#Ida Pack

[calm-cat]

* marina ida *

﹙🍡�� do you like what you see on me? saw you from afar looking .exe, then you sent a pull request to me. looking at your code and i like what i see! meet me in the sheets, we can .csv

[lunar-bah]

could you please do marina ida from splatoon with a faceclaim?

Yea ofc! i don't really know anything about splatoon (and i also don't really have experience with female or even POC characters) though so please note that this won't really be that good :( (i tried avoiding doing anything complicated since i don't want to mischaracterize or be offensive by accident) also I'm so sorry i don't think i can make a unique faceclaim i don't really know anything about this character so i'm just gonna use an image of her if that's okay /gen (i will give multiple images of her)

Names: Marina, Ida Pronouns: She/Her (neos: Octo/Octoling/Octoself) Gender: Octogender Ages: 18-23 (whichever age you want!) Roles: Comforter, Archivist Personality: Sweet, gentle, smart, sassy in response to teasing, forgetful (basically taking these from a wiki, sorry! /gen) Species: Octoling

"faceclaim": (or at least the best i can do for one)

Headmates will not always come out exactly as the pack has them!

again i'm SO sorry if i didn't make this in the way you wanted, i tried my best /gen

[chiss-ticism]

Art wonderfully crafted by the magnificent @/tzimisce!!! [tysm again - I love her to Enoch and back :)] Woe, Pack Priest be upon ye... My beloved Dragon has art now so it's probably prudent that I actually get around to introducing her in a formal capacity :) She's probably the only [fully] V20 character in my line up now that I think about it 🤔

BASIC INFORMATION

NAME: Ida Obertus

CLAN: Tzimisce.

GENERATION: 9th.

PATH OF ENLIGHTENMENT: Path of Honorable Accord

[former] REVENANT FAMILY: The Obertus. [how'd you guess?]

SECT AFFILIATION: The Sabbat [More specifically their Tzimisce specific Children of the Dracon subfaction]

D.O.B.: April 21st, 1880.

D.O.D.: May 10th, 1910.

APPARENT AGE: 30.

HEIGHT: 5'2'' | 157 cm

NOTABLE ATTRIBUTES

Intelligence [••••] [S: Subject Authority] You're not just bright, you're downright brilliant.

Perception [•••] You perceive moods, textures, and small changes in your environment.

Wits [•••] You are seldom surprised or left speechless.

Strength [•••] Good: you can lift 250 lbs (a little over 100 kgs).

Dexterity [•••] Good: You possess some degree of athletic potential.

NOTABLE SKILLS [what you're not seeing is how low everything else is :)]

Occult [•••••] [S: Quirks of the Blood] Scholar: You know the most basic truths about the hidden world.

Science [••••] [S: Hematology] Doctorate: You're fully capable of advancing the knowledge in your field.

Academics [••••] [S: Constantinople History] Doctorate: Professor Emeritus

Medicine [•••] [uses it for meat crimes] Masters: General Practitioner.

TIDBITS

She's friends with @styxnbones' Peona. Montreal Tzimisce buddies with conflicting Paths of Enlightenment😎🐉

OCD is a fairly common affliction for the Family, and Ida is no different.

Born and raised in Montreal, Québec - Ida has almost always preferred the quiet life to the hustle and bustle it no doubt provides for many a person elsewhere. This isn't exactly uncommon for the Family, who're a group of reclusive scholars loyal to the Tzimisce, and as such her parents were content to homeschool her away from the public eye.

This didn't have any ramifications on her socialization skills. None whatsoever.

A mixture of having taken a genuine interest in her chosen fields of study [mostly supernatural related quirks of the blood. Changelings, Vitae, Lupine blood, etc. etc. ] -often to the detriment of other things- & having an Eidetic Memory lead to many-a-breakthrough on her end.

In addition to her having shown signs of having been a revenant, her parents believed that they had something special with her and, as such, exchanged letters with a Tzimisce [and former cousin] interested in sponsoring her Embrace... -------

While she's perfectly capable of defending herself or reveling in sanguine succor should the situation calls for it, Ida is probably the only member of the pack that isn't on a martial bent. She prefers the time she gets to spend locked away with ancient tomes or helping prep for the Sword of Caine's festivals to, say, engaging in War Parties or the Wild Hunt.

Ida would prefer that the main body of the clan -and everyone who abides by their rulings- would carefully dissect every choice they make and refrain from haphazardly damning the rest of the clan even further than they already are, playing devils advocate like the Children are want to do: make them consider the weight of their actions and consider the responsibility that intrinsically comes with as much sway as they do.

Barring Noddism, of which she and Luther have [good naturedly] debated one another about the semantics of for hours on end, her expertise in life veered toward [supernatural] quirks of the blood: Ghouls, Revenants, trying to figure out what on earth makes changeling blood as fucked up as it is when they aren't visibly distinguishable in the slightest from everyone else, etc. etc.

Would love to get her hands on a Lupine's corpse for study but, for a plethora of reasons, it's extremely Unlikely. The handful of times the pack has been Dog tagging they trend towards leaving the damnable creature where they found it - Ida, without fail, asking a one (1) time if she can bring it back to the haven. M.J., without fail, will pretend to humor the idea and put a pin in the conversation with a resounding "No."

MERITS / BACKGROUNDS / FLAWS

Pain Tolerance [2 Point Merit] [Source: Guide to the Clans] She turned off her nerves through Vicissitude :)

Grand Library [2, 4, 6, or 7 Point Merit] [Source: The Black Hand: A Guide to the Tal'Mahe'ra] Throughout the years, you've managed to amass an exquisite collection of books, both common and rare. Her personal library, housed in her home domain of Montreal, is dutifully maintained by members of her former mortal family. Any books she and their pack can't lug around on their travels, she has sent back to the library for proper sorting and cataloguing.

Eidetic Memory [2 Point Merit] You remember, with perfect detail, things you see and hear. Documents, photographs, conversations, etc., can be committed to memory with only minor concentration...

Language [Latin, Byzantine Greek, French.] [3 Points of Merits] [Source: V20 Corebook] Self explanatory :)

Retainer [1 Dot Background] She has a singular Revenant, a distant cousin of hers by the name of Colin Obertus, who helps her with her studies & helps the pack maintain their Haven. [Barring her own room, which she insists upon maintaining herself]

RITAE [She is the Pack Priest, after all.]

All 13 Auctoritas Ritae

Allegiance Ritus

Before the Acceptance Ritus occurs, a vampire already Embraced but not yet Sabbat must go through the Allegiance Ritus. This ritus is especially important for Camarilla defectors. The Allegiance Ritus is long and involved, and it may go on for years before the recruit is permitted the Acceptance Ritus and welcomed as a full member of the sect. Part of the process involved the implanting of a secret mark on the body of the defector (a tattoo, scar, brand, etc.) through the use of Vicissitude so it will be permanent. Before receiving this *ritus*, the initiate must sit or stand to the rear of his packmates during auctoritas ritae. He must drink last at the vaulderie, and may not contribute himself. He may not read or discuss passages from the *Book of Nod* aloud. The time involved in confirming the initiate's commitment to the Sabbat makes it all the more difficult for him to leave the sect.

Acceptance Ritus

This ritus welcomes a new member to a particular pack, to recognize the ascension of a recruit, or any time a change in power or membership occurs (such as a new Ductus or Pack Priest). Each member of the pack must recognize the new position of their fellow Sabbat in a personal manner, be it by sharing blood, the giving of a gift, or whatever. The Sabbat being accepted must make an oath of allegiance to each member of the pack, and to the Sabbat cause in general. The Acceptance Ritus differs from the Creation Rites because it is more social than supernatural. A Sabbat may have received his Creation Rites, but may be snubbed by a pack that refuses to extend him the ritus of acceptance.

Contrition Ritus

Even Sabbat commit sins and indiscretions, for which they sometimes need to atone. The Contrition Ritus allows for this, much in the same manner a Catholic confession works. This ritus is perhaps the most important of the ignobilis ritae, as many Inquisitors, Black Hand operatives, Pack Priests, and Ducti offer a choice of contrition or death to Sabbat who have committed wrongs upon the Sect. All sensible Sabbat take these ritae as seriously as they would any other, for only by the grace of their betters can they continue to exist. Of course, many disingenuous Sabbat may make an insincere act of contrition, but they might not be extended the option next time.

Stealth Ritus

In the interests of maintaining silence, some packs take extra precautions and invoke favorable omens. In the Stealth Ritus, all participating vampires bite out each other’s tongues and spit them into a fire. Though this causes no health levels of damage, the immediate bleeding and healing consumes one blood point. The Pack Priest or Ductus usually bows out so he can issue orders, but some packs have developed complex hand signal systems so they may communicate silently while on stealth-intensive activities

LORE QUOTES FOR CLARIFICATION:

The Children of the Dracon

A bizarre knightly order of Tzimisce vampires, the Children of the Dracon seem to bear more Hellenic features than the Slavic heritage of Clan Tzimisce suggests. The Children seem to be a cultural division, almost like a bloodline, but the distinction is more artificial than that which would be caused by a deviation of vitae. The exact agenda of the Children of the Dracon is unknown, but they seem to be at intellectual odds with the rest of the Tzimisce. Perhaps this is due to some past transgression, or perhaps it lies in the difference of mortal stock from which the vampires were originally drawn. Whatever the case, the Children of the Dracon do not antagonize the other Tzimisce, so much as they take a consistent role of the Devil's Advocate. If the Tzimisce favor a siege, the Children posit the values of holding back; if the Fiends support the Inquisition, the Children argue against giving any faction too much power. Although this seems arbitrary, the Children seem to see themselves as the warders of their brothers. Apparently, sometime in the mists of history, a Tzimisce made a decision that affected the entirety of his clan (perhaps resulting the clan's odd weakness). The Children of the Dracon have sworn to make the Tzimisce consider the full gravity of their actions... or perhaps atone for them. The Tzimisce report that no Child of the Dracon has ever held the title of voivode in the clan, and that the Children are either incapable of learning their koldunic magic or they steadfastly refuse to. This distinction means little outside the clan and faction, and others regard it as a curious family affair.

...Before the Embrace, the Children leave the monastery to study the “12 legacies” — precepts of the order — with various enclaves across the globe. Then, they return to their monastery of origin to be Embraced. If the initiate is an Akoimetai, he is entrusted with one volume from the Library of the Forgotten.... Confirmed in the order, the new Child of the Dracon departs to establish himself within Sabbat society...

The Children of the Dracon organize themselves much like a monastic order, with “scions” establishing monasteries made up primarily of their own broods. The monasteries coordinate their activities through the Hagia Sophia, a Dracon Vatican of sorts somewhere around the Mediterranean. The scholarly wing of this order, the Akoimetai, is drawn almost exclusively from a branch of the Obertus revenant family...

[hexellent]

Okaaaay muse tag dump.

[butchyena]

i bulk made breakfast burritos the other day and i really need to write down my recipe so i can make bigger batches in the future. i wish i had a vacuum sealer or something tho, i wrap them in foil which works okay but towards the end of the week they get a little freezer burn… not sure how else to store them

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 2

Part 1: Linked Here!

AO3: Linked Here :)

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Making Out

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, semi-spicy scenes, lemon

Link to My Master List

Scenes from the afternoon hookup replay in your mind over and over as you sit in the library at a battered old desk in the history section. All you can think about is Shoto’s mouth. And his hands. And his abs!! And his sweet face.

You twiddle your pen in your hand as you try to draft out an essay for class. Unfortunately, every time you try to jot down a few thoughts your mind goes blissfully blank and you remember the tender way he spoke to you.

"How am I going to get anything done now, knowing that you can kiss like this?"

“You’re so beautiful. Your skin is so soft…I never realized how great it would be to touch you.”

“Find me later so we can discuss this.”

You look down at your watch excitedly – 7:55 PM. You eagerly wait for Shoto to appear so the two of you can talk and – with any luck – canoodle amongst the history textbooks. You sit patiently as the time ticks by.

Soon it’s 8:30 PM. You’re not worried, though. Shoto probably assumed you’d want to get some work done first.

9:15 PM rolls around and you start to get worried. You try to distract yourself with school work as doubt creeps into your mind.

10 PM – Shoto still hasn’t showed.

“Shit shit shit.” You check your phone again and again as you wade through the endless wave of homework your teachers have assigned. You keep losing yourself in a math problem or in a passage of your History textbook, only to remember with a jolt that you were expecting to see Shoto and the bastard hasn’t showed.

At 10:30 PM you realize with a sinking feeling that it’s almost past curfew. You pack up your things and prepare to head back to the dorms. There’s a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can’t shake.

You slide your books into your bag as a anxious thoughts dance through your mind like annoying fruit flies: Does Shoto regret your mid-afternoon hookup? Is he going to pretend it never happened? Did you push him too far? Does he think you’re a slut for stripping off your shirt and basically pressing his face into your naked breasts!? The synapses of your brain jump through dozens of equally horrid and embarrassing scenarios as you march back to your dorm room, blushing furiously with humiliation.

You run through the afternoon’s events in your head for what feels like the hundredth time, trying to find a clue as to why Shoto would have left you waiting alone in the library. Your cheeks burn hotter as you recall the gentle way Shoto had kissed your neck before leaning in to capture your lips in one of his first kisses. "How am I going to get anything done now, knowing that you can kiss like this?" You shiver as you think back to how gentle he was, how each caress felt so loving and intimate.

You shake your head to clear it. Shoto must have a valid excuse for not meeting you in the library as he had promised – no boy could kiss someone that intimately and then instantly cast her aside, right?

Before long, you’re walking through the doors of Class 1A’s dorm building. You shiver with discomfort as you recall how earlier that day you essentially scaled the side of a building for a boy. Does Shoto think you’re an absolute fool with the extremes you went to for a quick make out session? You hope not.

You walk up the stairs and past the common area. You see most of Class 1A studying quietly. Sero, Izuku, Kirishima and Ida sit around one of the kitchen tables reviewing their math homework while some of the girls compare English notes on the couch. To your relief, Shoto isn’t there. Mina waves to you enthusiastically, beckoning you to join her and YaMomo as they review the finer points of Hamlet. You politely decline and make a beeline for your room. You turn the key in the lock and it clicks – within moments, you are blessedly alone.

You toss your heavy book bag to the ground and prepare to wallow in self-pity. It’s 10:56pm and Shoto still hasn’t reached out to you. Your phone is vacant of text messages and your brain is absolutely fried from schoolwork.

You dim your room lights and switch on the favorite fairy lights for some peaceful ambiance. Time for some self-care, bitch! You think resolutely as you swap your uniform for your favorite pair of pajamas. You toss your phone to the floor with abandon and climb into your comfy bed. You breathe in deeply, allowing yourself to revel in the coziness of the dorm room.

You take out your five-minute bullet journal and write a quick list of things you're grateful for: 1. The opportunity to study at UA 2. Your lovely and encouraging friends and classmates 3. Your cozy room and the roof over your head 4. Shoto’s mouth 5. Shoto’s abs 6. Shoto’s goddamn hard AF dick

Um. No.

You snap the journal shut before you get too derailed.

You pull your comforter over your head and sit in silence for a moment. You’ve never been the kind of person to go completely boy-crazy. You always used to make fun of those girls who would go gaga over pretty boys and their texts and their kisses. But as you recall the searing way that Shoto kissed your lips earlier that day, you suddenly understand what all the boy-crazed girly hype was all about. Oh my god. You have a crush. A big sloppy embarrassing crush.

In the silence of your room, you suddenly here a buzzing noise coming from the general direction of your book bag. You struggle to disentangle yourself from your sheets and your journal goes flying. You ignore its crash landing as you slip from your bed and collect your phone from where it lays abandoned on the carpeted floor.

It’s Shoto.

Your heart skips.

Todoroki: Y/N. Are you awake?

You bite your lip, unsure how to respond. Did Shoto just send you his version of “U up?”

Y/N: Yes, I’m still up.

Todoroki: I know it’s late, but can I stop by?

You tense. Oh God – he’s going to come by to tell you that he’s not interested. He’s going to thank you for your time making out and say that you probably should avoid hooking up in the future because it’s a huge distraction. You’re sure that whatever he has to say is going to be negative and leave you feeling embarrassed. Why else would he have skipped out on your rendezvous in the library?

You take a deep breath. You have always been fairly practical with a mind for strategy, two qualities that had really set you apart when you had taken the UA entrance exams. You know that the best course of action here is to rip off the Band-Aid sooner rather than later. Better to know how he feels about your hookup now

Your heart sinks as you type out:

Y/N: Sure, I’ll leave the door unlocked for you. Just come in. Try not to be seen by anyone.

Todoroki: Of course. See you shortly.

Your heart beats double time as you look down at yourself. Your pajama set consists of a silky blue top with matching shorts that don’t leave much to the imagination. You chew on your thumb nervously – should you change into something more appropriate? No – Shoto has seen your boobs. A little bit of leg is not going to kill the half hot half cold hero in training.

You quickly remake your bed and kick your book bag beneath your desk so that the floor is clear. You plop down on your smooth comforter and wait, knotting your hands together as you anticipate Shoto’s arrival.

A few anxious minutes pass, and then you hear gentle footsteps pad down the hallway outside your door. The knob turns quietly, and in a moment Shoto Todoroki steps across your threshold, quietly closing the door behind him. He reaches down to turn the lock with a gentle snap of his wrist.

You take him in – he’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a soft white t-shirt. You’ve never seen him dressed so casually before and you assume that these are what he wears as pajamas in the privacy of his own dorm room. His hair is tousled and damp from a recent shower, and the burned side of his face shines where he’s clearly applied some kind of scar cream or moisturizer. His outfit projects a comfy air, but his expression is dark and stormy. Your heartbeat quickens in fear – what could possibly have caused him to be in such a tempestuous mood? Was this about your kissing?

You bite at your lip with worry. But when your eyes lock, his expression softens. In two quick strides, he’s at the bed. He leans in close so that your noses almost touch.

“Hi.” He says softly, before dipping his mouth to meet yours. You blink in surprise as your mouths melt together. His eyes flutter shut as he sinks into the kiss. Pleasure radiates up and down your spine as you kiss him back. He places both his palms on your hips and pulls you closer, letting out a small moan of satisfaction as he slides his tongue into your mouth. How silly you feel for thinking he didn’t want you like this!

After a few moments, you break apart.

“Hey there.” You whisper, bringing your hands up to cup his beautiful jaw. He leans in to kiss you again and you hold him in place. He stops and looks down at you inquisitively.

“I waited for you in the library, you didn’t show.” You say slowly, softly.

“My father decided to take me through some drills in one of the school’s gyms. I only finished a half hour ago.” His expression becomes dull as he speaks. “I’m sorry to leave you waiting. I wanted to see you - but I’m not allowed on my phone during training.”

Relief must have flooded your features, because he tilts his head to the side questioningly. You hold back a giggle – the way his head is tilted makes him look like a sweet dog asking its owner for a treat.

“What’s wrong?”

You sigh and pull yourself further onto the bed, patting the spot next to you as an invitation. Shoto climbs up next to you, sinking into the deliciously soft fabric. His eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“This is so comfortable.” He says, pressing his palm into the plush fabric beneath him. You recall his sparse traditional bedroom and realize that he’s never laid on a proper puffy mattress before.

“Hold on – it gets better.” You say pushing him off the bed so you can pull down the covers. You slip beneath the comforter and gesture for him to rejoin you. He climbs in clumsily, unsure how to position himself within the sheets. You prop a pillow beneath his shoulders as he lays down on his side. You toss the comforter over the two of you and lay across from him, feet almost touching beneath the warm layers of bedding.

“Cozy?” You ask as Shoto settles into the bed.

“Yeah.” He says in quiet voice, propping himself up on an elbow. “I always thought beds like this were excessive but…maybe there’s some merit to this.” He eyes a blue Squirtle plush that sits next to you in the bed. “Can I��hold that?”

You grin, biting back a laugh as you reach over to grab the Pokémon plush. “This is Squirtle – he’s one of my favorite plushies.” You hold up the stuffed animal and wiggle it in front of Shoto’s eyes as if it’s dancing. “Squirtle, Squirtle” you say in a low tone, trying to emulate the television character’s voice the best you can.

Shoto gives you a weird look. “I don’t get it. Why are you just repeating its name in a strange voice?”

“Shoto…have you…have never seen Pokémon!?” You almost screech in disbelief, before throwing a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself. You quickly remember that you are in the dorms and the walls aren’t super thick.

“No, I wasn’t allowed to watch television unless it was about Pro hero work.” Shoto says, a tinge of sadness flowing along with his words. “But it looks cute and round and I really just want to hold it and squish it?”

“Yeah, that’s the general reaction to plushies. Dude, we need to get you that whale pillow you liked on Pinterest. You need more cuteness in your life.”

“Well I have you, don’t I?” Shoto smiles softly. “You bring more than enough cute into my life.” He reaches out and grabs the plush from your hands and squishes it a bit. “But this is pretty nice, too.”

Your face grows hot at the compliment. Shoto tucks the Squirtle under his arm and shifts around in the sheets until he finds a comfortable position. He looks adorable and soft as he cradles the bright plush in his strong, muscular hands.

When he finally settles in, he looks up at you enquiringly. “What’s wrong?” He repeats, looping you both back to the conversation form earlier.

“So…” You sigh with embarrassment. “When you didn’t show up and I didn’t hear from you…” You pause and Shoto gives Squirtle a squeeze. “I thought you didn’t want to see me again. Or at least that you didn’t want to make out with me again.”

“Oh.” Shoto wasn’t expecting this. “I thought I made it very clear how…enthusiastically…I enjoyed our time together this afternoon. I didn’t realize I had left any room for you to question my attraction to you.”

“That’s nice to hear…but when you didn’t show at the library or send a text, I assumed the worst. My mind kind of went into full-blown panic mode. I thought maybe once you had time to reflect on our hookup, that you realized you didn’t like it or that you didn’t really like me. To be perfectly honest, I’ve never felt that way before. Usually something like this wouldn’t bother me.” You take a deep, steadying breath. “But I think I really like you and want to be close to you, and the thought that you might not feel the same was tearing me apart for the last couple of hours.”

The words come tumbling from your mouth before you can stop and think them through. Why are you saying all of this!? Why does being around Shoto make you feel so comfortable and open to sharing? It’s so weird – and you’re absolutely sure he’s going to think you’re some kind of over sharing freak for telling him all of this.

Shoto looks at you thoughtfully for a long moment before speaking. “Something I have always admired about you is your ability to be straightforward about what you’re thinking and feeling. Most people aren’t like that, and I have a hard time navigating more subtle situations. Thank you for telling me exactly what you’re thinking – I value it so much.” He runs a hand through his slightly damp hair, moving the bangs out of his bright eyes.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I had abandoned you. I wanted to come to the library so badly. I want to kiss you so badly – it’s all I’ve been thinking about tonight.” His voice is so earnest that you believe him.

“Let me match your honesty with some of my own - my father is extremely strict. Ever since I was born, he’s pushed me to be better. To be stronger. He wants me to surpass him. He wants me to take All Might’s place as the number one hero.”

You gasp at this. Of course you knew that Todoroki was ambitious, but this…

“I don’t have any intentions of becoming harsh and cruel like my father. I’m not even sure if I want to go for the top spot on the hero charts.” He admits, almost bitterly. “That’s the path that my father has laid out for me. He’s obsessed with my training. With my ‘potential.’ But he doesn’t seem to give a fuck about how I feel. Excuse my language.” Shoto looks so sad, so despairing. He hugs the plush close, his chin tucked into his chest as he continues.

“I just want to help people and make them smile – just like All Might. But my old man just doesn’t seem to get that. Today, when he noticed how distracted I was… he didn’t ask if something was wrong. He just pushed me even harder.” Shoto avoids your gaze. “I think he purposefully pushed me to train into the night to keep me from meeting up with you. In his eyes…you’re a huge distraction for his prized creation.”

Suddenly you notice how exhausted Shoto looks – there are pale bags beneath his eyes. You scan his body and see light bruises beginning to form on the exposed skin of his arms. You wonder - just what kind of training has Endeavor been subjecting him to?

You had never guessed that behind Shoto’s calm and collected exterior, there is just a normal teenage boy trying desperately to please his father, while simultaneously trying to defy him. The whole relationship seems complicated and messy and you’re sure what Shoto is telling you is only the tip of a chaotic Todoroki family dynamic iceberg.

“Oh, Shoto.” You say softly. You scoot forward and wrap your arms around him. He freezes, unsure of what to do but nevertheless comforted by the sudden closeness. You reach behind him and card your fingers through his hair. You see goose bumps emerge across his skin, and realize that he likely hasn’t been touched this way before.

“Is it okay to touch you like this?” You whisper.

He breathes out a shaky “yes” as he moves to toss the Squirtle plush to the floor. Once his arms are free, he works to wrap them around you. He rests one strong hand on your back and slings the other around your delicate waist. He draws you close to him and holds you tightly as you continue to run your fingers softly through his two-toned hair.

He’s silent as he buries his head into your shoulder. There’s an emotion that’s radiating off of his body that you can’t quite place – sadness? Frustration? Maybe even relief? After a few moments of running your fingers through his hair and gently up and down his back, he finally starts to relax. The tense muscles in his shoulders loosen, and he seems to come back to himself.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” He whispers, muffled as he turns his face into the crook of your neck. “I’m not great at expressing my emotions. I can try to put it into words…I’m feeling so weighed down right now.”

“Because of your father’s expectations?” You prompt, running a light fingertip down his spine. He shivers a bit in response, but not in an unpleasant way.

“Sometimes I wonder if he sees me as a real person, as a son. Or am I just his big project?” Shoto wonders aloud, his voice a bit strained. You feel his eyelashes flutter against the sensitive skin beneath your jawline.

“Shoto...that sounds like a lot to carry. You’re just a high school student – your father shouldn’t be putting that kind of pressure on you. It’s not normal.” You tuck a lock of red hair behind his porcelain ear. “This situation sounds so complicated. It’s no wonder you feel so conflicted. I’m here any time you need a friendly ear to listen as you work through it.” You continue to caress him softly over his clothes. He begins to lean into your touch hungrily. “But right now – at this moment – you’re safe. In this room, in my arms, you don’t need to hold other people’s expectations of you in your heart. When you’re with me, I want you to feel that you can just be Shoto.”

You still your fingers as you let your words sink in. Shoto is radiating a deep sort of sadness that you wish you could smooth away with your fingertips.

“Thank you.” He says, his voice breaking a tiny bit as he processes your words. After a few beats Shoto exhales deeply, his breath ruffles your hair. “I’m not used to talking about these things. Actually, I’m not really used to talking much at all. Or being touched.” You can feel the blush on his delicate cheeks warm the skin of your neck.

“I can tell.” You say before you can stop yourself. To your surprise, he chuckles.

“I don’t know why it’s so easy to do these things with you – talking, touching…kissing.” He lifts his head off of your shoulder to look you square in the face. “There’s something about you…”

Suddenly, the room feels as if it’s charged with Denki’s electrification quirk as his bright mismatched eyes meet your own.

“I think I’d like to continue exploring this with you.” He says matter-of-factly, moving his legs to intertwine with yours.

“W-what does that mean?” Your breath catches in your throat as he dips forward to kiss down your neck.

“It means…I want to keep doing this. Kissing. Talking. I suppose I want to keep getting to know you like this? Intimately.” He places a soft kiss in the hollow behind your earlobe. “Would you like that as well?”

“Yes.” You breathe, with zero hesitation. He smiles into your neck before running the edges of his teeth lightly across your smooth skin. You let out a soft moan in response.

“Good. Then we’ll figure this out together.” He moves to kiss your cheek soundly before releasing you from his embrace. “But right now it’s well past midnight, and we both need our sleep if we’re going to continue to be top of our class alongside YaMomo and Ida. If we both let our grades slip, it might tip people off.” He moves to get off the bed.

“Hey – wait!” You grab his arm and pull him back under the covers. “I have no problem with you staying here for the night.”

“But wouldn’t that be inappropriate?” Shoto’s face reddens, but he lets himself be drawn back into your gentle embrace.

“Would it be anymore inappropriate than you making out with my tits?” Shoto’s face burns an even brighter red at this question, but he also looks quite pleased with himself (you assume he’s recalling the way he kissed down your breasts earlier that day as he smirks). “Sharing a bed should be perfectly responsible as long as we keep all of our clothes on. You said you want to explore? Well get over here and let’s figure out if you make a good big spoon.”

This earns one of those rare full smiles from Shoto – he practically glows. “Alright.”

He pulls himself close to you. You reach above your head and switch off the string lights that wind their way around your room, and the tiny dorm fills with darkness.

You turn to face the wall and scoot your body back until you feel Shoto’s solid warmth. He reaches around to pull you close until bodies are touching, flush together. You tuck yourself into Shoto’s warm, muscular body and sigh with contentment.

“So do I make a good big spoon?” He questions, tentatively nuzzling his face into your hair and inhaling deeply. “Mmm, your hair smells like lavender.”

“We’ll need plenty of practice to truly ascertain the full range of your spooning abilities.” You say in a faux-academic voice, causing him to snort out a laugh. “But so far you’re doing great.”

You interlock your legs and pull his strong arms around you. You wiggle a bit as you try to find the comfiest spot in the mattress. You unintentionally grind a bit against Shoto and jolt when you feel something hard pressed against the curve of your ass.

“Sorry.” He mutters softly, embarrassed.

“Maybe I’ll take care of that for you tomorrow.” You yawn as you close your eyes and settle in for a good night’s rest. You grin into the darkness as you feel Shoto’s dick get even harder as he mulls over your response, wondering at what you could possibly mean by “take care of that.”

You didn’t realize you were so tired. You’re dimly aware of Shoto’s breathing growing slow as he drifts off into a comfortable sleep. You smile softly to yourself as you slide further into his embrace. This poor, touch-starved boy has been through so many terrible things and your heart aches for him.

Even in sleep he’s tense, his jawline stiff and his muscles almost locked around you. But he’s warm and soft and smells like jasmine and mint tea. You hope that for the next few hours you can provide him with a safe harbor to rest and escape his troubles. You let your eyes flutter close and breathe in deeply, dreaming of Shoto’s sweet face as you fall gently into sleep’s embrace.

-------------------------------

Part 3

🔥 Link to My Master List 🔥

[pupsmailbox]

ROBOT ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　aerobot.　agatha.　ai.　alan.　alethea.　alexia.　algernon.　alistair.　alpha.　amaryllis.　ambrose.　androbot.　androic.　andromeda.　angelica.　antenna.　arabella.　araminta.　arcade.　auto.　automaton.　axel.　axis.　badnik.　bionel.　bolt.　byte.　care.　celline.　cello.　chip.　chipique.　clank.　cloniste.　clonoid.　cobot.　codelle.　cole.　curiosity.　cy.　cyber.　cybette.　cybion.　cypher.　data.　dell.　della.　delpha.　delta.　digi.　dot.　droid.　droidess.　droidis.　dronette.　echo.　elektra.　euna.　eva.　eve.　fritz.　giga.　gizmo.　glitch.　grey.　gynoid.　helix.　holo.　holodir.　hydra.　ida.　jet.　kaput.　kinect.　krudzu.　linion.　mac.　mace.　machibella.　machina.　mal.　malware.　mation.　mech.　mecha.　mechael.　mechan．ace.　metal.　metalia.　metalish.　micro.　motherboard.　motor.　nano.　neo.　nucleus.　nyquist.　orbit.　parallel.　pip.　pixel.　prime.　primus.　proto.　quantum.　radar.　radius.　ram.　ray.　reflect.　reflectette.　robo.　robonaut.　rusty.　satellite.　scrappy.　selsyn.　sentiex.　servo.　shard.　siri.　solar.　sonar.　spark.　sparkie.　sparky.　sputnik.　steele.　sterling.　stochastic.　synchro.　synie.　synthett.　talus.　terra.　tin.　tink.　tobor.　ultramarine.　ultron.　unimate.　unit.　virus.　waldo.　zip.

PRONOUNS ⌇　00/00.　01/01.　0101/0101.　11/11.　1010/1010.　10110/101.　ai/ai.　algo/algorithm.　android/android.　app/app.　auto/auto.　auto/automated.　auto/automaton.　axis/axi.　beep/boop.　bio/bionic.　bio/bioplastic.　blast/blast.　bo/bot.　bolt/bolt.　bot/bot.　buffer/buffer.　byte/byte.　cell/cell.　chaos/chaos.　chi/chip.　click/click.　clo/clone.　code/code.　coil/recoil.　command/command.　compute/computer.　core/core.　cyb/cyborg.　cyber/cyber.　data/data.　dev/device.　device/device.　dig/digital.　digi/digital.　droi/droid.　droid/droid.　e/exe.　electric/electric.　entry/entries.　exo/exoskeleton.　gear/gear.　gli/glitch.　glitch/glitch.　hack/hack.　ho/holo.　holo/holo.　hologram/hologram.　in/install.　intra/intranet.　link/link.　machi/machine.　mal/malfunction.　mal/malware.　mech/mech.　mecha/mechanical.　mechanic/mechanic.　metal/metal.　metro/metro.　motor/motor.　neo/neo.　neon/neon.　nuclear/nuclear.　propeller/propeller.　radar/radar.　retro/retro.　robo/robo.　robo/robot.　robot/robot.　rubber/rubber.　satellite/satellite.　sca/scan.　shard/shard.　shine/shiny.　signal/signal.　solar/solar.　steel/steel.　stem/stem.　swi/switch.　syn/synth.　syn/synthetic.　tech/tech.　techno/techno.　test/test.　text/text.　turing/turing.　vi/viru.　web/site.　web/web.　whirr/whirr.　wi/wifi.　wire/wire.　wired/wired.　⚙️/⚙️.　🔧/🔧.　🔩/🔩.　🛠//🛠.　🤖/🤖.

[zeestarfishalien]

Unwanted Farewells

[Day 5 DPxDC Week: Jason Todd // Soulmate AU // Funeral Rites ]

• Anger Management ship (Jasmine Fenton x Jason Todd) No relevant warnings beyond the usual DP stuff

Jazz has always had it the worst. Danny might have been the one to die but Jazz is the one who lost not only her soulmate, but her little brother too. It doesn’t matter that he’s still around, he knows the grief weighs on her sometimes. She overcompensates by being a massive mother hen and general pain in the neck but he tries not to get too upset with her about it.

With Dani with an “i” fresh out of high school and Jazz’s birthday coming up soon, he wants to do something special. He spends a lot of time bribing Ghost Writer in order to research his idea out.

It’s probably the most time and effort he’s put into a project that wasn’t about space.

Proposing the idea to her is the one big thing this all hinges on. He’s not 100% sure she’ll be on board with this but he’d like to try.

And trying is what kicks off the first part of his plan. It’s a little awkward to bring up the fact that he doesn’t have a grave and would like one. It’s almost physically painful to see the grief it brings to Jazz’s eyes. She tries to hide it but Danny has always been able to read her better than he lets on. It’s part of the process though. He needs her to see how this goes and feels. How it’s a celebration of life and honoring those who have passed and not just a somber reminder to the living of what they’ve lost. He needs her to see what it means to him. And what it would mean to her soulmate.

He makes the grave marker of course. They’re not about to buy one when he has the strength and abilities to carve it out himself. He makes sure that it’s vague unless you know him. No names, no identifying markers like age or dates. It’s simple and meaningful for him.

{May he rest here between walks among the stars, our friend and brother beloved}

From there it’s pretty much all fun and games. Literally.

Same brings the games while she has Tucker pack out the food. It’s a combination of some of Grandma Ida’s homemade desserts and various junk foods. Even Tucker brings some cookies his mom helped him figure out how to make.

Jazz is in charge of the drinks while Danny and Dani handled all the decorating. It’s a combination of solidified ectoplasm, his ice, and various flowers they’ve gathered and strung together in a flower chain.

It’s a smashing success and he sees something in Jazz release. Some niggling worry or grief she carried that is no longer there.

Now, he decides, it’s time for part two.

What throws part two for a loop is when Dani with an “i” brings up that she’d like a grave and proper funeral rites as well.

It’s not a setback. Definitely not when he sees how much more relaxed and content Jazz is at Dani with an i’s wake.

It’s only a couple days from her birthday when he brings it up. The funeral practices for soulmates are as varied as they are sacred. He proposes her options via a PowerPoint he put far too many hours into.

By the time he finishes rambling, she’s got this sort of startled look on her face.

He twists his shirt in his hands as he stands awaiting her judgement. The longer she’s silent, the more convinced Danny is that she’ll reject the whole thing and not talk to him for a month.

Okay, maybe a week but still a week is a long time.

Suddenly Jazz is crying and oh ancients he’s really messed up this time. She’s not even mad just straight up upset by his offer.

But then she’s hugging him, telling him she loves him, and thanking him.

It’s not as hard as Danny feared to actually track down the location of a Jason Todd who died before Jazz reached 16 (she never wanted to look him up before, didn’t want to know what she was missing) and the day before her 25th birthday Danny, Dani, and Jazz all pile into her little car to make the drive to Gotham, homemade foods in tow.

Danny and Dani made sure to swipe one of Vlad’s special rich dude credit cards to fund their trip and the stop at multiple flower shops to get enough flowers to make flower chains and crowns for all of them.

It’s closing in on evening, the day of Jazz’s birthday when they finally roll up and upload everything. They didn’t bring any lights, but none of them really need much light to see for eating food and drinking sodas. Jazz brought some jasmine tea and an extra cup to place on Jason’s grave. They make a funky, dark evening of it, but finally Jazz grows more somber and keeps taking long looks at the gravestone so Danny and Dani decide to make themselves scarce.

They’re about halfway across the cemetery when out of the shadows steps the looming menace of Red Hood.

“The fuck are you doing at that grave?”

It’s not his voice or his tone, but the sub vocal ghost speak that makes Danny and Dani freeze up ramrod straight.

That’s a revenant and they’re trespassing on his resting place without permission.

So of course like any sane person, Danny says something stupid. But he just can’t believe out of all the ridiculous coincidences to exist in the world, that Jazz’s soulmate is undead like him seems just too far to believe.

“Jason?”

Almost late despite having the day off work bc I had to go shopping and bc of where I live, shopping is essentially a full day affair. This is shorter than I’d like it but I also kinda enjoy where it ends XD imagine their next moments however you please or feel free to add onto this.

[captain-n-crunchies]

Suki Pookie! 💕

Katsuki Bakugo x Bimbo reader

Katsuki Bakugo... a blond baddie with explosion powers and a itty bitty waist, with an attitude of a firecrack time 10000 nobody in Katsuki life thought he'll EVER find someone to love, to cherish, to care for for years to come... until you y/n!

Fresh from America and glowing brown skin showing off your latest hero designs you became U.A's hero design in training student. Moving from America to Japan wasn't easy with clothes and clothes packed in boxes tou couldn't move a giant leopard print high heel chair into that small ass dorm?? But a very talkie green haired boy, a girl with the face of Kirby with a bob and, a boy who refers to him as class president soon helps you move in and your designer life has been perfect!

// Firstly how did this glamorized girl with such beautiful hair and eyes ever came to romanticized a bad attitude having boy like Katsuki? Well after moving in and getting a internship you had got the first task of your career: Design 3 hero suits and sumbit them to the respective heros. Sounds easy looking at each new fist year you saw your very first guinea pigs; Ida, Monoma, and Bakugo. Ida was perfect after seeing his quick and grabbing some help from the tech teams you made a beautiful looking robot suit perfect for mobility, then Monoma has a copying quirk but has more of a regal asshole type behavior with some time periods research and grabbing his input you created him a very fine suit. Then Bakugo and as you remeber he was an pain in the ass...

FIRSTLY, he already had an design in mind which was terrible, the gauntlets were nice but it didn't have any practicality with how big they were, then the outfit was giving him enough arm area for him to move very restrictive like he wearing velcro, then he had the nerve to add a mask which is never cute on ANYTHING. Telling him his faults was like talking to a argumentative wall he wouldn't just listen but, after three long nights of making specialized gaulets, finding a cloth that would help him produce more sweat, and a mask design you made him hero costume which he didn't say he liked nor disliked. After your first task you fix up any things like Deku bunny ear thing which was totally a werid kink you think he has... and Momo having trouble with zippers, and bakugo came to you alot more when it came to updating his suit with miniscule things like a button.

So, after like literally months of him just coming g to me and making work more than I should we finally exchange numbers and instagrams! He doesn't have many follwers nor does he post but it's ok my page had enough room and after a few videos of us hanging out and posting my followers made us a ship name! It was sooo cute but he just scoff and said it wouldn't happen, such a liar.

Now headcanons!!

☆ So firstly it took months almost your whole first year to even get Suki poo to ever think of you in a non-friendly manner, like Izuku he just saw you as a friend maybe even a best friend until Mina and Kirishima told him every time you and him would talk hell talk more softer with you

" Doesn't mean anything pinky shes a fucking crybaby"

" Duh! You care about her feelings omg! KIRI ITS LIKE A SLOWBURN"

" Yeah bro! Talking to a girl nicely is very manly and- hey! Where he's going!"

☆ After that Suki started to think about his glittery friend a lot more, thinking about how kissing her would feel is your favorite snack place his favorite only because he like you getting those panda chocolate biscuit things? Does he find Choco cat kinda of cute because you said he's smart like him? His mind is always racing and eveytime you own your pretty mouth he just wants to bite your face off! In a cute way

☆ So when you two cuties do start to date its a very thick line of what pda he allow firstly no kissing or making out in public like your almost pro heros your reputation is always valuable, secondly no wrid ass nicknames ( the first time you called him Suki babes was infront of bakusquad and he almost exploded Sero from the face if the earth, he blushs and held your hand while he yelled at them so win-lose) and thrid, NO SAPPY LOVE STORIES TO HIS MOM: it just not cool for his bad boy persona.

☆ But Suki really chill beside a few bumb arguments when you feel like he thinks your stupid you two always make up example:

" You think I'm dumb huh!? I got a A+ in color theory!"

" What does that do in real life baby? Make sure the fashion police doesn't giveme ticket for wearing orange in winter?"

" THAT! AND the fact without color theory you in the summer wouldn't produce enough sweat for your firecrack special thingy!

" And your not bumb because only MY smart baby would know that"

So really he explains himself alot better to you because your very intoned emotionally.

☆ Suki really into petnames despite earlier setting he loves the sappy nicknames like suki babes, pookie, sukiies and anything over the top because it apart of your nature! He loves how you text with various emotions because he texts pretty bland and he loves cuddles alot even when it's hot he likes holding you. It really stems from the fact nobody but his friends couldn't truly give him a hug and his mom and dad the only one who really can get to him so having a partner really pushed his clingy nature up to 100000.9% He likes your American accent on some words in Japanese despite him speaking English clearly in an accent he likes to mock a southern accent if your from the south.

☆ Now onto the kinda of sad part, Suki can't really hear himself loudly because his explosion are pretty loud his hearing declines more and more, and you figured it out when you called for his name loudly from a room away and he never came til you had to closely come up to him so as his personal design you made hearing aids for him and his suit which helped a lot during missions. But once you told him about his hearing he got it check out, he had the hearing of a old man practically and out of that outcme he listens to your voice alot more just incase he won't hear it again

" And I told her I didn't have any diamonds but I had rhinestones and- are you even listening suki?"

"Mhm just like hearing yer voice, so didn't she take the diamonds"

" Oh! Well she didn't and then she asked again two days later! Like girl you know well you can rhinestones insted!"

☆ Anyways back to a little more happiness Suki bookie loves to cook for you since as your beastie he saw you had a terrible sweet tooth and you didn't always eat a healthy plate so every date he makes you a nice and hearty bowl of food and makes you eat it all, from healthy grains to irons and potassium, breakfast and dinner even he ruined your ice cream and made ypugurt bars! Which were good but still where is the artificial flavor On days he does training you like to make him bento box's Sanrio or his favorite TV show themed and he always keeps the little notes you put in his locker in a safe place incase he get a little lonely

☆ Suki when you first started dating was very quite, almost never really talking because he took relationship advice from his friends and he felt like his aggressive behavior would scare you until you sit him down and talk about his distance hell be more inclined to leave you alone making the relationship strain. SPEAKING OF FRIENDS, you are an official member of bakusquad your co-captain, first Lady, even the best member because he just proclaims you as such no matter what your always with bakusquad doing dumb shit (you usually record it) or despite his attitude towars him are with deku and his friends which he doesntlike how close you and shots got over a kid show but hey... ( he watched the show and he got so instred he has a tiny merchant area in his dorm)

☆ Katsuki parents are fashion designers so he knows a little bit about fashion wven though his first hero design wasn't great ge had a solid frame so any fashion dilemma you have is solved with him, he does not sugarcoat though if that shit is ulgy he says it with he FULL chest

" Ok! So what about denim skirt, green top and purple hate with a scarf-"

" Okay Demi Lovato "

..." ..Hoe don't play with me"

Like he doesn't even play with your hair either he's the only one who can look like a bum but you? HIS beautiful golden curly/loc baddie girlfriend in sweats when its a cute halter top you can wear? Even on days where you want to be a bump he makes you atleast accessorize a bit.

☆ lastly Suki is just your pintrest boyfriend, as I mentioned he doesn't really post only pics of you and repost of him and you and from your page to his people thought he was a stan page but no no that's is Katsuki Bakugo supporting HIS girl. Did I mention he's so possive whe he got kidnapped he was scared it would happen to you, he always his an eye on you and since you like to wander off hes always close behind to point he's your shadow and you couldn't want anything more; somebody flirts with you? BOOM 💣 He already scared them off and now your getting a pretzel, somebody dms you? BOOM 🔥 He got that blocked and reported and foe some reason banned from any shopping mall.

Overall suki pookie bear Bakugo is perfect and even though I personally didn't like him at one point I would date him simply for the hell of it!

[crownedinmarigolds]

Ida Obertus, Tzimisce, Pack Priest! For @chiss-ticism, who is an absolute legend with World of Darkness lore and always has the coolest ideas. Once again, thank you SO much for commissioning me and trusting me with your awesome stuff!!

[cupids-chamber]

𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒, Skipping meals, eating things not-so healthy, quick snacks and nothing really fulling.. all of these things were noticed by your partner… He was indefinitely worried about your health.. and before you knew it, he began packing your lunches, with utmost care he'd bake and cook dishes to your liking.. Maybe they weren't perfect, but it was all for you.. And he loved seeing that smile on your face as you'd eat his food.. He'd pack the lunches to be as aesthetic as possible.. Mainly because he liked the idea of you showing it off, that your partner takes care of you so well! He'd send sweet texts right before lunch and after, making sure you ate…

— TREY CLOVER, Vil Schoenheit, Deuce Spade, JACK HOWL, Azul Ashengrotto, Sebek Zigvolt, MAMMON, Simeon, Baizhu, KAVEH, Thoma, Wanderer/Scaramouche, TAMAKI SUOH, Izuku Midoriya, Tenya Ida , JAMIL VIPER

— taglist ♡ ; @dxmoness , @queerlordsimon , @ravenlking , @kyraxiyn , @felix1829 , @oepionie , @food-lover9000 , @prettyinblack231 , @novaloptr , @ay-chuu , @cookiesandcreamsupremacy , @ezool , @twistedchatterboxed , @minguirillodelpoder , @love-sicklesbian , @macadamiamangrove , @spadecentral , @anon-love-octa-trio , @taruruchi , @oheyfox , @rose-the-witch1 , @merotwst , @kaechannn , @serossidechick , @the-v-lociraptor

♡ Join my taglist here...

© cupids-chamber, do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[cabinetofquriosities]

Keep Me Warm

Agatha x Rio || Warnings: violence

Fic Playlist

(Listen along while reading)

Agatha walked back to a dilapidated cottage at the edge of the woods. The packed snow crunched underfoot, leaving red boot marks with every step. She had found herself in a situation where the witches she was going to drain had a normal mortal with them. So, for the sake of a clean escape, Agatha grabbed a knife and sliced her open in one swing.

She was much more used to draining people using magic alone. Killing by itself didn’t give her the pleasure when there was nothing for her to feed on. She left with blood on her skirts and shoes, dropping the knife in the snow as she set off to beat the sunset home.

While the ramshackle cottage wasn’t her home, given that she took it from an old crone with no manners, her love was. Rio would go off and do her job, somehow appearing in several places across the globe at one instant. She was always somewhere else, but managed to concentrate when she was with Agatha, allowing her projected selves to run off of habit.

She stripped down, finding that she was more frantic in getting the bloody clothes off of her. A shriveled corpse was different than one that bled. Stabbing was different from draining. It was less invasive in some ways, but more visceral. Her hands shook slightly when she saw the blood of the young woman.

“Agatha?”

Agatha heard the familiar voice and turned around. Rio was about to compliment her on the bodies she left behind, but saw that look on Agatha’s face.

There were times that Rio forgot humans had lines they didn’t like to cross. Killing someone with her own hands was Agatha’s. She had seen the bloody woman slumped on the floor, finding her spirit screaming in horror as she exited her body. She knew that Agatha had been brutal. Perhaps more brutal than she herself could handle. She took Agatha’s hands in hers, her own wide brown eyes fixed on hers. Not knowing what to say, she simply guided her to bed. She stripped down to her own underdress, both of them wearing sheer shifts.

She laid next to her, cupping Agatha’s cheek. Her thumb brushed over her bottom lip. She was silent for a while, knowing what a shock it was whenever she pried to know anything with Agatha. Instead, she let her have a safe spot to process.

Agatha’s breath grew shaky at the memory of the woman’s corpse, of her body lying in a puddle of blood. Then, after the woman woke up, still somehow alive. Agatha went at her again, tearing at her chest and abdomen with her knife.

Rio’s hand squeezing hers lifted her out of the memory. She looked at her with tears streaming down her face. Rio wiped them away, never breaking eye contact.

“I’m a monster,” she whispered, her blue eyes guilty like when she was a little girl.

Rio took a moment to think of how to respond.

“As am I,” Rio whispered back.

More tears slipped from Agatha’s eyes.

“You’re not a monster. You just… are,” she whispered to the celestial being, mesmerized for a moment by the way the moonlight filtered through the window and caressed her cheek.

“As are you,” Rio replied.

She leaned in and pressed her forehead to hers, breathing in the smell of wet Earth. Her hand rested on Rio’s hip.

“My love,” Agatha whispered.

Rio wrapped her arms around her and pulled her closer, nuzzling into her hair. She murmured words of love into Agatha’s ear, feeling her wife’s body relaxing in her embrace.

“My world,” Rio breathed.

Reblog if you like this story!

[therealslimshakespeare]

A Wedding & a Willy

Those Who Can - The Postwar Years

Summary: Cpt. Jack Brady’s freshly stateside wedding is understandably hectic, joyful and packs his childhood home to the gills with former Air Force buddies. But amongst the revelry and the guests are a few ghosts.

Cast of characters: so many characters and so many dynamics and so many storylines, this is my magnum opus of Avengers assemble style fic. And they all made it to the wedding because I said so. We’ve got- Bradys and Bucky Egan, Blakely, the Hamilton’s, the Crosbies, Lt. Macon, Lt. Glen Graham, Charles Cruikshank, Douglass, Maureen, Tilly Brady, Eugene Brady…and Rosie Rosenthal on the phone but don’t count him out, he’s devastating

Warnings: 18+ mature and distressing thematic material. beyond innuendo and wedding night jokes there’s nothing very current in this postwar fic that should be bothersome. HOWEVER— many different duos have many different discussions about past traumas, including miscarriage, war, ptsd, sexual abuse both male and female, some rifts between the victims, general angst

“Howard, dance with me.” Ida had a firm hold on the scruff of his uniform, smartly fitted and bedecked with polished buttons, Howard Hamilton cut a fine figure even though she had just drug him off the drainage pipe leading to the upstairs bedroom.

…The bedroom where Ida’s brother and his little wife had recently absconded after a very raucous leave-taking at the foot of the stairs. The wedding party had swamped the landing and it was by fortitude alone that Johnny picked up his bride and made a run through them. Ida had been loudest amongst the well wishing hecklers as the two, pink cheeked darlings rushed upstairs to seal the deal and taste what they’d waited five years for.

But while heckling, teasing and rice-wielding-gauntlets were one thing in his big sister’s book, climbing up the outside drainage pipe to play a practical joke on his pilot while said pilot what was practically engaged in a sacrament, was another thing.

And this Ida informed Hambone of with a fist in his jacket and a stern order to dance. His ideas were always far less amusing even to himself once sober, and she was saving him regret by her actions tonight.

“I’d be honored.” Hamilton swore as he allowed himself to be dragged back into the Brady family’s crowded house by the lady Colonel, casting backward glances at his abashed co-conspirators -Hoer, Tallulah, Murphy and Douglass- as they trailed behind.

Only the most looney among them were still strongly celebrating, it was late and the house had become a red hot furnace of merriment that reflected in the many paned windows of the rural New York dwelling. Couches had been pushed to the perimeter and every surface was littered with cake and wine, confetti strewing the floor and out back on the wooden deck, there were tiki lights hung and the gramophone in full projection and Ida placed Hambone's hand on her waist out there and began a spirited Lindy.

It was almost enough to keep Ida from remembering how thoroughly she’d cried as Johnny disappeared upstairs to begin his new life. She had proven shockingly sentimental today and she tried her hardest to dance it off. When Hambone begged off the fifth song, Ev Blakely took over but he was too kind in his conversation, too astute to her bubbling nostalgia and so she accepted Douglass’ butting in, if only to be sharply twirled and kept busy with inane chatter.

Bucky Egan meandered about the outskirts of the frivolity, one conversation after another, the festivities were beginning to blur and the drink in his hand had stayed oddly full. How many was this one? He didn’t know, but that was the wonderful thing about stateside peacetime -there was no shortages of booze. Even at a Catholic wedding. But even booze couldn’t keep the sinking, gnawing feeling of boredom away. Bride and groom were off, most other guests were departing and the few who weren’t he didn’t doubt intended to crash on the couches or on the rugs. The Hamilton’s had been given the the office bedroom and Lieutenant Macon the guest room, for reason of being the bride’s cousin. Eugene Brady was bunked with some Air Force bandmate and Ev Blakely was already asleep on the nearest couch by the time of Ida’s third jive with Douglass.

Bucky should have asked her to dance, but he was drunk and she wasn’t fond of him that way and he was tired, too. Not fit for driving and not seeing much purpose in hauling off when Brady had specifically asked for him to be at breakfast tomorrow.

So, John decided to make himself at home.

It felt right, in a curious, childlike sort of way, to help himself up the stairs while everyone below was too spastic or sleepy to notice him slinking away. He climbed the stairs and passed the framed photographs of Mr and Mrs Brady, of Ida and Johnny and Eugene at graduation and also as cherubic little children. At the top of the landing he looked down at the party, happy havoc proving a testament to a good day. He paused on the landing and hazarded a guess regarding which door would be Ida’s blessedly empty room. Straight in front of him was a large door and with indefensible surety he assumed it belonged to their parent. He tiptoed past and down the darkened hall, staying on the carpeted runner to muffle the floorboard’s squeak. On his left was dark and silent, to his right a door with a chunk of light showing through. From further down the hall, at the very end by the bathroom came sounds of stumbling and furniture being abused and rearranged.

There were also…giggles.

Egan grinned to himself and whispered a fond commendation for Jack Brady before choosing the right door, bravely turning the knob and entering the cool, empty space.

The electric light flipped on at his batting touch and he was met with the sight of organza curtains and a patchwork quilt, a pastel painted desk and plush violet colored carpet. It reeked of feminine adolescence and was so very foreign to Ida as he knew her that his fingers tingled in anticipation of learning this part of her.

Seashells hung from ribbons on the wall, a poster advertising for a boating tour of the Miami Everglades, sheet music in a basket by the bed, her trombone case leaning against a very full bookcase. Classics mainly, a little history and some science, three large volumes on something called “baroque.” Her flight jacket was hung on a knob of the hat stand, a wide brimmed plum stained straw hat, too, and a silk scarf. He crossed the threshold to it and lifted the scarf in his palm, bringing it to his nose and breathing deeply.

It smelled like a man. Cologne, perhaps whisky, musk for sure. Crestfallen, Egan dropped the silk and spun ‘round to take in the rest of the room. Her dress from the rehearsal was lying on the bed, crumpled, worn, probably in need of washing from the heat. He was suddenly very hot himself and he tore off his already unbuttoned jacket and hung it on the peg next to her flight jacket. He wasn’t fit to drive, he insisted to himself, as he tugged off his boots and set them beside her pair of white heeled sandals.

He staggered to the bed and plopped himself face down in the counterpane, crushing the worn dress beneath him. This smelled of Ida, her sweat and her familiarity. She wouldn’t mind, she would understand -Brady wanted him for breakfast and he was too drunk to drive.

——

There was humorous endearment in the task of putting grown men to bed, Ida oversaw to it cheerfully despite sporting a limp from a blister on her heel worse than any she’d gotten on that forced march. It was worth it to clear glasses from an accidental spill onto the carpets in the middle of the night or an elbow into an eye, an offending socked foot into a nose. She had expected a crash of sorts after the festivities and the blankets were piled at the ready in the music room. She got her hands kissed about a dozen times by a dozen men as she draped the covers over where they’d collapsed and wished them a good night. It was closer to three in the morning but the sentiment stood.

Flicking off the last light after the Hamilton’s had made it to the guest room, Ida ascended the stairs, bone tired and genuinely pleased. The sudden stillness in the house was a little jarring, but if she listened closely there were snores below, and upon the upstairs landing she might discern far down the hall the sounds of activities far more indiscreet. Mildly disgusted, she hastened to her room and found the door adjar, lights ablaze, bed occupied.

Bucky.

Feet hanging off the end and his tie still choking him, his red and sweaty face was buried in the fabric of her recently tailored dress suit, navy wool and sensibly cut, she’d still been cat-called while crossing the street in it and she found she didn’t mind that, glad the camp hadn’t taken the charm of her legs, too.

Making a grimace tinged with dogged fondness, Ida closed the door behind her and sat down on the bed, tugging off her offending high heels. Little white sling backs, and there were terrible red welts along her feet from the straps. “Bucky?” she tried in a normal voice, fiddling with the zipper at the nape of her neck, her curls back there sweaty and thick.

He didn’t even twitch. “Bucky.” she insisted with a hand to his shoulder, trying to jar him awake with a shake. The space between his brows creased mournfully and a twitch of his hand balled it into a fist. He mumbled something and from his expression alone she knew he was incorporating her motions into his nightmare. “Hush sweet man.” she sighed, defeated, and bent over him instead, pressing a kiss to his damp temple.

The crease between his brows smoothed. Apparently they’d be bunking together tonight. She envied his ability to sleep at all, weary as she was she didn’t expect it. Not after all the excitement, not now with all the quiet. She let her fingers find the knot of his tie, pushing his face away so she might undo it, popping the top buttons of his collar lest he hang himself in the night.

Ida rose and undid her dress while facing her sleeping friend, having a deep seated conviction that were she to turn her back, some inherent masculine sensor of Egan’s would detect a stripping woman and rouse him to watch, just when she needed him lights out.

Pared down to her slip, Ida left her nightly routine at that, tossing her dress over the chair before repenting of such slovenly, peacetime carelessness and hanging it instead on the hat rack.

His scarf still hung there. Ida glanced back at Egan’s snoring face and, feeling safe, she lifted the silk and buried her face in it, breathing him in. That cemented it, the urge. It was inevitable but perhaps if Bucky had woken she might have proven to herself she could go a solitary night without it. Without him.

Ida isn’t sure when it came to this, curled up on the carpet by the window, phone cord dragging off the side table and entangling with the lamp wires, making sense of her day to him. When had it become a common, daily thing? It is troubling that his hums and murmurs are required for her to process normality, it is comforting to hear him answer, warm, just a hint of tired huskiness:

“Hello?”

“Hello you.” She’ll answer back each time and then he’ll say it: Robert will say her name and it’ll sound so warm and carmelly and relieved like he’s been waiting all day for this, too.

She doesn’t dare hope he has. “How was it?” He asks this time and he’s so jovial that a grin breaks out again over her weary smile lines; she’s been smiling so much today and ought to be pillowed and asleep. But dusty violet though the sky has gotten, she is awake and unsurprised.

“It was perfectly bonkers.” She replies honestly, “And they’re disgustingly happy and everyone else too, cooperative to the last and it couldn’t have been sweeter.” She processes it all as she tells him, and a satisfaction seeps in for today's goodness that wasn’t fully her’s until she relayed it to Robert.

Concerning. But then he’s humming happily on the other end, a buzz of warm static that she feels in her toes, “As it should be.” he sounds as satisfied as she feels, “Not a hitch?“

“Not a one. Except we’re all very hot.”

Another hum, this one pragmatically soothing, “To be expected in August. If they weren’t so loved there’d be less people and you could've held it indoors.” Ida nods to that, unheeding of the motion going unregistered on the other end, “Besides, they won’t need clothes for the job.” Robert’s joke lands so perfectly from the beyond that Ida is snorting before she can even think to chastise.

“They were very eager for that part.” she is afraid she’s giggling but then, he sounds close as well and Johnny had been very fidgety all day and his Tilly even worse. And now, down the hall, someone else, or two someones, sound very awake to keep her company at dawn, busy at being married. She blushes for them and it’s worsened by his voice come again:

“And you? Have fun?” Robert prods, not questioning her sleeplessness, she might ask him the same if they were new to this routine.

They are not.

“Very hard to see him off.” she admits, again, a revelation even to herself and then wants to snort at herself for being dramatic, he is not so far away down the hall making a holy racket of his new liberties, “I’m going to miss it, it being just us and Gene. First chink in the family. I know all the sayings about marriage being an addition to families and such- but I feel like I’ve lost him a little. But he’s very happy. You know how I like Tilly.”

“Yes, said you liked her ‘tremendously.’ Which is good, you’re gonna be related for a while.”

“She’ll be good for him. They’re horridly happy.” she emphasizes and her smile comes through, reaches him all the way in NYC and his own replies;

“Wish I could say the same.” he affects glumness, she knows it is an offered out and she takes it:

“Why? The hot jazz not so hot?”

They have a long-standing insult between them, big city versus upstate, they had been very stubborn about it while away in England. Now making an intimate go of being at home, they are both sleepless and melancholy in their once defended utopias.

“Nah, it’s good, it’s just me. I’m off. It’s just noisy without -“ Robert pauses and Ida is intrigued, he so rarely fumbles near her these days.

“Without?”

“Friends, I guess.” He decides and Ida wonders if she counts. “All my dance partners want to talk about what happened over there, and all their mothers want to talk about my practice. And the truth is, I can’t remember my clients names as it’s boring as hell in comparison, and over there is -I just want to dance. And I keep thinking about whether you’d like the arrangements. I’ve even thought about Johnny there, ya know?”

Dangerous, concerning, her cheeks are blushing for herself now. “You’ll have Croz there soon.”

“We really should get you into the city, Ida.” whenever Robert ignores her segues, whenever he says her name, she finds her throat dry. He is persistent tonight and her eyes have already shed a tear over the happy domesticity of her married-off brother, she's pliable and foolish, and he wants to dance with her in the big apple.

“I danced with Hambone tonight.” she tells him instead, fingers dancing over the cord, a squeaky and nervous motion but her tone grows in humor, “It was the only way to keep him from practical jokes after the happy couple had gone upstairs.”

“God! Wish I’d been there.”

“If it wasn’t him it was Dougie.” she lamented, recalling the rounds around the dance floor and wiggling her poor toes even now in chagrin, “I had hoped the presence of Mrs. Hamilton might have tamed him but I have been disappointed. She’s magnificently rabid.”

“What a relief.” Rosie rebutted, “Gives me a cold sweat to think of that man with a sweet little thing.”

“Good point.”

“How’s your go at it’?” Robert’s voice turns to teasing and she braces, he’s lethal at it and she is laid out on the carpet now, fancy dress cast aside and only in her slip as the room lightens, cold dawn breeze ruffling her curtains and she allows a hand between her breasts, to steady her heart, to imagine it is his. Bucky is snoring away in the bed above her, she fiddles with the dust ruffle.

“At what?” she’s gone raspy, too.

“At being a sweet little thing.”

The hand on her chest clenches and her belly, ever curious and bewildered when hearing him, follows suit. Down the hall there are giggles, something that sounds very like muffled begging, and Ida presses her face towards the window and its cooling breeze, “I’ll be lost when they all leave.” she admits, having felt very much a part of it all despite the frilly dresses and pinned boutonnieres and cloying flower sprays; the boys of the 418th and some from the 100th at large had been in town, packed into the Brady’s house for the wedding. While they were here she was still a Colonel, even if she was a colonel who liked to dance. “They’re pushing me out, you know that, right? It’s settled, just waiting for the discharge.”

There’s a lump in her throat and it’s pitiful to be so sad about it when she’d foreseen it for ages. But it’s more than ungrateful, for the upper brass to force her out after all the time she’s served. It’s worse as she’s given up all other life for it. She had no recourse and yet, not dead or even married, she is cut loose.

“I know.” Robert is angrier over it than she is, had fought harder against it than she could. It allows her room to feel the hurt of it. Concerning, unfortunate. “Come to the city. You might like the law.”

She’d be under him there.

It jars her, being a novice at something. She’d be under him, and at the cost of it she’d been near him and his smile at all times and then he’d find a blonde little secretary and marry her and Ida would be at yet another wedding and she’d be clapping at the foot of the stairs again as the handsome groom carried his bride up to bliss and Ida would have sore feet from dancing with Pappy too long and when the day ended she would have no one to call. Robert would be a married man, abed with his wife, not coming in to work for ten days, she’d have his case files and he’d have someone fit to love him.

“I’ll think about it.” she lies, but it is nice to keep one’s options open when faced with a life of rural placitude and spinsterly church duties.

“What did they decide on for the cake?”

Robert remembers everything, he remembers the debate between carrot and lemon. Even, she supposes, the way she sounds when she lies under oath but instead he asks about cake. He’s good for her, to her -concerning, dangerous.

“Lemon.” She informs him, her tone carrying the weight of that final decision.

“Do -do I hear snoring?” He asks suddenly, incredulous humor in his voice.

“Ah, that would be Major Egan.” She glances back at her bed and his sprawled form in the pale dark, “This place is crawling, bunked two a’piece to the couches downstairs.”

“They’re just stayin’ to haze the newlyweds before they leave for the honeymoon.” Rosie was laughing on the other end, the silliest sound in the world.

“They’ll have a new couple to plague next week.”

“Ah, yes, Major Cleven and Lt. Kendeigh.”

“Yes.” Ida is not sure why Gale Cleven did not manage to come to this wedding, or why beyond being busy with a honeymoon, her brother will not be attending his. There is a discreet intentionality about this remiss behavior that Ida and even Bucky have not dared inquire about, even as the rest of the guests lamented their absence, well meaning and ignorant. Ida supposes that when two men share a secret of a nature they do, an experience and a crime, it is not wise to continue the closeness their captivity once enforced. Perhaps instead of a show of solidarity to appear at each other's nuptials, it would instead be an unkind reminder of how unfit they were for such a peacetime endeavor. Ida wondered, in that case, who she should expect to not show at her own wedding were she to marry, by the logic of Johnny and Gale, that would be her own brother and Bucky and Rosie and Maureen and Smith and-. Ah silly men. They didn’t handle such things well, Ida decided then, only to snort at herself again, as Johnny was the one moving on and marrying and she was the one turning to an icesickle at a crowd of men. Perhaps she wasn’t moving on well at all—

“Where’d you go off to?” Rosie’s voice woke her.

“Mm, just-“ Ida shook herself, “Thinking of getting to heckle Maureen next week.”

“I have a feeling Buck may have accounted for that.” Rosie sounds smug and in the know and Ida does not doubt him, “You are going, aren’t you?“

“Of course.” she defends, “It’s Maureen! It’s Buck!”

“Right, right of course.”

“Aren’t you?” she hates the urgency that question hides.

“Yeah, for sure.” she thinks she tastes him playing at cool, but sure enough he adds an addendum that turns her into a puddle, “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you at it for weeks.”

There’s barely been many “weeks” since they knew a wedding was on at all. But she does not argue.

“I should sleep.” She realizes.

“Yeah.” he agrees, “Well, good night Ida.”

It is light here now. “Good night, Robert.”

Ida climbs into her crowded bed, tugging the comforter from under Egan’s feet as best she can before slotting herself around him, arms over his chest and his back bowed to her belly. He responds like a house cat and curls in, shrinking himself to her big spoon and moaning something childlike and content as his hand reaches to hold hers in a firm lock over his chest.

Today, like most of her mornings, Ida is confirmed in her suspicion that she slept at all only by the fact she catches herself awakening. There is a furnace plied to the front of her that is clammy and broad, groggily Ida registers in disgust that between the heatwave pouring through the opened window and Egan’s natural temperature, she is actually wet from sweat. And yet, in perfect keeping with his nature, Bucky has not moved an inch from her and retains his grip on her forearm like she were some bouy for his dreams. Except, she feels the calloused pads of his fingers swirling up her forearm, up and back down, featherlight little paisleys and circles and mindless shapes that he is tracing, endlessly, as his other hand keeps her tethered to him.

“Bucky,” she accuses because he is awake and they are drenched and she firmly believes that upon waking he should’ve had the good sense to extricate himself for both hygiene’s sake and also their reputations, “you’re awake.”

There is a very thick and gross sounding snort beside her, morning stuffiness and hangover sludge stuck in his throat, “M’not.” he inelegantly protests and his voice is terribly thick and oddly weak.

Ida pulls at her arm but he won’t let it go, she tries to sit up, pry it out, “Ok funny guy, come on, let go, I’m supposed to start breakfast ahead of everyone waking up and-“ she yanks again but he just keeps hold and rolls her hand under himself a little more, effectively burying his face in the pillow as she strains to see his face over his massive shoulder “-and my mother is already convinced we’re secretly engaged.” It’s so preposterous she laughs but either his headache is too bad or something else, as he does not join in, “Bucky I need you up before someone sees.” she tries pleading this time, unsure of what mood she’s caught him in but desperate to get him into the hall before taunts can be made by any guests.

There is another thick gurgle buried into the pillow and a rough snort. The shoulder beneath her hand shudders.

That gives Ida pause. “Bucky,” she stops her attempts to pull away and instead exerts more effort in turning him over, out of the smothering pillow, closer and to face her, “Bucky are you crying?” it’s no accusation, only he would have a sob so ungainly it could be mistaken for hacking up a lugy.

“M’not.” Comes out after moments of silence and repeated prods by Ida. And he is most definitely crying.

Not wishing to jump to conclusions -there are, after all, an absolute endless supply of genuinely good reasons to cry- Ida simply stops her struggling and tries to temper her anxiety about their being caught with whatever tenderness he may need right now. Perhaps he’s crying over Johnny or even Buck’s impending nuptials, perhaps he sees in her what he will be in a week’s time: surplus love. Or maybe he is crying over his dreams. Or maybe his head is spectacularly throbbing. There are so many things, and Ida knows well enough that the man responds best to gentleness, however tenaciously he seeks out rough usage.

She manages to get her arm back, only because he is now so intent on hiding his face. She uses her liberated hand to thumb at his face, smudging tear tracks she was in no doubt were there. “Want to talk about it?” she offers even though he rarely takes her up on the offer, she owes it to him for how often he has made her speak of unspeakable things.

There is a stubborn silence in which she can hear his labored breaths practically repeating that he is not, in fact, weeping into her pillow mid morning on a Saturday in Victor, New York. She pats his arm -suit yourself- and pulls away to begin her day. She lights a cigarette, not having fully quit the filthy habit since camp, and grabs a pair of slacks and a shirt from the closet, needing a shower after his embrace.

“You kept your baby doll.” his voice comes muffled and stuffy from the bed, she glances over and sees he has barely moved, only turned on his side to stare at the threadbare doll propped on her bookcase.

“That’s Minnie.” she introduces them with a grin, “Don’t sound so shocked Major, I’d have thought you’ve been in enough boudoirs to know that plenty of women keep their dolls.”

Bucky keeps staring at Minnie morosely, not laughing at her tease. “Did you keep it for your daughter?” he asks.

Sometimes John Egan reminds Ida of a callously curious child, his sympathy sometimes as wounding as his barbs. She refuses to read into it, he is hungover and he is confused by her childish relic; she keeps pace in her routine and replies with honesty, “I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Well I do.” he mutters instantly, bitterly, accusingly.

“Beg pardon?” she cautions him.

“I think about your baby all the damn time.” he turns around in the sheets then, sits himself up in her bed, eyes raw and dangerous.

The frog from Egan’s throat now takes up residence in Ida’s, she thinks she might choke on her own breath. “Why-“ panicked, her chest begins to shutter, ears ringing, hands cold. Why would he say that? “Bucky!” she'd have taken a stab in the heart over this, why would he- “Why would you say that?” she begs hoarsely, forced to sit beside him on the bed as her legs are no longer steady.

“You really don’t?” he begs in turn, looking as wretched as she feels.

“I-I-“ Ida digs her fingernails into her thigh, willing the cacophony in her head to cease, to get a grip back on the lid of that tiny coffin, “I’m not doing this. Not this morning, not when I’ve got breakfast to make for a household of people and -my brother just got married, Egan! Is this really the time to bring it up? They’re going to make jokes about you being in here! God’s sake -can’t you possess a modicum of sensitivity.”

It’s not a question. It’s an insult and he takes it on the chin. He knows that his own question -asking if she even recalls her dead child- was one of his own. That doesn’t prevent one last building tear to slip the dam and join the mess on his cheeks, because his heart is nothing if not on the opposing team.

It does earn him a sigh from Ida and a very hoarse, “Or course I think of- of course, I do, you bastard.”

“Her.” he pronounces forcefully, he was looking back at the doll, “You should think of her. You know, it was always a girl in my dreams, had so many dreams about her and when we wrapped her up, it was a girl, Ida.”

Ida knew that, Johnny had told her after she’d insisted on knowing. “I know.” she muttered, placing her hand over his on his large thigh, crumpled slacks and red knuckles, “And I know you loved her.”

More than Ida did, goes unsaid. More than Ida could, is perhaps the more honest essence of it all. “I was gonna take such good care of you both.” he swore, looking for all the world like he was right back in camp with Ida’s swelling belly and filling chest beneath her layers making him grow more and more insistent and reckless to save her. “We were gonna get out and I was gonna take care of you. I was gonna manage it, I know you didn’t think i could but we were so close to pulling it off when- I was going to make it happen, Ida, and any future I planned for was always us three.”

She’d have been so loved, that poor lost child, she’d have thought Bucky her father. And in her wildest moments of foolish hope, Ida had imagined them as a trio, too. Camped out in the Polish wilderness, eating fish and berries and teaching her babe how to speak two languages, with never a clue how the war turned out. Ida knew this dream was the intellectual property of Bucky’s own zealously fabricated reality, she knew it and she had long ago left it behind. Maybe when the stalag burned and the grave was lost. Maybe when her brother didn’t offer condolences for a loss they’d both secretly hoped for, even if they prayed for forgiveness right after.

“Someday, you’re going to make someone a wonderful father.” Ida told him now.

“Can’t seem to plan anything else.” he shook his head , “That’s- I know it’s been ages but every dream about after the war had always been us. Mornings like this, you and me and sunshine coming through the windows just like this- and her between us.”

Ida watched his fingers fiddle from underneath her own until he was clasping hers and rubbing a thumb along her knuckles. “It’s a sweet dream, Bucky.” And that’s what it had to stay, a dream, a contingency plan never enacted. “We wouldn’t work now, you know we’d be a mess, we can’t get that back, it-“

“-Don’t worry, I’m not about to propose.” he huffed a laugh, turning fully to her for the first time and giving her a genuinely wide smile, freckles crinkling in his cheeks.

“I didn’t think you were!” she was flustered at the mere concept, despite talks of living ever after together with her daughter from too many fathers. “I’m just saying, now we’re here, we must go forward.”

“Yeah.” he smacked his lips, eyes flitting over her face, before his brows creased again, “What did you name her?”

Ida felt her heart break again, he was like a dog with a bone. She let her spine go lax and fell back into the covers, listless. “I didn’t even -I never let myself.”

Bucky just nodded, understanding. Even back then he understood. More than anyone maybe.

“It’s just as well,” she cleared her throat noisily, “I’d have named her Johnny. And she wouldn’t have stood a chance at being popular with that name.”

He barked out a laugh before his face fell sober. “Really?” he sounded almost scared.

Ida recognized it as that most fragile of things: hope. “Yes.” she swore, realizing she would have.

“For -for your brother.” he clarified, in check, reigned in.

“For the overabundance of John’s that God threw my way when I needed them most”

Egan’s cheeks went pink, his nose again too, and that likely heralded more tears but at least he was smiling, a shy, happy, satisfied smile. Her heart had never felt more broken and raw than it did lying on her childhood bed, naming her babe a year and a half after she’d lost her. Oh she’d have to have a word with Minnie for starting this all, but for now, she lay there and let the exhaustion of acceptance take over.

Carefully he laid down beside, on his side, cheek propped on a palm, looking down at her. “Well,” he drug it out in a huff that sagged him nearer, she lay there and wondered when or if she’d need to raise a hand and push him back, “I’ll tell you what I’d like to do for one day. This day.” he specified. “Will you give me that?”

“What?” she was too wary to promise Egan anything but the alarm in her eyes warred with the mirth on her lips.

“I wanna make breakfast with you,” he stipulated, laying one finger down on her arm, the next followed, “wanna ask Johnny if those tips I gave him worked as well as they shoulda-“

“-Bucky you didn’t?!”

“and I wanna -course I did doll, didn’t want him making a hash of that poor girl, we’re counting on him to break the baby tie- and I want you to promise that you’ll think about, really think- about trying the law.”

Ida snapped upright, turning on him aghast, “You were asleep! How did you-“

Egan just grinned. “I was.” He insisted, “But I don’t see any other scarves in here.”

Ida’s eyes raked over to the hatstand and Rosie’s white dotted momento. “That’s- that's not...” she groaned, “He gave it to me after I buzzed the tower. You remember?”

“I remember.”

“Stop smirking like that, it was my last mission, too. Last one ever, it seems likely now.”

“All the more reason to go to New York.”

“I’m not ready for that.”

“Kicking ass? I’d say you’re havin’ withdrawls, more like, Miss Brady.” Egan cheesed back up at her, tugging her shoulder until she fell back beside him one more time.

There were footsteps in the hall and a general hum of awakening guests. “All of it.” she settled for, because if they were being honest, New York would be far more than just the law. And Egan deserved to know that. “I’m not ready.”

Egan’s firm hand reached up from her shoulder and she felt rough knuckles against her cheek, along with the creeping closeness of him closing in, eyes sharp with purpose as the tickle of a mustache brushed against her face. He’d just clipped the corner of her lips. “I think you are.” he said as he pulled away. “Nothing to do but go on, right?”

Oh he was always so very good. It deserved a repayment somehow but she didn’t know how, so she lay there and patted his back, thinking of Buck’s wedding next week. She’d make him dance with her.

“How many eggs we crackin’ for this madhouse?” he asked, jerking his head at the door.

“Thirty nine.” she grinned back.

“Then let’s get on ‘em.” he rose and extended his hand to haul her up.

“I’ll let you know I’m very rigorous about eggshells.” she warned in a giggle.

“These hands?” he raised those massive appendages of his, wiggling his fingers like he were smashing out a piano concerto, “Made for dainty work.”

“Mm, sure.”

“Well,” he tucked his rumpled shirt back in with offended dignity, “I taught your wiggly fingered brother a thing or two in preparation yesterday morning-“

“-Bucky!” Ida swatted at him with her towel as they ventured into the hall.

“I did!”

“Of course you did.” they were vying for who could reach the shower at the end of the hall first, competitive shoulders bumping into framed photographs on the walls.

“Ten bucks says the little girl is smiling this morning.” he bet, “And that’s me she has to thank.”

“Don’t you dare-“

“I’m gonna ask him.”

“Bucky!”

“I’m gonna!”

“Keep your voice down!” they were right next door to the love birds now, an unavoidable consequence of the bathroom’s proximity to Johnny’s old room.

“I’m gonna.”

In the end, as the challenge to beat her to the bathmat was all he had really wanted, Bucky stepped aside and allowed Ida first dibs on the shower. She was as efficient as their army days and before ten minutes were up the door was opening again and she was coming out in a slightly steamy haze that smelled wonderfully minty. She was wearing slacks, a shirt tied up for she had not filled out again despite her mother’s cooking, and one of those fancy little head scarves that made her dark curls tuck round under her ears in a way Bucky often thought he’d like to arrange his own if he were a girl.

“Don’t let anyone crack my eggs, I’ll be right down.” he threatened as he took his turn.

“Alright, alright.” she rolled her eyes.

He had been home, home to Ma and let his sisters fuss and cook for him, he’d showered in Ma’s house and he’d slept in a bed he had once tossed in as boy -none of it felt quite this domestic somehow. Hot water, eggs to whisk, an olive green tub and the Brady kids’ sensible soaps, such is what peacetime was made of. Maybe it was Eugene’s razor, or one of Johnny’s forgotten ones, lying on the tub side, but Egan snagged it for some maintenance on the neck hairs and five o’clock shadow in the fogged mirror. He should have premeditated his crash here, he should have brought an overnight kit. But there was a spontaneous courage required for crashing on Ida’s bed and he hadn’t wanted to screw it up by being sensible and having a spare change.

Bucky wrapped the towel securly around his hips and flung his crumpled slacks and damp shirt over his arm, determining to seek out an iron before everyone heckled the living fuck out of his old drunken habits coming back to the fore. Couldn’t do that to Ida, he did have some sensibility, despite what she may have thought.

Upon opening the door, however, he was greeted by something far more pressing than hecklers and indeed, at least in his mind, something far more salacious than the drunken crashing into a friend's bedroom or roaming the halls in nothing but a towel: it was the newlyweds, caught betwixt their door and his with their goal no doubt the far off stair landing.

“Well, look who finally woke to the land of the living.” he clapped at the door frame, mouth wide in a guffaw.

Both of the young darlings looked like little cast ashore fishes, mouths open and eyes unblinking. Ah yes, he was a little scant on the clothing but, hell -he’d practically gotten to hear the girl’s cherry get popped, goddamn Catholics and their brazen prudery.

Sweet, freshly minted Tilly Brady belatedly let out a gasping little “oh Major!” at his naked state in a voice that suggested she was somehow to blame for catching him this way, before wheeling round to flee in embarrassment only to smack into her blushing groom’s chest. That proximity seemed to send another shudder through the poor thing which inspired Brady to soothingly lift his own arm and scoot her back under it into their room with a gentle press between the shoulder blades. A goddamn natural, that one, Bucky rocked back on his heels in pride.

“Major?” there was that tone again, asking what the damn score was, somber owl eyes with a flicker of something akin to devine rage in them. Oh, he was pissed.

“Need an iron,” Bucky gesticulated to his slacks, “there an iron in this joint?”

“Allow me,” Brady gritted out, hand outstretched, thoroughly unamused or maybe that scowl was just for show.

“Aww now, hell Johnny-“

“-no, really. Anything so long as it puts you back in clothes, you ape!”

“Now, now, not like you to be sensitive about somethin’ like chest hair, boy.” Egan slung the slacks out of the young groom’s reach, “Marriage makin’ you vain?”

“You’re embarrassing Tilly!” Brady hissed, always angry for someone else’s good cause and that’s why Egan found him to be a dear old thing.

“Well if she’s that skittish, how did she ever survive what you did to her last night?” he barked another laugh.

Johnny went beet red against his pale blue sweater but his mouth wavered into something like a sheepish smile.

“Tell me Johnny,” Egan leaned closer to him in the empty hall, “which one did it for her? This one?” he crooked his fingers in a suggestive gesture, “or this one?” he made a somehow even lewder one.

Brady suddenly began to cough, choked up on his own spit at the sight of the well rehearsed crook of the digits and the minty shower steam still swirling around them. “Knew it.” Egan grinned, slapping Brady on the back, “Good man.” and sauntered back down the hall to Ida’s room feeling a few inches taller. And whistling.

Damn the slacks. He had thirty nine eggs to crack.

Breakfast was a raucous affair, jubilant and perhaps the first time Ida felt that home was truly as it should be despite her late father’s absence. That morning, with a crowd of friends around the table and hanging off the couches and sat on the steps with precariously balanced plates and tumblers full of orange juice, the morning held a jubilant chaos that was absent of the melancholy nostalgia of the ceremonial day before. Bucky was not deft in his egg cracking as promised, but Jean Crosby was a genius at fishing out shell fragments, and he redeemed himself when it came time to whisk the gigantic bowl together.

“There’s no way you’ve got a pan big enough for all that.” Graham took great interest in the breakfast plans, and he held his tongue until it was time to cook up the mess. But his doubt was unfounded, and it did not take into account the sheer amount of potlucks Mrs. Brady had supplied in her time. The skillet Ida hauled out from under the stove was large enough to kill a man with one blow.

“I think you’ll find we do.” she grinned at her erstwhile copilot and he conceded with a wondrous look of awe at the cast iron monstrosity.

No amount of ribbing or cajoling at breakfast could extract from Johnny the intended destination for the honeymoon. Ida was well aware it was somewhere cozy, modest and utterly private in the Adirondack Mountains. She had been presented with two different brochures for two different cabins by her brother, and she didn’t need to ask to know the purpose of it. She had chosen the smaller of the two because it had a river in back, rather like the creek here at home, and Johnny had agreed that was his inclination, too. This morning he met her eye over sausages, not a warning or pleading look as he never doubted her discretion, but a small smug smile that filled Ida with a little ripple of happiness at their shared secret, that she had been his trusted advisor, one last time, in the middle of all these nosy little bastards.

Someone was trying to make a euphemism about how Tilly liked her eggs -scrambled, apparently. There was a great deal of emphasis put on the word scrambled, as if that somehow translated to something else, and Ida was about to shut that line of humor down, for her sister-in-law’s sake, when Jim Douglass and Harry Crosby burst in the front door, having taken their breakfast with Stevie out to the front steps to watch the horses. They informed them all in an unmistakably excited cheer that Buck Cleven and Maureen Kendeigh were coming up the drive.

“Driving seperate cars.” Douglass elaborated amongst the frenzy, “One’s a goddamn Willy.”

“Buck? Candy? -And a Jeep?” a repetitious chorus of surprise and happiness broke out as various men -and their children and wives- sprang from their seats and rushed out front.

It left Bucky and Ida and Tilly, and Johnny, with Mama, alone at the table, exchanging a series of wordless and half misinterpreted glances of communication about why Buck Cleven would show up now after having intentionally kept away from the big day. Of course Mama, like the rest of the men, didn’t know even the first bit about it. Ida wasn’t sure Tilly knew much either, if anything regarding the shared history there, and both she and Bucky were somewhat in the dark themselves, except for a vaguely ominous concern felt about the two men’s relationship. Truly, only Johnny knew what on earth was going on between himself and Cleven since liberation, and as he had been as reticent as usual, no one knew what he thought about the no-show, or if it had even been something agreed-upon amicably.

“A jeep.” the groom himself finally spoke up, a wry grin on his face and nudged Tilly until she giggled and it broke the tense silence. “Well come on, you gotta meet the legends.” he told his new wife and stood up himself, a cue for Ida and Bucky to follow.

Mama fussed around the table. “I’ll be right out, I’m just going to out covers on these-“

Bucky seemed to shake himself and turned to the door abruptly, striding out to see his friends, leaving Ida loitering back as Johnny pulled Tilly's chair out for her. She must’ve been wearing some sort of face because as her brother passed her, he sent her an exasperated look of reproof. Guiltily, Ida cleared her face of all perturbed speculation and followed the new couple out to the drive where Cleven was already in the thick of shaking hands while Maureen was alighting from the prettiest little civilian Jeep you ever did.

“Johnny!” Maureen cried over everyone's heads, vantage point gained from standing on the running boards, “Congratulations, foxy! Don’t you two look pretty in blushes? Well come on, do you like your present?”

She was gesturing in a showman’s arc to the Willy Jeep in question and Tilly glanced up at her new husband in bewilderment, trying to gauge by his expression if this was all some grand practical joke.

Apparently Gale Cleven didn’t joke much because Johnny stared at him in shock which only confirmed the gift as genuine. “Th-that’s your gift?” he did clarify, eyes skittering back to Maureen before taking his turn at shaking the Major’s hand.

“Yup.” Gale grinned back, gentle and mildly smug, “Part of a grand plan by Ida to keep you in the country. This thing could ford that creek you got in back.”

“No kidding.” Brady marveled, “Earnest?”

“Yeah it’s yours,” Cleven took his hand back and rubbed at his neck with it, a nervous gesture, “congratulations Jack.”

“Well fuck I-“ Johnny seemed stunned speechless before recalling the most important thing, “-Sir this is my Tilly.”

“Mrs. Brady, it’s a pleasure.” Gale Cleven took her in little hand in a gesture so chivalrous the only thing missing was a kiss to it, and that was almost done by the swipe of his thumb over her knuckles.

Maureen lovingly shoved her fiance aside to take the girl by the shoulders, an admiring assessment ongoing in her eyes. “Well, you look good for him.” she remarked with a beaming grin of approval before kissing the bride’s cheeks. “So? How was it? I’m never forgiving Gale for making us miss it, goddamn Air Force has some timing for their reports.”

“It was wonderful.” Johnny reported with pink cheeked simplicity that shied from Cleven’s observation, before adding for Maureen’s benefit, “You were missed.”

Something sympathetic and doubtful flashed over Maureen’s face before she leaned in once more to kiss his cheek, much to the amused chatter of those around.

“What’d ya do to get this thing? Rob a bank while you were in California?” Bucky was asking, interested thoroughly in the jeep’s dash and his body was half in the driver’s seat under the excuse of showing baby Stevie Crosby the wheel.

“Or are you already settling in to being a kept man?” Tallulah ribbed Maureen and her much touted pedigree.

“Uncle gave me the mine.” Cleven replied instead, simple and direct. “Deeded it and everything.”

Ida gasped, pleased at the news, exchanging a delighted glance with Kendeigh, “The one back in Wyoming, Gale? The one you worked at?”

“Yeah.”

“Hell, that’s wonderful!” Bucky cried from fully behind the wheel, a progression not unnoticed by Brady, “Coal Baron Cleven.”

“Oh leave off.”

“So we split this puppy, half and half,” Maureen slapped the hood, “anything to make sure you kids don’t forget us.”

“Compensation for knowing ya, more like” Murph grumbled and was smacked for saying his truth.

“You honeymooning with us, Bucky?” Brady asked harmlessly while apparching his gift, leaning over the passenger side and smiling at baby Stevie who was sucking on the knob of the gear shift, his babysitter thoroughly distracted by the dials.

“Huh? Nah just, lettin’ the little guy play.” Bucky assured, “S’all yours. You’re not thinkin’ of takin’ this on the honeymoon, are ya?” he suddenly asked.

“Course I am!” Johnny insisted, turning back to beam at his benefactors, boyish anticipation on his face, “Can’t just let a gift like this idle.”

“There’s not even a roof, John.” Jean Crosby gently pointed out to the excited groom, tactfully trying to remind him his bachelor days were over.

“Yeah, - I know.” he didn’t get it.

“So if it rains-“ Jean tried to supply.

“Then I guess we’ll just get wet.” Tilly Brady responded for him from her place by the headlight, a very wicked grin on her face. “Can we go now?” she begged her groom in a laugh.

“Hop in!” Bucky beckoned magnanimously and she rolled her eyes.

“Well if you’re taking that then you can’t go yet.” Douglass insisted, before explaining,, “We’ve got the cans hitched and have chalked up the windows on your Buick. We gotta move it all over to this one now.”

“Oh yeah, crucial.” Ida snarked while exchanging a look with her oddly complacent brother. By now he’d usually be exasperated with them all; it seemed marriage had a truly calming effect on him.

“You willing to wait?” he asked Tilly instead, smiling gently at his new wife.

“Of course, after all, I’ve just met Maureen!”

“Yes,” Maureen agreed, arm thrown back around the girl, “I have an evaluation to complete.”

“And Stevie wants to feel how it drives!” Bucky added hopefully despite Gale’s disbelieving stare.

Brady shook his head, grin unmoving, “Fifteen minutes for all it, cans, joyride, all of it. Don’t wreck the thing and Candy, be nice to my wife, she has very sharp fingernails.”

He ignored the ensuing chorus of “oooh’s” and the flurry of reiterated breakfast table jests and Ida watched him turn instead to the quiet presence of Major Cleven and ask discreetly, “Sir, I’d like you to meet my mother, if you’ve time. She’s just inside, at the dishes probably.”

Cleven’s face brightened considerably at the invitation, a typical yet rare look of deep seated pleasure softening his face. Ida found herself relaxing her fists for the first time since these two came up the drive: “I’d love that, Jack.”

Ida watched them disappear into the house, Johnny holding open the recently painted front door to usher him into their childhood home, and saying something with a nod to the Jeep as Gale passed him; they both shared a short laugh before the closed door hid them.

“Alright who wants a ride?” Bucky’s loud call jarred her.

“Please go and hold Stevie!” Jean Crosby was begging at her elbow, as worried sick over the attention Major Egan paid her small son as she was gratified by it.

“I’ll keep a grip of steel on him.” Ida assured her and realized as she climbed beside Bucky into the bench seat, this meant she was going for a joy ride with him. She wished she had her flight gear with her, a maywest and a parachute at the least. “Come here little guy.” she scooped Stevie off the floorboard and into her lap, Maureen settled afterward on her other side and it felt just like old times, wedged between her friends..

“That scarf of yours gonna stay on?” Bucky asked her, fiddling with it himself before she could reply, tucking a few more curls in.

“Just -keep us upright. Wheels down, Egan.” Ida begged with a laugh that was drowned in the rev of the engine.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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[chiss-ticism]

for the Sabbat OCs of your choice: 29, 35, 46, and 48? :3

tysm!!!

dividers by @/marquisedegramont

🎨 - Crownedinmarigolds [Ida, Judy, Luther] 🎨 - belthegore [Sir Percival]

Judith "Moody Judy" Margolis: Brujah, Black Hand Remover, Pack Ductus.

Ida Obertus: Tzimisce, Pack Priest, Former Revenant.

Sir Percival: Ventrue Antitribu. Templar. [Black Hand Recruit in New Orleans by Night]

Luther: Lasombra. Caine's silliest little guy.

29.) Do they frequently change locations or do they have a fixed location where they live?

Both! Their communal haven, maintained by two Obertus Revenants whilst the Pack is otherwise occupied with the Dark Father's work, is located in Montreal. It's a unparalleled repository for knowledge - forgotten and mundane. Not that they're advertising that, mind you. When the entire pack is on the move - be it as backup for Judy's Black Hand scheming, or should the Beckoning ever prove too much for Ida to hold off - they typically set up 2 - 3 havens. A dingier one for Judy to maintain the appearance of her Mask - Mina Graham, Anarch, itinerant scholar from Out of Town - and other havens as needed for Ida, Percy, Luther, and the one Revenant they keep with them at all times.

Nestled away in a quiet corner of the manor's expansive libraries lay an alter handcrafted and carved from basalt; an exquisite bas relief, inlaid with gold as it were, depicts a family drinking deeply from goblets. Three men and one woman glut themselves on the bacchanalian feast - thirteen empty chairs wreathing them. Atop the dedicatary lay a simplistic statue of the Dark Father, his head cast downwards: askance from the heavens. At his feet lay offerings from the denizens of the home - the preserved skull of a Tremere (fangs intact), a vial of Ravnos blood, a seemingly nondescript rock (taken from Zillah's place of torpid suspension), several framed fragments Book of Nod - penned delicately atop parchment made of skin, and several (smaller) tributes left by the attending Revenants of the household who - by blood, culture, and history - also claim descendance from Caine. Swaddling the entire thing were bundles upon bundles of meticulously maintained flowers; some were grown in the manor's garden, others still imported directly from the cradle of civilization itself. Crossbred to produce a subtle reminder: venerate what was, appreciate what is, and stride brazenly toward what could be.

35.) How old is your OC up until their death?

Luther: Died at 24 years old. [1784]

Ida: Died at 32 years old. [1884]

Percival: Died at 42 years old. [1942]

Judy: Died at 27 years old. [1952]

46.) What are their ambition(s) if any? Rather generically, loosen the grip of the Antediluvians and their unwitting pawns. When building the Pack from scratch, Margo handpicked each of them for their dedication and worth to the cause. They each contribute in their own way

Ida's eidetic memory, vast library, and personal research into supernatural hematology is invaluable.

Luther is a dedicated Noddist [hence him having the Mark of Caine, a byproduct of a long-forgotten ritae, on his forehead.] who also has an eidetic memory and personal experience with throwing metaphorical rocks at Setites.

Percy is sickeningly earnest in everything he does - making him excellent for outreach. Martial support, too.

On top of her capital E extensive research into the Anarch Revolt/Convention of Thorns, personal experience and research into the modern-night Anarch Movement, as well as tidbits on how the Camarilla functions - Margo has the support of the Black Hand.

48.) Detail things about your OC you spent a lot of time on!

Oh god, I'm honestly not too sure... 🤔... I spend so much time thinking about them that it all just kind of blends together, lmao. Thank you for asking, though!!!!

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[hornystiel]

chipped coin

1,6k, mature (i guess), early seasons destiel

so jackles and ida @chapeldean reminded me about the whole 'dean in cas' coat' thing and i wrote this in one go.

Dean’s rummaging in the pockets of the trench coat he’s currently borrowing from Cas in chance to find something like, you know, change, like what normal people are carrying with them in their pockets. 

Cas appears to be some kind of bird who likes shiny things, because his pockets have everything but the money Dean needs to buy himself a can of soda at 3 am from the vending machine outside of their motel room. Their room. 

Jesus, when did it become two rooms and not for Dean and Sam even, but for Dean and Cas, and Sam. Well, it’s not always like that, sometimes they still stay in one room because everything's packed and they don’t have any spare money or a working credit card with them. Except why the fuck Cas even needs to stay with them at night? And sleep in Dean’s bed. He’s a fucking angel, he doesn’t even need sleep. 

Not that Dean minds. Not really. 

Shiny rocks, a piece of glass (not sharp, thankfully), a cap from a beer Dean likes and tried to give to Cas a few times, some kind of a keychain in the shape of a cat? It’s cute though. Still no money.

Dean’s getting cold because he only slipped into Cas’ coat and currently wears only that, boots, and his batman boxers he managed to win from under Cas who was blissfully zoned out after fucking him into the creaky bed they share today. But once Dean took the coat and put it on, the look on Cas’ face became nothing but predatory. Dean’s sure if he lingered for a bit before leaving - they’d be having round two right now. 

Dean’s ass is still sensitive and he still feels, well, Cas’ come leaking out of him a bit. That should really be very gross, Dean’s sure he should feel gross. 

He doesn’t and that’s kind of concerning. 

He touches the bite mark on his neck and feels his cheeks heating up, even in the chilly parking lot. 

Castiel was intense the minute he appeared in Dean’s life, but Dean didn’t really think he would be so into marking him in every way possible. Although, the handprint on his shoulder should have given him some ideas. Dean coughs a little, trying to will his brain to stop translating the direct feed of Cas sucking hickeys on his hips half an hour before.

Right. He’s still thirsty, that was the reason he left the room in the first place. Not to contemplate. 

They are just fucking. Just fucking, just sharing a room, just talking for hours about everything and nothing, just grabbing a bite in shitty diners when Cas pops up out of nowhere right when Dean thinks it would be nice to make him try this new weird-looking pie and see that adorable frown make an appearance again, the apocalypse fuckery hanging somewhere in the background for once. 

Dean digs faster, in an attempt to overrun his own thoughts. How deep are those pockets? Finally something circle-shaped is in his hands and he brings it to the neon light to the left of him to see what it is. 

It’s the coin, a piece of it chipped a little, a tiny hole piercing it close to the ridge. 

Dean remembers this coin. 

He was boredly playing with all the change he had on him during their pitstop in one of the bars on their way to another state, Cas sitting on the opposite end of a small booth, looking ragged. Rebel angels have tough days. 

Dean noticed this coin and said Hey, look. This one is like you. Castiel squinted at the coin and mumbled Useless and broken? Dean huffed and went Not like the others and still kicking. 

He placed it in Cas’ hand and said that this one is for good luck. Castiel frowned but took it. 

Dean thought he threw it away or lost it a long time ago. But it’s still here. In Dean’s palm again. An angel who wields the destinies of the whole civilisations is carrying a chipped coin for good luck given to him by a hick human. 

Suddenly he isn’t really thirsty anymore. 

He puts everything back into the pockets and quickly goes back to their room. 

Cas is still sprawled on the bed (more and more human things in his arsenal, one day he’ll use this arsenal of adorable/annoying lethal quirks to kill Dean dead), but once Dean closes the door, he sits up and looks at Dean. 

Forget the pain in his ass, Dean wants to ride this ruffled creature into the sunset of a better future. 

“Dean, I advise you to take the coat off, because I’m not sure I can control myself when you are wearing it and I know you must be tired.”

“Aw, for a possessive bastard you’re such a gentleman.” Dean chuckles and without taking the trench coat off climbs on top of Cas’ naked thighs. “What, afraid you’ll fuck the Righteous Man too good he goes out of commission?” 

Castiel growls and tugs Dean closer, crushing their mouths together, hands roaming all over his body as if they were separated for a decade instead of thirty minutes tops. 

“It’s just…the more traces of me you have on yourself, the more I…” Cas hides his face in Dean’s shoulder, his movements slowing but not losing intensity, a hand crawling to the handprint, hidden under the coat. 

“Tell me.” Dean’s lost all of his brain cells on the way here, he wants to hear how much he breaks Cas’ restraint, he wants to know the moment Cas started thinking of this coat as a part of him, he wants to know whether it’s the first time Cas even feels this way and if so he doesn’t want to share this knowledge with anybody else. Man, they are both possessive as fuck. 

“I want to keep you to myself,” Cas whispers, unsure, and Dean moans, slowly grinding into him, starting to pull the coat off his shoulders, but Cas stops his hands. Holy fucking shit.  

“You were mine to rebuild, mine to bring back to life, mine to protect,” Cas lifts his gaze to Dean and strokes his jaw. “Now you’re mine to love.” 

If Dean ever wondered what the perfect example of “fuck around and find out” looks like in real life - well. He’s experiencing it now. 

“Shut up,” he tells Cas because he isn’t ready to start fucking crying during the most mindblowing kinky sex he isn’t even fully having right now. 

Cas opens his mouth to argue and probably tell him more insane shit that will rewire Dean’s mindframe forever and ever, so he shuts him up himself with kisses. After they’re finally done making out, Cas, the stubborn bastard, opens his mouth again.

“Was what I said wrong? You asked me to tell you.” 

“No, it’s just…” How can he even begin to explain everything that’s happening in his brain right now? That Cas just voiced Dean’s own feelings he’s too afraid to even start rationalizing in his own mind? Let alone talking about them. The thought that Cas doesn’t know what he’s talking about doesn’t even cross his mind. He knows they both feel the same and both are greatly inexperienced in just being in love. Cas being an angel, Dean being a hunter and both of them being fuckups. 

“You are thinking too much. I don’t require your answer, Dean, that’s not why I said it.” Cas touches his neck, shoulders, stomach, thighs. Feather-light strokes of his long fingers relax Dean gradually. “Just let me take care of you sometimes.”

 And Dean lets. 

The coat stays on, like a wall, shielding what they have from the rest of the world. Dean imagines that it’s Cas’ wings that envelop him and keep him safe. 

They take it slow this time, Dean rocking on top of Cas like he has all the time in the world, Cas’ hands are firm but still gentle, supporting him when he gets tired. He’s so beautiful underneath him, all black unruly hair, dark stubble and eyes only for Dean. 

Dean kisses him and kisses and kisses until his lips get numb and scratchy from all the licking and biting. 

Cas talks to him, quiet and intimate, and, dammit, Dean ends up crying after all. But he feels so, so much lighter, he feels like there’s light streaming from all the scars on his body. 

When they are cleaned up, Dean digs in the pockets of Cas’ coat again, Cas curiously watching from the bed, clad in boxers and Dean's t-shirt. Dean kinda gets why Cas jumped him when he walked in in his trench coat earlier. The t-shirt…is doing things to him too. 

He finds the coin again, takes it, threads a thick rope through the tiny hole in it and tugs the ends. Then goes to Cas and motions for him to bow his head. 

Cas looks puzzled for a second and then a tiny warm smile spreads on his face when he thumbs the improvised amulet on his neck. 

“Just uh. For it not to get lost in your giant ass pockets.” Dean’s scratching his head and fidgeting like a dumbass. 

“Thank you Dean,” Cas catches Dean’s restless hands in his and just holds them, “Thank you for taking care of it.” 

Thank you for taking care of me.

One day Dean will say it back outloud.