videos you and Mary-Beth watch? I don’t wanna end up on that dumb video site.”

“Wow,” you gave that funny little ( loud ) laugh of yours, and threw your arms around his neck. “I expected a lot of reactions from you, but not that one. No, I’m serious.”

He sighed, and ran a hand over his chin. He was sure all color had drained from his face, if the faint dizzy feeling was anything to go by. He could you hear you calling his name, but his mind just kept wanting him to hear the word “pregnant”.

Your hands uncoiled from around his neck. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t say you got me pregnant either.”

He shot you a withering side glare at your joke. “No, I don’t believe it does.”

He could feel you staring at his profile, but he was too busy staring at his mug instead.

“Well...I need some kind of response big guy. I mean what do you think?” you placed your hands on the table, fingers pressing into each other. “Are you...mad?”

He could hear you were unsure, a sound that was foreign for you. Mad? He found it hard to get mad with you as it was, and this certainly wouldn’t have been a valid case for it.

“You know me better than that, of course I ain’t mad….just a lot of other things I guess.” he exhaled and turned to face you. “You certainly seem relaxed enough for the both of us.”

You grinned and shrugged, and he wondered why he had ever expected a typical reaction from you.

“I had two whole days, and a long ass flight to think it over. I’m not scared Arthur, I’m ok with this.” your voice was firm this time, steady. “It’s like a new adventure, you know me and adventure.”

He snorted. “Catnip.”

“I’m as settled as I’m ever gonna get, I’m fine with it, I can still explore the world in the future. But...I need to know where you stand.”

He felt your gaze on him again, and repeated your words in his head. Pregnant. The best thing he’d ever come across in his life, and he’s quite possibly ruined yours. You were a beautiful young woman who, while well traveled and experienced, still had so much to offer the world. Had he stolen that away from you?

He saw your hand tremble slightly, and took it into his much larger one. For a second, he just stared at it, before enclosing it in his. “My lady I stand with you. I just want you to know what you’re tying yourself to is all.”

He could sense you wanted to stop him. You didn’t like when it seemed like he was going to “put himself down”. Being honest is what he called it.

“You know about my past.” he exhaled and continued when he felt you squeeze his hand. “You can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig that’s committed too many atrocities to name. I don’t rightly know what kind of business I have being near a child for too long, let alone raising one of my own, but I would never leave you. You know that.”

“I do.” you squeezed his hand again, longer this time.

“So, if you wanted to do the leaving...If you wanted to give this child something different than me...or do something..else for yourself. I wouldn’t fight you.”

“I want to stay with you.” your arms returned around his neck. “Fight me about that.”

“I should.” he drawled, leaning into the warm lips you’d placed on his cheek.

“But you won’t.”

He faced you fully, finally, hand coming up to cradle your jaw. “No, I won’t.”

Goddamn he’d made yet another mess, but when he saw your face light up as you started talking about the future, he couldn’t be too angry with himself this time.

4. Coffee

Waking up before everyone else, to get the house kitchen for yourself, always made losing that extra bit of sleep worth it. You loved finally having a family, but the quiet moments were nice too. No bickering, it wasn’t quite time to worry about what the guests wanted (not that you had to worry about that again for a while), and you could just exhale and take your time.

It was also a great time for coffee, though you had tried to scale back with the pregnancy. Decaf coffee may not have given you the buzz of caffeinated coffee, but it still helped with the craving. Maybe Charles was right, and you were a slave to the bean….

You chortled into your mug at the thought.

“That mug funnier than me?”

You laughed again, extending your foot to slide out the chair across from you. “Arthur Morgan I bet you’re jealous of my pillow for getting to touch my hair all night.”

He took the offered seat, and sleepily ran his hands through his hair. “Probably, I do like that shampoo you use.”

You rolled your eyes, and brought your mug up to your amused grin. A comfortable silence settled between you two, as the morning’s first light began to shine through the giant picture window.

Arthur was the first to break it. “Are you sleeping ok? I know you usually get up early, but it was dark out. If you aren’t sleeping, we should probably tell th-”

“I’m fine mother hen, god you’ve been adorable through this.” you beamed at your protective man, who was currently blushing and ducking under your gaze.

“Yeah, yeah. It ain’t as noble as all that. I’m just trying to save myself the ‘this is your fault’ speech when the time comes.”

You sat down your empty mug and gave him a pitying look. “Aww. No baby, that’s still happening regardless. Sorry.”

“Can’t blame a feller for giving it his best.” he looked out of the window for a while, his gaze darting across the scenery, before clearing his throat. “Look here (Y/N). I’ve been sitting on this thing for a while.”

He reached into the pocket of his pajama pants, and you tensed up. It didn’t take a genius to gather what the moment’s energy was telling you. Sure enough, he produced a ring, revealing your instinct to be right. You gasped, though it came out somewhat choked, but didn’t speak.

“Now it’s not because you’re pregnant, Abigail said you wouldn’t like that to be the reason, and it’s not. I was planning on asking when you got back from Australia-”

“Yes!” you screamed the word that had been looping in your mind since you saw the ring.

“Ssh.” he half-laughed half-shushed you. “You want everybody in here? Nosey enough on their own, make em’ work for it at least.”

“I don’t care who hears.” you lightly stamped your feet on the tile floor.

He laughed again, blue eyes shining with confidence now that rejection was off the table. This poor sweet man thought you’d reject him, even after all you’d been through and had yet to go through. Not a chance.

“Well then.” he kneeled on the tile floor you knew to be freezing, and held up the ring. “Miss (Y/N) (L/N), I would very much appreciate if you would be an old fool’s wife.”

You pulled him to you by his shirt, and threw your arms around him. “Yes, but I don’t know any, so you’ll have to do instead.”

You two shared a solid embrace, Arthur ever careful of your growing stomach, and you nearly choking the life out of him. He took your hand is his, and you could feel his trembling. He slid the ring on your finger and just stared at it as if he couldn’t believe it. Maybe he couldn’t, you were sure his self-doubts were telling him it was all a lie. You kissed his forehead, hoping if he was having any such thoughts, they would perish. His hands came up to lay gently on the just-noticeable bump of your stomach.

“I swear to you, I will do my best to make you two very happy, and keep you safe.”

You just kissed him instead of responding with words. You didn’t have to. You knew he loved you deeply, and would do his best to keep his word. He was a big part of what you called home, and you couldn’t think of any place safer.

End Note - I took so much longer than I wanted with this. I just kept deleting and going back and forth. I hope it’s ok.I’m gonna be posting a HC for this AU, and then posting something for Hosea after that.

[whatarubberchicken]

Day 9 (December 9th) – “Snow Ball” Fight

(Okay, so I took some liberties with the prompt…)

It had started off so well, too, Alya thought regretfully. She and the girls had had a fool-proof plan. Use Chloé’s “Snow Ball” to get Adrien and Marinette together. Don’t tell Marinette he was coming, so she wouldn’t have time to panic. Use dancing and the snack bar to move them closer together, and then, oops! Push them under the mistletoe together! Badda-bing badda-boom, the lovebirds start kissing and realize how right they are for each other!

Simple, right?

Well, not really, but she thought she’d covered all the bases.

She’d gotten Nino to convince Adrien to tell everyone he wouldn’t be able to make it, and then they’d smuggle themselves in, incognito. (The poor, sweet, sunshine boy thought he was hiding from his father, not everyone else.) Rose and Juleka would hang out at the buffet table, making sure the mistletoe remained open and available as soon as they needed it. Myléne and Ivan would dance nearby, keeping an eye on Marinette and blocking the door so the girl couldn’t bolt as soon as she got a glimpse of the love of her life.

Alya should’ve known they were screwed the moment Alix volunteered to distract Chloé….

“Wow, it’s so beautiful!” Marinette exclaimed, as soon as they entered the Snow Ball. Alya had to agree. The Bourgeois family had gone all-out on decorations. Glittering crystals in the shape of snowflakes hung everywhere from the ceiling, and the gold and red motif of the Grand Paris Hotel’s lobby had been replaced with silver and white, edged in blue and covered in glitter.

“You can really tell Audrey was involved,” Alya commented.

“Glitter everywhere,” Marinette agreed. They shared a giggle.

Then Alya caught sight of Chloé, and immediately understood the need for all the extravagance. The gold princess ballgown the blonde was wearing would look out of place at any other party.

“Wow,” was all she could say. Marinette caught sight of where she was looking and nudged her best friend.

“It’s not so bad,” she said. “It kinda reminds me of Belle from ‘Beauty and the Beast.’”

“If you say so,” Alya said doubtfully. Personally, she thought Marinette looked a thousand times better. Her light pink dress suited her perfectly (of course, it was a Marinette Original, so no one was surprised) and was more graceful and flowy than… poofy.

“Hey, Marinette!” Kim said, coming over to them. “Would you like to dance?”

Alya panicked. This wasn’t in the plan!!

“NO! I mean—umm, we were just heading over to the buffet table, right, Marinette?” she said, trying to tug her friend away.

“It’s okay, Alya. I’m not hungry yet anyway,” Marinette said, blissfully unaware of Alya’s internal screaming. She took Kim’s hand and smiled at her bestie. “Why don’t you go ahead without me? I think I see Nino over there.”

Kim twirled her away and Alya turned towards the buffet table. Sure enough, her boyfriend was already here, right beside a blond in a top hat and a masquerade mask.

Really, Nino? That was the best you could do?

Nino caught her gaze and gave a helpless shrug. Not his fault then. Alya sighed. Adrien could be such a dork sometimes. And now Kim had Marinette practically on the other side of the room, both of them laughing as they twirled around carelessly.

Alya sternly resisted the urge to scream. Why did her plans keep getting derailed?!

“What the heck, Alya?” Alix hissed, coming up beside her. “I’ve had to talk Miss Lemon Cupcake for ten minutes now! Do you have any idea how self-absorbed she is?! Where were you guys?? Where’s Marinette??”

“We got held up with last-minute fixes,” Alya admitted glumly. “And M got stolen by Kim as soon as we walked in the door.” She waved in their general direction. Alix narrowed her eyes.

“That big lug. This calls for drastic measures.”

And then she was off. Alya blinked. Was she wearing roller blades under her dress? Typical Alix. Oh well, time to meet up with the other girls and formulate a new plan—

“HEY, KIM! CATCH!!”

Alya stared in horror as Alix lobbed something from the buffet table right at Kim. It was some kind of marshmallow dessert, meant to imitate snowballs, but it came apart midair. Kim, realizing that there was no way he could catch it all, grabbed Marinette and used her like a shield.

Alya gasped in horror as Marinette spattered in marshmallow crème. Oh no! Her new dress! Any moment now, Marinette would burst into tears and run out of here, sobbing! She’d be akumatized! Alya had to—

Marinette’s eyes narrowed. Slowly, carefully, she scooped the worst of the mess off her dress, studying it in her hand for a moment…

Before turning and smashing it in Kim’s face.

Kim sputtered and flailed around as he wiped it off, laughing. “Okay, yeah, I deserved that!” he said.

But Marinette was already moving, headed straight for the buffet table, and Alix.

“In my defense,” Alix said, holding up her hands and slowly backing away, “I didn’t mean to hit you—” She was cut when a fresh handful of the marshmallow crème was flung in her face. She glared at the class president and wiped it off.

“Oh, it’s on.”

“Now see here—!” Chloé snarled, coming up behind them. Marinette ducked Alix’s next attack just in time, and Chloé went down, covered in crème.

“FOOD FIGHT!!!” Ivan yelled, gleefully lobbing a pudding at the nearest person.

And the party devolved into a free-for-all.

And, to her horror, Alya watched as Adrien approached Marinette, still incognito. He was frowning, probably mad that she was spoiling his best friend’s party.

Sure enough, his voice was reproachful.

“Hey, I don’t think this is—”

Marinette, in the midst of her battle-induced bloodlust, threw a scoop of marshmallow crème right at him, knocking off his hat. Adrien stood there, dumbfounded, and then slowly took off his now-crème-covered mask.

Maarinette paled. “ADRIEN??”

He stared back at her, his gaze calculating. “So, you wanna play, huh?”

“I—I—I’m sorry!” Marinette stammered. “I didn’t know it was you! I didn’t—”

She was cut off by a chocolate pie to the face.

Adrien licked his fingers. “Now you just need a cherry on top, princess,” he said, grinning at her cheekily.

Marinette glared at him and wiped the worst of it off.

“You’re dead to me, Agreste,” she growled.

“Strong words from a chocolate mousse.”

What happened next could only be described as a lovers’ quarrel. Alya had never seen somebody throw so accurately as Adrien did while diving, and Marinette quickly made an ingenious shield with an empty platter as she continued to barrage the love of her life with various food items.

In fact, Alya would’ve recorded it all to show to their future children someday, but Nino came up and lovingly smushed a banana crème pie into her hair, so she had to go introduce him to the pudding.

...WaRC

[themadamelibrarian]

Should Have Known Better - Part 1 of To The Heart and Mind

Written By: @themadamelibrarian & @helvonasche​ Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Dean Winchester, Original Female Character(s), Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Demon Dean Winchester, Mark of Cain, Angst, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Dean Winchester Summary:

To the heart and mind Ignorance is kind There's no comfort in the truth Pain is all you'll find

NOTE: Written for an ABO challenge, song is Careless Whisper.

Share this story and show support for the creator!

Tagging: @copperseraphim @thenanahunter @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell @idabbleincrazy  @truxblooded

LINK TO AO3

Sam checked his watch for the third time in the past hour as Lacey paced around the room. Every once in awhile he could see her place her hand protectively on her stomach, as if that simple action would change the fact that the pregnant Omega was having to confront her Alpha.

Dean kept a keen eye on her, a malicious smile tilting at the corner of his mouth. He noticed that she seemed a little fuller, softer in appearance and although he didn’t care one way or another, he knew that her insecurities about her weight were an easy target. “Puttin’ on a little weight there, Lacey? Eating your feelings again?”

Glancing at Sam as he went to get the next dose of purified blood ready she dropped her hand, Lacey worried for a moment that he would be cruel; then her anger took hold. After weeks of not knowing where he was, what, rather who,he was doing, she focused on what she needed to do. Keeping her pregnancy a secret had been difficult, but staying with him through this was important. Returning her attention to the man she once loved, she leveled him with a venomous glare as she heard Sam return.

Tilting his head as he studied the new dynamic between his brother and mate, Dean had a moment of realization as he said, “Oh, you got yourself knocked up… Who’s the daddy?” his eyes slid to his brother as he snorted derisively, “Sure as shit ain’t me, you won’t touch me anymore. Frigid Omega, bitch.”

After Sam gave Dean the last shot of purified blood, they watched as Dean dropped his head. For a moment, Lacey and Sam waited for any sign of movement. Sam had been worrying that they weren’t curing him. He was half convinced that they were killing him, but knew Lacey wouldn’t have cared. Sam hoped that she would eventually realize, like he had, that Dean was still a slave to the Mark, his actions were barely his own, but now wasn’t the time. He had to do the only thing he could: understand.

Dean lifted his head and opened his eyes. Black for only a moment as they faded and his expression seemed to change. Lacey took a step forward, opened the flask of holy water and splashed him in the face. He stared up at her, the holy water had done nothing, and Dean seemed to crumple in front of her as his eyes dropped to her stomach.

“It’s yours. I’m leaving,” she said bitterly, as she turned away and handed the flask to Sam.

Eyes widening in realization that Lacey was leaving, Dean started jerking against the cuffs holding him, “Lacey, wait!” he tried to free himself but when none of his restraints would budge, he turned a desperate gaze to his brother, “Let me out of this, Sammy. Now.”

Hesitating for a moment, Sam rushed forward and released Dean from the chair. “She’s pissed, Dean,” Sam warned as Dean stood, “Give her time to calm down.”

“She can have all the time she want’s but she’s not leaving… not now,” Dean said as he rushed past Sam and down the halls, hoping he wasn’t too late to stop her.

As Dean ran out of the dungeon, Sam followed. He was worried that Dean might not be completely himself or that he might hurt Lacey in an attempt to stop her from leaving. Dean had loved her and obviously still did, but he was in no shape to be chasing after her and trying to convince her of anything. Sam knew it was fruitless to try to stop him, but he had to keep Lacey safe too. Even worn to the bone, Sam would protect them from themselves with his last breath.

Grabbing her bags and packing what little she still had in her room, she paused for a moment as she heard the pounding footsteps of the Winchesters. Lacey sighed as she haphazardly shoved her belongs into the backpack. She wanted too many conflicting things. Telling Dean had been paramount, she wanted to watch his face when he realized that he not only had a child but that he had fucked it all up. She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to talk to him; she wanted nothing to do with him.

Rounding the corner slightly out of breath, Dean looked over the room as Lacey zipped up her bag. The rasping sound of the zipper sounded so final, but Dean wasn’t going to give up that easily. “Lace, please… don’t go. Not like this. I know I screwed up and you’re mad, but we can fix it. I swear I’ll make things right,” Dean pleaded as he stepped into the room and placed his hand over hers.

Lacey pulled her hand back as if he had burned her. She seethed silently as she stared at him, as she practically growled, “No,” before walking around him.

“Lace,” Dean called, following after her, “Please, Lacey. I’m me again, we can be together like we used to before all this. Just give me a chance.”

Lacey rounded on Dean, breathing heavily as she pointed at his arm, “You still have that Goddamned Mark. Do you remember Valentine’s Day? I sure as shit do.”

Sam, who’d been following them stopped dead in his tracks as his mind started whirling a mile a minute, counting the months between Valentine’s Day and that morning. When he realized that it’d been almost six months, his eyes widened in surprise. That had to be the day that the baby had been conceived. He realized that Lacey was angry, but this situation was quickly devolving and his concern wasn’t so much for his brother’s well being but for Lacey’s. Solitary Omegas who were as far along as she was didn’t do well when they were separated from their mates. “Lacey, calm down for a second. You know it’s not good for the baby and I don’t think Dean understands.”

Sighing as he realized that he had to explain what would probably end up being one of the worst things Dean had ever had to deal with, Sam said in a low voice, “She’s six months pregnant, Dean.”

Dean looked between the two of them, and asked Sam, “What are you talking about, man?”

Taking a moment, Sam gauged Dean’s reaction before he elaborated. “She conceived on Valentine’s Day.”

As Sam turned to Lacey and tried to reason with her, the memories flooded Dean’s mind. They had been trying to be normal after he got the Mark. February 13th, his rut had started and he nearly lost his mind. Lacey, ever patient, had stayed, but by the next day he had changed. The vivid memory of her on her knees, his cock buried to the hilt as his blood boiled in his veins, her moans turning to pleas, and he couldn’t stop. It hadn’t been that different from his other ruts when they first got together, but something about it was worse. She had left afterwards while he slept and refused to talk about what had happened.

Dean felt tears burning his eyes as he watched Sam, unable to speak or understand what he was saying to Lacey. He knew he hadn’t raped her, but part of him knew that he wasn’t himself anymore. Even before all the demon bullshit, the Mark changed him, he was cold and distant, even with her, and he knew that eventually he’d give into the Mark again. What if he hurt her next time… What if he hurt the baby, his baby…

“I-I’m sorry,” Dean said, voice thick with emotion, “I can be better. Do better.”

“I’m not doing this,” Lacey said as she pushed past them and walked down the hall away from them. Over her shoulder she yelled, “I’ll call you when I find a motel, Sam.”

Sam nodded but turned to his brother; over the last few months, Sam and she had developed a closer relationship, almost like that of siblings. Even though he wanted to kick Dean’s ass from here to Canada and back again for what he’d put them all through, he couldn’t do anything but watch Lacey walk away. Chasing after her wouldn’t bring her back, and Sam wasn’t worried that Dean would hurt her anymore. Dean ran after her and Sam let them have their privacy; he didn’t need to hear or see this.

Slamming the door to her car after throwing her bag in, Lacey turned to face Dean. He always had to have the last word, make his point, but she wouldn’t let him this time. He had taken too much and was only thinking of himself. Taking a deep breath, she tried to remember that Dean was her mate, she had loved him and when he got rid of the Mark they might be able to make it work. She needed time, and he needed to let her have it. “Dean, you have to stop.”

Dean closed the distance between them and placed a hand on the roof of the car. “Lacey, I’m beggin’ ya. I’ll do anything to make this better. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“I need time,” she said flatly as she took a step back, “and space.”

Looking into her eyes and seeing that she was closing herself off, he realized that she meant every word she said. Lacey was leaving and no matter what he did, he couldn’t change that fact. Taking a step back, he ran a hand through his hair as he tried to process everything. Maybe it was for the best that she get as far away from him as possible. He wasn’t good for her, not really. Not while he still carried the Mark, but there was the baby - his baby.

Here was the one thing they’d talked about in the small hours of the morning; a family. They hadn’t planned for it or even really agreed to try. It was more like wishful thinking. A ‘what if we got out’ game that they’d play so that they felt like they still had a choice in the way their lives went. He was going to be a father and regardless of the how’s and why’s of it, he wanted this life with her. “I’m still me,” Dean finally croaked.

“You aren’t, Dean!” Lacey shouted, finally exhausted. She was pregnant, pissed, and not going to hold Dean’s hand while he sorted his shit out; and she unleashed every bitter thought she had had over the past six months. “I don’t care if this hurts you, you selfish prick. I have more important things to worry about than your fucking feelings, now that you have them. You can never make it better, this will always hurt, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.”

Lacey’s biting words hit Dean harder than any punch she could have thrown and it felt like his world was falling apart around him. The tears welled up and slid down his cheeks no matter how hard he tried to swallow the pain back down, “Lace, I love you- You know I love you. I’m so damned sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to- It was- I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

As his face fell, she walked around the car and got in, slamming the door before she turned to look at him. He was a mess. What have I done, she thought as she turned the car on and drove off.

Fear froze him for a split second, then he was running after her car. His limbs were protesting, but he couldn’t let her go, he couldn’t let her leave. He was able to keep up as she drove toward the road, banging on the trunk and roof over her car as he pleaded, “Lacey, please, don’t do this, stay here, please don’t leave, don’t leave me, not like this.” Her car stopped for a moment before she turned onto the state highway. Dean watched as the tail lights began to fade; dropping to his knees, he cried out, “Please stay!”

[sevens-evan]

you can play your games if you let me hold your hand

author: daisys-quake

rated: t for language

pairing: daisy johnson/jemma simmons

word count: 1927

summary: Daisy’s locker is across from Jemma’s during their senior year, and it’s maybe the best thing that has ever happened to either of them.

a/n: was supposed to be like 500 words but here we are. just a hsau with a little bit of angst and a happy ending.

read on ao3 here

Your locker is across the hall from Jemma Simmons’ senior year. It’s a coincidence, a random event. It should’ve been harmless, it should’ve been forgotten within days.

And yet, if you could go back and change it, give your locker to someone else, to anyone else, you would. Because she smiles at you from across the hall, and offers to tutor you when she sees you carrying a chemistry test with a D- written in red pen on the top, and suddenly you’re at her house every Saturday afternoon, supposedly learning chemistry, but that quickly devolves into sitting on her floor and throwing bits of paper at her while you talk about everything from chemistry to religion to philosophy to what kind of pizza you’re going to order, since her parents are almost never home to make dinner. She’s beautiful, and funny, and kind, and probably the smartest person you’ve ever met. You’re sort of in love with her by November and it’s a horrible, terrible, awful idea, because she has a boyfriend and you’ve seen them kissing at her locker and holding hands in the halls, and she’s way too good for you, but by the time you think to stop it, you’re already way too far gone.

Jemma has a boyfriend and you’ve never told anyone that you’re gay; you’ve definitely never told her, but one Saturday morning she’s talking in a fast, high-pitched, excited voice about some nerdy TV show, and she’s beautiful and vibrant and you lean in and kiss her anyway, despite all the reasons you shouldn’t.

And despite all the reasons she shouldn’t, she kisses you back. For a precious few seconds, it’s perfect, and then she pulls away and everything falls apart.

She hasn’t told her parents, she says, and she doesn’t want to break up with Fitz because he’s her best friend and she loves him, she does, but she pulls you back in and kisses you again anyway. You let her, because it’s Jemma and she’s so much smarter than you, and if she thinks it’s okay then it must be, right?

(You know it’s not okay. You know it’s not okay because Jemma still kisses Fitz at her locker the following Monday, and you’re not allowed to tell anybody about her or what happened between you, and it leaves a pit of darkness and pain in your stomach and it is not okay. But when you go over to Jemma’s that night, she kisses you against her bedroom door, and it’s not okay but it’s good and maybe that’s enough.)

To her credit, Jemma never tries to make what’s happening between you into anything less than it is. She doesn’t say it doesn’t mean anything, doesn’t pretend not to feel the same way as you do. But three weeks into…whatever it is that you’re doing with her, you see her holding Fitz’s hand and laughing at something he had said, and you remember how she looked in her car that weekend, when you drove out to the lake a few hours from town, windows down in the car even though it’s mid-December, laughing with her whole body, so fucking beautiful you could barely keep your eyes on the road and not her, and you compare it to how she looks now, smile strained, polite, laughing quietly.

Jemma might be good at acting, but she’s not pretending with you.

It’s not enough, not really. You only have a piece of her. She kisses you in her bedroom and lets you drag her out of class to the parking lot to make out in your car, but you can’t hold her hand in the hallways, you can’t call her your girlfriend, you can’t kiss her before class or randomly tell her that she looks beautiful in the middle of a conversation. So it’s not enough, and it hurts, but you don’t think anything will ever be enough with Jemma. So you don’t say anything.

You slip up once. You kiss Jemma’s cheek when she stops at your locker to look over your homework before chemistry, and her eyes go wide, panicked, darting across the hall to where Fitz is waiting at her locker, looking bored. He doesn’t seem to care, or even really notice your action, but she still looks terrified. You apologize, later, and she tells you it doesn’t matter, says you didn’t do anything wrong, tries her best to make you feel better, but you remember the look in her eyes when it happened and you realize that, whatever she wants to call what’s happening between you, you love her and she loves you and she is absolutely not ready for it at all.

You break her heart on a Sunday in March. You drive to her house and you make it halfway through the speech you had come up with on the drive over, the one about how she’s a beautiful person and you love her (you’ve never told her that before, but here you are; giving her your everything and taking it away in the same breath) but you can’t play this game with her anymore, can’t be hers on the weekends and watch her with someone else at school, before she starts crying. And then you can’t talk at all, because you’re crying too, but somehow, you make it out the door and down the block to where you parked.

You sit in the car with the radio blasting so you don’t have to listen to the sounds of your own sobs.

Jemma doesn’t smile at you after that.

You pass chemistry. Maybe it’s because of Jemma, maybe it’s because you really, really want to graduate and somehow find it in yourself to actually study, but you tell yourself it doesn’t matter how it happened. You walk across the stage at graduation in June, three months after you and Jemma went from a sometimes to an almost, and your foster parents take photos and congratulate you. You feel sort of empty still, but it’s okay, because in September, you’re leaving for UCLA, and Jemma Simmons’ ghost will stay in this town, where it belongs.

Jemma, unsurprisingly, is the valedictorian, beating out her boyfriend for the spot. She gives a beautiful speech about change, and it’s not cheesy, Jemma isn’t like that, but it’s emotional and eloquent and full of words that you only kind of know. You tell yourself that you can’t quite look at her because of the bright lights of the auditorium, even though you know it’s because you still feel like you can’t breathe when you see her face.

Jemma doesn’t look at you, not once.

You go to Lincoln Campbell’s graduation party and wander around the yard with a bottle of cheap beer and a numb feeling, like your veins are filled with novocaine instead of blood. You stay out there long after everyone else has gone inside, sitting on the swing that hangs from a tree in Lincoln’s yard and watching the stars fill up the night sky.

You’ve heard you can’t see the stars in LA. You don’t know yet, how you feel about that.

You’re so lost in thought and nostalgia that you don’t hear the footsteps behind you until Jemma comes into your field of view.

She says a few awkward words of congratulations, and you mumble something incoherent in response that might’ve, in a past life, been a compliment on her speech. It’s awkward and terrible, and not at all what you’re used to with Jemma.

And then she surges forward and kisses you, and it’s absolutely the last thing you should be doing, but you drop your mostly empty beer bottle and pull her closer desperately, because it’s been months and this is a thing that has only ever happened in her room or your room or hours away from the town. Now you’re outside, and she’s kissing you, and maybe she’s drunk, and you’re definitely drunk, but you’re in love with her and that’s enough of a reason to let it happen.

Jemma presses closer, slipping her tongue into your mouth, and one or maybe both of you moan at the feeling. You feel the swing begin to slip out from under you and suddenly, with an impact that knocks the wind out of you, you’re on the ground, on your back. Jemma is lying on your chest, her legs tangled in the swing. She stares at you for a moment with wide, terrified eyes. For a second, it’s intense.

And then you’re both laughing.

Jemma rolls off of you, kicking at the swing until her legs fall free. She lies beside you in the dirt, and you’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe. It’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous, you and her, the whole thing. Five minutes ago you were stargazing and feeling sorry for yourself, and how stupid was that? High school was ridiculous, and college will be too, and maybe you’re just drunk and in love but life feels like one giant, beautiful joke that only you and Jemma understand.

“I told Fitz,” Jemma says, when you’ve both calmed down and are staring up at the stars quietly. You turn your head, looking over at her. She isn’t looking at you, and you commit this moment to memory: the shape of her profile in the combined light of the inside of the house and the stars, the faint strains of music filtering through the windows, the softness of her voice, the feeling in your chest. “Not—not about us, but…I told him I’m gay.” You don’t say anything. You wait, and it’s a long time before Jemma speaks again, long enough for the song inside to change. The beat sounds the same, though, a hundred and twenty-eight beats per minute. You can feel it in the ground beneath your head. “He wasn’t mad,” Jemma says eventually. “He…he was upset, but he wasn’t mad at me. I think we might make it through this. I think we’ll still be friends.” You manage a smile at that.

“I’m glad,” you murmur, and Jemma turns to look at you. Her eyes flick back and forth between yours, like she’s searching for something. “What?” you ask.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, reverently, like you’re something sacred. “For what I did to you. I know that it was wrong.” She bites her lip. “I won’t beg you for a second chance, but this, right here, this is me asking for another try.”

You shouldn’t take her back. You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. But it’s all so stupid, high school and the cheating and the internal drama and the self-pity and Jemma’s self-hatred and honestly, why shouldn’t you take her back?

You wanted to hate Jemma and you couldn’t, and you didn’t want to love her but you do anyway. You lift yourself up on your elbow and kiss her under the stars in a boy you’ve known since kindergarten’s backyard as the ground shakes to a bad rap song, and it’s a terrible idea that you’re so, so sure will work out.

So maybe you wouldn’t go back and change your locker assignment from last August. Because you’re here now, and that makes it all worth it.

You don’t know what will happen in the future. You don’t know what will happen in September, when you leave and Jemma leaves and everything changes. But right now, Jemma’s pulling you closer, and you both taste like cheap beer and chapstick, and maybe things will be okay.

a/n: hope you liked it! send me an ask to request a fic!

my ao3

[g3rmb0y]

Day 26/? Jobs

Haven’t done one of these in a bit. Been really busy with work and whatnot. Also been sick, but that’s not really much of an excuse. Anyway, I wanna kind of break down what I did earlier with the whole classes and how they have families and stuff and this time, talk about how they make money and get by in life.

Barbarian: Barbarians tend to shun day to day jobs, preferring to put food on the table by hunting it themselves. Living off the grid, their only real connection with civilization occurs whenever a traveling merchant comes by, often with various alchemical substances, weapons, or tools that might be needed, and the general mode of payment is barter- 10 wolf pelts for a new spear, etc. Occasionally barbarians do find work as contractors for nobles and other powerful forces, operating as mercenaries and particularly brutal assassins- nothing sends a message like sending a berzerker in to take someone out- the collateral damage is often extensive, as is the body count, a potent warning not to piss the employer of said barbarian off. They can also find coin in sharing tales with traveling bards, who have found a sizable market in barbarian novels, which are often converted to theatrical productions. Some theater troupes have actually started hiring barbarians themselves to star in these roles, which quickly devolve into semi scripted fights, a phenomenon that has achieved popularity as of late with a younger audience.

Bard: Bards generally find work as performers, poets, playwrights, actors, and any number of other artistic endeavors. While musicians can often do fine, finding a few taverns where they’re always welcome to play a set, the stereotype of the starving artist isn’t always far from the truth, and it isn’t uncommon for less successful bards to have a day job. Traveling bards tend to have it even worse, depending on good performances and their ability to read a crowd to eat, and playwrights and poets tend to be the type to be crashing at a friend’s constantly.

Cleric: Clerics are generally funded by the church, their lodgings, food, and spending money issued through their order. That being said, many traveling clerics depend entirely on the kindness of others, leading them to find work as traveling spellcasters, blessing crops, healing wounds, and tending to the ill in exchange for a few gold. Clerics willing to frequent more remote locations tend to be received very well, whereas clerics traveling to a town with some well established temples and priests may find themselves unable to get a foothold at all- priests who have established a good temple in a community tend to be very protective of their congregation, and any new priests, especially if they are of a different order, pose a threat to that, and it isn’t uncommon to see extremely loud fights between old bearded priests, even of the same order, over some mundane detail, all as an excuse to fight and establish dominance. Furthermore, the petty drama between priests of rivaling orders can often result in all types of complications, such as one priest calling an inquisition on the other, or a priest making a deal with warlocks to summon demons so he can be seen driving them off, etc. Still, when faced with an actual danger, priests of similar faiths will shed their petty disputes without hesitation and band together to protect their community, only to be bickering and making declarations of heresy again the very next day.

Druid: Druids don’t find much in the way of civilization, at least not traditional ones. Instead, they act as ambassadors for the trees and the forests, occasionally speaking as a voice for nature. Their presence is generally treated with extreme caution, as to insult a druid is to insult the very power of nature, but generally druids prefer to pass on their message, and return to the forest. As for their role in the forest, given their connection with the trees, they are simply an extension, nothing more, nothing less.

Fighter: Fighters find no shortage of work. Between jobs as bodyguards, soldiers, hired muscle, trainers, mercenaries, and prize fighters, a good fighter can find work anywhere. That being said, the inherent dangers mean that a good fighter needs to be very discerning in what jobs they take on- A fighter who joins a mercenary army that’s allied themselves with a mad noble might last much shorter than one who finds work as a guard in a fairly safe part of town. As for the nature of the work and the pay, that varies greatly. Bodyguards, trainers, and prize fighters tend to all make plenty of money, but all are more taxing than working as hired muscle or a guard, which often nets less. Also, many fighters will take a break from fighter work to do something much safer- it’s common to find former fighters working as smiths, arms dealers, etc. as often the fighting lifestyle either becomes too dangerous as they age, or too horrific.

Monk: Monks tend to subsist on alms, although their seemingly endless energy lends them to be wonderful assets to any town they wander into, and they’ll often take a laborers wage to get them some food and a warm place to sleep. Still, for the most part they stay in their temples and dojos, living an entirely self sufficient life. That being said, monks who stray from the vows of poverty and simple life can often find themselves awash in funds, as their vast array of abilities makes them suitable for just about any line of work.

Paladin: Paladins tend to be completely funded by their order, and look to the nearest temple or allied temple for aid, housing, and supplies. That being said, paladins that settle down tend to find some type of work, and while they often will refuse wage, they find that their housing, food, etc, are paid for, based on the quality and nature of their work. Furthermore, if they act as protectors for the community, they find themselves fully subsidized, so they can focus on keeping their community safe. Paladins on a specific mission will also often have at least one assistant in their employ, usually a trainee or squire who can help bring in funds by taking on odd jobs where needed, if they are low on funds, but no self respecting temple allows their paladins to encounter anything like that unless they’ve taken a vow of poverty- the status of a paladin in the world is indicative of the status of the religion, and a shoddy paladin is seen as the ultimate insult.

Ranger: Rangers tend to have no need or want to get involved with society at large, and tend to provide entirely for themselves. A ranger who at any point shows themselves to be dependent on civilization or nearby towns is seen as not being capable of fully utilizing the many gifts of their woods, and it’s seen as a personal favor, so with the exception of the most difficult winters, Rangers stay away from society, unless a mission brings them close. Most rangers do have a cache of gold for such an occasion, but it is only utilized out of necessity.

Rogue: Rogues often do not make a full time job out of their work, or if they do, they have some cover business- many junk stores that act as a cover for high risk pawn shops or fence meeting places are operated by rogues who will often sell their own procured items. That being said, many rogues prefer to live a very easy life, and turn to thievery only to satisfy their lavish desires. There’s also many rogues who find work in military service or for nobles as spies and assassins, although the path towards that tends to be much more demanding, and often more risky- a Thief may lose a finger or be thrown into jail, but a caught spy or assassin will be subjected to torture and ultimately, execution.

Sorcerer: Sorcerers and wizards often do the same type of work, but one has a piece of paper certifying that they’ve paid a lot of money and studied very hard to do it, meaning sorcerers tend to pick up the lesser paying jobs- but that suits them. Sorcerers tend to operate similar to handymen, being hired to solve various issues that need an arcane caster, and often setting up shop in the poor districts, where they find no shortage of customers. They’re also prone to wanderlust, and are generally welcomed where ever they go, as casters are in relatively constant need, and the sorcerer tendency to charge less makes them quite appreciated, so long as nothing goes wrong.

Warlock: Warlocks generally don’t have jobs, as their job is serving their patron. That being said, sometimes their patron declares they need to make money, so they’ll find work where they can get it, but a warlock’s poverty is seen as a weakness on the part of the patron, unless they are punishing their servant, so instead Warlocks tend to just come across money, either through uncanny coincidence, or slitting purses in dark alleyways.

Wizard: Whereas sorcerers tend to be the unlicensed handymen, Wizards are the specialized contractors. Due to the nature of wizarding schools, wizards tend to be entirely specialized, and will often refuse to do a job if they know there’s another wizard who has better certification for it (unless they don’t like them.) But for the most part, wizards are either making money by doing specialized jobs, which they are enabled to do by their various degrees, or spending money at the academy to get more certificates and degrees, in a brutal, vicious cycle that keeps most wizards in the comfortable upper middle class.

[nega-aria]

In Sickness and in Health (a Quackervolt sap story)

Experimenting with posting story stuff here. Just a short little thing with Megavolt and Quackerjack which also happens to be one of the first fanfictions I ever wrote. Or rather, started writing. Finally finished it recently and @doktorgirlfriend was kind enough to help me edit in an attempt to improve my silly fangirl writing skills. Thanks lady! I appreciate it lots ♥

Enjoy the floof ♥

A rainy night in St. Canard: bleak, cold and miserable. There was very little Megavolt hated more than the rain. The smell was somewhat nice, but his sinuses were so messed up at that point he could barely enjoy it anymore. Or had they always been messed up? At least his makeshift residence was warm despite that pesky draft that whistled through the bayside window. The resident space heater took care of him very well in that regard. Megavolt made a mental note to thank him later, but it was quickly filed away among the many other bits of information doomed to be forgotten.

The lighthouse was dingy, slightly dilapidated and rather musky, but it was well lit as always, and Megavolt felt comfortable there even if there was that one leak in the roof that he was too paranoid to go anywhere near. The dripping of it mocked him constantly on days like this, but the melody of static that played in his head did pretty well to block it out. Still, he really should get that leak fixed someday. It was yet another forgotten memory, quickly reduced to a black haze in the back of his mind when the thought was replaced by a sharp rapping at his window.  

He lifted an eyebrow in confusion. Not that confusion was an unusual state for him, but this was definitely something curious. Lilith told him clearly that it was almost 11:30, and although she often disagreed with Henry and Hank, she was usually right about these things. Not that most people would take the word of an often ornery alarm clock over the sound advice of a rather level headed oven and his microwave sidekick, but Megavolt did believe it was that late. If the hours he had spent sitting on the couch and stewing were any indication, it was definitely that late, and that would mean only one someone would be anywhere near the lighthouse. Sure, there was only one person that ever was around generally, but he had made it very clear earlier that he was far too busy for his boyfriend tonight. Megavolt still wasn’t entirely sure what Quackerjack’s frustrated ramblings had meant exactly, but it was hardly unusual for him to be confused by the man. Chances were he had just been trying to end the conversation so he could pout as he usually did when they argued.

Megavolt scowled at the sound of Quackerjack’s voice in his ear, the recollection of that earlier phone call dislodged in that moment to replay in his head in a somewhat altered fashion from how it went down in reality. Not that he was aware of that little detail. Quackerjack had definitely been trying to get him to go on some silly heist; he was sure of that. Pretty sure. Maybe? Or it was just that thing about adopting a puppy? Either way, it ended with the man child irrationally mad at him. That he was sure of.

Tap, tap, tap.

There was that sound again. Megavolt had forgotten there had been a sound. The string of lights around the window urged him to investigate. He did so begrudgingly, but not without a soft grumble to express his annoyance. Whoever it was, they had better be looking for some free electroshock therapy. How did they get to the top of the lighthouse anyway?

Megavolt was already sparking by the time he reached the window, throwing the curtain back with so much force that the lights above nearly fell. His mouth was already open to let forth a mini explosion of vulgar content, but the words quickly scattered and were forgotten as soon as he saw who it was.

“Quacky?”

“You know it, sugah! Miss meh?”

The drenched clown giggled at the shocked look on Megavolt’s face, the customary sound of amusement quickly devolving into a hacking cough. Megavolt was so mesmerized by the way the rain was making his entire body shimmer beneath the lights that he jumped at the shock of the obtrusive sounds. It was then that he truly began to study the other man, noting his overly pale and obviously shuddering body. Combine that with the snot he was struggling to keep contained in his nose, and it was obvious why exactly he had been in such a grumpy mood earlier.

Quackerjack always did hate being sick.

“Come play wit me, Megs!” Quackerjack said, mustering as much of his usual enthusiasm as he could.

Despite the effort, Megavolt’s theory was quickly proven right as the sound of the duck’s stuffed sinuses and raw throat echoed in his voice. He sighed heavily at the rather pathetic display. “You’re sick, Quackerjack! And it’s raining. I am NOT getting drenched and letting you catch your death just so you can get some new toys,” Megavolt replied.

The crossed arms and stubborn look on his face clearly said that was not open for debate, but Quackerjack wasn’t exactly one to take a hint.

“M’ nod sick!”

“Yes, you are, and I don’t want you getting sicker, so just—”

The words were rudely stopped in their tracks when an annoyingly familiar face invaded his personal space, grinning that annoying grin and mocking him with that over-stuffed head of his.

“He said he’s not sick, Dick.”

Megavolt scowled at the high-pitched voice. “Oh, reeeal mature, Fruit-face,” he grumbled at the inanimate doll.

He didn’t have a chance to respond further before Quackerjack was climbing through the window, bringing a disconcerting amount of the outdoors with him. Megavolt backed nervously away from the growing puddle before scampering off and leaving a rather crestfallen Quackerjack behind.

Quackerjack gave the fidgety rodent a moment to make his motives clearer rather than tracking more of the terrifying fluid through his living space. He took the moment of frustrating isolation to wipe some of the water from his feathers, cringing as he removed his hat to ring out some of the excess moisture while sniffing more mucus into his throat. Quackerjack was barely given the time to look up before he was wrapped in a very warm and very fluffy blanket. Megavolt’s favorite blanket to be precise. The fact that he would sacrifice the comforter on such a cold night for the literal task of comforting his friend made Quackerjack feel far warmer than he already did. For a moment everything was sparkles and love-stained light as the sight of Megavolt standing there, backlit and fussing over him, held him captive. It was obvious by the way his mouth was moving that he was saying something, but all Quackerjack could manage in that moment was to watch those lips dance and whiskers twitch from the action.

“Wha?” Quackerjack slurred distantly.

“I said you need to lie down! You’re burning up, Quacky!” Megavolt said as he ran his fingers through the feathers on Quackerjack’s forehead with only a light wince to show how the moist plumage hurt him.

“M’ not sick, damnit!”

Quackerjack immediately paled, his plumage turning an unnatural, sickly hue as his body mocked him in that moment. Try though it might, his mouth could not repress the determination of his stomach to torment him. He produced little more than a stifled sound of discomfort before rushing from the room and trailing the now damp blanket behind him.

It took a moment for Megavolt’s brain to catch up, as it often did, but the second that telltale sound of vomiting came from the small bathroom down the hall, he was quickly up to speed on what was happening. Megavolt sighed heavily at the retching, slipping into the bathroom behind his friend. He bent over slightly so he could rub the jester’s heaving back gently. “So, ready to admit it yet?”  

Quackerjack grumbled miserably as he swatted at the hand currently attempting to offer comfort. “Dis doesn mean andythingh,”he insisted, still trying to convince himself more than Megavolt that he wasn’t sick. “I’m jus doingh this for fudn.”

“Riiight. Well, when you’re done having fun I’ll be in the living room.”

Really, Megavolt hated to leave him when he was so miserable, but he also knew how stubborn his other half could be, and he wasn’t going to stand in the now unpleasantly scented bathroom while Quackerjack tried to convince him that it meant nothing. Experience told him that if left alone long enough to wallow in his own gloom, he would seek out Megavolt’s company eventually.

Megavolt stretched out on the couch, kicking his boots off and fidgeting his fingers against the rough fabric. He supposed it was past time to steal a new sofa, but this one had so many memories attached to it he was afraid to let it go. There weren’t many things in his life that recalled any sort of past occurrence, so he was hesitant to abandon anything that reminded him of so many fond memories of his beloved partner.  It hadn’t even been that long since the mallard had become a partner to him in more ways than one, but memory in the short term was often even harder for him to deal with. Still, those moments remained tied to that piece of furniture as if they had been weaved into the worn fibers, and it made Megavolt smile at the various forms of playtime that had taken place there.

The grin on his face morphed into a roll of his eyes when more retching filtered from his bathroom. Quackerjack was nothing if not stubborn, and being sick was definitely one of his least favorite things to do.

“What? Don’t look at me like that. HE’S the one being all bitchy. He knows where to find me when he’s willing to admit it,” Megavolt muttered in reply to the unasked question from the light beside him.  “Don’t get your filaments in a twist.”

The toilet flushed, the sink ran, and before Megavolt knew it he could hear the soft creaking of the floorboards as Quackerjack slowly returned. He was wrapped tightly in the oversized blanket, bundled up as though trying to hide completely in its comforting warmth. His hat was clenched in trembling fingers, which might have meant nothing to most people, but to Megavolt it was an obvious sign that he wasn’t in a normal state of mind.

“Megsy,” the miserable jester whined with a sniffle, “I’m siiiiick.”

Megavolt couldn’t keep the small smirk off his face at the adorable condition his friend was in. It just wasn’t very often that he saw Quackerjack needing comfort in quite such a way. “Oooh, you don’t say,” he replied sarcastically.

Quackerjack nodded as though oblivious to the fact that the other man wasn’t being serious. He frowned, sniffing his dripping snot back into his nose and groaning unhappily at the way it made his abused throat hurt even more. He sighed dramatically, making his way over to the worn couch and dropping himself into the cushions face down so he could lay his head in Megavolt’s lap.

Megavolt tried not to cringe at the snot that was being smeared on his legs, but was only slightly successful. At least the thick blanket was enough to keep any hint of moisture off of his body. That slight comfort made him happy for sure, but the sight of the softly shivering mallard currently snuggled against him was somewhat heartbreaking. He stroked at the disheveled feathers on Quackerjack’s head, running his fingers gently through the sweat-slicked plumage. No matter how many times he saw the other man without his hat he would never get used to the sight. It was rare that the jester ever removed the beloved item. In fact, the only times Megavolt had ever seen it absent in the past was when Quackerjack was forced to wash it or wash his head.

Quackerjack snuggled closer to the other man’s ministrations, already falling prey to his exhaustion. “Soodn as I’m betta, yo owe me soooo mush playtime,” he mumbled nasally.

Megavolt snorted, undeniably amused by his friend’s insistence. “Only if you do everything I say until you’re better,” he said, taking the opportunity to make a deal with the dejected clown.

“Eveythingh?”

“Everything.”

Quackerjack grumbled at the response, displeased pout settling on his face; he just knew Megavolt was going to make him take nasty tasting medicine and rest all the time. He was pretty sure being stationary for more than five minutes was literally detrimental to his health. “Fiiine,” he finally responded, “but dyou gotta wear the nurse’s outfit.”

“I am not wearing your nurse outfit.”

“Awww, why not?”

“Because I still can’t believe you talked me into it the first time!”

“Bu I wasn even really sick that time!”

“Too bad. You used up your… Megsy nurse… privileges. Besides, the oven was laughing at me for months after that.”

“Oh, who cares what Henry thinks. Dude’s got an attidude problem.”

“Stop trying to make me wear dresses!”

“Poo, you’re no fud.”

“And yet you keep knocking on my door at four in the morning wanting to play hide and seek.”

Quackerjack blew a raspberry at him, the action causing another coughing fit. "Fdine, Mr. Boring." He paused for a moment. "Megs?"

“Yes, Quacky?”

“Watch cardoons wid me?”

Megavolt smiled at the request, pulling Quackerjack closer so he could snuggle into the sofa with him. “That I think I can handle.”

[peterabell]

Stark Brexit warning for Scots farming and fishing due to focus on England

UNCERTAINTY caused by Brexit over Scotland’s farming subsidies and fishing quotas took a worrying turn for the worse yesterday. It was known that Scotland’s farmers and fishers face an uncertain future after Brexit, but reports released in Edinburgh and Brussels yesterday will only add to the anxiety of communities and businesses across Scotland. On agriculture, one of Scotland’s most respected constitutional experts, Professor Michael Keating, politics professor at both Aberdeen and Edinburgh universities and the director of the Centre on Constitutional Change, yesterday published a new study on how agriculture in Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales will be affected by Brexit.

Peter A Bell's insight:

The situation in which those in the agriculture and fisheries sectors find themselves is, of course, very largely a bind of their own making. Satisfying as the schadenfreude may be, it is hardly constructive. By all means, enjoy a bit of finger-pointing. But don't settle for that. Farming and fishing are hugely important to Scotland - economically, environmentally and culturally, We must resist the base urge tell farmers and fisherman who campaigned and voted to stay in the UK and leave the EU that they've made their bed and must lie in it. Those who got it right are perfectly entitled to remind No/Leave voters how they got it wrong and point out the consequences of their tragic misjudgement. But we must also get past this instinctive reaction and be prepared to engage with these people positively if and when they recognise their error and determine to rectify it.

 We might start by joining with No/Leave voters in an effort to understand why they made such unfortunate choices. We could, for example, have a conversation about the way in which the potential consequences were not discussed. Particularly in the case of the first Scottish independence referendum, there was no meaningful media scrutiny of the anti-independence arguments. Statements from the British government and it's agencies were simply assumed to be accurate and honest. Claims made by the British political parties were rarely, if ever, questioned. Threats and smears coming from Better Together/Project Fear were never challenged. Leading figures in the anti-independence campaign were never interrogated. The lies, distortions and empty promises of British Nationalists were never exposed.

 Bearing all this in mind, it is clear that those who voted No in 2014 did so without any hard information about what they were voting for. In reality, they voted for nothing more than a vague assurance that everything would be all right. Nobody really knew what a No vote meant. It was never defined. Those who voted No quickly discovered that their vote could mean whatever the British political elite wanted it to mean. In voting No, they had handed the British establishment a licence to do whatever they wished with Scotland.

 Much the same applies to the EU referendum. The negative implications of a Leave vote, potential and actual, were never acknowledged by those campaigning to take the UK out of the EU. It is now clear that the full implications were not even understood by those leading the Leave campaign. The implications were never properly examined. The consequences were never considered. None of it was explained.

 Those voting Leave on the basis of the case made by Boris Johnson and his ilk didn't know what they were actually voting for because Johnson and the rest of the Mad Brexiteers didn't know - and/or didn't care -what leaving the EU would entail. Through wilful ignorance or for the purposes of malicious deceit, the Leave campaign peddled a glittering fantasy to obscure the unpeasant reality.

 Leave voters aren't getting the glittering fantasy they thought they were voting for. No voters are getting the very opposite of the certainty, security, stability, prosperity and respect they uncritically and unthinkingly associated with keeping Scotland thirled to the British state.

 There is little hope for Leave voters. It looks very much as if they, and the rest of us, will have to live with the consequences of the UK flouncing out of the EU in a self-harming British Nationalist huff. That's a bitter pill for the Scottish people to swallow, having voted decisively to maintain Scotland's mutually advantageous relationship with Europe.

 Happily, those who voted to relinquish Scotland's sovereignty to the British state will have a chance to change their minds. Later this year, those who voted No in 2014 will have an opportunity to make a better choice. An informed choice. Very evidently, they cannot rely on British politicians and the British media to provide the information they need. Project Fear and the Leave campaign proved that.

 The information is there. The answers are there. It's just a matter of accessing that information and asking the right questions. Yes campaigners - once they've had their fill of schadenfreude - must prompt No voters to question their assumptions about the Union. When we berate No voters it should not be solely for the purpose of recrimination. The aim always should be to provoke No voters into questioning their own assumptions about the Union. To make them look at what the Union really means for Scotland. To break out of the old habits of thought. To stop rejecting independence long enough to wonder why they should just accept the Union.

 According to Professor Michael Keating, politics professor at both Aberdeen and Edinburgh universities, we still do not know how much flexibility in relation to agriculture and fisheries policy the Scottish Government - or the other devolved administrations - will have after Brexit. He says,

In fact, we do know - or are obliged by the precautionary principal to assume - that the British political elite intend to allow no flexibility at all. The 'UK-wide common frameworks' being proposed suggest anything but flexibility. The phrase reeks of 'One Nation' British Nationalism and the rigid conformity to imposed policy that this implies.

 Professor Keating speaks of "the danger is that a piecemeal approach will make it more difficult for Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland to forge coherent agricultural and rural development policies tailored to their own conditions". He seems not to recognise that this is not a potential danger but an imminent threat. It's not just something that might happen as an unintended consequence of what the UK Government, but the actual purpose of what the UK Government is doing, and something that will happen if the people of Scotland do't act to prevent it. and quickly.

 We have the means to prevent this eradication of Scotland's distinctive political culture and avoid the looming hammer-blow to our farming and fishing communities from a combination of Brexit and policies imposed by the British government. We can take back the power that was so recklessly handed to a corrupt and incompetent clique of British politicians. We can bring our government home. We can restore Scotland's independence.