#because I have been processing this specific paperwork for years and years

[tj-crochets]

Woooo I forgot I'd agreed to cover for a coworker being off this afternoon so I cannot take this afternoon off myself! The poll winning plushie pattern (which at this point is looking like either werewolf in a flannel shirt or burger turtle) might be a bit delayed

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[inbabylontheywept]

So I found one of your (nonfiction) stories and read the one about the refrigerators, and it made the librarian part of me very curious (and a bit horrified) and I have so many questions!! (Feel free to entirely ignore this, and I really don’t intend to ask anything classified) Are there still refrigerators being used for document storage? Did the refrigerators keep reasonably consistent temperature/humidity? (Because those are both things you want in anything resembling archival storage) How long were documents stored in refrigerators? Do you have any actual document storage/retention guidelines?!

Thank you so much for sharing all your stories, they are hilarious!!!

Naw, it's surprisingly difficult to even ask questions about classified material. We're encouraged but not technically required to be vague about the tests and their purposes, but the fridges are fair game.

Anyway, from the top:

Are there fridges still being used for document storage? At the time that I wrote the fridge piece, we were down to four (4) file storage fridges. At present, we are down to a single (1) file storage fridge, and parts to repair it are on backlog. Then we're going to have to build another filing cabinet. Not looking forward to that.

Did the refigerators keep things reasonant consistent for temperature/humidity? Yes. The temperature in the building does not fluctuate very much (they have relic computer systems that are absolutely, terrifyingly irreplacable) and keeping them happy is a major concern. The fact that it preserves paper is just a convenient side benefit. Humidity is likewise kept low in the basement (like, single digit percent low), for the benefit of some machines that dislike it strongly. We do occasionally raise the humidity in certain location while handling ESD sensitive materials, but those tend to be far from the fridges.

How long were the documents stored in refigerators? We have some facility documents that date back to 1972. We do occasionally have to reference those documents to answer such thrilling questions as "Why does overloading the machine hydraulics downstairs sometimes cause the microwave clock to reset upstairs?" (The answer is that, for reasons no one can explain, they ran 125 feet of wire off the test cell's breaker specifically upstairs, to the one outlet that powers the microwave.) (Seriously.) (And then they recorded this, as if their confession could expunge this kind of sin.) (Engineering does not follow Catholic God's rules- we do not have to forgive someone just because they fessed up.)

Do we have any actual document storage/retention guidelines? Sorta. The guidelines for disposal of documents refers to both positions and specific people that have been gone for years. In theory, someone could take it upon themselves to champion a new disposal process, but that would be boring bureaucratic work whose reward would be doing more boring bureaucratic work, and the machines that we work on here are the coolest shit in the world. Everybody loves working on the machines. Nobody likes sorting through papers. So we just kind of keep punting that one down the road. We'll probably do that until we get someone in who actually prefers doing paperwork to badass science (basically impossible), we get someone from outside the group who arrives to assure document compliance (theoretically possible, ridiculously arare) or until we run out of space (actually impossible, we add space more quickly than we can fill it with papers). We do have guidelines on storage safety. I do not know a lot about what they are. I'd be surprised if the fridges weren't kosher though. The official cabinets have some parts flimsy enough to put through with a can opener. Those fridges could be dropped from an airplane and not get a dent. They're beautiful devices.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi , miss Raven

Their is something has been on my mind for while ;

In rook suitor suit vignette he Compose a flattering poem about Crowley

While Ace and Epel was talking about how rook would compliment anyone , rook insisted that he mean every word he say .

And there's this specific weird line

"if it weren't for your presence , I wouldn't be here"

Like what do you mean?????!!

Do you think this line is hinting at the fact that rook didn't join NRC via traditional way or he wasn't chosen by the dark mirror , since he is one of the light trio

Or To the fact that he transferred to another dorm smoothly without any problem?

For some reason I started suspecting rook recently 😭

The fact he was one of the reason vil overbloted by convincing him to watch neige performance and also he is the one who convinced vil to add Ace and deuce as part of VDC team while I thought lilia and cater was a better option

I would like to hear your opinion about it 👀

Ah, so if I'm understanding you correctly... You're theorizing that Rook might be an outside agent of some kind? One that Crowley intentionally brought into NRC to facilitate triggering overblots??

I’ll try to respond to one question at a time; hopefully this will make it easier to follow along! The post got quite long, so it's all below the cut~

Beginning with Rook’s poem, and, more specifically, “If it weren’t for your presence, I wouldn’t be here”. It’s funny that you mention this line, because when the vignette first came out (in JP; the terminology used is similar to “I would not exist/be here”), people interpreted it VERY literally. As in… “Rook is Crowley’s son because he literally could not be conceived without a father! They’re even both named after birds! They have to at least be blood related somehow!” Strange how in 2020, Crowley was suspected of being Rook’s father but now in 2024 Crowley’s being suspected of being Malleus’s father. The poor headmaster just can’t catch a break 😂

Personally, I don’t think that line is implying anything strange about Rook’s enrollment. As far as we know, he did not join NRC though any abnormal means, and nor did Silver. Of the “light trio” (a label that I must stress exists within the fandom but is not endorsed by TWST), only Kalim fits the bill. Kalim was originally homeschooled, but received an acceptance letter to NRC a month into the school year. Another month later, he transferred in. As far as we know, all students at NRC (save for Yuu and Grim) were chosen by the Mirror of Darkness, even the light trio. Again, I want to emphasize that TWST does not use “light trio” or a similar term to refer to or to characterize Kalim, Silverc and Rook. We’ve gotten no formal in-universe explanation as to why those three in particular have light cosmic magic instead of everyone else’s dark cosmic magic. (This is entirely separate from meta theories, which are out-of-universe explanations for why the “light trio” exists. The popular meta explanation is that it’s because Silver, Kalim, and Rook are not twisted from Disney villains but rather “good” characters like Aurora, the Sultan, and the Huntsman.)

On the subject of transferring dorms, the option is always on the table. We see mob students talk about transferring dorms as early as 1-14:

In 6-67 (part 20 with the Pomefiore group), Vil describes the transfer process as being tedious and involving a lot of “complicated paperwork and ceremonies”. Crowley also says the process is “burdensome” in 1-20, but this phrasing is quite vague and could mean any number of things. (Burdensome to whom, the staff or the students? Why exactly is it burdensome?) Overall, it seems like transferring dorms would take a long time and require various formalities, but not necessarily be full of problems.

As long as you’re dedicated and consistently complete what is asked of you to complete the process, transferring should be no issue. I don’t think it’s a given that you’d normally experience troubles in trying to transfer. It should be smooth by default (unless the student backs out, is uncooperative, and/or fails to complete the required steps). So following that logic, I don’t think the poem line is saying anything about Rook’s dorm transfer either.

While it’s true that Rook encourages Vil to watch Neige’s performance and advises that Vil pick Ace and Deuce for the VDC/SDC Tribe, I do not believe there was malicious intent behind these actions. It’s hinted throughout book 5 that Rook’s reasoning for doing these things was to help Vil recognize the value of his “beauty” is something he gains from himself, not from the approval of others.

This is most likely Rook’s motivation for suggesting Vil observe the competition or to consider freshmen for the team. It’s exposing Vil to the contentedness that can come with imperfection or not being at the very top, something Vil fails to recognize in himself until the end of book 5. Being as perceptive as he is, Rook would have realized that outright telling Vil the moral of the week would not sway his strong-willed friend’s mind. Thus, Rook devised a more roundabout plan and involved Yuu (who, at this point, has a reputation for settling dorm-wide disputes) and co. (unpolished and clumsy underclassmen that Vil could shape as well as potentially also learn from in a reciprocal manner). Maybe Lilia and Cater would have been more technically skilled, being members of a club band and all, but they wouldn’t have provided the same opportunity for growth that Yuu and Adeuce did.

Rook is someone who has always been portrayed as a supporter of Vil’s, a good friend and a trusted confidant. He does have a nefarious side and is 100% capable of deception (like the time in Endless Halloween Night when he quickened his heartbeat to convince Sebek he was also scared and therefore was not a traitor). However, I don’t think Rook would want to betray his friends by actively harming them and putting their lives in danger (both during book 5’s overblot and immediately after in book 6’s rescue mission); he truly cares for them and wants to see them happy and healthy. (One could argue he should have voted for NRC instead of RSA to help Vil achieve his dream instead of betraying him, but that’s another discussion entirely.)

There’s no reason why Rook would go out of his way to do innocuous things like helping Epel with his UM or imparting wisdom to Deuce unless he actually cared and wanted to see them develop. Beyond the scope of book 5, why would Rook do even more innocuous things like trying to make Epel feel welcome and assisting him with learning table manners? Why wouldn’t he go out of his way to provoke Vil more often? Did Crowley hypothetically have even all of these little details down and instruct Rook to do (or not do) these things??? It sounds too far-fetched to attach a hidden motive behind everything Rook says or does. It could be as simple as “he wants to be there to support his friends”.

Before we wrap up, I’d like to quickly touch on the suggestion that Silver and Kalim too were catalysts for Malleus and Jamil’s OBs, respectively. It’s true that they were, but I doubt Silver or Kalim were aware and did so intentionally. Both seemed genuinely ignorant as to the true stress that Malleus and Jamil were under, and Silver + Kalim do not present as toxic people who would want to inflame their friends’ negativity. Of course, there’s always the possibility that Puppet Master Crowley (™) is orchestrating everything from the shadows (but I’m not going to get into the “time loop to gather all the necessary information and learn what the correct choices are” theory here www). I just don’t think Rook is Crowley’s accomplice in all of this if the time loop + intention overblots theories overlap.

This is one of those instances where I see Rook as being very honest with his intentions and because of his… generally strange character (?), his peers and players alike still suspect there is a deeper meaning to his words. I interpret his poem as nothing more than waxing poetic to expressing gratitude to the one man that makes it possible for him to be at NRC as a student: Crowley. Rook states that he wanted to give an exemplary poem using a subject that both Ace and Epel were already familiar with, so he went with the headmaster. Furthermore, we know that Rook is able to witness many wonderful and beautiful things at NRC, as well as make meaningful relationships with interesting people like Vil. He would not be able to do any of these things were he not extended an invitation to NRC—and it is for this reason that it would make sense for him to genuinely be appreciative of Crowley.

Those are all my thoughts on this matter all for now ^^ Hope it was an interesting read!

[justanoasisimagines]

Tries his Luck

Summary; Johnny clocks you walking into the office. He's not too pleased when a new recruit attempts to flirt with his wife Pairing; Johnny "Soap" McTavish x wife!FemaleReader WordCount; 539 Warnings; One swear word A/N; Requests are open! Credit to @cafekitsune for the banner and the divider

Johnny flexes his knuckles. His concentration has gone from his stack of paperwork. Inhale. Exhale. Johnny reminded himself this was not the place to lose his temper.

No one would blame him. Some people had no respect. No moral code to live by. Something he'd learned about the recruit in front of him.

Johnny would teach him. Slowly, methodically and painfully. He'd make sure he'd struggle through the recruitment process.

Lesson one; do not flirt with a superior wife. More specifically his wife.

Johnny wasn't blind. He knew why men flocked to you. Beautiful, funny, smart, friendly. Delectable in any piece of clothing gracing your body.

However, the ring on your finger should have acted as a deterrent. You were off limits. The recruit didn't seem to care or perhaps he was completely oblivious.

"Aye Si, whose the recruit over there flirting with my Mrs?" Johnny questioned as he pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up. Approaching the masked man within a few steps.

"Stevenson I think. Why?"

"Just prefer to know the name of the man before I threaten him" Simon chuckled as Johnny departed from him. Johnny stalked his prey, slowly making his way towards you.

Stevenson wasn't aware of the hell he was about to endure.

"Aye lass, what brings you to this side of the office? Bringing me something tasty to eat I hope" Johnny winked. You struggled to maintain eye contact because of Johnny's sneaky innuendo.

"Actually I-"

"I was helping her locate Captain Price's office. Sir, she has some important paperwork to sign." Johnny's jaw clenched. First, he was flirting with you. Now he's attempting to speak for you.

"She's been to the Cap'n's office plenty of times before. I'm sure she knows the way. Secondly, I was asking her, not you" Johnny growled.

"The lady is busy, Sir"

"Are you giving me orders recruit? Do I need to ask permission to speak to my wife?" Stevenson paled. As white as a ghost. For a moment, he'd presumed the revelation had done the trick.

"She still has a job to do Sir"

Perhaps not.

"You didn't seem concerned with her job for the past twenty minutes. While you were ogling and flirting with my wife."

"I think you're blinded by your insecurities Sir" The cheeky little shit. Johnny moved towards Stevenson. Yet your palm rested on his chest. You didn't push him away but halted his movements.

"Johnny don't. He's just attempting to antagonize you. It's a foolish idea. Especially since he is your drill sergeant this afternoon. Alongside, Lieutenant Reily."

"I'm sorry what?" Stevenson's eyes suddenly drifted between Johnny and Simon.

"You heard the lady, recruit. Oh, I should warn you. Her last name is McTavish now, her Maiden name was Reily. I'd rest up while you can. You're gonna it." Stevenson fleed almost leaving tracks on the floor. Johnny smiled when you broke out in hysterics.

"I've got to get this to John. Then I can give you guys the pastries I brought you." Johnny smiled as he watched you walk away. Every year it was the same process, and every year you two enjoyed watching the recruit flee when they found out who you were related to.

[sleepyfan-blog]

Intake Form

Author's note: this is the first part of Lykos' backstory in the Husbandry AU! I hope you enjoy it. Next

Tagged:

Warnings: none, please ask me to tag something if it bothers you/I missed it

Summary: Lykos reports to a nearby base. He's given an intake form and has questions because of what he's asked about.

“I was told this is one of the nearby Astartes bases that accept Astartes from several different legions, rather than hosting a single legion?” Lykos stated, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked down at the startled mortal sitting behind the welcome desk at the base that he had presented himself at. 

He had found himself upon this strange world a handful of days ago, and had wandered until he found civilization. The chaplain was glad that he had been suddenly transported upon this world in his usual all-black armor and cape as he would have found the abrupt transition more distressing were he without his armor and weapons. Not that he had yet to need either, but like most Astartes, Lykos spent more time inside his armor after he had earned it, than outside of it.

“I… Yes, that’s correct. We have. We have an intake form for you to fill out, if you don’t mind…?” The baseline mortal explained, handing over an astartes sized, thin block of wood with… Was that real paper upon it? Fascinating! He had seen the forest full of trees on the outskirts of the city, but Lykos had no idea that the supply of wood was in such abundance to use paper. They also handed him a writing implement as well. 

“I will fill this out, thank you.” He murmured, smiling a little at the mortal. He’d removed his helmet upon entry to the base, having clipped it to his belt, to appear slightly more friendly. The skull mask of a chaplain’s helmet was meant to be intimidating, but he was not angling for being terrifying at the moment. Lykos could see the tell-tale signs of this base being inhabited by Ultramarines, so the luxury of paper wasn’t that much of a surprise to the chaplain. He walked over to one of the astartes-sized seats and felt himself sink into the very comfortable seats, leaning back a little as he diligently answered the questions. He briefly thumbed through the packet of paper he’d been given, before starting to read through the first question.

What is your name, rank, and Legion/chapter/war-band association? … Lykos was curious as to what was meant by chapter and war band, but he would refrain from asking until he completed this bit of paperwork. Chaplain Lykos Sirak, Word Bearers Third Company.

Time, date and location previous to arriving in this world? … The implication being that it was a common enough occurrence for Astartes to be randomly arriving on this world without being sent here deliberately was a fascinating one.  18:33, M031.876 Monarchia, Khur. Khur had been brought into compliance almost sixty years ago, and he had been helping to develop Monarchia into the place of beauty and worship that his gene-father had hoped it would become. 

Lykos went to read the next question. There was a preface written before it. If you have heard of the Drop Site Massacre, or the Battle of Isstvan three, please read and answer the next five questions to the best of your abilities. If you have not, skip to question 8.

He had heard of the world Isstvan three, but only in passing. It was a world that was either in the process of being integrated into the Imperium, or recently had been. The chaplain mentally shrugged and dutifully skipped down to question eight.

Have you noticed any unusual changes in your superior officers and/or Primarch in the past few days/weeks/months or years? If so, can you pinpoint when they started to change, and list possible triggers for them to have started to act differently than they had previously. The answer to this question is confidential and will not be discussed with others unless you indicate a desire to do so in person. Please be as specific as possible.

Well… That was an ominous question. Lykos closed his eyes for several moments, going into a meditative state as he genuinely considered the question asked of him. He had been serving the Word Bearer’s legion for two hundred years as a chaplain, and a hundred and fifty before his promotion into the roll that had been created by his Primarch, as a way to minister to the spiritual and emotional needs of his sons, along with a way to encourage the compliance of new worlds into the Imperium with the potential of not having to fire a single shot. Yes, this sort of compliance was slower than the violence-forward methods that other Legions employed, but the citizens seemed to be grateful to not be trampled to death by the ceramite boots of their new rulers.

Lykos wrote down the truth as he knew it. As far as he was aware, his superior officers had been not been acting strangely. Lykos did not have the honor of interacting directly with his Primarch, and thus, could not say if the Imperial Son was acting strangely, and wrote that down. He then focused on the next question. 

What are the dominant belief/faith or faiths of your legion/chapter/warband? Do you hold these beliefs, or do they differ? If they do differ, please explain the differences between the two. 

Lykos hesitated to answer that, keenly aware that most legions would be unhappy to hear that they openly worshiped the Emperor of Mankind as a god, given the Imperial Truth that they were all supposed to espouse the Imperial Truth… But he had been honest on this form so far, and to lie now felt… Disingenuous. Besides, there was enough room on the paper to fully explain the reasoning behind why he and so many of his fellow Word Bearers believed in the divinity of The Emperor, which Lykos used.

What do you know of Chaos?

The… The theological concept? The inherent randomness of the universe? Lykos was baffled and wrote down what he knew about the concepts of chaos. Considering the amount of room to answer that question with, there was far, far more to the question of chaos than the chaplain knew. Ah well, if it was something he needed to know on this world, Lykos was fairly sure that someone would explain.

Are you a psyker? Nope. He had no psychic ability, though there were some in his legion gifted  with such abilities. 

Have you dabbled in sorcerous arts, or consider yourself to be a sorcerer or warlock? If so, please list the major abilities you possess and the contracts you have entered into. … Well that was blunt and pointed. Again, no, Lykos hadn’t and wrote as much. 

The next several questions were asking about the kinds of missions that he had completed, his medical history including any prosthetics, distinctive markings/tattoos/scars he may have, and a request to list all of the weapons and the kind of armor he was in possession of. Questions about battles that he had participated in, honors won and lost. Lykos dutifully answered each and every question to the best of his abilities, pausing every so often to stretch out his writing wrist and fingers before continuing until he had written out his full history as he knew it. 

Do you have any rivals/enemies among your fellow astartes? Lykos suppressed a chuckle. Some of the more passionate and stubborn of his Brothers had found Eternal Rivals and Bitter Enemies amongst both their brothers and other legions. But as far as he knew, Lykos had no enemies like that. Or at least, he didn’t consider any astartes an enemy or rival in such a way, and wrote that down.

The next few questions were about which legions or chapters (whatever a chapter was) he would prefer to interact with, those he’d rather avoid if possible, and other sorts of preferences and dislike questions, which he answered with mild amusement and confusion. He would work with whoever he was assigned to do so, regardless as to whether or not he liked them interpersonally. Part of a chaplain’s training was to ensure that one could separate their own emotions and put them on hold while dealing with whatever situation or emergency was going on… More so than most other kinds of Astartes. 

Those questions were also the final questions that he was supposed to answer on the form as while there were other questions, the qualifying statements that stated whether or not he was to answer of them did not apply to him. For which Lykos was grateful, as he had spent a couple of hours writing down all of these answers. He suppressed a yawn as he got up and stretched before walking over to the mortal who’d given him this form. He smiled politely at them and said “Here you go. I have answered all of the questions that I am supposed to on this form. I have questions about some of the questions on this form.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I probably can’t explain most if not all of your questions, but I can offer you several brochures that have been created for Astartes who’ve recently arrived on Earth… Or as Astartes call our world, Terra.” The baseline answered, taking the form, board and pen from Lykos, casually dropping an inexplicable information bomb on poor Lykos who hadn’t been expecting that.

“T-Terra? I’m… I’m on Terra? But-” Lykos spluttered, about to point out that there hadn’t been this much plant life on Terra in millenia. 

The baseline raised a hand before saying “Before you tell me something you’re probably not supposed to, I would strongly recommend that you read these brochures. One of the Astartes practiced in helping Astartes new to Earth settle in will be by soon. In the meantime feel free to wander around the lobby and other publicly marked rooms of the base. Any door that is locked is not meant to be entered unless you have the key for it.”

“I… Alright. I’ll… I’ll read through these.” Lykos murmured, internally reeling still as he took the offered information pamphlets. They were astartes sized and also made out of yet more paper. He settled down into another astartes-sized chair and began to read the first brochure. It was titled “Welcome to Terra, Loyalist.”

[deusvervewrites]

Genome AU:

I like this au a lot and have been rotating it in my head for a bit now. specifically how the whole clone project gets revealed - in one of the asks, you mention that AFO/the doctor likely aren't actively scheming with it in mind, and given that it was canned approximately 10-15 years ago by the time canon rolls around and only a few clones were kept, the fact that the clone kids are then old enough to possibly be in UA would probably have not occurred to them.

But. while the project may not be on their minds, it most definitely had to have some sort of records of it taking place. the first thought that i had was that maybe the doctor kept notes/records of the process, along with files for specific clones, their "parents," where they were kept, and possibly even when or why they were dropped.

If those files didn't exist, whether due not being made in the first place or being lost/destroyed, there would most likely be suspicious holes in the clone kid's paperwork, or at least an absence of any record of former/possible parents. If i remember correctly, some of the nomu project was done inside/connected to the AFO orphanages - so if that was discovered, and the investigators noticed the link between the UA students who came from them and their lack of early life records, then a DNA test could be ordered and reveal their odd parentage. The whole "clone" thing would be more of a running theory than a definitively proven fact, but oh well.

Okay so im still thinking about this. Basically a continuation from my last ask about this. back to the clone project records - for this reveal to even come about, there would have to be a further investigation into the nomus/the doctor's work specifically, rather than just the broader lov. Im not sure if there were any given dates/approximate timeframes for the nomu project in canon, and i don't know for sure if the doctors work had any appearances in vigilantes that would date the creation of nomus/similar things to being active earlier than in the main series, but from what i can remember about the reaction to the USJ is that nomus and similar don't seem to have been encountered and thus recorded before its appearance at the USJ. (it also doesnt seem like people react to the idea of bioengineered weapons made from the corpses of missing people as like. a main concern and it was kind of brushed off in favor of focusing on shigaraki, which i get that he is far more important in the long run but was the entire task force really like "eh, whatever" about the fucked up frakenstein things???) take this with a grain of salt bc i havent reread this specific part in a while. But in this au, the doctor's work clearly goes back pretty damn far. they were advanced enough to make viable clones from multiple sources of DNA, and while the project was technically a failure, there would have been a lot more research into the mixing of quirks that could be repurposed for the nomu project, which would then have at least 10-15 years before canon to develop, possibly even more if it was running next to the original clone project while the latter was winding down in its last years. So. My thought was that if the project had far more time to develop, then the nomus used in canon would likely be far more powerful by the time the heros catch on to their existence, possibly matching the high-end nomus. Because of this, they'd be even more of a problem than in canon. The investigating heros would then dedicate a second team to focus on the origin of the nomus, eventually clueing them in to its predecessor in the clone project. Okay last ask bc i should sleep. still connected to my previous two but mercifully shorter. my bad for occasionally dropping huge asks onto your blog sometimes i have more thoughts than i thought i had. Anyways i think it would be fucked up if one of the clone kids was put onto the investigation team that dug up the files.

We do know that the Noumu specifically were canonically a recent development because the main antagonist of Vigilantes was the thing AFO tried before moving on to the Noumu project (specifically because of how Vigilantes played out for him), but I'm not sure whether that's the case here. (And, yes, Kurogiri was already around in Vigilantes)

The Noumu being stronger makes sense, considering what I have cooked up with the few clones that AFO kept, and they've also adapted the Noumu technology back to the clones for implanting new Quirks, so it all ties together for Garaki.

Finding records about that makes sense

[vivalas-vega]

new perspectives / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / part eight

hello !!! I’m back !!! this parts got a whopper in it, apologies in advance, but it’s got a nice ending and something to look forward to if that’s any consolation :) 

new perspectives / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / part eight

add yourself to my taglist

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven

word count: 3k

warnings: language, drinking, I think that’s it?

You felt entirely on edge as your knee bounced erratically sitting in the uncomfortable chair across from your chief of surgery, a million thoughts racing through your mind that you couldn’t really make any sense of. Were you really doing this? Was this really something you were going to go through with? 

“I have to say, I was surprised by your interest, Jupiter,” he said as he organized the papers in front of him and you let out a humorless chuckle.

“No more surprised than I am, sir.” you replied and he sensed the hesitation in your voice.

“Do you need more time to think it over?” he asked and you shook your head. This was the right decision, the right move… not just for your career but it was simply the right thing to do. 

“No, I… I’m sure, I just… I haven’t told anyone yet,” you sighed and you immediately felt your stomach twist in guilt as you said it. You hadn’t told anyone. Not your parents, not your friends, not Jake. Deep down you knew he would be supportive, he would understand… your friends too, they’d understand better than anyone, probably… maybe. You wouldn’t know for sure until you told them. You signed all of the paperwork before asking if you could have the rest of the day, which you were easily granted. You’d be on a lighter rotation the next week, less cases and less time in the hospital to get your life in order.

You stood in the attending’s lounge, changing into your normal clothes… Jake always joked and called them your civvies too, different careers but same little quirks. You felt sick, honestly, to have something so big happening in your life that you hadn’t told him about. This never happened, not since you were ten years old. He knew everything, you simply never could keep anything from him, not what you had for breakfast and not that one time you embarrassingly had to get stitches back in your residency because you slipped in a puddle of blood and cracked your head open - something you still hadn’t quite lived down with your old friends. But this? This was bigger than all of that, potentially the biggest thing you’ve ever had to tell him. 

You sat along the beach in front of the Hard Deck as you waited, eyes so fixated on the push and pull of the ocean you almost didn’t notice the figure dropping down beside you, and you turned to face him with a jump. “This is all very cryptic, Jupiter.” Rooster said, eyeing you curiously. “Is there a specific reason you called and said meet me at the beach before hanging up or was that your way of saying you want to hang out more?” he asked, trying to add a joking tone but the look on your face told him there was something more going on.

“I’m going to the middle east,” you said, deciding not to beat around the bush and the look of shock on his face was not missed by you.

“You’re going… to the middle east?” he asked, trying to process it. “For vacation, or…?”

“With the Army,” you replied and his eyes widened further than you thought they could.

“You’re being deployed? You joined the Army?” his face twisted up in disgust at the last one… of all the branches why couldn’t it have been his own? “When did this happen?”

“A few weeks ago… we had a visiting surgeon, he was teaching the trauma department updated techniques rooted in efficiency, and we got a crash course in disaster response. He and I got to talking afterwards, he said he saw something in me, something that reminded him of himself, he frequently goes on tours where he’s needed to offer medical support.”

“So you joined the Army because this dude saw something in you and just said hey wanna come to the middle east?” he asked and you softly smiled, this was good. This was the reaction you were anticipating, Rooster was a trial run and he was doing exactly what you needed to give you the confidence to tell everyone else.

You shook your head, “I’ve always felt drawn to this, I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this story but to keep it brief during my residency I had to go in the field to respond to a trauma, gnarly train crash… it was exhilarating, if that’s not an entirely fucked up thing to say, there’s something different about being there in the moment when it feels like the sky is falling and there’s no time to get them to a hospital, or even no hospital to get them to.”

“I mean, I get it… I’d be a hypocrite to tell you I didn’t, different context but same calling. I just… this is kind of insane, Jupiter.”

You nodded, “I know. When he told me that he was leaving with a group in a few weeks I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. I really tried to push past it and tell myself it wasn’t real, it was just a fun simulation, but then the train crash dawned on me and I realized I’ve been wanting to do something like this for a while. And it just makes sense to me, you know? There’s a shortage of medical personnel, even fewer surgeons. It feels like the right thing to do.”

“Have you talked to Jake, does he know?”

“No. You were my practice run,” you joked. “How’d I do?”

“Well, you got to the point… gave clear and precise answers, but J… I’m not in love with you. The fear I feel about you going over there into active warzones doesn’t even compare to what Jake’s going to feel.”

You gasped, “you’re not in love with me?” you asked, placing a hand over your chest in faux shock and he just shoved your shoulder at your attempt to lighten the mood.

“Cut it out,” he chuckled. “I was a shitty practice run, you know I’m never going to tell you not to do something you feel called to do no matter how much I want to throw you in a padded room until this desire of yours fades, but Jake? I mean, he just got you back, you two just got settled into the routine of being back together, and now you’re going to tell him you’re shipping out to a warzone.”

“I know, the timing sucks.”

“You’re really sure about this?” he asked and you nodded. “Because, J… you’re going to come back different, you’re going to see things, do things… this is one of those decisions you can’t undo.”

“I know, it’s not going to be easy… for me, for Jake, for the rest of you but, I really think I need to do this, Roo.”

“Well, I think you’re brave. And I’m really proud of you,” he said, wrapping an arm around you as you settled into his side. “But really? The Army?”

You let out a laugh, “if it makes you feel any better I didn’t join the Army, I’m not suddenly active duty. It’s just a three-month tour, think of it like being a private contractor.”

“That does make me feel better, otherwise I might have had to limit our interactions… appearances and all,” he said and you laughed again. “Now come on, you’ve gotta get inside,” he said, pulling you up with him and you looked at him questioningly.

“I have to?” you asked as he tugged you along, “what’s the rush for lukewarm beer?”

“Can’t tell you that, I don’t know if you’re going to find the timing of this terrible or perfect but that’s not up to me.” he said and now you were thoroughly confused as he held the door open for you.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” But, it didn’t matter, he was gone just as quickly as you’d walked into the bar and you smiled as Jake saw you and wrapped you up in a hug.

“There you are, sweetheart, you okay?” he asked, seeing the squirrelly look in your eyes and you nodded, shaking off your conversation with Rooster as you accepted the beer he’d handed you. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Rooster’s just being a tad bit bizarre,” you answered and he chuckled.

“Well, that’s what he does.” he replied and you nodded with a laugh as he led you towards your friends and you narrowed your eyes as everyone had a rather mischievous look on their faces. You heard the piano begin the opening notes of Drops of Jupiter and you gathered that’s where Rooster had run off to in a hurry.

“Okay, what is going on?” you asked as you turned around and you furrowed your brows when Jake was no longer there before adjusting your eye line to see him on one knee before you and you brought your hand up to cover your mouth in shock as your heart pounded in your ears. I don’t know if you’re going to find the timing of this terrible or perfect. It all made sense now.

“Jupiter, I have loved you since I was ten years old… It just took me until junior year to realize it and I’ve known it every day since. We’ve spent the majority of our lives following our own dreams until they led us right back to each other and even though it was difficult I wouldn’t change our story for anything… Being able to watch you grow into yourself and become an amazing surgeon has been the single greatest joy of my life, and I’m so excited for us to finally grow together. I’ve wanted to do this since the moment you got to San Diego, so will you do me the honor of finally becoming my wife?” he asked, eyes full of hope as he flicked the box open to reveal the ring you’d loved since you were little and you felt tears slip down your cheeks as you looked at him. The entire bar had gone silent waiting for your answer and you could feel your friends fighting to stay contained behind you as they watched.

“Yes,” you whispered, there were so many things up in the air, so many things you had to tell him but this was an easy answer. You would have said yes to a ring pop in the aisle of a convenience store. The entire bar erupted in cheers as he stood and slid it onto your finger before pulling you in for a searing kiss. Rooster was still playing the melody in the background but you could hear his sounds of celebration from across the bar and you giggled as Jake released you. You were swept up, the rest of the gang wanting to see the ring and crush you in hugs and when the song ended and the jukebox kicked back on you felt Rooster’s arms on you as he came up behind you.

“You need to talk to him,” he whispered in your ear as you rested your hands on his forearms.

“I know, just… not right now,” you said as the two of you watched him excitedly talk with Phoenix.

“I’m really happy for you, J,” he said, kissing your cheek as he let you go and you gave him a gracious smile before walking down to the bar.

“Let me see!” Penny nearly yelled at you and you held out your hand with a laugh as she examined it thoroughly. “He picked a good one,” she said as she set a drink in front of you.

You chuckled, “oh no, as good as he is I basically picked this out when I was thirteen years old,” you replied. “This was one of his grandma’s rings.”

“That’s so special,” she said as Maverick side-swiped you and wrapped you in a hug that had you letting out a surprised squeal. 

“The first Dagger wedding!” he said as you laughed, “I’m so happy for the both of you.”

“Thank you, Mav,” you replied, face hurting from the splitting smile you couldn’t seem to wipe off your face but in the back of your mind you knew it couldn’t last… you were leaving in a week and only one person in this bar knew. You let Jake twirl you around the bar, creating a dance floor where there wasn’t one as your friends shrouded you in love, watching through misty eyes as the two of you enjoyed your bubble of bliss. When the song ended you looked up at him, imprinting this moment into your mind before you drove a wrecking ball through it and you stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear talk with me outside?

Your friends watched as you slipped out the door before they went back to their normal routines, assuming the two of you were taking a moment alone but Rooster knew better and he gave you a supportive smile when you caught his eyes. “How are you feeling, future Mrs. Sersein?” he asked and you beamed up at him.

“I like the way that sounds… but it’s future Dr. Seresin, thank you very much,” you corrected and he let out a laugh.

“My apologies, darling,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist and you were silent for a moment, fixating on your hands currently pressed against his chest and his eyebrows furrowed as he noticed your change in demeanor. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I have something to tell you,” you said suddenly and even you were taken aback by how you spit that out.

“Okay?” he prompted, leading you to the chairs on the other side of the patio where you sat and avoided his expectant stare.

“Do you remember how I was telling you about that Army doctor who came to town a few weeks ago?” you started and he nodded.

“Yeah, the disaster training you wouldn’t stop yammering about,” he teased and you just gave him a sad smile. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, uh… oh, this was so much easier with Rooster.” you sighed and now he was really concerned.

“What does Rooster know that I don’t?”

“He told me about a tour heading out next week to the middle east, a three-month rotation. I… I tried not to think about it, to pretend I didn’t want to go, but I really, really wanted to go and before I could fully stop myself I signed up.”

“You signed up? What does that mean?”

“It means next week I’m shipping out to the middle east,” you said, and you watched him process your words. “For three months.” 

“Okay, uh…” he started, trying to gather his thoughts. “This is set in stone, then? You’ve fully signed yourself up?” You nodded, wishing he would stop asking questions and get to the part where he’s mad at you. “And you didn’t think to talk to me about this?”

“I wanted to… but I was focusing more on trying to talk myself out of it and then it was like a fever dream, I was suddenly calling that Army doc and telling him to put me on the list.” 

“Did you think I was going to get mad at you? Is that why you talked to Rooster first?” he asked and you didn’t miss the tone of hurt in his voice.

You nodded again, “he was my trial run, as weird as that is.” 

“I don’t think it’s weird, honey, he’s your best friend, as much as that’s something that doesn’t make sense to me, talking to him first does, I just… you and I are best friends and partners, you’ve gotta talk to me before you make big decisions like this.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said, tears welling in your eyes and he was quick to wipe them away when they fell.

“Well, if you had talked to me before you took this on all by yourself, I would have told you that I want you to do what makes you happy, and if that means doing this tour then I support you. Am I mad you kept me in the dark? Totally, but you and I have been making big decisions separately for almost a decade, it’s going to take time to get used to being partners again.” he said and you couldn’t stop yourself from crying. “This terrifies me, J, but this is just who you are… you want to help people, even if that means shipping yourself off somewhere dangerous. How could I ever fault you for that?”

“You’re not mad that I’m going?” you asked in disbelief and he let out a soft laugh.

“Of course not, sweetheart.” He wrapped his hands around yours that sat in your lap. “You’re going on a deployment, do you know how much of an ass I would be if I even tried to be mad at you for that? I’m going to do this to you at some point, granted I never thought I’d be on the opposite end of this situation, but we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“I love you so much, you know that?” you asked as he tugged you up and pulled you into his lap.

“Not as much as I love you,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

“I want to get married,” you said and he laughed at you.

“Sweetheart, we are… unless you wildly misunderstood what that just was in there.”

“No, right now, this week… before I leave,” you said and his eyes widened.

“Are you serious?”

“Completely, I… I know we’re not talking about the danger aspect because we both understand and we don’t need to get into it but there is danger and… I don’t want anything holding you back from getting answers or being the first one contacted if something does happen.”

“Yes,” he said, kissing you again. “I thought you were going to make me wait a whole year to finally call you my wife.” 

“Never,” you replied, giggling as he swept you up and carried you back towards the bar. “We’re going to be good, right?”

“Better than good.”

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[takaraphoenix]

The Dead of the Sea

Tags: polyamory (m/m/f), fluff, married life, established relationship

Main Pairing: Hades/Persephone/Percy

@polympians-event Prompt: wedding/marriage.

@hadesxpercy-events Prompt: Royalty.

This story on FFNet | This story on AO3

Summary: Percy was still adjusting to life as a god and to being married – and married to not just two gods, but the king and queen of the underworld. But he liked his life as royal consort of the underworld.

--

Knocking on the door disturbed his thought process. He frowned, he had so much paperwork to deal with – who thought that death came with paperwork, but no, the underworld had a very well organized filing system. The door opened and Thanatos walked in.

"I came to collect today's files, my lord."

"I told you not to call me that. I do not like it."

"You are the lord of the underworld," Thanatos spoke slowly. "You are ruler of the underworld."

"No. Nope, not it," he scrunched up his face. "Hades is the lord of the underworld. Persephone is the lady of the underworld. I am so not."

"You are… married to them. You are a lord of the underworld, a ruler of the underworld."

"I'm Percy. Just Percy. Not Lord Percy, or worse yet Lord Perseus – next minor god to call me that will actually get splashed," Percy pouted ever so slightly. "Please. I saved your life once, I really do think we are on a more personal level than bowing and lord-ing."

A small smile quirked Thanatos' lips at that. "We would be, if you were any other god. But you have become the royal consort of my bosses, and you became a death god. We're colleagues."

"Yeah, do not like that," Percy wiggled his nose. "Ple—ease."

"I will do my best, Lord Percy," Thanatos smirked and bowed ever so slightly. "Paperwork?"

"Ri—ight," Percy sighed and reached over to the files he had finished. "Thank you for going over them for me. I just… am struggling with the whole bureaucracy."

"And the spelling," Thanatos cleared his throat. "I don't mind helping you settle in. Though I'm sure your husband wouldn't mind helping you out either."

"I don't want Hades to know," Percy flushed in embarrassment. "He does not need to see my typos. Or that I am struggling with this. I just need a little guidance on how to file out all this stuff and then I will learn. I am a quick learner, so."

"You are," Thanatos offered him a genuine smile. "I'll go over these, see if you made any mistakes and we'll talk about them later, okay? Meanwhile, I am fairly sure that I saw your wife pace quite impatiently in the garden, I think our queen is bored."

That made Percy perk up some. "Okay, awesome. Talk to you tomorrow. Bye."

He could hear Thanatos chuckling even as he zoomed past the other death god. Other death god. Because that's what Percy was now. A death god. Specifically, he was responsible for the dead who had died at sea. It was the perfect role for him, considering that the only reason why he had accepted godhood was because he was stupidly, madly, deeply in love with the king and queen of the underworld and had accepted their proposal, after five years of dating, courting and sneaking in and out of the underworld palace.

It was supposed to only be sex. Mostly because Percy was well-aware of the gods' track-record with demigods and mortals. And he was fine with that. Persephone was the most beautiful woman on and below the surface of this world. Hades was so hot, with that dangerous edge as well as that aura of authority. Percy had been easily seduced by them, especially considering the circumstances – he'd moved to New Rome for college, which was such a change in his life, and everybody else was moving on with their own lives too, so he kind of grew apart with most of his friends, on account of where life was taking them and how busy it kept them. Not fully losing contact, but it became more of a monthly meeting thing where they used to see each other every week.

He'd been more involved in Olympian matters, a thing he had demanded after the Giant War, so he ran into Hades on occasion. The attraction was there, but Percy wasn't fool enough to get involved with a married god. Until Hades propositioned him with his wife.

It wasn't a one time thing though. They hooked up repeatedly. And when those hook ups became more frequent, they also started getting longer. Including breakfast in the morning, dinner before the hook up, a movie between dinner and sex. Until it wasn't just sex anymore, it had evolved into a full relationship. It took a little longer for them all to admit that though.

Their relationship was good. At one point though, Hades and Persephone wanted more. They started to court him with the intend of making him their consort. Percy resisted, as long as he could, because… he didn't think they really meant it. Flings with mortals were one thing, but marriage. They'd get over it, he though. They did not. They only grew more persistent. Until he accepted that they really did want him, loved him, wanted him at their side for eternity.

Their wedding was the event of the millennia, everyone was there – Percy's family and friends, of course, demigods from both camps, gods of the underworld, the sea and Olympus. And by becoming their consort, he became a god. Which meant he needed a realm.

Now, he was a son of Poseidon, the sea was a big part of who he was. But he was also the consort of king and queen of the underworld, so becoming a sea god seemed not very practical for his marriage. He'd asked Annabeth for help, because his best friend was the smartest person he knew. Together, they'd figured out the perfect solution for Percy. A death god, bound to the sea. Guiding the lost souls who had died at sea to the afterlife.

And that was perfect. Until he realized there was actual paperwork filed for every soul that entered or left the underworld. This was the part of the underworld that actually felt like hell. Bureaucracy.

/break\

Persephone was a goddess of spring, arguably also winter. The transition between them, really. A goddess of seasons, her companions and friends were the seasonal horae. There was a lot of busy work to be done on the surface. But summer and autumn were her time off, her vacation time, the time she got to spend in the underworld, with her husbands – used to be only one, until her and Hades had fallen in love with this cheeky, snarky, strong-willed, beautiful son of Poseidon.

And she loved spending time with them. She loved the underworld, it was as much her home as Olympus was. However, while her work was seasonal, both her husbands were death gods and death didn't take seasonal breaks. People kept dying. So while she had nothing to do, they still both had their jobs to do, which left her with more free time at her hands. And she had friends in the underworld, of course. Hecate above all else, but also Thanatos, Eris, others. So it wasn't that she didn't know what to do with herself when her lovers were busy.

There was, however, only so much time she could spend hanging out with her friends, reading books, cooking, walking the dogs. At one point, she was all caught up with her friends and had done everything there was to do, and still Hades and Percy were in their respective offices, working.

"Hello, my queen. You look… like you could use some non-furred company."

Arms wrapped around her waist and she had to smile as she leaned against her young consort. "I could. As much as I love the puppy-kisses, I find your kisses much more appealing."

Turning around in his arms, she stole a proper kiss from Percy, who was all too willing to melt into her. One of the things she loved about him. He was very compliant. Soft and gentle, as a lover, eager to let her take the lead. And she'd always liked to take charge in the bedroom. Now, she had two adoring death gods wrapped around her little fingers.

"Are you done with your work for today?" Persephone asked, her hands wandering down Percy's chest and around his waist so she could pull him closer. "Are you all mine now?"

"I am always all yours, Phone," Percy grinned as he leaned his head against her shoulder. "But yes, I'm all done with work for today. You, still busy with the dogs…?"

Both of them turned toward where Zerberus was chasing Mrs. O'Leary. One of the things that had bonded the triad was their shared love for dogs. The fact that Percy had love and appreciation for 'monsters' of the underworld – Mrs. O'Leary, his hell-hound, and Small Bob, the skeletal cat – had truly warmed Hades' heart and made him fall all the harder.

"I mean, we had walkies, and I have been throwing squeaky toys for like half an hour," Persephone tilted her head. "I do think they had enough exercise for now."

"So, you're saying we could go and bother our husband?" Percy grinned wickedly.

"He's working. The thing you were doing until just now yourself."

"Ye—eah, but I think I still have new-spouse-privileges of being allowed to bother my husband at work and stealing him away," Percy pecked Persephone's cheek. "Wanna be my accomplice?"

Persephone laughed and then whistled for their dogs. "Always, my love."

/break\

One of the best things Percy had brought into this marriage – beside himself – was his wonderful cat. Hades, though being a famous dog owner, was very much also a cat person. He liked to work with Small Bob curled together on his lap. Patting the cat was very soothing for him.

"Mreow?" Small Bob raised his head when the door creaked open. "Mew!"

The door opened farther. Hades ignored it and continued working. Someone stood to his left and someone else to his right, both pressing against him. He continued working. The underworld would not be functioning and running if he allowed his beloved wife to distract him. Someone kissed his cheek, the ocean scent tipping him off to which of his consorts it was. Persephone on his other side slowly ran a hand down Hades' chest. Oh, this was evil. Now there were two of them, and they were teaming up on him to distract him from his work.

"No," Hades frowned annoyed. "I am working. Can't you keep each other occupied?"

"Oh, we could," Percy's voice was a teasing purr. "We really can busy ourselves, with each other."

Okay, that one was fully on Hades, he had set himself up for this. Both Persephone and Percy moved away from him and instead turned toward each other, Percy resting one arm around their wife's neck, while Persephone had her arms around Percy's waist. And then they kissed. Not just a peck. They were teasing him. Baiting him. Heaving a sigh, he put his paperwork down.

"You win," Hades glared at them. "You are not a good influence for each other. Or me."

Both his loves simply laughed and attached themselves to him. Both so cheeky, beautiful, tempting and absolutely impossible to deny. Hades leaned in to kiss them both, smiling a little to himself.

~*~ The End ~*~

[alexanderwales]

✨💖Positivity chain! List 5 to 10 things that make you smile and explain why! Send to others who also make you smile✨💖

I live a few blocks from the shore of Lake Superior, and go down to the rocky beaches a few times a week to throw rocks into the lake. Sometimes I'm skipping them, but more often they're just plopping down into the water.

I have, after many years, managed to make perfect sandwiches. It's mostly a matter of ingredients, and I don't think it would be perfect for anyone else, but there's a great balance of textures, tanginess, sweetness, and umami.

Gochugang has been a gamechanger for me. I add a spoonful of it to chili, mac and cheese, stir fry, and all kinds of other things. It's especially good because my wife and son don't particularly like spicy things, so I can just use a dollop to add spice and flavor to things.

On the first day of heavy snow (where we live, usually November, but sometimes October), my son and I make "ultimate hot chocolate", which has heavy cream, quality dark chocolate, whipped cream, chocolate shavings, wafer cookies, marshmallows, and a bit of cinnamon and cayenne pepper. The making of the hot chocolate is an iterative process, adding things to the pot little by little until it's just right, then we get the drinks all dolled up.

We have a hammock in the backyard and a quiet neighborhood, and during the summer I can lay there swinging back and forth while reading through a book with my phone in the house and some disconnection from the Online.

We have two black cats, one fluffy and one sleek. The fluffy cat is so, so stupid, but one time when I was coming down the stairs I stopped to pet him, and he got it into his head that me going down the stairs means that it's time for him to interrupt my descent and get some aggressive petting. When he hears me coming from the upstairs office, he races up the stairs to meet me halfway, and because I'm not a monster, I stop to pet him for a few minutes.

I stay up late at night, after my son and wife have gone to bed, and unless the cats are wrestling, the house gets nice and quiet. I come down to make a cup of tea, and do dishes while the water is boiling and for however long it takes my herbal tea to steep. I like when there's a soft, slightly chilly wind and the sound of crickets.

I live in a city on a hill, and from many different angles you can see the big lake down below. During the summer, the giant ore ships are out, sitting on the lake waiting for paperwork or to take their turn. There are specific views that I try to be mindful of, to appreciate them because they're beautiful. These are mostly seen from my car, going to specific places that I go on a regular basis.

I bought a wireless charger for my phone, so I can just set it in a cradle on my desk without having to plug it in, and though I've had it for months now, I still consider it one of the best purchases I've ever made.

[madsworld15]

New Fic Alert! once you know you can never go back (Brian/Justin)

This one answers the prompt: hogging the blankets (Prompt #19) [13/21 for me personally] for the QaF Prompt Challenge 2024. This is also part of the Diabetes Chronicles series and serves as a follow-up to you're still the one that i love I want to give a shout-out to my discord pals for always reading and supporting my works when they can: @maryp50, @lostcol, and @winderlylandchime

Justin was already in bed by the time Brian finished his paperwork from the latest campaign he was overseeing. After 11 years together in New York, they’d slipped into a well-oiled routine. Most nights, they went to bed together. But on occasion, Justin had to stay up writing lesson plans or grading, or Brian had last-minute rewrites or contract negotiations to go over.

They were inching closer to a new decade of life; for Justin, it was his 40s, and for Brian, it was his 50s. However, a conversation Brian had with Michael and Ben during their visit a few days prior was sitting heavily on his brain. Michael and Ben had adopted Hunter in 2005, had J.R. in 2004, and added another little girl to their family in 2010. Now, their daughter was 7, and the couple had been gushing about how wonderful their lives were. Brian had surreptitiously watched Justin during the conversation and noticed his partner had gone quiet. 

The old Brian would’ve ignored the elephant clearly in the room, but Brian had become a much better communicator in the past decade or so. His relationship with Justin grew stronger every year because they were both willing to voice their concerns as they arose instead of waiting for them to fester and create tension. In the early days, the family had always blamed Brian for the lack of communication in their relationship. Still, they always failed to see how much Justin also failed to voice specific desires until it was a mountain of an issue instead of a molehill.

Brian sighed, shut off his computer, and walked through their brownstone, checking each room for stray lights or electronics that might still be on. He quietly opened the door to Gus’ room and checked to see if the teen was still sleeping. Since Brian’s recent hospital stay last month, things have been tense between them. But Justin assured Brian it would eventually blow over once Gus had time to process everything.

Once he was sure Gus was okay, Brian crossed the hall to the room where Isaac stayed most nights. The kid was still living with his parents full time, but at least once or twice a week, he spent the night with the Taylor-Kinneys. Tonight was one such night. Isaac could be found crashed asleep on his stomach with his arms wrapped around the pillow his head laid on. Brian smiled at the young boy, picturing another boy who had used his best friend to escape the stress of his home life.

Finally, Brian made his way to the bedroom he shared with Justin. He took his glasses off and folded them as he approached the bed. Only the lamp on his side of the bed was lit. Justin was turned on his side, facing away from Brian’s side. It was half past 11, meaning his partner was probably sleeping soundly already. However, when Brian pulled his shirt off and tossed it toward the laundry organizer, Justin rolled over with a groan. 

“Warn a guy next time. I might have a heart attack waking up to a sight that gorgeous.” Justin mumbled with a lustful twinkle in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep. I’ll only be a minute.” Brian smiled at Justin as he threw on a white undershirt and slipped off his jeans.

“You didn’t. After almost two decades with you, my body just innately senses when you are nearby and becomes alert.” Justin smiled sleepily up at Brian.

Brian pulled on sleep pants and climbed into bed. He scooted close to Justin and kissed him on the lips.

“Is that so.” Brian whispered, “Does that include all parts?” He gave a mischievous look, his lips tucked behind his teeth in anticipation.

“Bri, I’m half asleep and 34 years old. I can’t just turn things on that quickly anymore.” Justin sighed and tried to act like having sex was the furthest thing from his brain.

Brian’s hand wandered down toward Justin’s crotch and lightly cupped his half-hard dick. “Really? I guess he didn’t get the memo.” 

Brian chuckled and then quickly kissed Justin’s lips once again. “I’m kidding. I actually think we should talk about something.”

He then grabbed the blankets and pulled them onto himself and away from Justin.

“Well, first, you can give me back the covers.” Justin grabbed the blanket, attempting to pull it back to his side.

“But, Sunshine,” Brian jokingly pouted, “I’m cold.”

Justin rolled over and wrapped his leg over Brian’s, “Well, I can warm you up. That way, you don’t hog all the covers.”

Brian pulled Justin down into another kiss. This time, their tongues danced in each other’s mouths, fighting for dominance. Even after all these years, Brian and Justin still found kissing one of the most intoxicating things they could do together. It was one of their favorite activities inside and out of the bedroom.

“What did you want to talk about.” Justin finally broke away, giving Brian his full attention.

“I was thinking.” Brian started, but then he stalled, unsure how to start the conversation in the first place. He pulled away from physical contact with Justin, hoping it would help organize his thoughts. Justin sat up and watched him, waiting.

Brian sighed and rubbed his temples. He worried that bringing up the subject after all these years might cause discord in their relationship. Things had been miraculously happy between them for many years. Do I really want to mess that up?

“When we were out to dinner with Michael and Ben the other day, I noticed your expression changed when they started talking about the joys of raising J.R. and Violet.” Brian looked toward Justin, who was sitting stone-still and silent. He reached over and grabbed the blond’s hand into his own.

“You looked like you were sad or like you regretted something. And in the days since then, you’ve been somewhat quiet.” Brian squeezed Justin’s hand. “I’m worried I’ve done something wrong.”

Justin shook his head and gave Brian one of his smiles that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “No, just my brain being stupid. That’s all.”

“Justin.” Brian’s tone was gentle but stern. He needed Justin to tell him what was on his mind. “Whatever it is, we can talk it through and find a solution.”

“It just made me regret all the time we lost out on with Gus. It would’ve been fun to see him discover new things about the world when he was younger.” Justin shrugged. “Told you. Just my brain being stupid.”

It was what Justin wasn’t saying that had alarm bells going off in Brian’s brain. He moved so that he was flush against Justin and pulled the younger man against his chest. 

“Justin, do you wish you hadn’t sacrificed having kids by being with me?” Brian’s voice was barely audible. He held back the emotion that threatened to seep through. 

Justin is still young enough. He can go somewhere else if he wants kids. Maybe that’s why he’s been distant. Maybe he’s thinking about leaving me.

“I didn’t.” Justin placed his hand on Brian’s chest and drew soft circles there. “Brian, just because I thought I wanted kids when I was younger doesn’t mean I sacrificed that dream by being with you. I just followed a different, more important one.”

Justin placed a kiss on Brian’s chest. Brian tangled his hand in Justin’s hair and rubbed his scalp. He still wasn’t convinced Justin was simply trying to placate him. They’d been down this road before, years ago, where Justin wouldn’t say that he wanted a marriage and a family because he loved Brian so much and couldn’t see a feasible way of having both.

“We broke up before the bombing because I wasn’t willing to give you a family or marriage.” Brian’s words choked their way out of his swelling throat. “So, I’d understand if that conversation reminded you what you gave up.”

Justin positioned himself so that he was supported on his elbows as he hovered over Brian. “Bri, are you not hearing me? I don’t want kids if it means I don’t get to have you.”

“But that doesn’t mean you don’t want them at all,” Brian argued.

“Why are you being like this? Is it because Gus is still upset with you about sleeping with guys outside of our partnership?” Justin looked Brian up and down, trying to understand, “I’m not going to leave you. I love you. We have a commitment to each other.”

“But, you still want kids. Deep down.” Brian wanted to reciprocate the declaration of love Justin had just given him, but he needed Justin to settle his mind first.

“Brian. We have kids, two of them.” Justin pointed out. “Gus lives with us full-time now, and Isaac is practically ours at this point, too.”

“But, you didn’t get to raise a child from the start. I know that’s been in your heart. I see it in your eyes whenever someone you know has a baby.” Brian squeezes Justin’s arm and gazes discerningly into his eyes.

Justin’s eyes widened when he finally realized what Brian was trying to propose indirectly. “Are you seriously telling me you’d consider adding a baby to this at your age?” Justin’s eyes were a mix of shock and teasing.

“I’m not that old yet, and you definitely aren’t too old. If it’s something you really want.” Brian paused, “I’d do anything to make you happy.”

“Bri, I am happy with you, Gus, and Isaac. I am happy being the fun gay uncle to my sister’s and Daphne’s kids. I don’t need a baby to make me happy.” Justin reached out and cupped Brian’s cheek.

“Please trust me on this.” Justin kissed Brian, quickly grabbed the blanket, and rolled away from the brunet.

Brian chuckled and rolled his eyes. He loved Justin more than words could ever express. While his mind wasn’t entirely convinced about Justin giving up children, he could let the issue drop for now. Justin grinned at him and challenged him to reach over and steal the covers back. So Brian did. He turned off the lamp and laughed at himself as Justin adjusted both of their bodies to their typical sleeping position. 

They always started with Brian on his back, arms wrapped around Justin, cuddled against his side, his head on Brian’s chest. By morning, they would both be a mess of tangled limbs and pillows, but it was always agreed that their nights would start with intimate touches and gentle kisses. 

Once Justin had settled for good, Brian brought his lips to the top of Justin’s head and whispered, “I love you.”

[heliopauseentertainments]

I wish you would right a fic where...

someone's repeated refusal to approve a key bit of paperwork is either a running gag or a key plot point...

jariktig asked:

"write, apologies, not right"

Don't worry, buddy; it's cool.

As for the premise, I'm pretty sure I've written something already that contains that sort of administrative blockage as a plot point, but I think the approval flow didn't really feature as more than thin pretext for, uh, a more adult piece.

Actually, I do a lot administrative paperwork in my actual career, so I use it frequently as a device (Rodimus making Megatron approve conjunxual licenses in the one Dratchet fic I did because he doesn't want to do it, Rodimus making changes to the approval flow to spite previous aesthetic choices Megatron has made, lack of follow through on repairs post-approval leads to the resolution in The Hollow Man, etc.) but never as the focus. Hm.

How would it look as the focus (and not a pretext for shenanigans)? I wonder.

No warnings apply unless you count dubiously ethical requisitions on discretionary funds.

--

The commlink beeped happily as it finished booting up on Starscream's desk, ready to make any long distance call that the emperor so desired.

Starscream had known, of course, that after taking power, he would need to install some sort of administrative system to keep society... or rather the government running effectively. Millions of years of playing a leading role in the development of the Decepticon command and legal structures wouldn't go to waste.

Even if he had never been a particularly popular figure, outside of the elections, no one could dare to call him "unqualified" for the position of emperor. He had the necessary credentials in spades; even Megatron had agreed back when during the war.

Starscream clenched his jaw as he started entering the frequency to a ship that he really wished he didn't have memorized.

While copying over a lot of the Decepticon legal structures (and swapping out some labels as necessary) had been a useful stopgap measure, merging some of it with the ad hoc policies of Bumblebee's provisional government, rather than trying to build an entirely new system from the ground up, there was... a fatal flaw.

Both the provisional government's codes and the Decepticons' had themselves been built from the ground up, developed as needed and patchworked together. Some components were useless when taken out of their original systems. Specifically the approval bottlenecks formed by both incredibly centralized systems with limited backup approvers.

The commlink hummed as it dialed... connecting... waiting....

The viewscreen mounted in the wall behind the commlink flicked on, showing a stoic Ultra Magnus, the regrettably familiar Lost Light's command office in the background.

"Ah, Your Imperial Majesty, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

And some fool who had worked on importing the approval routing logic had forgotten to replace a certain name in this one side process: reimbursement, requisition, and procurement of any goods using Starscream's personal discretionary funds. Things that would be a rubber stamp approval. "Yes," Starscream replied, sighing in resignation, "Where is Megatron? I need him to approve my requisition for... certain goods." Polish, nominally for guests at his palace. But they were purchased on discretionary funds, after all, so it was no matter. "Again."

[couchtaro]

!!

from the OC introduction ask! (Sorry followers this is long but its worth it i prommy there are even pictures)

This is my little dötter Basil, a D&D PC of mine! She only saw 3 sessions of play 3 years ago but she is getting a second chance at life because @eaudecrow picked her up from the shelter and gave her a lovely yard to run around in.

Basil is a little tiefling girl whose large family runs an apothecary and surgery in a tiny little backwater town called Tarnygee. Basil’s brilliant mother developed a strain of magical herb that when processed can cast (without spell slots or prior magical ability) Lesser Restoration, thereby curing any disease instantly.

While traveling to heal a local noble, Basil’s mother disappeared and a bigshot inventor came forward claiming her panacea as his own. When Basil’s oldest brother tried to confront him and wound up dead, it became clear there was nothing they could do to get justice on their own. So, fueled by grief and rage, Basil took a job as a part-time warlock at Seelie Corp., a fey megacorporation with mysterious motives. In return for her working as their errand girl, Basil gets to be distinctly less killable and more tricky as she tries to find the inventor and extort him for the good of her destitute family.

Things aren’t working as well as she would like though: due to being basically a middle schooler, she’s got to keep her work under 40 hours a week and gets limited pact benefits. Her supervisor (a weasely pseudodragon named Keith) is dismissive and unhelpful, and her small town upbringing has kept her deeply unprepared for taking on the wild world of men and magic on her own.

Luckily, she’s found some unexpected help! While submitting her weekly report through the postal system of Fey portals, Basil’s paperwork went awry and found its way to another world: specifically a bunker in a war torn parallel version of the material plane. This bunker is the home and prison of Crow’s Aaren D’Cannith.

As a youth, Aaren invented a mechanical race called warforged, but seeing their potential for war and servitude, his family seized his blueprints (AND HIS ROBOT DAUGHTER) and disowned him as soon as he came of age. Aaren spent a few years as a vigilante trying to free his creations, but was trapped in his secret library when a magical-chemical fallout steeped his homeland in a volatile and toxic arcane gas. There he stayed, trapped and utterly alone, for three years.

Until Basil.

The two are corresponding via letters that we actually write each other, and it’s SUCH a fun and interesting method of storytelling to me aah. Despite being little more than strangers separated by a barely permeable divide, and despite Aaren struggling to believe Basil was even real at first, the two have formed a very sweet bond that makes me so unwell, you would not believe.

Both are grieved by how much of their own misfortune they see in the other. Through Basil’s letters, Aaren can tell that she is young, inexperienced, lacking support, and actively in danger as she allows herself to be used in exchange for power. He sees her situation with the eyes of someone who has been there and thus liberally (almost desperately) shares what little he can: his own arcane study materials, what he’s learned about survival and avoiding arrest, and, not the least, assurance that despite her perceptions, Basil is clever and kind and she matters.

Basil in turn is Aaren’s one connection to other people, and to a world that, while imperfect, is not ravaged and desolate like his own. After years of incarceration and tedium, he now has the exhilarating privilege of small talk and an audience for the terrible, terrible jokes he’s cooked up in isolation. He has a way to not only talk to someone outside of himself, but to help. He has something productive to do, and a reason to do it, not to mention the interesting puzzles of how their letters are finding each other and what else might be going on with Basil’s work. Basil is truly grateful to him, and returns his kindness in what little ways she can—most recently by interdimensionally mailing him his first real food in years.

Currently, Aaren and Basil are working to craft a pair of sending stones for daily artificer/botany jokes and (real reason) so that Basil can have some sort of emergency contact if she needs urgent advice. 25 words once per day is frightfully little if she ever runs into real trouble, and the limitations of their contact are never more haunting than when one considers how little Aaren could truly do in an emergency. I’m sure this frustration is only worsened by the unfortunate atrophy of his knowledge and skill caused by fog exposure. But he’s a clever man, and Crow had some ideas that seized my brain for weeks. Goodness.

Anyway in conclusion

Thanks for coming to my TedTalk

[got-into-worm-by-mistake]

Agitation 3.8

(This is me, writing reactions as I read, because why the fuck not. They're not complete, mature thoughts taken after I sit back and evaluate what I've read. Consider them as such)

(Every time I type out Agitation, I feel like I'm spelling it wrong)

“Any trouble?” Grue asked Tattletale.

Tons

Tattletale took hold of the stainless steel wheel that jutted out from the front of the vault and spun it, then stopped it. She repeated the process, going right, then left, then right again, for an indeterminably long time.  Just when I had the hopeful thought that maybe she wasn’t able to get in, there was a sound of something heavy shifting inside the door.

Tattletale OP, please Nerf :P

 The bank kept copies of all important documents for the local branches here, in a fireproof vault, in case of disaster

Take those too!

Grue, for his part, withdrew a short crowbar from within the darkness that smoldered around his body.  He set to cracking open the filing drawers with the squealing noise of metal creaking and bending.

Oh. They are. Cool. I don't remember hearing about this part. Probably Coil wants to do identity theft or w/e with it.

 Or, on a similar note, maybe there was something specific that would be found in the midst of the paperwork, and he was willing to buy it all if it meant keeping his true intentions unclear.

Probably not in this case, as the Bank wasn't his idea, but it's definitely the kind of thing I can see Coil doing.

I’d only ever seen her sullen and hostile, so any smile would be kind of creepy.  It was worse than that.  Hers was the kind of smile you’d see from someone who had never seen one before and was trying to replicate one from what they’d read in books.  Too many teeth showing, I suppressed a shiver and focused on the work.

Fuck. I'm not allowed to relate to Rachel. I don't like her. But fuck me if I don't do that too. Always too many teeth when I smile on purpose. When I was a kid my then stepmom called it my 'serial killer smile' which really does to wonders for a ten year old's sense of themselves. Thanks!

The cockroach, I’d come to think of him.  The boy with no weak points.

That's a bit rude, Taylor.

Gallant was an older teenager in a gunmetal and silver costume that blended the appearance of a pulp science fiction hero with a medieval knight.

Boo hiss Dean! /s

(Dean's nice. I like Dean.)

Also, probably a striking visual image.

His muscle laden arms were bigger around than my thighs,

Does that mean much, coming from you, Taylor? :P

He’s also packing personal biokinesis, which means he’s got a kind of ability to manipulate his own body. He can heal just by concentrating on an injury, and he’s used it to bulk up. He might be capable of doing more on the fly, depending on how much he’s trained since we saw him last. He’s been a solo hero in Brockton Bay for a little while.”

Kind of the opposite of Amy then. She can affect all life but herself, and he can only affect himself.

“I made an educated guess,” Tattletale spoke in a low voice, “I was wrong.  Sue me.”

I volunteer!

“Educated guess.  It would have been nice if you had said it was an educated guess, way back when we were planning this.”

I think that's technically *all* Tattletale can do. It's just that her guesses are very educated.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was a bad situation, and worse, I was afraid it was my fault. I’d warned Armsmaster something was going to happen. I could believe that he’d told the teams to be ready to go out in force. Even worse, he could be the unknown person on the roof. If that was the case, and Tattletale caught on, I was supremely fucked.

This one's not on you, Taylor.

“You guys are masters at the getaway, right?  So we change gears.  We fight them face to face.”

There are so many ways this could go wrong for our protagonists. Is this Taylor hedging her bets, or just desperate to not get a hostage hurt and grabbing onto the only option?

[an--artistic--autistic]

So honestly, getting my parking pass yesterday hit me very hard (metaphorically).

I went into my doctor's office to ask if I'd even be applicable for one, because multiple people have asked why I don't have one yet.

I was half expecting her to say no, I didn't qualify. Or to say yes, but we'll start with a 3 month placard.

Immediately after I'd asked, she pulled up the paperwork and started filling it out. I never asked for a specific time-length, but she put down five years. And I went through the paperwork afterwards, and seeing her put down "severely disabled" was a lot to process.

It's absolutely true, but seeing it written down on an official document has me Feeling Things. And when the person at the registry put the 2029 sticker on it, that also caused some Feelings.

Logically, it's wonderful and will be very helpful to have the placard. Emotionally, it's also wonderful and will save me a lot of stress. But also emotionally, wow it's definitely more to process having things written down so explicitly.

I don't know, I guess I have more internalized ableism to process than I thought.

(But I was very impressed by how fast that went. I'm very lucky to have a great doctor, and live near a great registry. Everyone has been super helpful and supportive in ways I never could have imagined)

[pinkiepiebones]

If I may... I wanted to request a story of post-canon Renfield as a happy father (no specific preference as to how or with whom), if that's something you'd feel comfortable with. I just want him to be able to try again, and I think he really would be a great dad 🥺💕

Post-Dracula and with a nonbinary partner and me once again demonstrating how little I know about the world (also this has no ending because I Am Bad At Endings)

*

Months and months ago the topic came up. Robert had been with his partner for some time now, time enough that the notion of settling down was an obtainable reality and not just a distant glimmer in the darkness.

"I think you'd make an amazing dad," his partner said happily. But there was a hesitancy in their tone. A hand on their belly, simple ring catching the sunlight. They couldn't help him in that endeavor. That had been mentioned shortly after they had begun dating; fumbling with clothes and an awkward blurting out of I can't get pregnant and a bright red blush in Robert's face.

Robert smiled and took their hand and kissed their fingers. "You'd make an amazing parent as well. I'm serious. I want to be a parent again. With you."

"So... I guess we need to find a surrogate?"

Robert tilted his head a little, like a dog hearing an unfamiliar sound. His partner chuckled at his confusion.

"Someone who can get pregnant."

That blush rose again, tinging Robert's cheekbones pink. "Or," Robert said softly, kissing his partner's knuckles and the back of their hand, "we adopt."

-

It was difficult to adopt. Not because of the bureaucracy; having a friend with a law enforcement background with a sister in the FBI came in handy for cultivating a reasonable facsimile of a regular human life for Robert. A century of servitude and murder and other crimes were not just swept under a rug, but buried beneath the foundation of a basement of a rug store. Robert's age became a perfectly acceptable 39 year old, his story a succinct "born and raised near London, got a degree in real estate law, moved to America, fell in love." And his partner, a mortal with no supernatural entanglements, needed no such work. Quite easily done.

The process was difficult because Robert wanted to adopt every child.

Robert's partner squeezed his hand gently. "Babe, I truly love how big your heart is, but we don't live in your heart. We have a two bedroom house."

--

Robert watched the toddler in the play room. Tears were stinging his eyes. The child had been orphaned and maimed in a car accident. No living family. The adoption agent had told Robert and his partner that usually babies are adopted quickly, but her having just one full arm deterred a lot of potential parents. Robert's partner scoffed at the notion of parents wanting flawless children before considering the cost of prosthetics. Robert reached over and took his partner's hand in his. Their rings clinked together, softly.

"She's perfect."

---

The wait between finalising the paperwork and actually bringing their daughter home was almost agonising. Robert's support group, Rebecca, Kate, his coworkers, and his partner's friends organised a baby shower.

"We know she's not a baby," Rebecca said, "but calling it a 'toddler shower' or a 'kid shower' just felt weird." She grinned and handed over a pair of matching shirts for the soon-to-be parents- a #1 DAD for Robert, a #1 PARENT for his partner.

"Have you thought about what she's gonna call you? Like, Robert's obviously gonna be 'dad' or 'daddy' or 'papa,' you know?" Karla asked as Robert got teary over more gifts- little clothes, little toys. His partner shook their head.

"I guess I can be 'mom,' but that feels... weird."

Trevante nodded. "Yeah, no offense, but you don't have mom vibes."

"Mod would be cool," Carol offers as she hands Robert an envelope containing a gift card. "It's a blend of 'mom' and 'dad,' and she can say 'Moddy and Daddy,' which sounds cute, if that's what you two want."

Robert's partner hmmed. "I kinda like that one."

"Beats being 'parent'," Rob said. Then, "no offense to the shirts you got them, Rebecca."

"None taken."

Mark gave a gentle speech about Robert's growth and progress. Robert buried his face in the crook of his partner's neck and wept happily. His partner was crying too; they never imagined in their wildest dreams that they would ever be this happy.

----

The first week their daughter was home, the three slept in the same bed. Their daughter was nestled between them, sleeping with a smile on her round face. Robert and his partner watched her with awe- they watched everything she did with awe, really- and whispered about the life they wanted for her. Safe and happy and never doubtful of her parent's love for her.

Robert's partner delicately kissed their daughter's forehead. Robert followed their example. It was night, and it was mostly dark in their bedroom, save for the soft warm glow of the moonlight streaming through the window. It was the first time in a very, very, very long tome that he was not afraid of the dark.

-----

Robert scooped their daughter up onto his shoulders so she could see the parade. She shrieked with delight and nearly dropped her cotton candy on her father's head.

"Hey, no fair," her moddy said jokingly, "I wanna see, too!" Moddy pretended to start climbing Robert. Their daughter squealed and kicked her little legs in Robert's grasp.

"Nooo, Daddy's only got room for me!"

Moddy laughed and patted their daughter's little foot. "Oh, you're right, I guess we'll have to take turns on Daddy's shoulders then, huh?"

"Yup!" Their daughter handed her cotton candy to Moddy so she could tug Robert's unruly hair. "Daddy, hold Moddy up next, okay?" Robert laughed and smiled and leaned down carefully to kiss his partner, which elicited an 'ewwww!' from their daughter.

------

Robert cried on their daughter's first day of school.

"What if she misses us? What if they mock her prosthetic arm? What if they bully her for being adopted?

"She'll be okay, snickerdoodle. We raised her to be tough. She knows Aunt Rebecca and Aunt Kate will arrest the bullies." His partner smiles and kisses his tear-stained cheek.

"She's so lucky to have a dad like you." A pause. "I'm so lucky to have a husband like you."

Robert sniffles and smiles. "If it's a contest of luck, I hit the ultimate jackpot with you two."

-----

For Halloween, their daughter is a vampire. She's running around the house in a cape and yelling around plastic fangs, "I am a vampire! I'm so scary! Give me candy!"

Robert had objected to the costume initially and when their daughter asked why he gave her the reasoning I'm afraid of vampires. It wasn't a lie. Their daughter had giggled and told him, "I will be a good vampire, I'll fight the bad ones to keep you safe Daddy."

Moddy put a stop to the running by announcing it was time to go terrorise the neighbourhood. "Where's your costume, Moddy?" their daughter asks.

"I'm a werewolf."

"But you look like you!"

"Well, it's not a full moon tonight, is it?"

Their daughter argues that that is a silly costume and bounds to the door, eager to participate with the ghosts and ghouls outside. Moddy turns to Robert.

"You sure you'll be okay alone? We'll be gone about an hour."

Robert nods and adjusts the orange ears on his headband- he's a tiger this year. "Someone's got to be here for the trick or treaters."

Their partner stands on their toes to press a kiss to his lips. "I love you, my good boy." A shriek of disgust rang out from their daughter.

"Halloween's supposed t'be fun scary, not gross scary!"

Moddy smirks and wraps their arms around Robert and makes loud MWAH kissy noises as they pepper his face. Their daughter giggles and yelps "nooooo!" and reaches for the doorknob. Then, she remembers something, and dashes off to find her backpack.

She returns and presents her daddy with a craft stick cross covered in bright pink glittery craft paint.

"This will keep you safe while me an' Moddy are gone" she says with a serious tone. Then, excitedly, to Moddy, "let's go! We gotta go before all the good candy's gone!"

Robert presses the cross to his chest. He smiles bright.