#anyways i got sick of never being able to keep their heights accurate

[maroonless]

do NOT look at the fact i did not once save this canvas. theyre getting full bodies

[raineydaywrites]

Nesting, Chapter 9

link to ao3 in the reblog

Fic Summary: Taako and Lup are determined to kick ass at going to university, even though their childhood education was anything but traditional.Then, Taako finds himself in a situation that threatens to undermine all their hard work.But there's plenty of university students that have kids! Really, this is just another chance to show how much better they are at everything they do- they can definitely manage to graduate and raise a kid at the same time.

Chapter Summary: This chapter has it all! Panic attacks, Magnus cameo, baby clothes, crushes, siblings messing with each other! Also, yeah, this definitely moving into some solid Lupcretia.

Miscarriage. How had that never occurred to him? He should have thought about that.

It wasn't likely, he tried to remind himself. It probably wasn't going to happen.

He should focus on other things instead. Like school work. The rest of his life wasn't going away just because his mind decided to go crazy over something that wasn't even happening.

Despite the rationality of his thoughts, Taako couldn't bring himself to actually follow through on them. His mind kept spiraling. He couldn't stand the thought of losing the thing now. He'd finally let himself actually want it!

He was so deep in thought that he forgot himself and where he was- namely, in public- for a little bit. It took the realization that someone was speaking to him to bring himself back.

"Hey, buddy? You okay?"

Taako startled backwards away from the stranger speaking to him, but he was already in the corner of the tiny booth in the coffee shop, so there wasn't really anywhere to go.

"Fine," he managed, watching the human in front of him carefully.

The guy was about the same height as he was, but he was a lot broader. Clearly more of a physical type of a guy than a magic user or anything else. He had reddish hair and big, worried eyes.

"Are you sure?" he asked, as those worried eyes looked Taako over. "You seemed kind of out of it there."

"I'm good, homie." Taako waved a hand dismissively, despite the way that his mind was screaming and his fingers were trembling.

And oh. Great. He wasn't sure if it was the anxiety or the morning sickness or some dreadful combination of both, but his stomach had started churning too.

"Did you come here with anybody? Can I... help you somehow?" the guy asked, looking around worriedly as if someone would pop up to relieve him of this duty he'd taken on himself for no apparent reason.

"Nah, man, you're good," Taako insisted. This guy needed to fuck off before Taako puked on him.

"Hey, just breathe, okay?" the guy said, and oh. When had he started to have trouble with that? Taako wasn't sure, but he was definitely breathing too fast now, the oxygen not quite getting through to his brain like it was supposed to.

He did so, because even if this guy was intruding on his personal shit, he wasn't wrong about the breathing thing.

"You wanna get out of here? Go somewhere quieter?" the guy asked, watching Taako carefully.

Taako nodded, because he did. Started to gather his shit, kept dropping stuff, godsdamn he was too clumsy. He had to get that under control before the baby got here- if he didn't fuck it up first.

The guy leaned over and started to help, holding Taako's things with steady hands.

"Thanks," Taako choked out.

"No problem," the guy smiled. "Is it okay if I touch you? Just to help you get somewhere else."

Taako shrugged, and the guy lifted one arm protectively over Taako's shoulder, but didn't let it drop to actually touch him. He led Taako carefully away from the cafe, finding an empty room and ushering them both inside.

Taako planned to say something, but before he could, his stomach started protesting again, and he was very glad to see that the room had a trash can nearby.

"Ew," the man who'd helped him muttered, seemingly torn between stepping closer to help and leaving.

Taako snorted, amused by the reaction. He seemed a decent guy, but Taako could hardly blame him for being grossed out.

"It's chill, my dude. You don't gotta do anything," Taako said, leaning back against the wall.

"Okay," the guy said, offering a sympathetic smile. "You still gonna try to say you're fine? Cause that must have been a hell of panic attack to make you puke."

"Nah, not really," Taako deflected. "I mean, yeah, unpleasant, but actually, this," he gestured to trash and wrinkled his nose, "was just morning sickness. Not nerves. Thanks, though, for checking and whatever."

"Oh. Uh, are you feeling better now, though? On both fronts? If you need to vent, dude, I'm cool with that. No pressure or anything. Just maybe easier to vent to a stranger, ya know?" the guy asked. "Or I could... get you some... water?" He sounded painfully unsure of what to do, in a way that was endearing, not that Taako would let it show.

It was awful sweet of him to offer, and he might have a point. If it didn't work, not like Taako ever had to see the dude again.

Still, he only shrugged in response, not loving the idea of opening up to a stranger- especially considering the guy had already seen him so vulnerable already.

"I'll get you that water," the guy said, hurrying out of the room.

Taako watched him go, not really expecting him to come back again. The guy had been nice and helped him out, and he'd repaid the kindness by being surly, so he could hardly blame him. Not like it mattered anyway. Taako didn't need some stranger poking his nose in his business.

Still, it was harder to hold off the nerves without the presence of another person. He wished he'd asked the doc more about any signs that anything had gone wrong. Better to know that as soon as it started right? If he noticed fast enough, maybe they could do something to save the thing.

Unless there was no chance of saving it. Then maybe it would be better to live in blissful ignorance for a while.

Taako realized that he'd pulled his knees up to his chest and reminded himself to breathe. This was hormones and senseless worries, nothing more. He was fucking up his bad bitch image by having anxiety and he needed to stop it.

The door opened back up, and the guy came back. He had a bottle of water in his hands, and he handed it to Taako.

"Drink that. And breathe, okay?" he said.

"How do you know what to do?" Taako asked. He’d meant for it to sound more like doubt in the guy’s skills then it did, but he figured the point would still get across.

“My sister gets panic attacks a lot! I help her sometimes!” The guy apparently didn’t get the point, as he spoke with pride and smiled widely at Taako.

Well, it was whatever. If the guy took it as genuine gratitude, more power to him. Didn’t hurt Taako.

He stood up again after a moment, still feeling a little shaky but back to himself for the most part.

“Hey, homie, thanks or whatever, but I’m good and I’m out, ‘kay?” Taako said, gathering his things.

“Uh, yeah, okay,” the guy said, still watching Taako carefully as he left the room. Taako decided to believe that he was watching his ass, instead of admitting that the guy was probably worried something would happen.

Didn’t need to be that honest with himself, after all.

“My name’s Magnus! Magnus Burnsides! I’m-“ the guy called.

“Yeah, uh, hail and well met,” Taako said, closing the door behind him.

-

He didn’t tell Lup about the incident. Why should he? What good would it do? It happened and it sucked, but she couldn’t do anything about it.

He just had to accept that things were going to suck for a while. He couldn’t do anything to change that at the moment or for the foreseeable future so he just had to deal.

When he got back to the apartment, Lup was there, digging through some bags from the store.

“Groceries?” Taako assumed, glancing into them as he passed by, prepared to help her put them away.

“Yep,” Lup agreed, but she quickly shoved one bag behind her back, refusing to let him see into it.

Taako raised an eyebrow at that, but he didn’t press it. He'd figure out what was in there sooner or later, and it would be better if Lup let her guard down first, instead of just trying to grab it out of her hands. His center of balance had been off lately, and she’d have a definite advantage at keeping shit away from him. Not about to embarrass himself like that.

As they finished up with the groceries, Lup pulled the secret bag back out.

"I was gonna wait to do anything like this, but I saw this and couldn't fucking resist," she said, reaching into the bag and pulling out a small scrap of fabric something- oh. A baby clothing- a onesie or whatever it's called. It read "My Aunt is like my Dad, but Cooler."

"You shouldn't have," Taako started. "Parasite's not gonna go out wearing such an obvious lie."

Lup scoffed, a bit of relief slipping into her expression at the fact that he didn't freak out about it.

"You really think you're gonna be able to keep up with me on the cool factor when you've got a sticky monster crawling on you and keeping you up all night? I'd love to see that," she said, setting the onesie down on the counter, and pulling out some very small socks.

"Oh my gods, those are tiny," Taako said, immediately, momentarily disregarding the first part of her comment in favor of grabbing the socks and staring, because how. How could any person be little enough to need those?

"I know!" Lup shouted. "Get this, apparently a ton of newborns are so small, these are literally too big at first."

"How?" Taako demanded. "Also- the little thing is going to be messy, yeah, but also adorable, natch, so it'll even out."

"Ehhh," Lup made a skeptical face at him. "Maybe when they're bigger, sure. But newborns are kinda ugly, not gonna lie. You can't say it, because it's rude, but they are. All scrunched up and red and shit, and they can't smile or anything either. So as long as it's this little, it's gonna be accurate."

Taako just flipped her off, digging into the bag and seeing a few other pieces of tiny, tiny clothing. Lup hadn't gotten much, and the rest was pretty plain, but it was blowing his mind how little all of it was.

He supposed that they had to be pretty little, to actually get born without killing their parent, but it was still hard to imagine.

He scooped the clothes up into his arms to put them away when it occurred to him that he had no idea where to put any of this.

"We're gonna have to move, aren't we?" He groaned.

"Yeah, probably," Lup agreed. "But that's way too far away too worry about. Just stuff it in your room for now."

Taako grumbled under his breath, but figured she had a point. Their lease wouldn't run out for months and the little guy was even further away. Still wouldn't be fun trying to move later on, because by then he'd probably have a lot more trouble with the whole 'moving around' thing.

He hadn't started to show at all yet, which was apparently normal, even if it seemed kind of weird to him. His whole fucking life had changed since he found out he was pregnant, and yet, there was still nothing to show for it. He didn't mind not being huge and awkward already, but something this big seemed like it should be noticeable.

But once it was noticeable, then he'd have to deal with reactions. Everybody he knew would be able to see it. And they'd have questions, or want to talk about it out of politeness or whatever. And strangers would be able to tell even. And they would think- who even knew what? It was going to be another layer on the bullshit sandwich.

He could handle it though. He could handle a lot of bullshit, and it had to happen for the kid to get here. And when the kid got here, that crap would be over with, and he'd have his baby. And that would be good. Probably. He hoped.

-

Lucretia figured that it might be best if she kept working with the twins on the paperwork for the child support. Now that she knew that Sebastian didn't plan on skipping out completely, it was less necessary that she play a role in the process, but it still might be the wisest decision. She had a rapport with the twins that Sebastian was lacking, and, despite everything, she actually liked seeing them. So it wouldn't be a hardship to work through this with them and relay the relevant information to her brother later.

Today, for the first time, Lucretia had been invited over to the twins' place. Lup had texted her the address of their apartment, and Lucretia was curiously looking around as she made her way over.

The place wasn't far from where the actual IPRE classes took place, which wasn't surprising. Still, it was an area that Lucretia wasn't very familiar with, and she was careful to keep track of where she was so she wouldn't find herself hopelessly lost.

It was a nice area, if definitely designed for college age kids. Lucretia and Sebastian still lived with their parents, in a completely separate part of town, and that might make it difficult for them to see the baby very often. If Seb even wanted to, and if Taako and Lup even let them.

Lucretia knew that she wanted to, at least. And she thought- hoped- she'd have a decent chance of being allowed that.

It was strange, thinking of her brother as a parent. And Seb's attitude wasn't doing anything to help that. But even if her brother never actually acted as a dad to this child, Lucretia still found herself thinking of them as family. It was irrational, maybe. There was nothing tying them other than blood, and it wasn't even a direct connection. But she couldn't shake it regardless.

The baby was her brother's kid, which meant that they were family. Family- family was important. It wasn't fair to take away the kid's only chance of accessing that part of their family just because Seb was an immature dick. And- it wasn't fair to her, either, that she cared about the baby already and she could have lost any chance of seeing them because of her brother's irresponsibility.

As she got closer to the twins' apartment, Lucretia forced herself to focus on the numbers of each address, rather than let her mind run wild.

She found the right building, and made her way inside and up to the twins' unit quickly, pausing only briefly when she arrived at the door.

It was quickly answered by Lup, who smiled brightly and grabbed Lucretia's hand to pull her inside.

Taako was in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled really good. He waved as Lup pulled Lucretia behind her into the kitchen and shoved her towards a chair, before joining her brother.

"What'd you bring us?" Lup asked, indicating the envelope Lucretia had been fiddling since she'd arrived.

"A gift," Lucretia said, pushing the envelope over.

Both twins looked at the envelope curiously, almost eerie in the similarity of their expressions, but Taako was the one to grab the envelope from the counter.

He opened it, pulling out the money inside.

"My favorite kind of gift," he said, grinning.

"Nice!" Lup agreed, looking over at Taako excitedly.

"What's the occasion?" Taako asked, pocketing the money and resuming his cooking.

"It's from Seb. You could call it the first support payment, I suppose," Lucretia explained.

"Why's he suddenly being nice?" Taako asked, turning to face Lucretia as he spoke. "He doesn't have to fork anything over yet. What's in it for him?"

"This counts for some of the support he owes during the pre-natal period. Seb decided he'd rather make a bunch of small payments than a couple big ones later on," Lucretia said. "Figured it would be easiest for everyone. He doesn't have to save up so much, you guys get cash faster."

"Best for everyone, huh?" Lup said, a little skeptically.

"Yes," Lucretia responded, exasperated. "He's not a monster, you know. If it's good for him and good for you, then he's not going to go out of his way to make things harder just to spite you guys."

Taako and Lup exchanged a quick look at her words, and Lucretia got the feeling that they were having a whole conversation without her.

"Still an ass, though," Lup muttered, finally.

"Never said he wasn't," Lucretia said, a peace offering.

The kitchen fell into silence for a moment- not quite awkward but not entirely comfortable either. Lucretia found herself tapping her fingers against the counter nervously, wishing she had a notebook to doodle in.

"Hey, now that we have more cash, we can go supplies shopping," Lup said, breaking the silence.

"Oh, hell yeah!" Taako immediately perked up at her words, excitement breaking across his features. "Time to make a bombass nursery!"

The juxtaposition of the words made Lucretia grin in amusement. But she was glad that the twins were getting excited about this. She wanted her nibling to have a good family and childhood, and it was something of a relief to see the obvious affection they twins had for them already. She liked Taako and Lup, but they didn't exactly give off mature or parental vibes. Lucretia hadn't been worried about it, exactly, but she liked the reassurance that they cared anyway.

"You know any good baby stores, Luce?" Taako asked.

Lucretia hadn't been expecting the question, but she responded eagerly.

"I do! I actually helped out on a ranking of local baby-centered supplies shops only a few months ago, so I can look over my notes from that and give recommendations."

"Ranking? For what?" Lup asked.

"I'm a writer. I do some work for a local media group. I haven't done many reviews in a while, not since I was a junior writer, but a friend asked for some help on that project," Lucretia explained, sheepish at forgetting to give context.

"Wait, how old are you? If you're already a senior writer, or whatever?" Lup asked, tilting her head curiously.

"I'm not a senior writer, just not a junior writer anymore. I've been working for them since I was sixteen and I'm nineteen now," Lucretia explained, letting a little pride slip into her voice. She was a good writer, and she knew it. She'd gotten the job as part of the youth outreach and education program, but most of the teens employed through that program were temporary hires. She was one of the few who proved herself enough to stay on longer.

"Damn, that's pretty good for a baby!" Taako said, raising a hand for a high five that Lucretia returned with a giggle.

"Thanks. But I'm not a baby, and you probably don't want to call me one," she said.

"You're nineteen. I hadn't lost all my milk teeth by nineteen. You're a baby," Taako said.

"Okay, I guess, but if I'm a baby and my brother is a year younger than me, what does that make you?" Lucretia responded.

Taako and Lup both made disgusted faces at the words, which made Lucretia laugh.

"Okay, shit, you're an adult, just don't ever remind me of that again!" Taako said, mock gagging. "I'm never fucking dating a human again, gods."

"Deal," Lucretia said, still laughing a little.

"And here I was trying to be nice," Taako said, face relaxing out of the disgust. "You're an ass too, huh? Just a sneaky one."

"Takes one to know one," Lucretia said, dry. "How'd you think I had you two figured out so fast?"

"Hey, non-assholes are boring anyway," Lup shrugged. "This way, we can actually be friends."

Lucretia smiled at the suggestion that they were friends. She wasn't a complete loner, but she hadn't made very many friendships here so far. She was glad to have more among that number.

Still, amongst the happiness was the slightest twinge of discomfort at the words. She wasn't quite sure why, and mentally prodded at the feeling, reminding herself that this was a good thing. She liked the twins and she liked spending time with them. Yes, it may be a little awkward and complicated because of the situation with Seb, but overall this was good.

The twins finished cooked, and started to plate their food. Lucretia was surprised when they made up a third plate for her, and took it from Lup gratefully.

"Thank you. This smells wonderful," Lucretia said.

"Natch! We're fucking awesome cooks," Lup boasted, and Lucretia believed it, as she took a bite and had to hold herself back from eating it too quickly.

"You certainly are," Lucretia agreed, between mouthfuls.

Taako and Lup both preened under the praise, but Lucretia only had eyes for Lup's happy expression.

Oh.

Shit.

Lucretia almost choked on her next bite as it hit her. She had a crush on Lup. And she couldn't do anything about it, because she couldn't take the risk of making things awkward with one of her nibling's only family members. Because it would be awkward, because no way would Lup feel the same. Not only was she absolutely gorgeous and amazing, but this whole conversation had proved that Lup saw her as a child and a friend, not a potential partner.

She willed herself to calm down and not react. She didn't need to say or do anything about this. It would pass as long as she reminded herself that it wasn't going anywhere. It would be fine.

"I'll make sure to send you my notes," Lucretia said, turning to Taako and changing the subject. "On the baby stores."

"Nah, actually, you should just come with," Taako responded. "I'm sure you write great and all, but I don't feel like reading all that when you can just tell us."

"I- are you sure?" Lucretia asked. "I don't mind- but it's not my apartment or my baby. I don't want to intrude."

"That's even better. You can be a neutral opinion when me and Lulu start bitching over what to get," Taako said, grinning mischievously at Lup as he said it.

"Then, yes, I suppose I can come," Lucretia agreed, trying not to think about the fact that she was agreeing to spend hours shopping for cute and domestic things with the girl she'd just realized she had a crush on. Taako would be there, and none of this was her stuff, so it would be fine.

"Nice. Me or Lu will text you with the deets, okay?" Taako said, still looking at Lup as he said it. Then- "Ow!" - the look turned into a scowl.

"Whoops! I gotta be more careful where I swing my legs, sorry 'Ko."

[imbruedinfear-a]

@undeadrphub​ asked: ALL OF THEM FOR EZRA

🍍  :    how comfortable is my muse in their body? how do they feel about their height,  weight,  strength,  and body type?  how important is being attractive to them? 

LMAO this man is more than comfortable. he literally models nude sometimes, he has absolutely zero body issues and i envy him for the confidence. he’s super big on appearing attractive, both for work and simply bc he’s a vain little shit, but he doesn’t really care if someone doesn’t find him attractive?? he thinks he’s hot shit and that’s all that matters.

🍅  :    how does my muse feel about plastic  /  cosmetic surgeries   &   procedures?  is it something they have done or would do?  do they mind if others do it? 

not a fan but not against it. he thinks it’s really fucking shit that we live in a world where people deadass think changing their appearance is that important, but he’s not going to talk shit on someone who gets it done. he’s just a fan of liking yourself how you are, really. shrug emoji if ya do it, shrug emoji if ya don’t.

🍏  :    how stable is my muse’s physical health?  do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician?  do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication?  how often do they get sick?

LISTEN. this man is in perfect health physically, he’s got a high metabolism and he exercises regularly. but. fuck doctors. he’ll only go if he’s really fucking sick and thinks he’s dying. yes, he pays his shit out of pocket, because fuck health insurance, they make u got to the doctor. he doesn’t get sick often! but when he does, it lasts for a while.

🍎  :    how stable is my muse’s mental health?  have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they or should they attend therapy? 

f,, fairly stable? diagnosed PTSD and depression, no biggie. he copes really well for the most part, and his trauma doesn’t particularly show unless you’re very aware it’s a symptom. he attends therapy when his depression episode gets really bad, so rly only like three times a year. you basically can’t even tell he’s mentally ill unless you know him really well and are around for a long period of time.

🍑  :    how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance?  do they spend a lot of time on their hair,  makeup,  grooming,  and clothing?  is there a particular reason why they do or don’t?  

dEPENDS MY DUDE. yes, boy is conceited. yes, he has depression. we all know what that means!! he’s either paying attention to everything and not leaving the house until he’s perfect or he’s fucking walking outside without pants, no fucks, and without having showered for a week.

🍒  :    how much does my muse value companionship?  do they constantly keep people around them,  or do they prefer to be alone often?  do they have or desire to have many friends?  do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend?  

ehhhh. he’s both extroverted and introverted. he has no problem making friends and he has a lot of them, but he doesn’t really hangout with people. he might go out a couple of times in a month, but he really prefers to be alone. it’s best to think of it as he’ll make new friends very easily and get along with most people, but he doesn’t go out of his way to spend time with anyone else unless he’s invited or really likes them.

🍇  :    how would my muse describe their childhood?  how much has it impacted the person they are now,  or will become as an adult?  around what age did they or will they start to mature,  and why?  do they wish to go back to their days as a child,  or have they embraced adulthood? 

oh honey. childhood was hell. trauma has erased a lot of it, and what little he remembers give him nothing but guilt and deep desire to never ever think of it again. adulthood is where it’s at, bois.

🍐  :    how intelligent is my muse overall?  are they smarter than the average person,  or less than?  are they primarily self-taught,  or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school?  are they more street smart or book smart? 

he’s on the genius end. he literally had nothing to do but read and talk to people as a kid, so he’s pretty fucking rounded out on knowledge. the only downside is he doesn’t really remember facts. he remembers the logic of it. you could ask him if sharks live in sea water and he’s gonna fucking hesitate, but if you ask him if this weird idea you have for a spaceship is possible, he’s gonna give you a fully detailed explanation on why it isn’t, big ass physics words and all. he was raised by drug dealers and his brother was involved in gangs so u can figure out how street smart he is.

🍉  :    which of the four seasons suits my muse best,  and why? 

winter! he’s at his most sad goth. otherwise, autumn, bc he’s a pumpkin spice slut.

🍌  :    is my muse inclined to help others,  or will they only do it when it benefits them,  if at all?  what makes them this way?  has it ever gotten them into trouble,  or inconvenienced them?

will help, even if he sighs first. he just thinks it’s the right thing to do. but also: watching his brother get fucking tortured and not being able to help for 18 years might’ve fuckin done something. he’s been inconvenienced a few times, but never really in trouble.

🍊  :    does my muse desire romance?  is it something they would actively seek out,  or prefer to happen more  ‘  naturally?  ’  what is their love life like?  do they have any exes or past flings,  or crushes? 

wouldn’t u like to know, weatherboy :^) actually he’s a bit of both. he definitely desires romance, and he’ll sometimes actively try dating around, but he mostly prefers the ‘if it happens, it happens’. he’s only truly dated a few women. currently, though, he hesitates on dating big time. in canon, he’s pretty freshly broken up with in a really shitty manner, so he’s just. existing. the thought of catching feelings fills him with dread, but he’s also a dumb fuckin hopeless romantic who instantly is like okay but what if it DOESN’T go terribly this time.

🍓  :    how is my muse typically seen by others?  does it ring true to who they really are?  does their reputation matter to them? 

iiiiiii have no idea. it depends on your personality, because he’s sarcastic and sassy, and some people would consider that as rude and asshole-ish. if you’re in the kink scene, 9.5/10 times you’ll know him as the master of the city’s biggest dungeon ( it’s also connected to a fetish club ), so it’s. accurate. he doesn’t care for his rep tho, it’s not gonna hurt his book sales since he’s anonymous

🥝  :    does my muse have any  ‘  unusual  ’  habits, interests,  and  /  or talents?  do they hide it,  or are they proud of it? 

h m. not really. his only unusual habit would be how much he’ll just drown himself in working, but it’s from trauma, so????? nah. he’s p open about everything anyways.

🍋  :    what kind of diet does my muse have?  do they eat regularly,  or the standard 2-3 meals a day?  do they have to be reminded to eat,  or are they likely to remind others?  do they cook,  or have others cook for them?  do they eat healthily,  or not so much?  

wild. just wild. he can go from deadass vegan to eating 20 chicken wings by himself. no one understands it. if he’s actually working on a new novel, he needs reminded sometimes, but he’s usually the one reminding other people. he’s a big cook, he loves finding and creating new recipes, and he’s usually on the healthier end of things. doesn’t mean he won’t eat an entire fucking cake because he didn’t eat anything else for two days tho. 

🥭  :    how important to my muse is their hometown,  or where they’re from?  are they proud of it,  or considered a hometown hero? did they move away,  or do they wish to?

e h. he doesn’t really care for hometown sentiment, but he does love Chicago. it’s his favorite place just because he’s comfortable, knows it and the people well, and always finds something to do. plus, like, the fetish club is there. ofc he’s gonna have fun. not proud, just doesnt care. moves around when bored.

[nightwingshero]

Meet the Muse

I was tagged by the amazing @shallow-gravy thank you, dear!!!

|| The Basics ||

Name: Wren Marie Blake Seed

Nickname(s): Dep, Wren Marie (only Adelaide can call her that), Rook. Pet names from John, which includes: Love, darling, dear, and little bird. 

Age: 28

Species: Human

|| Personal ||

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (overall, I suppose? It changes over time, but I guess this is the most accurate)

Religious Belief: Agnostic for the most part. She believes in some sort of higher being, but meh. She’s not very religious. 

Sins: Lust / Greed / Gluttony / Sloth / Pride / Envy / Wrath

Virtues: Chastity / Charity / Diligence / Humility / Kindness / Patience / Justice

Primary Goals In Life: Wren’s goal is to just...start over. She wants something different in her life, to forget her past and bury it deep.

Languages Known: English, some Latin

Secrets: She definitely has secrets, and some are already known, but I don’t want to get too into them without giving anything away. But her father was not a good person. At all. He was never supportive...and it was just all bad. He got sick, and while it was touch and go for awhile, the doctor’s believed there was a decent chance for him to recover. But she had him pull the plug anyway, in her way believing he deserved it and she never looks back.

Quirks: She’s constantly listening to her playlist. She keeps her phone, even if there isn’t any service. She’s always humming or singing something, and her fingers either drum to the beat or she taps them as if she were playing a piano. 

Savvies: Wren is a natural when it comes to throwing knives, and she doesn’t really know why. It started out as a contest with Sharky and Hurk, but was quick to pick up on it. She ended up getting specialized knives after that. She’s pretty fast and flexible, excellent with stealth. She can talk her way out of a tight situation, and is very witty and cunning.

|| Physical ||

Build: Slender / Scrawny / Bony / Fit / Athletic / Herculean / Babyfat / Pudgy / Obese / Other

Height: 5′4”

Weight: 130 lbs.

Scars/Birthmarks: Wren has scars on her wrists and inner thighs from a past of self harm. She does gain newer ones as she fights in the Holy war. She gets some scrapes here and there for sure, though, and eventually get a cut on her hairline. Wren has a total of 8 tattoos. A tree on her left side that extends down to the upper midthigh with a branch ending under her breast, a group of burgundy peonies between her right hip and naval, a blue bird make of music notes (a gift from John), vines and flowers on the side of her wrists, a birdcage on her right inner forearm, a flock of black birds on her left inner forearm, and the scales of justice on her upper back and shoulder blades. (Considering giving her an Eden’s Gate tattoo, tbh)

Abilities: Killer aim with knives and a bow (thanks to Rowan and eventually Jacob), rather flexible and light on her feet, good at landing quick punches. She’s a bit of a prodigy with the piano, she’s silver-tongued and able to talk her way out of things or to navigate conversations with ease, and can be a bit cunning. She’s quick to think on her feet when trying to come up with a solution or a plan.

Restrictions: She’s terrified of heights. Always has been and always will be. She only trusts John and maybe Nick when it comes to flying (sorry Addie). She hates the bliss, it shows her things that are too painful and hit too close to home for her. Wren is also bad at letting her need to be loved and accepted to make her vulnerable to being manipulated. She seeks approval and it can and has been used against her. She has a harder time opening up about her emotions because she’s too scared of the consequences.

|| Favorites ||

Favorite Food: Pasta and seafood. She also loves steak, and is a sucker for sweets.

Favorite Drink: She loves the pacific punch flavored Monster, tea, hot chocolate, white wine, and bourbon.

Favorite Color: Burgundy, Blue, and sometimes black. She wears a lot of black with other colors. But its mainly different shades of blue and burgundy.

Favorite Music Genre: Wren likes a little bit of everything because she loves music. But she likes older rock (older music in general), pop, electropop, and alternative rock. She also likes baroque pop. Artists that are included but not limited to: Halsey, Lana Del Rey, Billie Eilish, NF, Imagine Dragons, Pearl Jam, Johnny Cash, The Beatles, Queen, and Hozier.

Favorite Book Genre: She likes horror, so she loves Stephen King. She has read almost everything by Jane Austen, and both The Iliad and The Odyssey. She’s a sucker for the classics. She does enjoy reading Nicholas Sparks (and she lowkey read the Percy Jackson books because its Greek mythology) and she loves Edgar Allen Poe.

Favorite Movie Genre: Horror! She LOVES scary movies. John watches them with her all the time, and makes fun of her for the corny ones. She loves documentaries and The Office, too. She watches a lot of Game of Thrones, The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, and Archer. She also likes drama and emotional movies.

Favorite Season: Autumn and Spring

Favorite Butt Type: Something she can grab a hold of. As long as she can get a good squeeze and smack, she’s good.

Favorite Scent: Floral usually, but she also loves apple, cinnamon, vanilla, sandalwood, and citrus. Also John, but I guess that’s a given.

Favorite Quote: “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.” Edgar Allen Poe.

|| Fun ||

“Boss” Theme Music: Blood In The Cut by K.Flay or Nightmare by Halsey

Loud Burper or Soft Burper: Loud / Soft / Neither

Sings In The Shower: Yes / No

Likes Bad Puns: Yes / No

Tagging: @chazz-anova @joeyhxdson @xbaebsae @simonxriley @seedlingsinner @returnofthepd3 @fadedjacket @trialandseed @minilev @larasfaith

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Pathetic

My first fic for the Penumbra Podcast! And it’s angsty self loathing masturbation! Of course!

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3, it means so much

---

Juno Steel didn’t like the night.

A strange thing for a PI to think, given that so much of his work took place in it, that he made use of it so much when he didn’t want to be seen or when he wanted to snoop around places he shouldn’t be.

Maybe it wasn’t so accurate to say he didn’t like nights. Rather he didn’t like nights where he had nothing to do. When all there was to fill the time was to make futile attempts at sleep he didn’t want to need, wander his lonely, cramped apartment and be alone with his own thoughts. In other words, Juno’s own personal hell.

It was a hot night, oppressively so, close and sticky and typical of a Martian summer. And, also typical, his crappy air conditioner wasn’t working. He’d slammed it with a frustrated fist and cussed it out but the thing had only blinked balefully at him and, as if in retribution, spat out even warmer air.

“Fine,” Juno grumbled to no one in particular and went over to the window, having to wrestle with that too before it deigned to open with an especially nasty, rusty screech.

He didn’t like to have the windows open. It let in the noise, the rabble from down below, the car horns and shouts and shitty music from shitty bars. Juno’s main goal was to always forget, as far as possible, that he was in Hyperion City. And it was damn hard to forget, when your nose was full of it’s exhaust and acrid fumes and your ears were full of two distant people screaming at each other about who even knew what.

But it was marginally cooler with them open. Marginally.

Juno hitched a leg over the windowsill, bare foot hitting the sharp metal of the fire escape that ran the height of the building like a hideously broken spine. He used it to lever himself and find a semi comfortable perch on the sill, slouching against the wall, half in and half out. Not something he could maintain for any length of time but he was in desperate need of air. And the smog the city had to offer would need to suffice.

He was badly underdressed to be dangling out of a window but if anyone wanted to take issue with the fact that he was in full view of any upwardly turning eye wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, they were welcome to. He needed someone to yell at. Something other than his air conditioner, anyway.

Juno let what meagre, damp breeze there was move the curls piled messily on top of his head. His hair was getting long, too long, but getting it cut was such a chore. Rita would do it if he asked though he knew that had the potential to go badly wrong. Five percent chance he came out looking decent, twenty percent chance she dyed his hair pink for the fun of it, seventy five percent chance he lost an ear.

More than Juno needed a haircut, he needed a cigarette. But he was currently experiencing one of his fits of madness that led him to try and quit. He’d be damned before he let this crappy night have that victory too. He had to maintain control where he could, even if his fingers were shaking slightly and he was compulsively bouncing his leg.

Juno ran through his mental list again. No ongoing cases. Nothing interesting in the police transmissions he’d had Rita hack and rewire to his comms ages ago. Nothing spooky or unexplainable in the news. Hell, not even anything good on the video feeds.

In short, nothing to do.

The thought made him sick.

He didn’t do well without some kind of occupation. Feelings he didn’t want to feel and thoughts he didn’t want to think clamoured for every scrap of undivided attention and if they got too much of a grasp then...then he was screwed, basically.

He could already feel the signs coming in, like the symptoms of a slow, degenerative illness. First every breath didn’t feel like enough, like he was actually forgetting how to breathe with each passing second. Then he would start to shake, nerves firing and muscles twitching when he hadn’t asked them to, with nowhere to put the energy they gave out. Other parts would go the opposite way, they’d go numb, his extremities prickling with pins and needles but unable to feel. Sweat would bead uncomfortably under his arms or on his forehead, though that one was already a given with the heat of the night.

And then things would draw in, the walls pressing but also everything far beyond them, all moving in and crunching down like cheap tin, like the whole universe was trying to crush itself into Juno’s heart.

He shook himself, pinching the bridge of his nose hard, muttering, “Stop it, stop it, stop it…”

He was doing exactly what he needed to avoid, wallowing in it. Still muttering, he launched himself back into his dark apartment, staggering when his legs weren’t ready to listen to instructions yet though he managed to catch himself on the windowsill. A few strides took him into the kitchen and within seconds he had his hand around the half empty bottle of bourbon. At least there was that to be said for having a depressingly small apartment. You could never be that far from a drink.

Juno didn’t bother with a glass, feeling the insides of the bottle slosh as he raised it and it carried that momentum straight down his throat. It burned in the best way, molten gold spreading through his chest, helping it expand and stand firm against the pressure of just...everything.

Now he was swaying though it had nothing to do with his legs. Juno tried to do the math in his head, work out how much more he needed to drink to drown his dreams, how to walk the tightrope between the alcohol bringing him blissful oblivion and rendering him unable to get up for work in the morning. But the math was hard so he took another long pull.

Then he was moving, bare feet slapping against the cheap plastic painted up to look like a wooden floor. Then the whole universe tipped on his axis and then he was in bed, the old springs squealing their protest as they took his weight. Devastatingly, the bottle slipped from his grasp as he did and thunked against the floor, the rest of that oblivion he desperately needed glugging sadly into an old shirt of his, staining it probably beyond redemption.

“Ah shit…” Juno cursed, trying to grope for it while doing as little moving as possible, not trusting himself not to slip and spend another night on the floor. That would kill his bad back.

He didn’t find the cool touch of glass under his fingers. He found paper. And he didn’t need to see it to know what it was.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Juno flew onto his knees then, snatching the paper up, not caring if he fell now. His voice sounded so small in the dark, empty space, like a child begging the universe to be kind, “Please, please, please…”

He held it to the one square of sickly yellow light above his bed, coming from a glow lamp outside. It was fine. No bourbon had touched it, the ink was dry and readable as ever, the hand it was written in perfect as when he’d first looked at it. He could still read the name, done in looping, exaggerated cursive. Peter Nureyev.

Juno exhaled a long, shaky sigh of relief, letting his forehead hit the wall, limbs feeling leaden as the last of the panic concentrated there before evaporating away.

Pathetic, he told himself, after everything he did, clinging to his fucking goodbye-I-screwed-you-over note like it’s a god damn safety blanket.

And it was pathetic, he knew that. To have the parting glance of someone who’d stolen so many things from him as an anchor, to keep it and read it over and over again ‘for the case’, like that was fooling anyone. What case? Nureyev had fucked him good and not even in the way Juno had wanted him to. He’d probably never even see him again. What case was there?

But reading the words brought the memory of that cologne back into his nose, the spices from another planet, hell, another universe. They brought back that look he’d given him back at the Kanagawa’s, the look that had made him feel like he could do anything. It brought back the hope he’d been able to nurse for four fucking beautiful hours, that maybe he could have a partner, that he would feel a little less lonely. That someone saw him for more than he was.

It had been a lie, of course, all of it. But the fading memories of a beautiful lie where all Juno had right now.

And he was pathetic enough to cling to them until his fingers bled.

Juno sank down into the pillow again, the letter in his hand, thumb running across the words. He was still thinking about that kiss. One of the best ones he’d ever had, for all it’s brevity and unkept promises. The way Nureyev’s lipstick had left a ghost on his mouth, the way his lips had parted after just the right amount of time, the way Juno had felt him moan, not just heard him, with his fingers resting so lightly at his throat. His sleek black hair had felt just as soft as it looked, under Juno’s other hand, and he’d wanted so badly to see it mussed up out of it’s perfect arrangement.

How would it have happened? Would Nureyev have wanted to keep control, he seemed like being in control. Sure it had been a bitch when you were the guy’s mark but in bed...Juno didn’t think he’d mind. He pictured being pinned under him like a butterfly to a board, having his legs straddle his hips, having those perfectly manicured hands holding his wrists tight enough to leave marks.

Outside of his dream, Juno was straining against the elastic of his boxers. He was hot all over, not just from the weather. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d rolled onto his back and his hand was down between his legs, holding himself through the thin cotton.

Once that was done, it was a simple thing to slip under the fabric and feel his own skin. He was ridiculously hard, when had that happened? Even with the two good swallows of sour whiskey, he was standing straight as soon as he pushed down his boxers, springing free with an action that deserved it’s own goddamn comedy spring sound effect.

Fine… the voice inside him sighed, resigned. It was better than a fucking panic attack.

Juno’s own fingers were rough and clumsy but he was imagining slimmer ones, delicate, with hidden calluses you wouldn’t notice until the contact was this intimate. He was leaking enough pre to reduce any friction though he didn’t mind it a little rough.

Would Nureyev be rough with him? Would he take what he wanted, would it be hard, snapping muscle and tension, a struggle? Juno didn’t know why but he thought- hoped maybe- that it might be sweeter than that. Maybe they could be equals, kissing heavily while their hands fumbled. Nureyev was so slight, it would be so easy to bring him close, to cover his body with Juno’s own. To have them be so tangled that suddenly there’d be no border between them.

The groan tore out of Juno’s chest and he threw his arm over his face to muffle any sounds, the other arm working fast.

But he’d be loud for Nureyev...he’d shout and scream and not give a damn, for once. And Nureyev would look at him as their bodies crashed together, he’d give him that look from before, the one that made Juno feel so, so good.

He came before he wanted to, shuddering and moaning the name under his breath. And then it was all gone, the fantasy shattered. Juno was lying in his own bed, sweating and panting, come sticking to his palm and dripping off his fingers.

Pathetic. It came harsh, like the crack of a whip this time and Juno actually flinched.

He rolled onto his side and curled up small, letting the letter fall from his grasp over the edge of the bed, and tried not to feel the tears in his eyes.

The city continued on outside, blaring loud through his windows, and Juno Steel shut down and hoped he wouldn’t dream.

[believerindaydreams]

oh this got away from me

...*dang* it I swear that whenever I specifically say “no I ain’t gonna fic that” my subconscious goes right ahead and cooks up a story for me. (This is what I get for napping after reblogging all those Eastwood pics huh.)

Albeit, this is Rawhide through the lens of the 70s GBU filter, so uh....what can I say, I don’t like Gil Favor. I do like how that dynamic works with the distinctly screwed-up nature of 70s Blondie though. 

Retrospectively, mind. Post-canon fic, sometime during the trio’s first Christmas together. 

It’s a crazy thing the way he and Blondie have swapped off, Tuco thinks. Wishes for what seems like the hundredth time that he could wipe the sweat and snow off his face- it doesn’t seem fair, to get both at once. But even the small end of this pine tree is heavy and walking backwards is tricky, he doesn’t want to drop it. 

“Careful now,” Blondie says heartily. “We’re almost at the door.”

His partner’s beaming, pink-faced. Blondie’s taking a deep and lively pleasure in the seasonal festivities, boisterously enthusiastic about every snow-dappled tradition, while he’s been wearying his soul out for warmth and dust-strewn Texas roads. Tuco balances the tree on his shoulder, fumbles for the doorknob-

“You two are the height of absurdity.” Angel Eyes opens the door wide, placing one black-gloved hand on his shoulder to guide him inside. Hearing that wry familiar bewilderment, maybe it still doesn’t make it all worth it. 

Goes some ways, though. 

“Or I am,” Blondie says ruefully, as they wrestle the tree into the gatehouse’s blessed heat. “Mighta kept Tuco out too long- but I wanted this to be just right. A surprise for you, Angel.” 

“Why wouldn’t you think I’d want to be along to pick it?”

“Because there’s so little you’re willing to accept as a surprise,” Blondie points out. “A Christmas tree two days ahead of schedule, that seemed like it’d fit the bill nicely.”

“...that’s very nearly exasperating, if accurate,” Angel Eyes says. Genuine pleasure somewhere in there under the annoyance, and it makes Tuco feel a little lonely to hear it. Not feeling at home here of all places, that’s not right. 

“One, two, three- there we go,” Blondie says, sliding the tree into the holder with seemingly effortless enthusiasm. “Now I’ll brush the snow off, so it won’t get over the floor, then we can start decorating.”

“Blondie, can we- what if we put that off until tomorrow? Only I’m tired.” Tuco pulls off his jacket, dives deep underneath their knit sofa throw. 

“I’m sorry,” Blondie says, a little awkwardly. “I thought you’d be having more fun.” 

“Oh, it was all right at the start- but three hours walking! Santa Maria, you never know when to leave off.” 

“Well. It had to be the right tree, for Angel,” Blondie says, chin set with a charming determination. 

“...yeah, yeah, fair enough.” In response to Angel’s questioning look, he nods in quick reassurance- there’s nothing really wrong with him, besides exhaustion and maybe a little homesickness. “Maybe I’ll just have a quick nap, you two can get on with things.”

Angel balances himself carefully on the sofa arm, concern etched across his features. “If that’s what you need, by all means. Though I’m surprised you don’t want even a bowl of soup first.”

“Is it that late already?”

“Four hours walking, if I’m not much mistaken,” Angel says. Throws Blondie a dirty look. 

“In my defense, somebody insisted on chopping down a whole tree by himself just to prove that he wasn’t such a city slicker.”

“And who was teasing me about that, huh? Somebody who was happy just to stand around smoking cigarillos while I was busy working, that’s who-”

“I was hoping the woodchopping might- help cheer you up,” Blondie says hesitantly, sliding down besides him on the floor. “Last time you were this down-at-mouth during Christmas was Pennsylvania.”

“It wasn’t. That was Christmas before last, when you were so sick and I was- I was scared I’d lose you. That was much worse.” Not that he would have asked to be reminded of, but the thought helps put things in perspective. A little sadness tonight is nothing like that harsh, gripping terror, gracias a Dios.

“...it all seemed more cheerful from my perspective- chalk it up to the fever, I suppose,” Blondie says. He sounds a little quizzical. 

“Anyway, what was so wrong with Pennsylvania? It all ended happily. My cousin thought it was a riot.” 

“Happily? I’ve still got a warrant out!”

“So what? You’ve got one in Florida, too-”

“One story at a time,” Angel Eyes decrees, handing each of them a bowl of thick orange soup. “What’s this about a cousin, Tuco?”

“I mean I have one. Six of them, at that- what, did you think it was just me and Pablo? It’s a Catholic family.”

“So was mine,” Angel Eyes observes. 

“...not to be rude or anything, but your family, that wasn’t what anyone would call normal,” Tuco says delicately. He spoons down piping hot mouthfuls, faintly puzzled by the flavour- it isn’t anything quite like what Angel’s made before. “It’s not everyone who’s brought up by an assassin lady.”

The twist of pleasure to his lover’s mouth, he lives for moments like that. 

“What even was his name?” Blondie asks. “The number of ‘em he had, you think I’d be able to remember one...”

“I bet you remember Gil Favor though, eh?”

“You’re not going to be happy until Angel hears the whole stupid tale, are you,” Blondie mutters. “It’s not- god above, he doesn’t want to hear about my rebound.”

“We had to do something after Louisiana,” Tuco says impishly. “And it felt like a good idea to do something different- so we treated ourselves a little, spent my savings on a slow trip north. See, my cousin was working in a meatpacking plant, he always said he could get us in whenever we wanted a job- it seemed like a good time to take up the offer.”

“I didn’t believe him,” Blondie confesses. “Or- more like, didn’t want to believe it. Not my Tuco.”

“Not either of you, I’d have thought,” Angel says rather curiously. “You’re neither of you especially suited for violence.”

“...maybe I wanted to get the knack, in case you caught up with me again,” Blondie mutters. 

“Oh, is that why you- oh,” Tuco says. “Huh. Blondie was working with the live cows, I was mostly mopping and moving boxes, clean work like that. It was hard work though, I didn’t like it. Too cold. And nobody liked the way my cousin had pushed for me to get a cushy job, they said it wasn’t fair.”

“I had a punch-up with two guys who tried to lock him in a freezer the first week,” Blondie says heavily. “Brought me to the attention of the line manager. I figured he was gonna fire me, so I got a little cocky- Tuco could tell you how that goes, when I haven’t got anything to lose.”

“He hardly needs to. I was watching it for months, if you’ll recall.” 

“It’s sexy,” Tuco says, grinning. “I used to like watching him get fired.”

“Yeah. That sure never helped with us trying to settle down...okay. So I told the man what happened, figured I’d take my medicine for it, only Favor seemed to like it. Said I was spirited.”

“And one two three, next thing you know he’s fucking the boss,” Tuco says, licking his spoon. “They had a lot in common, actually- Favor had crazy dreams too. He wanted to be a cowboy like nobody’s business, but he had two daughters and an old aunt to look after.” 

“Lucky thing I had you,” Blondie says, looking up at him fondly. “Never got tempted to leave hostages to fortune like that.”

“Penny.”

“Penny didn’t want kids either, we’d agreed to that on the first date. Funny thing about that, actually-” 

“Blooooondie. Stop getting distracted.” 

“I’m not making you explain your last partner to Angel, am I?” Blondie gets up, holds his hand out for Tuco’s empty bowl. 

“But I already told him abut Trixie! He knows that story.”

“I should have seen that coming, huh.” 

“I’d say so,” Angel agrees, lightly sipping at his soup. “Keep going.” 

“Okay, well...it wasn’t the worst setup, or not for me. Course everybody else at the plant hated me playing suck-up, but I felt sorry for the man being so isolated. Or as sorry as I could be, for a complete kook. Had all these crazy notions about how the Confederacy was doomed from the start, because they’d all missed their chance supporting an independent Texan state.”

“Yeah. Lots of great ideas about how all the slave holders should have moved there and invaded Mexico,” Tuco says, rolling his eyes. “They used to chat about it in the office with the door wide open, anybody could hear them.” 

“It paid for a nicer apartment than we’d ever had before.” 

“And I hated it. And Pennsylvania. And Favor- I didn’t like the way he said his wife didn’t matter, just because they were separated. Or the way my partner doted on him,” Tuco says, cautiously taking the bowl from Blondie’s hands. “I mean, I guess a lot of that was Blondie missing you, I get that now, but he sure wanted me to be jealous of him for something and I was.” 

“What? That’s not how I thought- I mean, he was right that it was a short-term proposition. His wife did come back.” 

“In December, because it was Christmas and she missed her kids,” Tuco says. “I felt sorry for her. She’d run off to the big city, tried to make it on her own- if I’d known where she was I’d have tried to help her. But nobody knew where she was.” 

“When she did come back, I was in bed with Favor,” Blondie says. “I won’t say it was the most awkward thing that’s ever happened to me, Angel Eyes, but all the rest have involved you.” 

“Tell Angel what he said,” Tuco says, snickering. “Just tell him.” 

“...he looks across the blankets at his wife,” Blondie says. “And he looks at me, and he says as nice as you please, ‘Rowdy’- I was going by Rowdy-” 

“That I hated worst of all, the name. You know how Blondie gets into a part, well- you never saw anybody so wholesome!”

“He says ‘Rowdy, this is my wife Janice, and I think you two would get along’. And there I am with my shirt off and my ass bare,” Blondie says, sprinkling pepper on his soup. “Saying to myself, how the hell did I work so hard getting out of one disaster of a threesome just to end up in somebody else’s? So I excused myself, put my pants on and went home.” 

“...we had a pretty good fuck that night. After I stopped laughing at him.” 

“Tuco, why were you putting up with this?”

“You never saw Blondie dressed up as a cowboy,” Tuco says cheerfully. “Let me tell you, he’s pretty hot that way. We got a nice routine together at lunchtime- first he’d be with Favor in his office, and I’d be watching through the keyhole, then Favor would hurry off to do his three-martini deal or whatever it was that gave him such rotten ulcers- and then Blondie would let me in and I’d fuck him again, it was great.” 

“Yeah. Actually getting any lunch started to be a problem.” 

“Fucking an adulterous Confederate maniac, and he thought eating lunch was his big problem,” Tuco retorts. 

“...I’m at a complete loss now, whether you were enjoying this or not.” 

“I was and I wasn’t, you know? It’s complicated. It got more complicated when Janice said she’d fallen in love with Blondie- she said he was such a gentleman, and I figured with her husband anybody would look like one."

“She came to the plant to apologise to me for interrupting, of all things, and, uh, I was just trying to finish my lunch and before the hour was over she was trying to kiss me,” Blondie says. “Which is right about when I decided we should make tracks.” 

“So I skipped out on work that afternoon and went home to pack and get the car ready and everything. Somebody has to think of this stuff.” 

“And then...oh god,” Blondie says, and starts to laugh with helpless hilarity. 

“To think I played poker with you,” Tuco says, clicking his tongue. “We got to work the next morning, only the plant was still locked up tight- that was one of Favor’s jobs, he’d never give anybody else the keys. The whole herd of cows was milling around outside, and he was in the middle of them on a big white charger.”  

“And he says, god help us all, that he’s going to ride herd on them all the way to Texas, and anybody from the plant who wants to sign up as a trail hand is welcome to do so. And he wants me along as ramrod- are you all right?” 

“...perfectly fine,” Angel promises. Once Tuco’s patted him on the back a few times and he’s stopped choking. “Pray continue.” 

“Yeah. So. I asked him, isn’t it stealing to take these cattle from the plant, and he says no, he’s paid his life savings to buy this herd and by god he’s going to take them to a Western range, blah blah blah- did I mention he’s got his full cowboy fetish gear on? He has.” 

“His wife’s loaded up their pickup truck,” Tuco says. “It’s all packed, the kids are in it, even the old aunt. So when I saw that I knew it was serious business.”

“She was trying to reason with him,” Blondie says. “Hollering at him to please calm down, talk about this sensibly, and he whipped out a set of pistols and said he’d get the whole herd to Texas just to spite her if nothing else...anyway I figured I’d better humour him some,” Blondie says. “So I put on the vest, and the hat, and everything-” 

“I wanted to kiss him like that. But I didn’t want a bullet through my heart either- but I thought of something.”

“He taps my foot when I’m getting on the horse,” Blondie says. “And whispers to me to, um, get Favor away from the cattle...one more round in the office, for old time’s sake. I, uh, might have promised him something about a whip and a set of spurs.” 

“So they go in and when they come out, poof! All the cattle are gone,” Tuco says. “The whole lot. But the field’s a mess- you ever seen how fast a good butcher can turn a cow into hamburger? A lot of poor people in Philly got a lot of free steaks that day, they thought it was a Christmas miracle.” 

“...that was you? The Philadelphia fiasco? That made national headlines.”

“He’s fun like that,” Tuco says fondly, finishing off the soup in amused contentment. No malaise could hold up against a story like that; or not his, anyway. 

“And I had no idea what to say,” Blondie says. “So I just mumbled something about huh, they must have already started the drive without us...and he just broke down and started to cry like a little kid. He was still crying when the cops showed up and dragged him off for inciting a riot- and I wouldn’t have got out of it, only Tuco’s cousin had paid off the cops. Apparently he’d had his eye on Favor’s job for a long time, had been sort of chafing at the bit because he hadn’t been able to get the owners to notice him. They noticed him after that.” 

“And what of Janice?”

“Married my cousin and settled down very happily,” Tuco says. “Tell you the truth, I don’t know if Favor came up with that whole scheme himself, or if it was something they put into his head to try...but they never went after anybody for stealing all that cattle. And it was her money, so there wasn’t anything to be done about it. He hasn’t shown his face in Philly since, I hear.” 

“...I thought it was a shame, kinda,” Blondie says wistfully. “If there’d been any cattle when we’d come out, if we’d had a lot of city-worn men willing to ride out to somewhere better- but I guess I should have known. A man who couldn’t keep the respect of his men at work wasn’t going to be able to sell them on a dream.” 

“Would you really have gone for that?” Angel inquires. “If they had?”

“Hell, why not? Gil wasn’t a bad lay, and Janice was a looker, and with Tuco along I might have given that proposition a shot-”

“If you think I’d have followed some jumped-up racist like that, you’ve got another think coming.” 

“Oh. Then, never.” 

Like the four-hour hunt for a tree, it’s maybe not the most orthodox way for Blondie to say he loves them; but that’s what it means. Tuco leans down, tousles his partner’s hair affectionately. 

“Angel,” Blondie says. “You’re looking pensive.” 

“...all this time I’ve been perfectly convinced I always had the upper hand over you two,” Angel says. “To need to ponder whether my expertise is capable of surmounting your capacity for chaos is...an intriguing question. Possibly even an alarming one.” 

Which is Angel’s way of expressing affection. 

“You two idiots, I love you to death,” Tuco murmurs. 

Feeling very glad, that one of them can say it. 

[miraculousstorytelling]

Think Outside the Lovesquare Day 7: Soulmate AU

This is late, but to be fair, it also ended up being much longer than I expected. I wanted to write a Chlonette soulmate AU, and I wound up going with one where your injuries are healed when you’re close to your soulmate (from this list).

She wanted to believe it wasn’t just the ladybugs that healed her scraped knee. After all, she was sure it had healed itself before the hole in her pants had repaired itself. She desperately wanted to believe that Ladybug’s presence, just the fact that they were in contact had been what healed her.

Unfortunately, Chloe had no way to prove it.

Every time she got close to Ladybug, though, she couldn’t be sure or she wasn’t injured or any number of things stopped her from being able to confirm that Ladybug was indeed her soulmate. Akuma after akuma went by with nothing to show for it but more news for the Ladyblog. It wasn’t until Nathanael was akumatized and Chloe was bruised in the struggle that she was able to watch it fade away when Ladybug jumped in front of her.

They were definitely soulmates.

Now, she just needed to figure out a way to tell her. Maybe she could hire someone to spell it out with flowers in the park or build a commemorative statue in gold. Maybe she could pay Jagged Stone to write a song telling everyone that she, Chloe Bourgeois, was Ladybug’s soulmate.

“Marinette, could you pass these out to the class?”

Chloe barely noticed when Marinette stood and took a pile of papers from Mrs. Mendeleiev. She just held out a hand when it was time for her to take a sheet.

Marinette frowned and shoved it towards her.

“Ow!” Chloe scowled, glaring up at Marinette. “You cut me!”

“Where?” Marinette asked, looking down at Chloe’s fingers.

Which was odd, because Chloe had seen it. She’d felt it. She knew she’d gotten a papercut.

“Just be more careful,” Chloe snapped.

Marinette bristled and moved on, shooting her a nasty look.

Obviously, Chloe must have imagined it. Maybe it just felt like she’d gotten a papercut. Maybe she just wanted it to be a papercut because it was easier to be mad at Marinette when she could come up with a reason.

Then, she looked at the back of the page.

She wasn’t imagining a small line of her own blood on the page. She had definitely been cut. And she’d definitely been healed, which meant that Marinette was also definitely her soulmate.

And if Ladybug was her soulmate and so was Marinette, that meant…

Chloe jumped to her feet. “Mrs. Mendeleiv, I need to go to the nurse. I’m not feeling well.”

Their teacher rolled her eyes and gestured for Chloe to leave.

“Are you okay?” Sabrina asked, her voice soft as Chloe snatched up her things.

“No,” Chloe murmured, a sick feeling spreading through her stomach.

She spent the afternoon staring at pictures of Ladybug and comparing them to Marinette. Part of her simply refused to accept it was real. Marinette couldn’t be Ladybug, and Marinette certainly couldn’t be her soulmate. She didn’t even like Marinette, and Marinette definitely hated her. There had to be some kind of mistake.

Still, pictures didn’t lie, and the evidence was building up. She’d never seen the two of them together, and they did have the same hairstyle and the same height and build. In fact, listening to videos of Ladybug, she could almost hear a hint of Marinette in her voice.

It was infuriating to find out this way, because they’d known each other for years now. How could she have possibly missed it? How could she have not seen that Marinette and Ladybug were the same person?

Chloe missed the next day of classes with a badly faked cough. Her father believed her, and she knew that her attendance until now would protect her from one missed day. She had to find a way to make sense of this. She had to confront Marinette.

So, she spent the day mentally preparing herself before taking a trip to the Dupain-Cheng bakery, just in time for classes to be over.

Chloe arrived as Marinette was waving goodbye to Alya.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Chloe smirked.

“I thought you were sick,” Marinette grumbled as she glared at her. “I didn’t know faking a papercut would do that much damage to your immune system.”

“We need to talk.”

Marinette raised a brow. “Okay. Talk.”

“Not here. I mean in private.”

Marinette scoffed. “I’m not going anywhere private with you. You just want to get in my room and-”

“I know who you are.”

“What?” Marinette stilled and watched her carefully. “I mean...of course you do. We’ve been classmates for-”

“No.” Chloe took a step closer. “I mean, I know your secret.”

“What secret?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “You know exactly what I mean. Or would you like me to tell Alya instead?” She glanced down to examine her nails, keeping her face as expressionless as possible. “I’m sure she’d be very interested to learn you’re actually La-”

“Okay!” Marinette held up her hands. “Okay, let’s talk in private.”

Chloe smiled. “I thought so.”

Marinette led her through the bakery, waving a quick hello to her mother, and through to her home. They were silent as they walked up the stairs to Marinette’s room, and Marinette took a steadying breath before pushing open the trapdoor.

Marinette stepped in and closed the door behind them. “Okay. Tell me what you know.”

“You’re Ladybug. And we’re soulmates.”

Marinette turned to face her. “Hilarious.”

“I’m serious.” She frowned. “You really did cut me. It just healed. The same thing happened with Ladybug.”

“That’s not possible,” Marinette said softly.

“Really?” Chloe snatched up a sewing needle from the pincushion on Marinette’s desk. “Watch.” She pricked her finger and held it up in front of Marinette. It healed immediately.

“But…” Marinette shook her head. “We can’t be soulmates. We don’t even like each other.”

“Well, I like Ladybug.” Chloe scoffed and tossed the needle on Marinette’s desk. “I can probably figure out some reason to like you.”

“Fine. I don’t like you, then.” Marinette folded her arms over her chest. “You’re selfish and horrible, and you’re a bully.”

“Soulmates are just people you’d choose anyway. You know that,” Chloe snapped, ignoring the barbed comments. Besides, she wasn’t exactly thrilled with the decision herself.

Marinette shook her head. “Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe there was a mixup. I’m in love with Adrien, not you.”

“Apparently you’re not as in love as you think.”

They were quiet for a moment, Marinette glaring at the ground and Chloe drumming her fingers on her arm. “So, what exactly are we supposed to do about this?”

“Well, either you figure out why you’re supposed to like me or you stay single forever.”

“I’ll stay single forever,” Marinette answered without a second of hesitation.

Chloe frowned. “You could at least try to think about it.”

“I don’t have to.”

If it had been anyone else, Chloe would have scoffed, turned on her heel, and walked away. She would have found someone else and happily settled for good enough while her soulmate denied the inevitable. But this was Ladybug, and Chloe couldn’t let that happen to Ladybug. “What if you gave me a chance?”

Marinette raised a brow. “A chance?”

“Let me show you why you should like me.”

Marinette watched her for a moment, considering the offer. “Okay, but only if you swear to keep this a secret.”

“Of course. I’m not a monster.”

Marinette didn’t say it, but Chloe knew she was thinking that the term was more accurate than Chloe liked to imagine. “I don’t just mean my identity. I mean the fact we’re soulmates.”

Chloe waved a hand in dismissal. “Fine.”

“Okay, then. I’ll give you a chance.”

“Trust me.” Chloe smirked. “You won’t regret it.”

Marinette might not have, but Chloe certainly did. Every snappy comeback during class earned her a warning look from Marinette, and apparently half-hearted apologies didn’t really count as making it up to people. Even worse, simpering sweetness directed at Marinette alone only earned her immediate suspicion from everyone in the class, but especially from Alya. Buying Marinette nice clothes or inviting her to concerts or shopping trips only made it worse.

Adrien, the one person who really should have been on her side, was even starting to suspect she was up to something. When did he start being better friends with Marinette than with her anyway?

Chloe scowled and read through yet another magazine article about “How to Make People Like You in 10 Easy Steps”. Nothing new, and worse still, nothing helpful. She tossed it aside and glared up at the ceiling.

“What am I doing wrong, Sabrina?”

Sabrina frowned. “I don’t know why you want Marinette to like you anyway.”

“I just want to. Call it charity or whatever.” Chloe sighed. “I don’t understand why she’s being stubborn, though. I’m so likable!”

“Maybe you should try asking her.”

Chloe frowned. “That’s stupid. I-” Then, she sat up. “Wait, maybe that’s not a bad idea, actually.”

It was easy to engineer a press conference for Ladybug and Chat Noir. Chloe had connections, and she was ready for answers.

She waited until Ladybug was taking questions from those attending before she raised one perfectly manicured hand. She could see Ladybug’s expression fall when she noticed it.

Still, she called on Chloe anyway. “Yes? What’s your question?”

Chloe beamed. “Ladybug, how would you describe your ideal romantic partner?”

The look Ladybug sent her almost made her regret this scheme. Marinette was smart. She’d probably already figured out Chloe was the one who planned this conference for this very reason. “Kind, genuine, and dependable. Next question?”

“Thank you!” Okay, Chloe could work with that.

Dependable had to be the easiest one. All she had to do was prove Ladybug could rely on her, right? So, Chloe made an effort to follow through on everything, even if it was a simple homework assignment.

Marinette didn’t seem impressed when Chloe pointed it out to her.

 Genuine was next. Chloe was always genuine. She never held anything back. That had to be easy, too.

When someone asked her opinion, she was honest.

“That haircut’s awful. You look like a mushroom.”

“Did you get dressed in the dark? You couldn’t have picked that out on purpose.”

“Of course Adrikins scored higher than you. He’s brilliant, and you spent all your time roller skating instead of studying.”

For some reason, Marinette didn’t seem to appreciate that one either.

That left kind. Chloe hadn’t been looking forward to this one, but she knew it had to happen eventually. She read up on her compliments and brought a platter of pastries to her class as her first try. Surely, Marinette would be impressed once she demonstrated all three of them.

Sabrina was the only one to eat any of the pastries. Everyone else didn’t trust them. Kim even suggested she might have put something in them.

Chloe tried to take it a step further and compliment Mylene’s new jacket, but half the class ended up yelling at her. It was utterly baffling, because sure she didn’t really like the jacket all that much, but at least she was doing her best.

Finally, as everyone was leaving for lunch, Marinette paused by Chloe’s desk. “I know you’re trying, but I don’t think this is working.”

“Well, what more am I supposed to do? This is what you said you wanted.”

“Maybe we just need to wait. You don’t like me-”

Chloe sat up. “Yes, I do.”

“No.” Marinette shook her head, lowering her voice so they couldn’t be overheard. “You said it yourself. You like Ladybug.”

“I can like you.”

“Until you do, I don’t think you should keep doing this.”

Chloe frowned. “Fine. Then, I like you.”

“Why?”

It should have been easy to come up with an answer. Any answer. Anything besides “because you’re Ladybug” would have worked, but Chloe came up empty.

Marinette turned and headed to the door. “Let me know when you have an answer.”

Chloe slumped back in her seat, stunned.

It was time for something drastic. Chloe had to actually try and like Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She had to watch and understand exactly why everyone seemed to fall for Marinette at least once throughout the course of their education. It was something that had baffled her for some time now.

Sure, Marinette was passably pretty, but that was just because Ladybug made the ponytails look good. The freckles, up close, were a little endearing, sure, but mostly Chloe just wished she could give Marinette a makeover.

Occasionally, Marinette was inspiring. Mostly, Chloe had always found it annoying how she could rally their classmates around her. Leadership qualities had to be objectively positive, though, right? Besides, Ladybug was an amazing leader, and Chloe had always loved that about her.

There were times when Marinette smiled, and the room actually seemed brighter. That was a cliche, and part of Chloe was wondering if she’d just watched too many romances lately. As much as she tried to deny it, once she saw it, once she recognized the effect Marinette’s joy had on everyone and everything around her, she couldn’t unsee it. The room was noticeably sunnier when Marinette entered in a good mood.

Sometimes, Marinette had designs that were better than the average student. Chloe hated to admit it, but now that she was trying to be objective, she had to acknowledge when Marinette wore a flattering skirt and happily relayed to Alya that she had designed it herself. Marinette did won that hat contest, though, so it did make sense.

Plus, Adrien seemed fond of her, so maybe that was another reason to like her. Although, if Chloe were to be honest, Adrien could probably love anyone. He was much too sweet to turn anyone away. Why couldn’t he have been her soulmate?

Chloe had filled two journals with ideas and reasons and arguments all about Marinette. Months had gone by, and she felt like something was simply missing from it all. She had hundreds of reasons, but none of them felt genuine.

Until the day Chloe and Sabrina both had the flu at the same time.

Without her best friend there to take notes for her during class, Chloe had to hope Adrien would help her out and bring her work by. Maybe he’d even stay and keep her company. Being sick alone was a special kind of miserable.

She texted him, and he assured her he’d make sure she got her assignments.

When the school day ended, however, she didn’t expect Marinette to be the one who delivered them.

“Hey, Chloe.” Marinette held a large bag in one hand and her tablet in the other. “I heard you were sick.”

“What are you doing here?” Chloe rasped, too tired to be angry.

“I asked Adrien if I could come take care of you.”

Chloe groaned and flopped back into bed. “You should go home before you get sick, too.”

“I brought you some soup.” Marinette set it down on the small table in Chloe’s sitting area. “And some tissues and cough medicine.”

“I’m fine.”

Marinette eyed her for a moment. “You look like death.”

“Gee, thanks,” Chloe grumbled. “Seriously, you should go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Marinette motioned to the seat beside her. “Come over here. Let me take care of you.”

For the first time in her life, Chloe actually believed she could like Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Objectively speaking, Chloe was a miserable patient. She whined and refused to eat or take her medicine. Marinette was patient enough to convince her, promising a rooftop dinner with Ladybug if she did both. She rubbed Chloe’s back when the nausea set in, and she walked her through their assignment, her soothing voice the perfect sound to lull Chloe to sleep.

When Chloe returned to class four days later, still sniffly and still a little feverish, she handed Marinette an envelope, so full it was almost bursting.

“What is this?” Marinette asked, staring down at it.

“Open it when you get home.”

No way was Chloe going to let Marinette read her list of reasons why Chloe liked her in front of anyone else.

Ladybug visited later that night. “Do you mean all of this?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

Chloe shrugged. “I’ve been working on it for a few months.”

“When I asked for an answer, I wasn’t really looking for 1000 reasons, you know.”

Chloe chuckled. “I’m an overachiever when I want to be.”

“Well,” Ladybug let her transformation fall, leaving Marinette and a small red creature beside her. “I guess that means I’ll give you another chance.”

“You won’t regret it.”

Marinette laughed. “You know, I actually believe you this time.”

[doumekichikara]

bodyswap! 👯‍♂️👫👬👭

[put a fanfic trope in my inbox and i’ll describe the fic i’d write!]

i am in fact heavily into a bodyswap au for damen and laurent that i unfortunately am never going to write but i’ll describe it in detail for you now! for 2,500 words, in fact!

note that it’s inspired in part by kimi no na wa (your name) so if you don’t want spoilers for that movie then don’t read this,

laurent and damen realize they’re swapping bodies a couple of days into it, after initially thinking they must be having incredibly, inexplicably realistic dreams. what is happening is impossible and cannot be real. but then damen sees, in a handwriting that is not his own, too neat, almost as if the writer is not used to writing in akielon and had to compose the message quite slowly and carefully, a note left in his bed: is this real?

laurent, waking in damen’s body the following day, finds a message in veretian, written below his own and tucked away in the same place: it must be.

through notes, and then longer letters, they piece it together. they’re alternating days. the switch happens as they sleep. laurent tries staying awake to prevent it, but all it does is delay it by a day. (he files this away in case there’s a day he knows he wants to be in his own body for.) when damen wakes up in his own body for two consecutive days and finds out how, he tries it too and is also able to delay it, and it doesn’t happen when he takes a nap that afternoon either; they both have to be asleep. laurent counts back the days and realizes it must have started at the six-year anniversary of the battle at marlas, but that is not something he wants to discuss with damen without a sword in his hand and damen in front of him, and so he never mentions it.

the problem is: in damen’s body, living damen’s life, it is very hard to imagine fighting him to the death. the first weeks, it sickens him to feel all these worshipful eyes on damianos, to see people prostrate themselves for him, to be served by slaves and to have to refuse the services that are so commonplace as to be assumed if he doesn’t give some reason he wants his bed to himself that night. and it is confusing, at times distressingly so, to move through customs and behaviors he’s only ever read about, and to do so in a body that he can feel so much power in, one he handles with lumbering awkwardness, forgetting his height and the mass of his limbs. he comes back to his body and he feels very light, too quick, not nearly solid enough.

but damianos is—thoughtful. damianos glosses akielon words in veretian where he can and leaves little phrases he thinks might come in handy, far more conversational than anything laurent included in his own guide to passing as himself. he writes suggestions for areas laurent might like to work on the next time he spars with jord, accurate to laurent’s weaknesses without having ever seen him fight, only from being in his skin. he catches onto laurent’s unwillingness to make the same use of slaves as he does and does something, during one of their days in their correct bodies, that leads to laurent never again finding himself having to work a way out of a slave coming to his (damianos’s) bed.

he slowly transforms the messages from warnings and rules to anecdotes about what he did that day, things laurent doesn’t need to know, but that he seems to want to tell him anyway. and laurent starts to do the same, almost like a diary, or a friend.

meanwhile damen has become…very taken with laurent, or what he has gathered about what laurent must be like. his messages are utilitarian at first, and from the way he spends his days (or the way damen does while he’s him) he doesn’t seem to interact with anyone any more than he has to. he has minimal interaction with the court, which baffles damen because it is so far removed from everything he has learned from his father about being a future king, and laurent is supposed to rule in just two more years. it occurs to him that laurent may be keeping him away from the court in order to keep him from learning anything sensitive, since he’s an enemy and could use that information against him—that’s the way veretians think, isn’t it? (it would never work, since memories of laurent’s life are fuzzy each time he returns to his own; it’s the written record at each end that refreshes it each time, and that never makes it to the other side.) all he can say for sure about laurent, initially, is that he’s incredibly beautiful and probably incredibly intelligent, if the reading material in his bedroom and the way he writes are anything to go by.

and then he spars with jord, and he learns that laurent works much, much harder than he wants anyone to know, and that he has the absolute loyalty of his men, good men, and that it is deserved. laurent does not have the physical strength that damen does but he has honed his body well, and for a long time, and from how jord responds both during and afterwards damen can tell that laurent knows how to move in his body much better than damen can, and that damen can only begin to imagine what laurent could do with himself.

(he has a similar realization the first time he-as-laurent goes riding.)

and then laurent starts to write back for real, no longer the spare, efficient messages but actual responses to damen, and damen learns that he is funny in a way that can cut but also has a warmth to it. that he’s far more observant than damen, so much so that damen starts to realize just how much slips by him simply because it hadn’t occurred to him it could be important. that he is fair, and kind, and perhaps also very lonely. that he couldn’t have asked for a better person to be stuck in this surreal situation with.

some days he imagines going to vere to meet him, to share the same time and space instead of always being alone and always delayed a day. he wonders whether that’s what they’re supposed to do, if maybe that’s why this is all happening—they’re meant to find common ground, come up with a way to move past this uneasy truce between their countries and form a real alliance. he considers writing laurent a letter and sending it off to arles, and then feels silly because they already do that every day, and what is he expecting to happen? (and on some days, when he can’t stop himself, he wonders if there might be an end to the switching, if the way to stop is to meet, to kiss—)

laurent, meanwhile, has accepted border duty, even knowing his uncle means to engineer a way to kill him, because he too has started to wonder, and he thinks there may be a way to make a friend of akielos. the day he leaves for the border, he sends a letter to damen, a real one; leaving arles means leaving behind the place he’s been hiding their messages, and he’s not sure when he’ll next have a safe place to leave new ones.

the next day, laurent wakes up in his own body.

he thinks that damen must have had to stay up late, for some reason, or woke so early that there was no overlap, seeing as laurent went to sleep quite late. but there’s no switch the next day, either. or the next. he moves towards the border without a single day in ios. and without a reply to his letter.

when he reaches the border after two weeks, he writes to jokaste. they got along well when he was in damen’s body; damen always scolded him for it afterwards, but she was the only one he’d ever let himself act at all like himself with, when he was damen. he thinks that if he is going to chance a letter to anyone else in the akielon court, it has to be her.

and this is how he learns that damen has been dead for a year.

and this is where the reader would remember that laurent had thought it was six years since marlas, had turned twenty, while damen had thought it would be two years until a nineteen-year-old laurent could rule. that jokaste had tried to warn laurent-as-damen but had referenced things only damen himself would understand, and laurent hadn’t written any of it down, so he didn’t remember and damen never knew. that for a month damen had been coughing, had been tiring more easily, but had pushed it aside so well it didn’t seem important.

for this au, both theomedes and damen were poisoned as part of the regent’s plan with kastor, and damen accidentally died too soon, too soon for it to be believable, before theomedes and before enough word had gotten out about him being sick for it to seem like it had been of natural causes. the alternate plan became to keep it quiet that he’d already died and wait for long enough that it seemed plausible it was natural. the story was that he was ill, and even the story didn’t make it to laurent because it barely left ios; the health and vitality of their royals is a point of pride and to have the king and crown prince both ill wasn’t a vulnerability the kyroi wanted to share openly with neighboring countries. by the time it became more public knowledge laurent was swapping with damen and believed his firsthand knowledge over quiet rumors, and was also very distracted with the whole swapping situation in general.

so: laurent learns the truth from jokaste, who tells him the truth because by this point (pg in the canon timeline) the regent is starting to move forward with his plans and jokaste is sure something like what happened to damen is going to happen again, and she couldn’t save him but maybe she can help laurent. laurent, meanwhile, is very fixated on the fact that this all started on the anniversary of marlas, and while part of him thinks maybe this has all been some kind of delusion borne of his obsession with damianos and his approaching 21st birthday i.e. expiration date, he thinks it must have been real. that was not the damen he would have conjured from his own mind.

so he rides alone to marlas from the border, and he goes to the artesian ruins. and in his letters with damen they talked about artes, and how it was once a single kingdom, and all of the ways those connections are still present, underlying their foundations. and during the months they were alternating bodies, there was a time that laurent-as-damen went to marlas and left something of damen’s there—a sword? a shield?—on the site where auguste died. laurent returns there, now as himself, and he considers how backwards this all is: he came to remember auguste, wearing auguste’s killer’s body, and now here he is in his own body, desperately seeking his brother’s killer.

while he’s there, he falls on the uneven ground and hits his head. when he wakes, he’s in damen’s living, breathing body once again.

what follows is an Exciting Ride, in which laurent desperately tries to ensure damen lives, talking to jokaste about the poison plot, riding to delpha alone to see nikandros (who has def been present already in the story, warning damen-as-damen just like jokaste warned laurent-as-damen, and also the time laurent went to marlas was during a trip damen made to delpha) to set things in motion as far as having an anti-kastor faction amongst the kyroi. after he’s talked to nikandros he has a very strong instinct that he needs to go to the ruins, that he’ll be able to see damen there—

and he does, somehow. he goes to where his body had been when he left it (over a year from now?) and he calls for damen and hears damen call him back—damen in laurent’s own voice, saying his name, as he calls damen’s with damen's—and then somehow, incredibly, damen is there, or he is there, over a year from now but somehow in a shared time and place, and then he is himself, and looking up at damen, damen who is so very large and right there in front of him for the first time.

“you died,” laurent says, ��how could you let that happen, you absolute moron—”

damen doesn’t hear any of this because laurent is so much more beautiful in front of him, in front of him and not in a mirror, laurent found a way to him, even though damen remembers when he collapsed—"can i?“ damen asks, reaching out.

he embraces him. laurent has not been touched, not like this, not in so long, but he embraces damen, there where damen killed auguste, and he feels a relief he hasn’t felt since that happened, and it doesn’t make any sense but he doesn’t want to let it go.

they are holding onto each other as laurent tells him everything he needs to know, tells him to remember all of it, his life literally depends on it, there will be more attempts, don’t you dare die, and damen tells him he won’t, he won’t, and laurent had better not either—

the moment ends. laurent stands alone, on the ruins.

he can’t remember why he came. he was looking for someone. for something? he looks around and feels an echo of relief and doesn’t know why.

(over a year ago, damen remembers what laurent told him, remembers what he needs to do. he doesn’t die, he won’t, he promised someone…

who?)

laurent can’t remember why he went to marlas, and he goes back to where he was stationed on the border in a sort of haze, feeling both emptied, as though something very important is missing, and more full and real than he has in a long time.

laurent can’t remember why he sent the letters to damianos or jokaste, but he did, and that’s what matters. that’s how the correspondence that changes everything begins. how he is able to bring together his uncle’s plots and the thwarted poison plot on the akielon royal family, the mastermind of which still hasn’t yet been identified. how he arranges to meet formally with the akielon crown prince and sees him in the flesh for the first time.

but—it doesn’t feel like the first time at all, and as laurent studies damianos’s face he thinks he sees something familiar in it, something he feels but can’t name. a sort of nostalgia, missing something he shouldn’t be able to miss. as they look at each other, the eye contact feels intimate, and strangely laurent doesn’t want to pull away from that.

“is this…?” damianos—damen asks.

“it must be,” laurent says.

[falling-stars-and-open-scars]

An Introduction &Mental Clusterf*ck

06/21/20

Hiya Tumblr, how’s it goin? I’ve been meaning to write sooner, but never seem to really get the time/chance to. If you’ve recently started following me, welcome! I’m sorry we had to find each other like this, but it is also nice to know that we’re not alone. 

I suppose I should do a bit of an introduction: (Going to go ahead and put Trigger Warning here out of respect because you never know what might be triggering to someone so best to cover all bases) 

Name: I’ll go by Star, I guess

Age: 31 (I feel a bit like a creep being on this platform as it’s not really aimed at my demographic, but at the same time, I feel like I can relate more to the posts/memes/people here than I can on other platforms)

Location: USA, Central US to be more specific without giving too much away

Conditions/Ailments: Well, this is a bit tricky as I’ve never been truly professionally diagnosed with anything. I have some type of depression (bi-polar II disorder or something similar to that). I have engaged in self injurious behavior from the time I was 13 years old with my most serious occurrence at age 28/29 being ruled as an attempt. Up until October of 2019, I had been clean from SI/SH for a full year -- even with my parents getting an ugly divorce after 30 years of marriage and being placed in the middle of that ugliness. I relapsed because of an argument with my best friend over a guy she was dating at the time, which lead her to say “You don’t care about me!”...when, in therapy, I had to list the reasons why I would/should stay clean.....guess who was my number 1 reason? Yeah, her. So for her to say that I don’t care when my whole reason for not going deeper into the dark rabbit hole that is depression and SI/SH.....yeah, it hurt a lot. But, thankfully, we’ve made up and she’s no longer dating that idiot and I have been clean. Another “condition” I have would be an eating disorder. It’s kinda hard to really put a label on it, but if I had to I would say I have BED and am developing ANA-like behaviors. In the past, like when I was 12-13 years old, I looked into Ana and Mia. I even purged a few times as I got older (16-18 years old), but stopped because I had just gotten braces/gotten braces off/had a surgical procedure done where they break and reset my jaw to fix my overbite [called a Class II Skeletal Malocclusion] and didn’t want the stomach acid to ruin my teeth that I had just spent all this time getting fixed. I have always been about 20 pounds heavier than girls in my age group. If they were 100 pounds, I was 120; if they were 130, I was 150. This went on for some time until my “father” (let’s be real, he’s a sperm donor and nothing more) went to prison for some stupid sh*t that he knew better than to do (he is not mentally well and has a lot of delusions about reality and perspective). Anyway, while he was away, I ballooned up and also got a little bit of PTSD because of police being involved -- for a few years, anytime I heard sirens or saw police lights, I would break down and cry. Since then, I’ve just continued to gain and gain and gain. 

Weight: My hw was 290 around December 27th 2019. I weighed myself yesterday and I am down to 271. My goal is to be at least 200 by the end of the year. I have been restricting (going from originally 1,500 to 1,200 to 1,000 per day), I have fasted (started doing it around January/February but stopped; my fasts were usually only 16-18 hours and I would only have liquids during that time -- water, tea, or zero calorie drinks like Powerade if I was feeling really bad). I know that’s not really enough to claim that I’m Ana, however, I do get anxiety when I eat something and do not know how many calories something has. For example, my friend wanted to get ice cream a few weeks ago and I legitimately wanted to cry in frustration because I couldn’t get an accurate calorie count for the item I wanted and wanted to cancel because I didn’t want to splurge or “ruin any progress” I had made. I count calories a lot with LoseIt and based my day off of “well, were you good and stayed at or below limit or did you go over”/”did you have a good day or were you being bad?”. It gets to a point to where my boyfriend will offer me a sip of regular Coke and I say “No, it has calories”. A literal sip....tiniest bit of ingestion...and I avoid it like the plague. 

Stats: Height = 5 foot 6, Weight = 271 (currently), Body Type = ?I dunno, I used to be kind of an hourglass as a teen so....maybe hourglass?

Struggles: Weight, obviously. I would love to be under 200, I would love to be 160 like my friend and get the compliments that she gets all the f*cking time. The girl can post a picture of her and her dog and everyone is commenting about how beautiful she is....like, guys, it’s not about her, she’s literally trying to show you her dog but all you thirsty b*tches see is her and think that if you compliment her enough times she just might say hello to you. That’s not to say that my friend is not pretty; she is pretty. It’s just the fact that she’s had people falling over themselves trying to compliment her and shower her with attention and for what? Because she simply exists in the size that she is. The same people/friends that we have will comment on how drop dead beautiful she is but will then share a meme fat shaming someone else and I’m like “gee guys, you DO realize that I’m bigger than the girl in the meme that you’re fat shaming so.....you can understand why I feel like you think I’m disgusting, right???” I’ve always been the fat funny friend. I’ve never been attractive to anyone my age, except my boyfriend, and he had even stated early on that I’m “cute” at best...has said that I’m not considered sexy and that if I lost over 100 pounds then I would be able to be a model. My friend has told me if I ever got to her weight, 160 or less, that I would “look sick”. I don’t care if I “look” sick, I DO care about not having to go to a special store JUST to buy clothes. I DO care about not having to worry about what other people think if I have a piece of cake at a birthday celebration or if I have an extra spoonful of potatoes at a family BBQ. I DO care about hearing people talk about my weight behind my back. I DO care about not being able to fit into a bathtub, or movie theater seats, or most chairs without it being a tight fit. I DO care about getting into/out of a car and it not shake from my movement. I DO care about how people judge me by my size. I DO care that I don’t get any compliments. I DO care that I’m not attractive to people my own age, but older men (50s and 60s) dig me. I DO care that I’m only attractive to certain groups of people with a “fat white girl” fetish. I DO care that I am NOT normal. I DO care that, despite being healthy overall, I’m constantly worried that a doctor or nurse will say something about my weight. I care....it may not seem like it....because I’m big....but I do care. 

Goals: Get to 200 by the end of this year. That is my biggest goal. If, for some reason, I do not meet that goal, my secondary goal will be get to 240. As long as I don’t go back up to 290........as long as I keep losing.....I’ll have to take the small victories where I can. I also want to stay clean from SI/SH. It’s been difficult with my parents divorce. It’s been difficult with school/work/trying to balance that out. It’s been difficult because I think I’ve been slipping into a depressive episode recently. I’m tired all the time, don’t sleep well, work like a dog all the time; every instance of self-care (brushing my teeth, taking a shower, shaving, etc.) seems like a chore that I’d rather just ignore. I don’t really want to do anything other than stay in bed and shut out the world. I crave those depression naps/sleeps I used to take when I was younger (wake up, maybe eat something, immediately go to bed, sleep for 3 hours, eat again, sleep for another 3 hours, stay up until it’s time to sleep again; getting almost 10-12 hours of sleep per day). I think I’m starting to slip again, but as long as I resist it, things should be okay. Maybe I’ll bounce back soon.....

Family dinner tonight, BBQ. I’m not counting or restricting today; even though I probably should. I’m not sure how I’ll burn it off. I work tomorrow and, can on average, burn 1,500. But that won’t help me today, will it? It’ll be around 2 or 3pm and probably last until 6pm....which gives me 3 hours to burn it off before a 9pm bedtime (I’m old and need my sleep). Problem is, boyfriend is going to be with me the whole time, so it’s not like I can say “Honey, let’s do Ring Fit for 3 hours!” without throwing red flags up, especially since I can only do Ring Fit for about 20 minutes at a time. I could just take it as a L today and try to work extra hard during the week.....maybe? We’ll see. 

Thanks for stopping by and reading this long a$$ mental clusterf*ck of an introduction! Be good. <3 You are valued and cared for. Please drink some water. <3 Headpats to you! <3 

Until Next Time.....