#ch: mack

[nikosasaki]

FAULTLINES ⭑ a riverdale series

originally released in 2018, Faultlines was a spinoff from the original Riverdale series, following the story of Southsider Benny Bayford and his close friends, the junior Southside Serpents. the series was known for covering serious topics like drug addiction and abuse, but became more known for it's expansive queer representation. the series spanned four seasons and nearly 80 episodes, with the final season showing the main characters reuniting in their hometown of Riverdale after being separated during their college years.

taglist: @kendelias @chlobenet @bravelittleflower @eddiemunscns @purpleyearning @eddysocs @heavenlysurf @arrthurpendragon @nolanhollogay @stanshollaand @lovehermioneforever @raith-way @kiara-carrera @decennia @luucypevensie @waterloou @ginger-grimm @hiddenqveendom @foxesandmagic @jvstjewels @dragonsbone @endless-oc-creations @ginevrastilinski @sunlitscribe @dyhlanobrien @partiallypearl @witchofinterest @fleetwoodmcs @daughter-of-melpomene

[motownfiction]

sweet like a chic-a-cherry cola

note: this vignette also firmly takes place between two consenting adults, aged 26 and 33

Paul is slow-moving for a man in his thirties. He and Emma have been on four dates already, and all they’ve done is kiss a little. He didn’t even kiss her until their third date, only five days ago, which was mostly a disaster. Emma hadn’t been expecting it, so she kissed him back with the exact pressure one uses to kiss the top of a baby’s head.

Tonight, though, she was ready. As it happens, so was he. They’ve been lying on top of his duvet for half an hour, just kissing and giggling, almost like they’re getting away with something. Paul pushes Emma’s hair out of her face and laughs a little more.

“What’s so funny?” Emma asks.

“Nothing,” Paul says. “Just … I guess I wish I knew you when I was a teenager.”

“Well, considering I would have been eleven when you graduated from high school, I don’t actually think that’s something you want.”

“OK, but you know. I wish we’d been teenagers at the same time. That way … we could have done this way sooner. Skipped to the good parts by now.”

“Are these not good parts?”

“They are, but …”

Emma pulls Paul closer to her face and kisses him like she’s never kissed anybody. It’s easy with him, and that’s not just because at five-foot-eight, Paul’s the only man she’s ever been able to kiss without standing on a stepstool. It was like she didn’t know how kissing was supposed to feel until tonight. All the other kisses with all the other men had been … clinical. Experimental (for them). Cold (for her). She felt obligated to them in ways she doesn’t feel to Paul. When it’s Paul, she wants it more than she’s ever wanted anything. He’s here. Flesh, blood, and warmth. His kisses make her feel alive. Not going through the motions. Alive.

“You can have all the parts,” she says. “If you want them … they’re yours.”

Paul grins like he’s been waiting all his life for someone to say that. He pulls her closer still, and he kisses her with a force he didn’t even know he was capable of. He’d been kissing girls since he was nineteen (though never with as much frequency as maybe he would have hoped), but it was never like this. Never so … wanted. Dreamt of. He spent hours thinking about Emma, about how he knows exactly what The Platters mean by “My Prayer,” about how he’s not sure he could ever live a day without knowing her again.

How could it be? How could it be that for more than three decades of breathing in and out, in and out, Paul didn’t know Emma O’Connor existed? How could it be that it still took them almost two years to get here? For so much of his life, he’s been running in place, afraid that if he catches up to someone, he’ll lose sight of all the things on the horizon, everything in his periphery. But Emma sees the world as he does–in stories, in goals, in dreams. And when she kisses him, he remembers that his body is for more than just walking from place to place or for working harder than he actually can. He remembers that he is blood.

So much blood.

Everywhere it should be.

He feels himself start to leave–not because he wants to, but because it’s his instinct. Flight. Always flight. Get out of there as soon as you can.

But then, he sees Emma’s eyes. Blue and impish. Perfect.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” she says, gentler than she’s ever been. “I want you here.”

Paul can’t even smile. He just cups Emma’s face in his hands again and kisses her. Desperate. Feeling younger than he really is. Has he mentioned the desperation?

“I want to be here,” he says, not sure which one of them needs to hear it more.

“I want you here,” Emma says again, between frantic kisses, like Paul’s going to change his mind. “I want–mmm–I want you.”

That does it. He’s all blood now. He begins to unbutton his shirt–why did he wear an oxford tonight?--but she tears it off. They’ll deal with it later. He still has on a white t-shirt, and she’s wrapping herself around him like a little cobra.

“You should only wear this,” Emma says.

“Only wear what?”

“T-shirts. Especially when they dip down below the neck like this.”

She takes the scoop near his Adam’s apple and pulls it down into a V.

“There,” Emma says. “I want to see more of your chest hair.”

Paul laughs.

“Do all women ogle men’s chest hair like it’s cleavage?” he asks. “Or is that just a you thing? Because you do it a lot.”

“I don’t think it’s just a me thing. But it is important to me.”

She kisses his chest, right between where her fingers are still making that V.

“I want you there,” she says.

“Good,” he says, then silently curses himself for sounding so lame. “Can I show you where I want you?”

Her eyes light up. She was afraid that he’d get insecure and pull back, like he usually does. Paul almost never initiates kisses or hand holding or any sign of affection. He’s just not used to it. Emma tries not to grudge him, but tonight is different. She can feel it in her blood. What a comeback.

“I might die if you don’t.”

Paul’s eyes gleam in a way Emma has never seen from him before. She’s always thought he was cute. Sweet. Approachable in a dorky sort of way. But this … something’s happened. Something’s happened, and she realizes in less than a full breath that she could love him. Maybe she already does. He puts his arms around her and places her flat on her back again. His hands snake up her little blue dress and land on her thighs.

“I want you here,” he says, voice thick and nervous, but there. Not silent. “Is that OK?”

Emma takes a long breath. After years of nursing the world’s biggest crush on him, after years of falling in love with him, what else does he expect her to say?

“Yes.”

[daughter-of-melpomene]

𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆… 𝐌𝐘 𝐌*𝐀*𝐒*𝐇 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐖 “𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐊” 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐈𝐄

❝ Mack had been keeping a secret for most of his life.

Well, he supposed, it wasn't as much of a secret as he liked to think if people already knew - after all, if his wealthy parents hadn't kicked him out of the house and cut him off at nineteen because they'd caught him lip-locking with the gardener's son, then he'd really like to know what their real reason was.

Still, though he'd managed to form a tight-knit friend group of people like himself since moving to Manhattan, not a single person in medical school, nor any doctor he worked with or patient he treated now, had managed to figure out that he much preferred men to women when it came to matters of the heart. So when Mack is drafted and shipped off to Korea to serve as a surgeon for soliders wounded on the battlefield, he figures it won’t be much harder to keep his secret than it has been at any other time in his life.

But being subjected to such chaotic individuals as serve in the 4077th, and sharing a tent with a man as charismatic and handsome as Hawkeye Pierce, he’s starting to wonder how he'd thought any of this would be easy. ❞

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @endless-oc-creations, @stanshollaand, @ginnystilinski-reblogs, @luucypevensie, @ginger-grimm, @arrthurpendragon, @fakedatings, @impales, @claryxjackson, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @lucys-chen, @ocappreciationtag.

[o-berriesandhotsauce]

having one of those nights where i wanna pick up every fanfic project i've left dormant..........

[outermaybanks]

Out of the Woods - ch 2

a/n: okay i know this is an oc fic and that's not everyone's cup of tea which is so totally fine, im just curious would it be better to make each chapter longer like 3k-6k words, or should i keep them shorter but there'd be a lot of them? pls

prev ☆ next

Kie liked to fill the silence with question games. Usually basic ones, but we’d already run through most of those. 

“So when are you gonna tell JJ about your huge crush on him?” Kie asked suddenly, making my head whip around. Pope began laughing hysterically which just made me more flustered.

“Shut up, Kie. Pope, stop laughing!” I scolded, dipping my hand in the water to splash it at him, but that just made him laugh more and now Kiara was joining in. 

“Fuck you both!” I said, fighting out giggles myself as Kie splashed me back. When it died down, it felt heavy, like the unanswered question was still aching to be answered.

“Well I think you guys would be good together.” Kie spoke up, obviously feeling the tension.

“Yeah, like fire and gasoline.” Pope teased, earning a smack on the arm from Kie.

“You know the rules. No Pogue-on-Pogue macking,” I said.

“No one actually follows that rule.” Pope said and I rolled my eyes.

“Fine. Something else. What’s your biggest pet peeve?” Kie asked.

“When people pry into my love life.” I teased, earning a middle finger from Kie, giggling.

“What about you?” Pope asked, bumping Kie’s shoe with his.

“My biggest pet peeve? When people give one percent to the environment.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“We only have one Earth, Pope. We should be giving it 100 percent bare minimum.”

“Right… that’s not fiscally sound.”

“Neither is destroying the only planet we have to live on.”

I saw blue cars pulling up. “Hey, hey, hey- cops.” I said, interrupting their debate. 

“Shit.” Kie mumbled.

“Call them.” Pope instructed.

“I can’t. Towers are down.” Kie slowly stood and hid behind some debris, we followed behind her.

“If I lose my merit scholarship, I’m gonna kill someone,” Pope whispered as we found a place to hide. We tried to listen in, and Pope said maybe they wouldn’t go up there, but Kie wasn’t as optimistic.

“Follow me.” I said, keeping low and sneaking over to the building to go to the other side where the boys had gone into the room. We could see them through the window.

Pope bent down to pick up a rock, but totally missed, so me and Kie picked some up and we all started throwing rocks, aiming for the window. Once one hit the glass, John B’s face appeared in the window and we all motioned that he needed to go, Pope whispering “cops”, as if John B could hear him.

John B disappeared in an instant and I felt my stomach drop. What was the charge for sneaking into someone else’s hotel room? 

“C’mon!” Kie said, grabbing my arm and pulling me. We ran to get back on the boat, with Kiara at the wheel.

“Should we peel?” Kie asked.

“Never leave a Pogue behind.” Pope answered. I was still catching my breath, watching the hotel for any signs of them catching JJ and John B.

“Seriously, should we peel?” Kie asked again.

“Maybe..” Pope answered and I smacked his arm. Just then, the window opened, and JJ and John B climbed out, standing on the ledge on either side of the window.

“What the fuck are they doing?” I asked. Both boys looked like they were having fun. They weren’t rushing to climb down, even though I’ve seen JJ jump from higher. Then something fell from his pocket my breath caught in my throat. The cop looked out the window, so we all turned as if we were just talking. Then they left, and the boys came down, laughing from the adrenaline. 

John B quickly got us out of there and the two began telling us what they saw, and how the cops took everything. I was sitting on the front of the boat, trying to figure out the feeling in my stomach.

“Scooch.” JJ said, walking over to me.

“Fuck off.” I retorted, making him raise an eyebrow at me.

“What’s your problem?”

Instead of answering, I scooted over. “Are you seriously mad at me? You guys could have warned us sooner.” “Well, we would’ve, but Pope was on the math team.” Kie teased. JJ kept his eyes on me, like he was unsure of me.

“The cops took everything like it was a crime scene.” John B spoke up.

“Did you guys find anything?” Pope asked.

“Hmm…Did we find anything?” JJ said, digging into his pockets, only to pull out a stack of cash and a gun. “No, I don’t think so. Oh, yeah, we did.”

I jumped up to get away from the gun. Pope stepped forward, pulling me back behind him to be further from the gun.

“What the hell?” Pope asked at the same time that Kiara said, “Dude, what?”

“Dude, chill. Come on.”

“Why would you take that from a crime scene?” Pope scolded in disbelief.

Kie turned to John B, Pope started panicking over his scholarship, and JJ tried to reassure him it was fine. Once Pope gave up, sitting back down, JJ turned to look at me, holding the gun up.

“It’s fine, Junie, look.” JJ tried to reassure me, but I wouldn’t even look at him. “Bug..” JJ tried again. Bug was his nickname for me, when I was a kid, my mom would call me Junebug, but when I found out that junebugs were the stinky ones, I made her stop. JJ, upon learning that fact, picked up on calling me bug. 

John B pulled up to the docks, but we noticed a huge group of people, so we hung out under a canopy to watch the chaos.

“Junie, c’mon, we’re not 12 anymore you can’t give me the silent treatment when you’re mad at me.” JJ practically pleaded. He was wrong, silent treatment was the best punishment for JJ, it wasn’t the silence that drove him nuts, it was the fact he knew I was upset with him. 

“Did you hear something, Kie?” I asked, making her roll her eyes.

“Real mature.” JJ grumbled, John B chuckled watching the whole thing unfold. But then, some of the people cleared, and we could see what was causing the chaos, a dead body. A crab fisherman called it in, found him in the Marsh. One of the girl’s that liked to follow JJ around said he was Scooter Grubbs, and that he was out in the storm. “I got a pic, check it out. Dead body.” The girl, Samantha I think, showed each of us the picture, causing me to grimace when I got a peek as she showed it to JJ. “That’s morbid,” I mumbled, grimacing as I turned my head away.

“What kind of boat did he have?” JJ asked.

“Somehow that dirtbag copped a brand new Grady-White. Everyone’s out looking for it.” We all exchanged looks. 

Pope had to run home, but the rest of us went back to the Chateau, sitting in the mudroom. JJ fidgeted with the lighter I got him. “Junie, you talking to me yet?” JJ asked.

“Hey, Jeeb?” I said, getting John B to turn to look at me. “Yeah, Junes?”

“Does JJ still have that stolen crime scene gun?” I asked.

“Mmmm yeah, looks like it.”

“Oh, okay” I said, going back to drawing on the whites of my shoes with a sharpie.

The door flew open, getting my attention. “Okay, so, um… we didn’t see anything. We don’t know anything. We need to have total and complete amnesia.” Pope said, sitting beside Kie.

“Actually, Pope’s right for once. See, I agree with you sometimes.” JJ stood up. “Deny, deny, deny.”

“Guys, we can’t keep that money.” Kie spoke up.

“Okay- not all of us can afford unlimited data plans, Kiara.” JJ retorted.

“We have to pass that off to Lana Grubbs. Otherwise, it’s bad karma.”

“Bad karma to be implicated in a felony, too. We gotta go dark.”

“If that means we get to keep the money, then I agree.” JJ said.

“I don’t agree.” John B chimed in.

“What? Why?” JJ asked.

“Just think about it. This is Scooter Grubbs we’re talking about. Same dude that’s buying individual cigarettes at the Porthole. Shit, one time I saw this dude begging for change in the Save-A-Lot parking lot because he needed gas. We’re talking about a dirtbag marina rat who’s never had more than $40 in his pocket, and all of a sudden he’s got a Grady-White? Just sayin’.”

This would become the topic of discussion all day, John B just couldn’t let it go, bringing it back up while Pope and JJ fished, and me and Kie shared a blunt. 

“Alright, so think about it, Pope. How does a marina rat get a Grady-White?” John B asked.

“Prostitution,” Pope answered flatly, focusing on fishing.

“Square groupers, bro,” John B corrected. “Okay, flying under the radar, no aerial surveillance. They don’t do that stuff during a hurricane. What does that mean? JJ?”

“They were straight smuggling’,” JJ answered. I looked over my shoulder at him, only to find his eyes already on me. I turned back around.

“Smugglin’. And I guarantee there’s a serious amount of contraband in that wreck,” John B argued.

“Hell yeah. Oh-” JJ was interrupted by his line moving and quickly started reeling in a fish. 

After we went back inside, this time, Pope was the one to bring it up.

“For the record, if that is a smuggling ship with illegal contraband on the inside of it… it probably belongs to someone else,” Pope pointed out.

“Minor details,” Kie spoke up.

“They could come looking for it. Taking it would be catastrophically stupid,” Pope argued.

“Right, well,” JJ said, leaning over to take the stack of money from Pope before fanning out the cash. “Stupid things have good outcomes all the time. All we need to do is figure out a way to get into the cargo hold of that wreck. Until then, we just lay low. Just act normal.” JJ finished.

“Right. And how exactly do we do that?” Pope asked. Yep, they won him over.

“Kegger?” Kie suggested, and we all looked around at each other, smiles growing on our faces.

©outermaybanks 2024

[chasseurdeloup]

@howdy-cowpoke replied to your post “[pm] Are you a cookie thief?”:

[pm] I have seen some very curious photographs.... [new pm] Good grief, no. That thing sounds like a nightmare.

​[pm] Yeah I saw that. Not sure who made that or why or how it got on that reddot reddit string or whatever. But I can assure you, I'm not the WRCM.

That's what I thought. Cass said that thing sounded French and that I sounded like that, too. Glad that's not the case.

Also, uh, not sure if you heard but Jade attacked Mack, too. I'm bringing her some food. Almost wish you had killed her when you had the ch--

[dustorange]

3, 4, 23, 25, 45, 47 *taking notes*

3—Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

I definitely start out with the ending in mind and then like the emotion i want to be building the whole thing up to. And then i am like hmmmmmmm what is a thing that will make that emotion feel like a Big Thing or feel like it was inevitable. I write the ending first ALWAYS (bc i never have anything else at the start 😭) and then i just hit enter a bunch of times and flicker around the doc as i come up w different scenes i am a PANTSER

4—Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

Literally from whatever emotion I’m feeling about Bruce that day. I NEVER HAVE IDEAS EVER 

23—Best writing advice for other writers?

hmmmm i would say do not let other peoples character opinions doubt YOUR opinions about the character. I think some of the Tumblr discourse abt “this is so stupid” “this character is NOTTT ___” can make it so u get scared of like omgggg what if im being a bad writer or what if this is ooc and people don’t like it that was what ruined beat journalism for me (BESIDES NOT HAVING ANY IDEAS FOR CH 3 DESPITE HAVING CH 4 the ending DONE) because i was so scared people wouldn’t like it but in the end YOU HAVE TO GO WITH YOUR HEART

25—What fic do you wish you got more of a response on?

There Is. i LOVE the ending of There Is. its my favorite ending of anything I’ve written ever. but it was a weird fic for me because i haaaate zombie aus so i definitely would not have clicked on it to read it either. but i do love that fic lol

45—Do you want to break your readers‘ heart or make them laugh?

THIS IS GOING TO BE A STUPID VISUAL but have u ever touched a wire and gotten AN ELECTRIC SHOCK. and your blood system feels really hot afterward. that is exactly how the Bruce dick relationship feels in terms of the Power of Love like if i could get ppl to smile affectionately at how much bruce loves dick that would be the ticket. But i also love it when ppl say they’re sobbing lol that is SUCH an honor 

47—How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

NOT ENOUGH if i ever post a fic without 15 spelling errors thats an imposter but i am so embarrassed 

MACK U R MY STARRR i love u MUAH

[batshieroglyphics]

[FIC] To Be Free Once More (That's Worth Fighting For) ~ Star Wars: Prequels ~ Fox/Obi-Wan ~ Mature ~ Ch 12/15

Title: To Be Free Once More (That's Worth Fighting For) Fandom: Star Wars Prequel Era Author: Batsutousai Rating: Mature Warnings: Alternate Universe, Qui-Gon survives, Jedi Shadow!Obi-Wan, Jedi culture positive, Coruscant Guard deserve better, clone trooper dehumanisation, institutional abuse, discrimination, learning to trust, Jedi and clone trooper relationships, strangers to friends to lovers, idiots in love, trans/nonbinary/agender clone troopers, trans/nonbinary/agender Jedi, character deaths (Palpatine, some Corries, offscreen Jedi OCs; more detail in notes of relevant chapters) Summary: As a Jedi Shadow, Obi-Wan hadn't expected to have much to do with the clone troopers. Until, suddenly, he does.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Stone's eyes shot over to him, and Obi-Wan could see him casting an assessing look, cataloguing the Force alone knew what little tells about Obi-Wan's appearance, and then tapped in dadita, 'Surgery?'

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed quietly, swallowed, and explained, "Your chip was activated."

Stone stared at him for a moment, clearly confused, before he tapped, 'How? Why?'

Obi-Wan took a careful breath, still didn't know the best way to break this gently, even with almost two hours to try and sort it out. "You comm'd the chancellor," he explained, "we assume to let him know that the mission was a success. Palpatine...is the Sith."

Disbelief flared in the Force first, followed quickly by a sort of grim recognition tinged with horror, like he was making the same leaps of logic that Obi-Wan and Fox had done, all those months ago.

Stone swallowed, and rasped, "Dooku?"

"Alive," Obi-Wan replied. "We don't...wholly know what order you were given, but–" He cleared his throat, hesitated for a moment, then made himself say, "There's two likely orders on the chips: One is to kill any witnesses, the other is for an entire squad to suicide."

Stone's dawning horror filled the room, nearly choking Obi-Wan, and he had to bring his shields up higher than he'd had to do in a while, away from a battlefield. 'Who?' Stone tapped. 'Who dead? Who killed?'

"B.J., Mack, Klinger, Spearchucker, Rizzo, Senator Kharrus, and Representative Binks," Obi-Wan listed quietly.

Stone went stiff, staring at Obi-Wan with a blankness that freaked him out a little.

And then, all at once, he lurched upwards, too fast for Obi-Wan to stop him, and stumbled out of the bed.

He didn't make it far before he stumbled, and probably would have fallen and knocked his head against the floor plating and done himself some serious harm, but Obi-Wan caught him with the Force, kneeling next to him as he eased the commander to the floor.

"Stone–"

"I killed vode," Stone rasped, something hollow about his voice.

"No," Obi-Wan denied. "Palpatine killed them. He turned you into a weapon to do his dirty work. Just like he's been doing to Fox and Thorn. You are not at fault."

Stone's laugh was a wretched, ruined thing, and Obi-Wan suspected that could only partially be attributed to the damage to his throat.

Read it on Archive of Our Own!

Support Stone by reblogging this post

[nando161mando]

Eitay Mack's Haaretz article "Israel Is Not Committing Genocide in Gaza" ignores the genocidal clarity of Israeli leaders and serves as a cherry-picked broadside against the fashionable bogeyman of ‘the global left’.

[nikosasaki]

the maraverse ⭑ pride 2024

created by Gilbert Baker, the original pride flag had eight colors, all with its own meanings; pink for sex, red for life, orange for healing, yellow for sunlight, green for nature, turquoise for magic, indigo for serenity, and violet for spirit.

taglist; @kendelias @chlobenet @bravelittleflower @eddiemunscns @purpleyearning @eddysocs @heavenlysurf @arrthurpendragon @villanele @nolanhollogay @stanshollaand @lovehermioneforever @raith-way @kiara-carrera @decennia @luucypevensie @waterloou @ginger-grimm @hiddenqveendom @foxesandmagic @jvstjewels @dragonsbone @endless-oc-creations @ginevrastilinski @sunlitscribe @dyhlanobrien @partiallypearl @witchofinterest @fleetwoodmcs @daughter-of-melpomene

[motownfiction]

do you like me?

note: this vignette is very firmly about two adults, aged 27 and 34

Emma lies in bed with her head on Mack’s chest. He’s sweaty again, from their third night of fucking just this once, plus the sweltering summer. Cities are always hotter than other places. All those bodies packed tightly together in one place. Something like this was bound to happen eventually. Emma just figured it would be with Paul.

But no.

Paul is in New Hampshire, visiting Laura, his sister who has always taken her namesake very seriously. She’s a grad student at Dartmouth and spends all day writing in a house that’s one step up from a log cabin. When Paul escaped his near-fatal car accident in LA with only a sprained wrist, he said the first thing he thought was that Laura had it right. Cities will kill you, and your ties to them might kill you, too. That’s why he put Emma on pause, even though he swore up and down he loved her so much. That’s why Emma is in bed with his best friend.

It only took her about a day to break down and sleep with Mack. A tiny part of her always found him interesting. Attractive. Mack had a way about him that was so different from Paul. Wicked, maybe, but not in a bad way. It always seemed like Mack saw the world at an oblique angle, and Emma liked that.

Mack has better taste in music, too. At least, better than a lot of what Paul listens to, and more in line with what Emma grew up hearing. Maybe she wouldn’t have let him kiss her if he wasn’t playing “Tell It Like It Is” on the turntable in the living room (Paul’s living room, too, if he ever comes back from fucking New Hampshire). Tonight, he fucked her to Solomon Burke. Not like Dirty Dancing, either. “If You Need Me.” He digs a little deeper.

“Mack?”

His name comes out of her mouth before she’s ready with a question.

“Yeah?”

“Um …”

He kisses the top of her head.

“That jog your memory?” he asks. “Or make you think of something?”

Emma laughs, a bit too silly and girlish for her taste, but what can she do? She’s in bed with someone she’s been into for longer than she knows how to admit. That’s not the kind of thing you can just be cool about, even if you were raised to put up a front. Be professional.

There is little such thing as professional when you don’t know where your underwear ended up tonight. Are they even in Mack’s bedroom, or did they come off in the kitchen, where they got started? Who is she?

“Yeah,” Emma says. “Do you … do you like me?”

Mack laughs.

“Are you serious?” he asks.

“I mean … kind of.”

“Riff …”

“Are you really going to call me that after all we’ve been through these past few nights?”

“Riff …”

“OK.”

“Riff, I’ve liked a lot of girls. A lot of women. Many before I met you. Many after. But after I met you … I don’t know. You were always in the revolving door.”

Emma knows she’s blushing. Shit. Is this what it’s like to be Elenore?

“So …”

“So, yeah,” Mack says. “I like you. I’ve liked you since Paul brought you home and said you were just his office mate. I haven’t been writing sad poetry about you or anything …”

“Ah.”

“But I like you. And it’s been … a little like hell. I was starting to wonder if I couldn’t get over it … I don’t know, I’d have to do something.”

“Like what?”

Mack shrugs.

“I don’t think it matters anymore,” he says.

Emma nods. They both know that’s not true. Paul will come back from New Hampshire. Even if he doesn’t want to be with her anymore, he’ll be unavoidable. He’s trapped in the middle of both of them, and he doesn’t even know it’s a trap.

But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Not for the next few days.

[daughter-of-melpomene]

Rather in my Mack + Hawkeye brainrot right now, so if anyone wants to send me questions about them and their relationship, I'd love it!!

(Looking at @auxiliarydetective in particular since I know she loves M*A*S*H just as much as I do. 😅)

[toburnup]

WIP wordsearch game!

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

i was tagged by @stargyles and @stevethehairington

my words from sen are: hold, freckle, moment, echo, soft, look. my words from mack are: care, freckle, expect, long, sweet

& my snippets are ALL from iylo ch 16, as it's the only WIP i can share atm

hold

"You asked me to," Eddie sputters, and reaches like he's going to take it back but it's Steve's turn to hold it out of reach.

moment

"Just one, right?" Steve says softly, and Eddie steps away, coughs when he laughs. The moment settles into something familiar.

soft

Eddie doesn't reply immediately and Steve presses his mouth to the top of his shoulder, his soft shirt.

look

They look at each other and Steve can only just read his expression in the gauzy purple light.

care

He takes extra care in washing his face, the water dripping down off his chin and darkening the font of his shirt.

long

Eddie says nothing for a long moment so Steve finally breaks the silence.

sweet

"Will you take off your shirt?" Eddie asks, bordering on polite. Sweet.

i'm really behind on my tags, so!! no clue who hasn't done it yet. but i'm gonna do some targeted tagging here: @phoeniceae and @theamazingbard lets see it!! and i know people say no pressure tags, but these are HIGH pressure. i insist!! <3

your words: ear, close, hair, lick, touch, hug

[luvwich]

🔎📚 manuscript word search

tagged by @seeker-of-truth to find:

whisper, light, tendril, slam, & haze

and by @ghostoffuturespast for:

blossom, scent, rust, dream, & rain

On a hot day in the summer of '53, eighteen bullets sieved Big Mike's body as he crossed Eisenhower on his way home from the docks. The perps, needless to say, were never apprehended. NCPD's official line on the matter was "random gang-related violence." Big Mike wasn't in any gang. There was a minor scandal and whispers of conspiracy, of union-busting. The whispers and the whisperers died before anything more came of it.

-- Jaded, ch.7 "Chill"

Nerves are lighting up that she hasn't had to acknowledge in too long. Nodes are sliding in and out of the wide-branched tree of her consciousness, too quickly to keep balanced; jumbled, haunted, tense.

-- Red-black

Her lips parted to take in a hiss of desperate, longing breath, but when her eyes met his they were resolute as she declared: “Well, you can’t touch just yet.” That raised his brow. “Oh?” Tendrils of hair shook around her face. “No. I think you’ll have to earn it.”

-- Arpeggio, ch.19 "Arnica" (this was the only tendril i could find!)

The netrunner's ass provided a pleasant distraction from the pain, but what he really needed was that hypo. As soon as she handed it to him he slammed it into the sinew of his left arm with a decisive force that gave both of them a start. The miasma of pain lifted in a rush that struck like an open-hand hit to the jaw.

-- Jaded, ch.1 "Tenebra" (jesus, lots of slammin' in my writing)

They rode in silence, Royal Blue’s airwaves filling the lacuna with warm brass and cool drumbeats. The dry heat of the desert enveloped the Mack as they sliced their own road through the dunes and the scrub. A haze shimmered in the distance, that fool’s ocean of heatwaves distorting reality. The wind that whipped through the windows carried the delicate spice of chaparral down from the hills. V was bored.

-- Arpeggio, ch. 22 "Nothing here at all"

He ruminated on the rosy blush spreading like petals beneath her freckles, imagined sheets of cherry blossoms floating down from the sky in a city he'd never set foot in. It was maddening; he felt like a drug addict who, upon finally scoring, now writhed in the come-down from the pleasure as he wondered when and how the next fix would come. 

-- Arpeggio, ch.11 "Where else"

Well, guess this is what they do in the fucking big leagues, she thought. She set her alarm to wake her at five in the morning, then thought twice and set it to 5:30, and rolled over to flick the lamp off. After two restless hours, the limbic recollection of her mother's scent lulled her to a shallow sleep.

-- Jaded, ch.8 "Problems"

The little parlor where the tiyas sat clacking their mahjongg tiles smelled reliably of menthol cigarettes mixed with the cool camphor and clove of Tiger Balm. White curtains billowed around the window, the delicate lace anachronistic against the backdrop of neon and rust. Or perhaps the city outside was the anachronism.

-- Jaded, ch.2 "Turf"

She dreamt of a bucolic valley, lush and green, with a small village tucked into its breast. She lived in this village for seven years, in a house with chickens in the back and flowering trees in the front. She married a kind village man in the second year, had three children, and lost one. At the end of the seventh year a rain began and did not stop until the valley was flooded and the village and every last child and chicken was washed out to the sea.

-- Arpeggio, ch.5 "Discretion" with a two-for-one special

tagging @seeker-of-truth @another-corpo-rat @cinnamon-mey @dani-the-goblin @fly-amanitaa @ghostoffuturespast @gracewithsomesacrifice @merge-conflict @pacificaisstillpacifica @theviridianbunny @wanderingaldecaldo with no pressure to find:

🔎 bare, disgust, feed, plastic, silence 🔍

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 16

(Ch. 15) . . . (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Tag List Application II Symbol Guide II

Summary: The human mind is a fragile thing.

WARNINGS: ANGST ANGST ANGST, injuries, & the usual espionage stuff.

A/N: Come get y'all's angst! 🤭💖

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @lieutenant-speirs @mccall-muffin @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @vibing-away @hxad-ovxr-hxart @brassknucklespeirs @bellewintersroe @ax-elcfucker-blog @emmythespacecowgirl @wwhatev3r

Contemporary: September 21st, 1944. Zetten-Andelot, Netherlands.

Alix’s hearing surfaced from unconsciousness before her vision did.

“How bad is it? How did she get here? Is she going to make it?” 

Jesus, she thought groggily, still comfortably enveloped in a thick mental fog. Wonder who's going to kick the bucket?

Whispers seemed to surround her, accented by clinking metal and distant...Were those explosions?

“One question at a time, Captain," a stern voice replied to the other and Alix cracked an eye open, curious to take in her surroundings.

Her vision was still blurry but she could just barely make out two figures a few paces away, the clearer of which was a taller man with dark hair and a frown so deep that it was visible even from the side. 

"Gio?" she croaked hoarsely, the name burning in her throat like she'd swallowed a hot coal. 

Both people instantly ceased their conversation, turning to look at her. But as their faces slowly came into focus, Alix felt her heart sink.

 

One was an old man and the other was Nixon. 

Neither were Gio.

“You took a pretty bad fall yesterday, kid.” The dark-haired man explained slowly and Alix squinted, trying to force her exhausted eyes to cooperate. 

“About two stories, almost a thirty foot drop. How are you feeling?”

The young woman grimaced, her head still pounding mercilessly with every breath.

“Like I’ve been run over by a Mack Truck.” 

Nixon cracked a small smile. 

“That’s fair.” 

His companion approached her bedside, stepping out of the blurry background and Alix noticed his blood-stained coat instantly, flinching away from him.

The older man seemed unfazed but sensing Alix's apprehension, Nixon stepped in to play mediator.

"This is Doctor Vanderbeek," he stated calmly as he gestured to the man beside him.

Vanderbeek, Alix mused, trying to parse through her brain's thick fog. Vanderbeek is Dutch, isn't it…?

"It could have been much worse, you know,” the doctor commented, interrupting her ponderings with his quavering voice. 

His graying hair stuck out in tufts and he held boxes of bandages under both arms. “You are lucky to be alive, Miss…” 

He leaned slightly, searching the yellowing paper tacked to the foot of her bed for a name.

“Martinelli,” Alix responded grudgingly and he nodded before soldiering on.

“You sustained a Grade 4 concussion along with a split lip, a wrist fracture and a dislocated ankle but other than that and a few minor contusions and abrasions, you seem otherwise unharmed, thank heaven." 

"How did I get here?" Alix asked weakly, struggling to sit up but her head ached too badly and she slumped back down in her cot. "Where even is 'here'?" 

Even her eyeballs seemed to ache and as she glanced around, she noticed seemingly endless rows of cots just like her own stretching throughout the brick building, wall-to-wall and door-to-door. 

The occupants were almost exclusively male, each of them coated in blood and sweat like her, each of them outfitted in the same faded blue pajamas she wore...

There was the low rustles of hushed conversation, punctuated by soft groans and the bustle of medical personnel swarming like buzzing bees as they went about their business. 

The air reeked with the metallic stench of blood and rot, smoke and the sharp odor of disinfectants. 

Was this some sort of fucked-up training exercise? Had she failed?

Nixon put his hands in his pockets and exchanged glances with the older man standing next to him, as though they were having a silent debate over what would be best to say. 

"You're at the Zetten-Andelot aid station," Nixon answered finally, seemingly trying to break the news to her as slowly as possible. "In the Netherlands. As for how you got here…" 

He chewed on his thumbnail for a moment, seeming troubled, before finally responding.

"Some guy brought you. Glasses, dark hair, mid-thirties, civilian clothes. Brought you straight up to one of the medics in Arnhem yesterday, then left on his bike. I couldn't catch up in time." 

Alix couldn't help the pity swirling in her stomach as she watched him speak. Nix looked older than she'd ever seen him and more tired, as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders alone. 

She knew he hated her but even still, she felt bad for worrying him. As her handler and an intelligence officer, he had enough on his plate.

"Do you remember your name, young lady?" the doctor asked from his place beside Nixon, interrupting her thoughts. 

"Alix Musetta Martinelli," she recited easily and she could see Nixon stifling a chuckle at the theatrically-inspired middle name her parents had chosen for her. 

"You have a problem with 'La Bohème', Nix?" she challenged and the bemused officer shook his head, shoulders still shaking with unvoiced mirth. 

The elderly Dutchman was not as amused, peering at her through comically-oversized spectacles like she imagined an owl in a newspaper cartoon might. 

"Can you remember your birthday, Miss?" 

"Of course I can," Alix scoffed. "April 18th, 1921." 

"And the current year?" 

"Oh come on, that's easy. It's 194-"

But before she could finish, a commotion from the blurred periphery interrupted her and a young man burst onto the scene, pushing past two nurses and breaking free of a harried-looking medic to make a mad dash for her side of the room.

Warning shouts of "Corporal" and "Goddammit, Joe" filled the air, making Alix's skull pound mercilessly. 

The soldier's head swiveled, his eyes seemingly searching the room for something or someone, before they landed on Alix's crumpled form and his pointed, handsome face cycled through recognition and relief to shock and horror. 

Even her case officer, Lieutenant Nixon, seemed to recognize the urgency because he took a step back, allowing the frantic soldier to rush to Alix's side.

"Fuckin' Christ," the young man breathed, his voice softening immediately as he took in her injuries and registered her weakened state. "What happened, ziskeit? Are you alright?"

Alix blinked in confusion, the dull ache in her head beginning to heighten to a buzz.

Zee-skite...Was that German? 

The soldier tried to take her uninjured hand in his but Alix immediately yanked hers away, the familiarity of the gesture setting her on-edge.

"Don't touch me," she bristled. "I don't know you." 

The young man's deep brown eyes went wide and he flinched as though she'd slapped him, his dirt-streaked face ghostly pale.

 

"Oy Gevalt," he mumbled, running a shaking hand through his brown hair before looking up at her again with fear-filled puppy eyes. "Oy Gevalt, oy Gevalt."

He glanced over to Nixon helplessly but Nixon looked just as concerned and the young soldier turned back to Alix.

"Zees, please tell me you're kiddin'," he begged, his raspy tenor sounding almost pained. "Please God, tell me you're just fuckin' with me." 

Alix suddenly felt a pit forming in her stomach. She didn't know why but she suddenly felt violently ill.

"Why would I be?" she asked, brows knitting in confusion. "I don't know you." 

For a brief second, Alix thought she saw grief flash like lightning across the soldier's handsome face, recognition of the feeling knocking the wind from her like a punch to the gut. 

It was the kind of grief that brings you to your knees, violently ill in the bathroom after the funeral. 

The kind of grief that sends you collapsing to the carpet in the room they once called theirs. 

The kind that leaves you screaming, sobbing, raging against the heavens for robbing you of the only person who ever understood you.

Except…

There was something else there, something more. 

"You really don't remember me...?" the soldier asked, his gravelly voice breaking and Alix could see the tears threatening to well in his warm brown eyes.

"I don't, I'm sorry," Alix replied weakly. "Should I?"

Instead of answering the soldier turned his head away quickly, glaring down at the ground beneath his boots. 

After a second of attempting to gather himself, he tried to dig out a faded carton of Chesterfields from his pocket but his blood-stained hands were shaking too much and the pack slipped from his grasp, landing on the floor with a small plop.

That seemed to be the last straw. 

"Lieb," Nixon had protested quietly, reaching for his arm to take the young soldier aside but the younger man was having none of it.

As quickly as he'd come, the young soldier was gone, tearing out of the building like a hurricane, the only proof of his presence lying next to the cot, on the floor.

After a moment of stunned silence, Nixon finally knelt to pick up the cigarette pack, tucking them into his pocket with a heavy sigh.

"Alix…" her case officer intoned in a voice better suited to comforting a wounded animal and the young woman thought it strange that he was calling her by her first name, as though they were friends. As though he hadn't spent the last year making her life hell during her training.

"Who was that?" the young woman demanded, feeling some of her old fight returning and she managed to push herself into a sitting position.

Her head buzzed louder in protest but she needed answers.

"What did he think he was doing, trying to hold my hand? Talk about fresh!"

Nixon studied the ground for a moment before responding, his voice quiet and cautious, clearly trying to avoid shocking her.

"Alix," he said again, in a tone far gentler than she'd ever heard from him before.

"That was your boyfriend. That was Joe."

[skyler10fic]

To Have and to Hold: Ch. 10 Discussion Driven

Summary: Daisy and Carol go over some premarital counseling questions on their way to meeting with Mack, the minister marrying them. Then Carol makes an important decision.   

Read on Ao3

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

The 30-day countdown to the wedding began with a Sunday afternoon premarital counseling session with Mack. He promised it wouldn’t be too religious or psychoanalytical, but it was just to make sure Daisy and Carol were on the same page before he married them. As their friend and older brother in their found family, Mack knew Daisy and Carol were ready for marriage and fully devoted to one another, but there were certain conversations that were best had in a structured, facilitated format, he explained. He sent them the list ahead of time so they could talk through their answers, but with all the wedding planning on the more practical side, and work getting busy, and little things that popped up… Daisy realized as they were leaving that they had barely talked through the list of questions at all. 

“How did we forget this?” Daisy asked as shame twisted her stomach. She grabbed her purse and her phone and looked around their apartment, feeling off-kilter with this realization. What else was she forgetting? 

“We’ve been busy.” Carol laughed it off and grabbed her car keys and sunglasses. “I’m sure it happens to a lot of couples.” 

“It’s kind of important,” Daisy said pointedly as they walked out the door. Carol returned her raised eyebrow and locked the door behind them. 

“I know. I didn’t say it wasn’t. Just that it’s understandable, that’s all.” Carol shrugged and hit the elevator button. The elevator was already occupied so they made small talk with their neighbors on the way down and out to the parking lot. When they were in the car and ready to go, Carol suggested as a peace offering, “Traffic’s going to take us at least half an hour, which is why we’re leaving early, yeah?” 

“Yes,” Daisy confirmed as she pulled up the GPS app on her phone and plugged it into the car’s system. 

“Why don’t you read the questions from the email, and by the time we’re there, we’ll have our answers ready for Mack to tell us how mature and responsible we are. He’ll be so impressed, he’ll never know we forgot until the last minute.” Carol couldn’t see Daisy’s expression in reply while she was busy backing the car out and starting to drive down the road to the highway, but if she had, she would have seen Daisy borrow a look from Melinda that said she was unamused but going along with it. 

“Okay, let me see.” Daisy opened the email attachment and started with the first question. “Where do you hope to live after you get married?” 

“I like where we are, but a house would be nice,” Carol recited. They had talked about this before, even daydreaming on real estate apps for a pretty first real home together with more space than their apartment. 

“Same. Second question, do we want pets?” Daisy’s tone told Carol that she was surprised these were so basic to start. 

“I think a dog would be cool, but you don’t want to clean up after it and we like to travel, so for now, no, but maybe someday?” Carol left it open-ended in hope. 

“If you’re lucky,” Daisy sighed, “yes, one day, maybe. But we’d need a yard and to be home more.”

“Fully agree. Next?” Carol flicked on her turn signal and merged into traffic to get on the backed-up highway. Yep, they were going to be here a while. 

“Hm. How involved do we want our families to be in our lives?” Daisy’s tone softened, knowing the answer, but Carol’s answer was nonchalant. 

“Yours, as much as they are already; mine is what it is so preferably not, with a few exceptions; and our friend-family, the more the merrier.” 

“Yeah. For sure.” Daisy paused and read Carol’s nonverbal cues, but she seemed genuinely fine, so she carried on. “And speaking of family, he asks, do we want kids?”   

“Honestly? No change here from me on that,” Carol admitted. “You know I love Monica and Alfie, and if Jemma and Fitz have some of course we’ll be aunts to them too, but I just don’t really see myself…” She glanced over at Daisy. “Do you…?”

“Me either,” Daisy confirmed in relief. “You’re such a good godmother to Monica, and if I may say so, we are kickass aunts, so I was a little worried you might want our own. I used to think I did, but it was just how it’s expected for all women to want to be moms, you know?” 

“Yeah.” Carol started to open her mouth to say more but went silent as traffic came to a stop. 

“What is it?” Daisy prodded delicately. “It’s okay if you need to say more. That’s what these are for.”

“This is not for Mack, just for us, okay?” She looked to Daisy for reassurance and Daisy nodded. “I’ve had this dream—just a few times, not a lot—that somehow I got you pregnant, which obviously isn’t even possible, but it’s a dream, so. Anyway, you were super pregnant and so mad at me because you didn’t even want kids, and I didn’t know what to say to make you feel better.” 

“Aw, babe.” Daisy tried hard not to laugh. “I guess that’s better than my dream.” 

“Wait, what was yours?” 

“Remember? After we moved in together, I had that dream that we had this plan that because I’m bi I had to be the one to carry our baby because I had to sleep with the sperm donor and it was Kevin the barista?!” 

Carol groaned. “Oh, that’s right. I erased that from my memory. Ugh. Kevin.” 

“Yeah, how do you think I feel? I had to keep ordering coffee as if nothing was weird and this guy hadn’t knocked me up in a dream!” Daisy giggled. “Okay, so to answer Mack’s question, no babies here. Or, yes babies, but only other people’s babies temporarily, like his. You know what I mean.” 

“No babies, except the kind that go home to their own parents at the end of the day,” Carol echoed wholeheartedly. Traffic began moving again and it was time to move on in their questions as well. “What’s next?” 

Daisy read over the next few. “I think we are good on these. Religion, holidays, cultural stuff?”

“Yeah, I am still not interested in organized religion. Fine for others, just not my thing. We already celebrate all our holidays together. I am sort of vague on what my culture is besides basic, white, American lesbian. I guess we could know more of queer history.” 

“Actually, I’ve been thinking…” Daisy scrunched her brow. 

“Is this where you tell me you’ve been a secret religious devotee this whole time?” Carol teased.

Daisy broke her pensive mood with a laugh. “No, I meant, I’d like to maybe go to China again, or at least learn more about it.” 

“Oh! Yeah, I’d love to go. You haven’t been since high school, right?” 

Daisy looked out the window. “Yeah, it was my senior trip before college. It was really intense. I don’t think my grandparents are up to it again now, but my mom has always talked about going back, seeing her cousins who moved to Hong Kong, learning our family heritage. I learned Mandarin as a kid and still knew enough to test out of my foreign language credits in college, but I want to come back to it, you know? I don’t want to lose it completely. It’s part of me.”

“Aw, that is beautiful.” Carol held out her right hand and Daisy took it, and Carol squeezed, unable to hug her properly at the moment, before returning it to the wheel. “And I’m here for anything you need: help planning the trip or studying or making family recipes or whatever you want to do. Hell, I’d try to learn Mandarin too. I might not be great at it, but I could at least learn something!” 

Daisy smiled and thanked her, but she knew Carol thrived on challenges like Mandarin. No one would assume it of her as an athletic bombshell blonde in torn-up jeans, band T-shirts, and a ballcap, but Carol the rocket scientist was a literal genius. Sometimes even Daisy would forget just how smart Carol was until she’d start talking about something she designed being launched into space. It helped that this nerdiness and curiosity were significant turn-ons for Daisy. 

“What’s next on the list?” Carol asked, pulling Daisy out of her swooning. Daisy sat up straighter and checked the email attachment on her phone.

“Ah. This one is probably something we should have discussed more earlier.” Daisy grimaced. “Are we changing our names?” 

“Hm. I know you don’t want to.” Carol kept her right hand on the wheel but propped her left elbow on the window sill and pressed her fingers to her temple. It’s not that she hadn’t thought about it. She just hadn’t come to any conclusions. And their exit was coming up, so it was time to decide. 

“I didn’t say that exactly,” Daisy hedged, and then the words spilled out. “True, I don’t really want to change mine. But, I did want to offer, since things with your family are what they are, if you want to be a Coulson, please know that that would be more than okay. We’re your family now, and yes, it could make things worse with your parents, but how much worse can they be, right?”

“Daiz.” Carol stopped Daisy’s rushed rambling. Her eyes stayed on the road as she chose her words carefully. “I am not saying never, but I’m just not ready for that right now. Okay?” 

“Of course.” Daisy placed her hand on Carol’s thigh. “I just want you to know, it’s yours if you want it.”

Carol nodded and pressed the back of her fingers to her lips for a second as she tried to get her thoughts into words. “Carol Coulson,” she mumbled. 

“Mrs. Carol Coulson,” Daisy added. 

“Doctor if I ever finish school,” Carol groaned as she steered the car down the exit ramp and toward Mack’s office. 

“No, no, no.” Daisy stopped that line of thinking in its tracks. “We’re not talking about unfinished doctorate shame today. Or until this wedding is done. That’s our rule.”    

Carol had started a PhD after finishing her master’s in spacecraft design and materials, but her career at Stark Industries had taken all of her time and more for the last year. It dangled over her like a cloud, though less present now than it had been when she had had to file an official leave to put her degree on hold with the university. She’d felt like a complete failure for months until she’d received word that her work (at her actual, paying job) was approved for a collaboration between Stark Industries and NASA. 

Daisy redirected their attention to the list and hurried through the last few categories. “The next part is about money, which we have already been doing.”

“Been there, fought about that, worked it out, made a budget we stick to, all good.” Carol confirmed. 

“Ooo then some spicy ones,” Daisy said with a silly eyebrow waggle. “What are our expectations around sex?” 

Carol scoffed. “That’s not really on there, is it? Mack is about to ask us about our sex life?” 

“It is! I swear,” Daisy defended. “For what it’s worth, though, I think our sex life is great and we do not need to talk about that with him.” 

“Yes,” Carol affirmed. “We’ve got that part figured out. Probably our area of expertise out of any of this.”

Daisy snorted a laugh. “File that under things we are definitely not saying in this meeting.” 

They pulled into the building’s parking lot. It was a nonprofit community center that held the offices of directors, ministry leaders, social workers, and more along this side. Mack’s SUV wasn’t there yet, so they still had time. 

“Alright, lightning round, and there are right and wrong answers.” Daisy held up the phone like a game show host holding a trivia question card. “Monogamous?” 

“Yes,” Carol answered quickly. 

“Correct. Do we make each other better, emotionally healthier people?” 

“A thousand percent yes.”

“Correct down to the exact accurate calculation. Impressive,” Daisy teased. “When we have conflict, do we fight fair and end up with closure?”

“Yeah, I’d say so. Would you?” Carol tilted her head as she waited for Daisy’s answer.

Daisy thought seriously about it. “I can’t think of a time when we didn’t eventually. We definitely got better at not avoiding conflict when it needed to happen—and, like, not needing to have the conflict to begin with. Okay, there are more but they would take a lot longer to answer, and that’s Mack’s Tahoe pulling up.” Daisy pointed behind Carol. 

They got out of the car and greeted their friend, knowing they had a very vulnerable hour and a half ahead of them. Daisy had skipped harder-to-answer questions further down the list, like “How would you define infidelity,” “What makes you feel loved,” “How do you know you can trust each other,” and “What does your partner do that makes you feel rejected or unloved?” but Mack walked them though the tough conversations with his pastoral tone and wise guidance. While questions about their expectations, dreams, opinions, and beliefs went smoothly—as well as the pragmatic side of sharing a life—it was still hard for Carol to talk about her past. He recommended a few therapists he knew that might be a good fit, two of whom were queer women who had similar stories to hers. 

As they left and drove home, Carol admitted that she might not have been open to going to therapy or seen the need had he asked before today. But talking over so much of their lives, she realized it was probably a good idea to at least go for a few sessions. 

Daisy agreed. “And if it’s not helpful or you don’t need it, you don’t have to go back.” 

“There might be some things that come up,” Carol confessed, gripping the steering wheel, “that I need you to be there for. Not only for support, but because I might not be able to say it all again and I want you to know what happened. Specifically. You know the general stories, but the missing details are harder to talk about.”

“Babe, of course,” Daisy assured her. “I will be there whenever you need me.”

They treated themselves to dinner out on the way home as a reward for the emotional work they had done. By the time they were finished eating, though, they were eager to be home and quiet together, watching one of their shows, wrapped up in each other’s arms. There had been enough difficult conversations for the day. Sometimes the stillness of a TV-lit living room is exactly what a couple needs to recover from a vulnerable day of planning not only a wedding but an entire lifetime together. 

—---- 

Phil brought up the question of the name change on their next video chat. Daisy tried to deflect, but Carol reassured her it was okay. 

“We decided not to hyphenate,” Carol began.

Phil shrugged. “I know it’s an old-fashioned idea, but Carol, you’re already family either way. Just wanted you to know we’re supportive no matter what you two decide.” 

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about it.” Carol took Daisy’s hand and looked at her instead of the computer screen as she made her decision. “I’d like to be a Coulson, if that’s alright with you.” 

Daisy blinked in surprise and then a delighted smile bloomed. “Yes! Of course!” She took a breath and contained her excitement as she read Carol’s expression carefully. “Are you sure?” 

Carol nodded, turning back to the screen. “My parents have made their decision. I didn’t send them an invitation, but I told my brother he could bring them as his guests if they wanted. He said they aren’t speaking to him either now. Not that they were particularly close before either.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Melinda frowned in empathy on the screen. “I know we can’t fix that or erase it.”

“It does help though,” Carol assured. “I love you guys, and my aunts were very on board with this. They also gave me the idea of having my brother reach out to our parents without directly inviting them and having to wonder if they were going to show up.” 

Phil raised an eyebrow. “No one needs extra anxiety on their wedding day, and that sounds like a bullet dodged. No offense.”

“None at all.” Carol squeezed Daisy’s hand. “And maybe if we have the same last name, no one will mistake us as friends or roommates. I want everyone to know I’m your wife,” she said to Daisy, and then to Phil and Melinda, “And your daughter-in-law.”  

Daisy quipped, “Good. And I won’t have to answer the question of where my husband is if I can introduce you as my wife, Mrs. Carol Coulson.”

“It does sound good,” Melinda remarked.

“Yeah, nice ring to it,” Phil added before realizing the wedding pun. 

“I agree,” Daisy quipped and held up Carol’s left hand with her engagement ring in demonstration. 

“I meant it sounds like a famous author or something!” Phil clarified with a chuckle at the joke he’d accidentally walked into. 

The girls laughed and teased Carol about writing a sci-fi series, to which she joked back, “Well, never say never! I could, you know.” 

In the fun family moment, Daisy and Carol didn’t mention the long road ahead of therapy to heal from the lifetime of circumstances that led to this conversation of distancing herself from the Danvers name. And Phil and Melinda focused on the joy, not mentioning how, when they happened to see the Danvers parents around town on the rare occasion, Melinda’s death glare had been enough to send Sue Danvers running in shame.   

The first step was procuring the marriage license with Carol’s new name, which would be the key required document to start the rest of the legal process when she and Daisy returned from their honeymoon. It wouldn’t be a short or easy to-do list, but Carol knew in her gut this was the right decision, especially from the warmth that comforted her when Daisy called her by her new full name. Maybe someday it would be as ordinary as breathing, but for the moment, it felt like freedom.