#having a nest and playing house was your idea....but I determined the rest pretty much

[writesowhatnext]

with all due respect // remus lupin

Summary: Remus and the reader are best friends and that’s it and it’s so absurd that Remus keeps insisting that they’re anything more, right?

Request: hii! idk if you’re busy w requests, but if you’re not - i was thinking of a remus x gryffindor! reader where theyre best friends and they both like each other but reader tries to ignore her feelings since they’re both prefects and she doesn’t wanna need any distractions, but remus really really wants to be something more and it’s just him trying to get her to confess and the entire imagine is just built off of the line “friends don’t look at friends that way”

A/N: I LOVE this request ok & it took everything I had not to just say “respectfully, you’re full of shit” but I'm not completely sure if I like this

Reader: unspecified, prefect

Warnings: firewhiskey, swearing

The six of you were sitting in the boy’s dormitory with the sunlight of golden hour pouring through the windows just before it disappeared over the horizon, just laughing together. It was a Friday; the best day of the week for late-night conversations, playfighting and stupid dares. James was leading the charge that night, making sure none of you would forget the consequences of Sirius’ most recent romantic endeavour.

“So, he sees her coming up to him and he’s just beaming, right,” James began, directed mostly at Lily, who hadn’t been there at the time. He was thriving off of Sirius’ misfortune, as proper friends do, and enjoying his groans and Peter’s rambunctious laughter in equal measure. “But then, she stops right in front of him and just smacks him right round the face.”

“What did you do to her?” Lily turns to Sirius, a dry look in her eyes and a smile on her lips. You laughed at her expression, meeting Remus’ eyes across the circle. His smile widened and you found yours doing the same.

“I did nothing!” Sirius insisted, his hand smoothing over his cheek, a phantom bruise to his ego.

“He slept with her brother,” Remus said into his mug of hot chocolate, hiding his smile. His eyes crinkled as everyone laughed and Sirius shoved him to the side, muttering about not being able to keep a secret.

“Blimey, Pads, you’re sodding awful with girls,” James said, perhaps unwisely given his track record.

“Pot calling the kettle black there, Prongs, don’t you think?” Remus had a twinkle in his eye as he spoke and you couldn’t help the snort that left your nose at his words, biting your lip to hide your grin. The room erupted into laughter and cheering at James’ indignant protests. Everyone teased him as he pouted towards a completely unaffected Lily, but you found yourself distracted from the chatter, too busy staring at Remus.

All he was doing was sitting cross-legged opposite you, but you couldn’t deny how warm you felt. The sound of his laughter stirred something inside you and the way the light hit his face tightened your chest. You just sat there, admiring, struck by the unfamiliarity of the feeling. Your eyes trailed over the dusting of freckles across his nose and traced down his smooth jawline, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he laughed, peaking above the loose collar of his shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, a good look for him, and his Gryffindor tie was strewn around his neck. You followed the shiny pink scars up from his neck to his cheek, disappearing into his hairline, his bird’s nest. He was grinning brilliantly and as you made eye contact, your breath caught in your throat and your smile died on your lips.

For a second, you felt like it was only you and him in that room and even as his grin faded into something a lot less toothy, his expression pulled at your chest. The feeling made you weirdly nervous, something you’d never been with Remus, one of your best friends. His eyebrows drew downwards, knitting together as you stared at him and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. But then, you noticed Lily turning towards you from the corner of your eye and you swallowed, smiling at Remus again and casting your eyes to her. Judging by her face, she had no idea of what had just transpired, and you were glad for it. When you looked back Remus, all but a second later, he was already laughing with Peter and part of you felt oddly disappointed.

You’d forgotten all about that night by the time the Gryffindor Christmas Party rolled around. Repressed was a more apt word, but you were in the business of lying to yourself when it came to Remus. The party, which you had expected to be horrible, was full of students from other houses and presents and lights and, most importantly, firewhiskey. You cherished the warm thrum of it in your veins and as you looked around from the corner of the fireplace, it seemed like many others did too. You saw Remus over the crowd, on his own by the stairs to your dorms and a strange determination overtook you. As you breezed past the guests to reach him, for what you didn’t yet know, you slid past a few couples making out in the corner, Lily and James included. You rolled your eyes at them, smirking a little. Your distraction, though, appearing to be fatal as you rushed straight into a taller Hufflepuff student. He was apologetic at the decent-sized firewhiskey stain on your jumper, but you just shook your head with reluctant forgiveness. You’d just have to change.

“It’s okay!” you swore, walking backward towards the staircase, now out of sight from the party. With a sigh, you turned around, only to bump into someone else, Remus this time, the man you’d been looking for.

“Hey,” you breathed, a smile immediately growing on your face. He was surprised at first, his eyes wide, but then he relaxed as his hands braced on your elbows.

“You alright there, Y/N?” he asked, a smile playing on his pinked lips, amusement in his eyes. As you looked at him, you noticed the golden shades in the green of his eyes and the way his freckles were actually scattered all over her face, not just his cheeks and you bit your lip at the sight.

“You seem a little…” he trailed off, tongue poking between his lips. “Tipsy.”

“I’m excellent,” you grinned, happier still when he matched your expression. “I was looking for you!”

“Me?” he frowned a little, his lips still curved upwards. You nodded, suddenly very aware of how close you were. You were grateful at the firewhiskey for taking the edge off, not sure you’d be as carefree in this situation if you were sober.

“Remus, you’re very pretty.”

His eyebrows shot up at your words and his mouth, you were sure, you’d been staring, morphed into an ‘o’ shape. You smiled. Slowly and surely, you leant forward, close enough to feel his breath on your face, your noses centimetres from each other. You bit your lip, looking up into his eyes.

“I think you’re very pretty too,” he said softly, each syllable a breath of air on your skin. The shock had drained from his features and it left behind something else entirely, you thought, as you noticed the gentle curve of his lips and the strange look in his eye.

“I’d like to kiss you,” he said, his fingers curling around your elbows.

You opened your mouth slightly, leaning forward again, feeling all the confidence three shots of firewhiskey had given you.

“I wish you would.”

Your lips barely even brushed his when you lurched backwards, panting in shock.

“Mooney!” Sirius yelled, very obviously worse for wear. He turned to you, clearly unaware that he’d interrupted anything, and his smile grew. “Y/N! What are you two doing here?”

You licked your lip, blinking away whatever haze you’d been in, avoiding eye contact with Remus, who you felt staring straight at you.

“I just- I need to- I should change.”

With that, you disappeared up the stairs and into your room, not really listening to Sirius’ loud shouting as you slammed the door behind you and rested your back against it, huffing a little. You rocked your head back to rest against the wood and screwed your eyes shut. Had you been about to kiss Remus? Had he been about to kiss you?

Remus didn’t bring it up the next time you saw him, and you told yourself you were grateful; you were a prefect, and there was a war starting, and the last thing either of you needed was to be distracted by feelings you weren’t sure of. You hoped he’d forgotten about it, but when he ended up casually playing with your hair, you were hard-pressed to convince yourself otherwise. You’d been sitting by the Black Lake, soaking in the view of Hogwarts together before your Christmas holidays, all six of you in a circle. Somehow, you’d landed with your head nestled in Remus’ lap. Before the incident, that would’ve been a common occurrence, but now, now it felt different. Especially when, between long, delicate fingers, he started playing with the strands of your hair, plaiting them gently together.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, enjoying yourself far too much. When you opened them, though, Remus was staring down at you with an unreadable expression. His cheeks flushed at being caught but neither of you looked away. The familiar lump in your throat returned as you looked into his warm eyes and you realised that you wouldn’t have been able to say anything if you wanted to, the words catching on your tongue. He opened his mouth to speak and you felt a strange amount of dread; whatever he was going to say wouldn’t be good for your denial or your friendship. And so, you did the only thing you could think of. You sat up abruptly, heaving yourself to your feet and then you all but ran off, sending a half-hearted excuse to your friends behind you.

To say the whole situation was killing you would’ve been dramatic, but not actually an understatement. You sat there at a desk in the library, rubbing your eyes as you tried to concentrate on your Charms Through the Ages textbook. Unsurprisingly, your effort seemed to be proving futile. You just couldn’t shake the idea of Remus and you nearly kissing from your mind, or the way he’d looked at you by the lake. The chair opposite you dragged out loudly, quickly, and had it been anyone else, you would’ve been grateful at the interruption to your daydreams. Just your luck though, you looked up into soft green eyes and an almost frenzied expression.

“Why are you avoiding me?” he asked, forgoing small talk with a frown. You blinked.

“I’m not-“

“Ever since,” he blushed, “the Christmas party, you’ve been avoiding me.”

“That’s not true – we were on the grass together.”

“And then you ran away.”

You sighed at his deadpan look, rubbing your eye again.

“The party was a mistake,” you lied.

“No, it wasn’t.”

Your eyes snapped to his in surprise, watching his determined scowl closely. You weren’t used to Remus being so assertive; not to say that something didn’t stir at his direct tone.

“I thought it was to you,” he nodded, swallowing. “I really did, because why wouldn’t it be, I’m just your friend. But then, then, you look at me like that and I know you feel it too.”

The blood rushed from your face at his words. Were you really that transparent?

“Remus-“

You made the mistake of looking into his eyes and your mouth went dry. A shudder ran up your back as you coughed quietly, looking down.

“Remus, we’re just friends-“

He huffed, crossing his arms and leaning forward on the table.

“Respectfully, Y/N, and I mean this respectfully, that’s bollocks and you know it. Friends-“ he exhaled shakily. “Friends don’t look at each other like we look at each other.”

“Remus…” you pulled your top lip between your teeth, knowing he was right and not being able to stop yourself. “I don’t think of you like that.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“Rem.”

You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t.”

You thought for a second about things you shouldn’t do. You shouldn’t hurt your best friend. You shouldn’t distract yourself from your duties. You shouldn’t be talking this loudly in the library. You shouldn’t say what you were about to.

“I don’t like you, Remus. I don’t know why you think I would.”

To think, your heart broke at your words, and so you could only imagine what happened to his. An almost pained expression took over him before he resigned, nodding and leaning back. He clenched his jaw once and turned to face the side. Both of you knew it was a lie, but that didn’t matter. You’d already hurt him. He shot you one last look, a hurt glance before he stood up and walked out, leaving his chair out and you on the brink of tears. You let yourself sit there for a few moments, your chest uncomfortably tight, before you wiped your eyes and got back to your Charms textbook, not entirely focused.

Your logic, it seemed, had been monumentally flawed. Whilst being with Remus would probably be a distraction to your studies and duties, not admitting your feelings and losing your best friend was even more of a complication. The others probably knew something was up with you two, despite the façade of normalcy: you and Remus had always had an easy chemistry, a precursor, you guessed, to your feelings, and now it just sort of seemed empty. You talked to each other, barely, but there was none of the usual spark between you and it was slowly but surely draining the life out of you. The dynamic of the whole group had been thrown off and it felt like nothing could actually make you feel better. You’d been stewing on the catastrophe of your situation all day when you spotted him in the corridor, alone, no doubt preparing to leave for Christmas. Only after you’d shouted his name did you consider that maybe a plan would’ve been a good idea. You were tired, though, of planning ahead.

“Remus!”

He turned around, eyebrows raised and lips parted.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his face sinking when he remembered that ‘you and him’ weren’t actually ‘you and him’ right now.

“No, not really.”

You had no idea where you were going with it, but there was a burning sensation in your chest you needed to get rid of.

“You were right, actually.”

He frowned.

“We’re not friends.”

Not your finest word choice.

“I don’t know if we were ever friends,” you persevered, regardless. “Because I wake up, and I think of you. And I go to bed, and I think of you. And I thought telling you that would complicate things, but-“

You exhaled, grateful to be seeing a soft smile on his face.

“There’s nothing complicated about us. It’s always just been us.”

You swallowed, somehow both impossibly nervous and impossibly relieved at your confession. He didn’t reply and your stomach sank; your head flooded with ideas of missing your chance and your cruelness ruining things.

“Remus, I-“

You didn’t get to finish. His lips were suddenly against yours and your words were trapped in your throat as you tried to process just how right this all was. You relaxed into him, hands lifting instinctively to cup his jaw. He pulled away just as quickly as he’d leaned in, your lips following him to prolong the contact. He wet his lips as you felt him grin beneath your hands, his palms reaching forward to rest on your hips lightly.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admitted, his cheeks turning rosy.

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator

@loveisblindness​

@decadentwastelandtrash - it won’t let me tag you :(

@xinyourdreamsx​

@brainlesspasta​

@hariosborn​

[tortoisesshells]

wait ok just saw your post about rewatching Downton so I'm sending two more mashup prompts lol. Sybil x Tom, mutual pining + arranged marriage (just to flip canon on its head). AND Thomas x happiness (could include whoever he ends up with in the movie, which I didn't watch), detective AU + noir AU. (noir was not one of the prompts but it should have been!)

It is a truth universally accepted that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife –

Miss Austen was right about a lot of things, but a still truer statement could have started Pride and Prejudice: a single man without a fortune was even more in need of a wife. That’s why he’s here in Newport, isn’t it? Tom Branson, second son of an impoverished, eccentric Anglo-Irish baronet (and a good Catholic mother, thank you very much) was perfectly happy with piecing together his living as a writer and reporter in Dublin, reporting on Lady Gregory and the theater and, when he was lucky, the Irish Republican Brotherhood – until a series of unfortunate events (his father’s passing, his irritatingly Anglo brother taking the title, and kicking the wrong political hornet’s nest several times (and whacking it with a stick to boot)) got him packed off to America with Grandmother Boyle to find a rich American heiress – or just stay out of Sir John Branson’s thinning hair.

He’s pretty determined to do neither, but the United States provides distractions in spades: on the one hand, it’s a land of social unrest and economic upheaval; on the other hand, there’s Sybil Crawley – third daughter of a shipping-turned-railroad family (presumably– her poor cousin, Matthew, helpfully remarks – they own what the Vanderbilts and the Wideners and the Garretts don’t) who’s got ideas of her own – and whose parents would probably account it a blessing if the only unconventional thing she does is either take a degree at a women’s college or run off and work at a settlement house.

As luck would have it, Grandmother Boyle and Sybil’s grandmother, Mrs. Levinson, get along like the proverbial house fire. As luck would further have it, so do he and Sybil, swapping pamphlets and confidences in the interminable afternoons, between outings to Bailey’s Beach, endless rounds of croquet and tennis, and marveling at the fine-hulled Herreschoff yachts bobbing off Station Number 6 of the New York Yacht Club. But Sybil doesn’t want marriage, not right away – she wants her education, she wants to be of use, she doesn’t just want to help pass her Papa’s money from one generation to the next –

Not that her parents listen. After knowing Sybil for only a month, Tom is surprised to be approached by her mother, who wants her settled and is willing to overlook Tom’s empty pockets and Catholicism for his good pedigree; when he puts the question to Sybil, she defers – until the Crawleys lose everything nearly overnight, in the scandal of the decade. The money’s gone. Of course, she must marry; and, unlike others, Tom never cared about the inheritance in the first place. But the hasty marriage sets Sybil’s teeth on edge, and neither of them ever felt so alone as they did leaving the church as man and wife. Can they move past a marriage that both hoped for, but neither wanted in this particular way?

[Thomas AU under the cut]

Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of the Empire are irresistibly drained.

Corporal Thomas Barrow wakes up hungover in a handsome stranger’s bed on VE Day, + 1, and takes stock: his hand’s not getting any better, his hair’s not getting any less gray, and – given that he’s not truly interested in staying in the Army any longer than he has to, and given that he’s not too keen on going back up to Yorkshire to play footman to the irritatingly unsinkable Crawleys – he’s definitely in the market for a new life. Why not London? Sure, half of it’s a smoking ruin, and sure, a lot of people in London are like people everywhere else, but London’s going to have to rebuild somehow, and there’ll be money in that, maybe even a life, too, if he’s clever – and Thomas Barrow’s always been clever before he was anything else.

Eventually he gets mustered out. Eventually, he makes his way back to London, and finds a place to rest his head at night. It’s pretty easy to find a way around postwar rationing, when you’re used to finding a way to hide more than half your life; and pretty soon, Thomas feels almost comfortable with his black-market trade and his tidy little flat and the discrete pubs and clubs – it’s much more space, much more safety than he’s ever had before.

So he really should have seen it coming, when a metaphorical doodlebug lands smack in the middle of his new life: Dr. Sybil Branson, black-sheep daughter of his one-time employer, standing red-eyed and silent on the landing outside his little flat: Gwen Dawson, maid turned secretary, now Sybil & Tom’s partner & flatmate, has gone missing after receiving a troubling letter about her cousin, Ethel, who was supposed to have been killed during the Blitz. Sybil promises she’d never have troubled him with this, only – only it’s got something to do with the black market and war-time malfeasance, and she and Tom have gone as far as they can go under their own power. He was always the cleverest soul in Downton - she’ll pay him for his trouble, of course – can he help?

Well, why not? How different is tracking down a person from a sack of sugar?

Pretty goddamn different, that’s for sure. For one: it’s not the black market in goods but an entirely different kind of back alley dealings that Ethel, an unmarried secretary who’d been suspiciously sick before the fateful raid, was involved in. For two: she’d made a complaint of assault in 1940, but the records seem to have vanished. For three: Ethel’s friend and long-ago neighbor, the one-time Sergeant Charlie Metcalf, is only too happy to help – something Thomas doesn’t mind so much, as he’s a Leyendecker illustration come to life, not to mention the sharpest barman at his favorite pub, but he’s quickly beginning to feel like this is all more than he – or Sybil and Tom, or Gwen – ever bargained for. Can Thomas find Gwen? Who sent the letter in the first place? Was it Ethel’s work as a government secretary that put her in danger, or the as-yet unnamed man who assaulted her? When the dust of all this settles, will Charlie still look at Thomas like he’s something fine and wonderful?

[chaos-ground-writing]

Intentions

Look… he’s a little confused but he’s got spirit

Warnings: minor animal injury, stalking(?), kidnapping, no yandere themes, Kiri has good intentions but bad execution. Also, this fic is pretty long lol

Reader: Gender Neutral

~

(Y/N) was a simple witch living in a nice lil’ cottage in the middle of a lovely meadow. They could hear the stream flowing nearby, the bustle of wildlife, and even greater was the lack of people. No one to steal, to lie, to interrupt and it was wonderful. Don’t get them wrong, it could be quite lonely in the middle of nowhere but small talk with a shopkeep while they purchased things needed around the house was enough. (Y/N) hadn’t even tried to entertain the idea of a lover, it was too troublesome and any person they had tried to court, hated their hermit lifestyle, that was if they even got passed the idea of them being a witch. But, it was their loss and (Y/N) stopped caring a long time ago anyway.

Now, when (Y/N) started to feel a distinct presence watching them while they harvested materials for their upcoming spell, they were only a little concerned. They were used to birds, rabbits, even full grown deer watching them from a safe spot far away, but this stare almost felt predatory, like a wolf, maybe a bear, what if it was a bandit? (Y/N) carefully but quickly collected the rest of the ingredients while keeping a careful eye out for any suspicious activity and swiftly stepped back into their home. Maybe a protection circle around their home would ease their nerves, but if it was a wolf or something, it would have lost interest and they’d have no need to waste their energy, but… that presence they felt… it didn’t even feel malicious, just determined but a little skittish. Like a young predator hunting without its mother for the first time. If it is a hungry animal, they had nothing to worry about, it has probably learned that this is not a good hunting area and would move on.

Eijiro’s eyes softened in disappointment when the attractive person in the field left his sight. He felt bad for using his hunting instincts to hide from them but not many people were very welcoming to dragons, even when he was in his humanoid form, the teeth and tail were enough of a give away to his true identity. But this person was so gorgeous and clearly had to be a witch, witches tended to be more open minded toward him. That one nice witch with the pink cheeks gave him snacks and played with him! Oh, if this witch is anything like her, he’d be the happiest dragon on the mountain. Eijiro gathered some pretty flowers nearby and started back toward his cave and determined that he had to prepare a nest for their arrival, of course he’d only work on it after he spent time admiring them from afar and collecting courting gifts.

For the next few days, Eijiro continued to watch (Y/N) and (Y/N) slowly became used to it, if the presence wanted to harm them, they would have done it already. But they noticed that since they started feeling the presence watching them, they also started finding gifts. They found sparkly stones on their porch, rare flowers on their windowsill, they even found a hand weaved basket of bread, different meats, and potatoes on the edge of the meadow. (Y/N) was sure it wasn’t a person watching them but an animal clearly couldn’t weave a basket and leave cut meats and bread in it. Despite their confusion, (Y/N) still appreciated the gifts and displayed the rocks and flowers proudly. The gifts continued for a few weeks, (Y/N) had to build a shelf to make room for all of them. All of a sudden, the gifts stopped, (Y/N) stopped feeling the eyes on them. They were a bit sad but tried to carry on as normal and prayed that the individual was safe and would return soon. 

(Y/N) traveled a little further from home to gather special ingredients for their favorite soup, just to get their mind of the mysterious entity, but still secretly hoped they’d feel the familiar stare. While lost in thought, (Y/N) cut their hand trying to harvest a tough herb. Before they could assess the bleeding, they heard a deep growl come from the trees. They looked up but didn’t immediately see danger, just every bird, squirrel, and forest dwelling animal nearby running away from the source of the growl. (Y/N) didn’t take a second further to question the purpose and trusted the animals’ instincts and ran back toward their home as fast as they could, abandoning the already collected ingredients in the gifted wicker basket they loved. (Y/N) heard a loud yelp behind them, but the thundering steps that continued in their direction kept them from slowing down or looking back. (Y/N) couldn’t help the tears blurring their vision as they tried to find home, were they crying because they could possibly die a painful death today or was it because they would die never knowing who watched them from the tree line and if they were okay. The burning in (Y/N)’s lungs begged them to stop but they couldn’t, they had to live to find that mysterious stranger, it was laughable, the ultimate introverted hermit, living for someone else. Just as (Y/N) started making out the outline of their home, their overjoyed haste caused them to trip. One thing was definite after that, they fainted, but was it before or after they felt something bite into their outer coat.

A few hours later

“God, that was a terrible nightma-” The ache in (Y/N)’s hand, the unfamiliar bedding under that aching hand, and the strange chill in the surrounding area immediately told (Y/N) that the nightmare they experienced was no nightmare, but reality. They hesitated to open their eyes for a moment, when they did, they were unsurprisingly unfamiliar with where they had just woken up. They were in some kind of large cave, surrounded by furs, precious crystals, gold, and other miscellaneous shiny objects. They were pulled from their thoughts but a deep rumbling snore at the entrance of the cave, however the fire was not close enough to highlight the large silhouette that laid across the opening. (Y/N) carefully got up and approached the large body at the entrance and couldn’t stop the surprised noise they made when they realized it was a dragon. They fell back on their butt and the dragon slowly woke up and looked back at them.

“H-Hey buddy, let’s not do anything hasty,” (Y/N) slowly scooted further from the crimson beast. The beast scooted across the stone floor trying to close the growing space with puppy-like eyes. (Y/N) tried to hold their hand out to keep some kind of distance and noticed the bandage wrapped around the hand they cut earlier.

“Wait, did you do this?” (Y/N) couldn’t begin to imagine how a giant lizard with wings could wrap their much smaller hand, yet the dragon… nodded? The dragon looked at (Y/N) and started moving it’s head in a circular, almost like it was telling them to turn around.

“You, you want me to t-turn around?” The dragon nodded again, and (Y/N) complied. Well, at least they won’t see the death coming. Suddenly, they were a bunch of crunching and cracking noises, like someone was breaking multiple bones, one after another. (Y/N) went to turn back around but the dragon let out a warning growl, causing them to stop and continue facing away from the beast. That growl sounded familiar, and so did the feeling of those ruby eyes on (Y/N)’s figure. Wait a minute…

“Hey, you can turn around now,” A raspy yet sheepish voice called out. (Y/N) turned around and took in the young man’s spiky red hair, matching red eyes, sharp teeth peaking through his lips, and his well built body, as well as the wrinkled pants he hastily threw on that he didn’t adjust over his large tail. Despite his striking appearance, he was almost cowering in front of them.

“Have you been the one watching me?” (Y/N) couldn’t help but blurt out the question, they needed answers, the red head’s face changed to utter surprise.

“H-How did you know that I was there?” Kirishima was baffled and slightly insulted, he thought he was perfectly hidden.

“I’m a witch that lives alone in the middle of nowhere, you silly lizard, I have to be very observant and aware of my surroundings.” (Y/N) chastised, now they were both offended. “Now what I want to know is why you kidnapped me”

“Kidnapped? I rescued you! You were gonna be eaten by that mean old wolf if I hadn’t stepped in, and you were injured! I didn’t even want to bring you back here until the nest was done but I had to.” Kirishima got closer to (Y/N) as they cocked their neck back. (Well now we know what made that yelp noise.)

“Wolf? Injured? I was just gathering ingredients for my soup and got a little cut on my hand, I could’ve out ran some lousy wolf.” (Y/N) huffed.

“Jeez, you sound like Bakugo” Eijiro muttered. “If I hadn’t swatted that wolf away, it would’ve devoured you when you tripped.” Hm, maybe he was right. “And I couldn’t let that happen, especially before I court you properly.” Court?

“Wait, those were courting gifts?” (Y/N) asked, exasperated.

“Yes, I didn’t give them to you directly because I was afraid of how you’d react to a dragon asking for your hand so I thought I’d leave small things to prepare you for all this.” He motioned to the furs, gems, and other gifts. “Oh, and I went back to get the basket you dropped, I’m honestly flustered that you carried it around, I didn’t think it was that well made, my momma taught me how to weave a long time ago.” Kirishima rambled.

“Oh, goodness, I didn’t realize you were trying to court me, I feel so bad. I don’t even know your name.” (Y/N) exclaimed and facepalmed.

“Ha! That’s ok, I should be embarrassed too, I went through all this and watched you for so long and I don’t know yours either. I’m Eijiro Kirishima, and you?”

“(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N). And… I happily accept your courting gifts.”

~

I went a little overboard with this one but it was so fun to write!

Thanks for reading!

(Gif not mine)

[slash-em-up]

I Was (Not) Born To Be A Cowboy Pt. 2

Last Time:

‘Thank FUCK you’re both here! These ranch-hand bastards are trying to kill me!’

Asa sighed deeply.

“Hello Jesse...”

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

You chortled at Jesse’s miserable look. You couldn’t help it.

“Weeelll howdy, partner! Golly, if you ain’t the cutest rootin’est tootin’est lil cow-poke I ever did see!”

Jesse glared at you then looked pleadingly at Asa.

‘Make them stop.’

Asa huffed and moved past you into the bunk house.

“...Oh, to have that power...”

You moved to follow, and judging by the look Jesse was throwing you, if there was a snowbank nearby you’d be tossed in head-first with no hope of rescue.

Thank heaven for little miracles.

Entering the cabin, you couldn’t help the small whimper that left your lips at the shabby conditions. 

You’d stayed in a very similar place during camp one awful summer; but that had been summer. This was a frigid Montana winter, and from the looks of it the only source of heat was a wood-burning fireplace which was giving off the world's most pitiful excuse for a glow.

“Really, Jesse?”  

You moved quickly to save the fire, re-arranging the logs so they didn’t smother the flame, and adding a few pieces of kindling.

Immediately the cabin brightened, and you smiled.

The aggressive unzipping of a duffle-bag brought your attention back to your partners. One of whom was trying his hardest to loom over poor Brody as he stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“Uh... Hey there Mr. Jesse...”

A stony glare answered him.

“You - uh – you look like you’re all recovered from your tumble this mornin’...”

Now he had Asa and your attention.

“No need to worry... everyone falls off their horse at least once... or four times...”

You were pretty sure you heard Asa mumble an annoyed “Jesus Christ, Jesse...” under his breath before carefully refolding his sweaters and placing them in the bedside cubby.

Under Jesse’s baleful gaze, Brody seemed to determine that it was time to beat a hasty retreat.

“Well, I’ll let you folks get settled!” he gave you a friendly nod and Asa an intimidated “Sir..” before turning to leave the bunkhouse.

“Breakfast’s at four!”

Jesse rubbed at his eye in a beleagured motion as you jumped up from your seat.

“Four?! WAIT... Brody, FOUR AM?!?”

But Brody was gone.

A large arm curled around your shoulders and Jesse gave you a sympathetic squeeze.

‘Welcome to Hell.’

*************************************

These bunks were not made to hold more that one person at a time.

You determined that Mr. Ephriam had to be homophobic. You could almost read the sign ‘No Brokeback Mountain-ing On My Good Cattle Ranch’ and it was about to make you cry.  

You were so cold.

And Asa had the audacity to be sleeping like a baby, that bastard.

Jesse looked like he was wearing at least five pairs of socks, because beyond not being anywhere big enough to fit more than one person, the bunks were also clearly not built to hold anyone taller than 6’.

Even Asa was a little smooshed; but somehow he was making due.  

Jesse, on the other hand, could almost plant his feet on the floor if he laid flat and he looked miserable.

“Jesse...” you hissed.

The veritable mountain of blankets covering the bunk to your right shifted, allowing a blurry brown eye to peer out questioningly at you.

“Bring your blankets over by the fireplace, I have an idea.”

Jesse seemed to intuit what you were thinking because he speedily shuffled himself and his pile of coverings in front of the fire, laying several down as a barrier between your bodies and the cold wood floor.

You did a shimmy of happiness as you laid down next to Jesse’s reclining body, already feeling the heat from the fire and the large form of your partner saturate your chilled skin.

Sighing in joy, you let Jesse pull you in tightly so he was spooning you, nearly covering you with his own body in his quest for heat.

His chest rose and fell with a deep exhalation as you both settled into a comfortable position for the first time that night.  

You were so cozy that the pair of you only barely shifted when, a few minutes later, you heard soft grumbles and movement from the other bunk as Asa rolled to his feet and walked over to join you.

The heat of the two large men caging you in had you nearly purring in delight, and the atmosphere had lightened considerably – enough that moments later Asa jolted up and punched Jesse roughly in the shoulder.

“Hands off my ass.”

Jesse’s chest shook with laughter, and you couldn’t contain your tired giggles if you tried.

A hand rose from it’s resting place on your waist to make a dismissive gesture at Asa before spelling out ‘Thanks you two.’

You turned slightly to press a kiss to Jesse’s scarred chin.

“Anytime.”

Asa grunted in acknowledegement before telling you both in no uncertain terms that you had less than three hours before breakfast and he wanted to sleep – so quiet down.

********************

The loud clanging of a bell woke you from what had turned into a rather pleasant slumber.

“Nooooooo...” you groaned, burying your face into Jesse’s chest.

Asa was already up and sorting through his luggage, looking for his glasses as you and Jesse slowly untangled yourselves from your blanket nest and stumbled over to your own bunks.

“What does one wear to a proper chuck wagon breakfast?” you asked jokingly.

Asa smirked but Jesse was less than amused.

‘I think a gunny sack and fur cap would make you fit in perfectly.’

Apparently, Jesse was not at all impressed with the ranch’s dress code.

You played along.

“Aww and here I left my coonskin cap at home...”

The door to the bunk clattered, allowing Spann to enter.

“I have an extra if you want to make an impression...”

“Hey Spann. Love the flannel.”

It seems that Brody handn’t been exagerrating when he said Spann was settling in to the routine of the ranch. You couldn’t recall ever seeing her dressed so casually; and had NEVER seen her without a full face of makeup and jewelry.

Clearly, she was nothing if not adaptable.

“I see you’re making the best of ranch life.”

She gave you a small grin.

“My mom’s family owned a dairy farm. I was pretty handy with a pitchfork before I moved to Florida.”

“Haha, and I guess it’s just like riding a bike?”

“Something like that.”

Jesse interrupted your joking around with a curt ‘cute’ before huffing past the two of you out onto the porch.

You raised an eyebrow at Spann before following her out the door.

Oh, well that explained why Jesse was in such a mood already...

Two horses waited by a hitching post for their riders to join them.

It was pretty easy to tell who’s was who’s. 

Spann’s horse was a beautiful little red thoroughbred – already saddled and waiting for the petite woman to mount and take off towards the mess hall.

Jesse’s was... sized appropriately... you guessed.  

The huge draft horse stood untacked, and you could swear it was glaring as Jesse approached it slowly.

Asa joined Spann and you in leaning against the railing, watching the battle about to commence.

“Her name is Sugar...” Spann muttered to the two of you.

“Mr. Cromean’s has fallen off at least twice every day we’ve been here, and he still can’t get his saddle on tight enough...”

You could hear Jesse making clucking noises with his tongue at the huge animal – but you were sure he was simply cussing Sugar out internally.

He’d pulled a large Western-style saddle off the porch railing before approaching the horse, and you watched with amused disbelief as your boyfriend proceeded to charge at Sugar – saddle up – who quickly danced out of reach.  

This chase continued for several minuted before Asa shifted away with a snort of disgust, pushing his glasses up his nose before stepping to intercept Jesse as he tore after the prancing horse once more.

“Give that to me, idiot. We’ll be here all day if we wait for you.”

You had to admit, you were a little turned on watching as Asa swiftly took the saddle out of Jesse’s limp grasp before confidently walking over to settle the blanket and leather tack comfortably on Sugar’s back; pressing his thumb lightly into the horse’s flank as he tightened the girth with swift and sure movements.

One final check, and he’d gripped the reigns and mounted.

Jesse’s back was to you; but you could just imagine the mixture of awe and embarrassed anger that was probably plain as day on the tall man’s face.

Asa rolled his eyes, giving a click of his heels into Sugars sides and trotting over to where you stood.

“Ready to go?”

You couldn’t hold back your stupid grin as you nodded quickly, grasping Asa’s offered arm and holding tightly as he swung you from the porch to sit in front of him on the saddle.

“Hold the pommel and grip with your thighs...” he murmurred into your ear.

“Well you know I’m good at that.” you teased.

“Cheeky...”  

Asa’s eyes sparkled with a hidden grin as he moved the large horse towards the mess.

“Coming, Spann?”

You nearly let out a hoot of laughter at the sound of boots rushing over to catch the two of you.

Jesse skidded in the muddy ground and jerked back as Sugar moved her head to nip at him.

‘Hey, you stole my horse!’

Asa snorted.

“It didn’t look like you were using it.”

‘It’s a quarter mile to the mess hall do you expect me to walk?!’

“I suppose you could round up a posse and arrest me for horse-thieving; but I think breakfast will be over by then...”

Jesse looked like he was about to start stomping his feet in anger.

‘I hate how much you’re enjoying this.’

You giggled as one of Asa’s arms wrapped itself around your waist and he motioned Sugar into a quick canter, Spann and her red mare following close behind.

“Better run, Jesse!”

[dvp95]

not trying to hide it

pairing: dan howell/phil lester rating: explicit tags: flatmate au, strangers to lovers, smut, fluff word count: 5.6k summary: Phil's parents want him to get a flatmate. Bryony wants to get her newly-evicted mate off her couch. It’s not quite luck or fate, but Phil is thankful anyway. 

a birthday present for the lovely and hilarious @karcathy !!!!! they deserve only good things and you should all go wish them a happy birthday!

read on ao3 or here!

Phil doesn’t want to get a flatmate. He likes having his own space, because he can mess it up as much as he likes and doesn’t need to worry about someone making noise while he’s trying to sleep. He only pays part of his own rent, though - half during a good month - so he doesn’t have much of a choice when his parents tell him to find someone who can cover at least a third of it. London isn’t cheap, and Phil makes a fluctuating amount of money, and he supposes his parents are well within their rights to insist he gets his life together at some point.

He’s pretty sure that they helped him pick out a two bedroom so that he would do that eventually. Maybe they’d had some kind of pipe dream about nurseries? In either case, Phil’s just had his miscellaneous junk piled in the spare for over a year. There’s a futon in it whenever Martyn or PJ come over and don’t feel like taking the Tube home, but it’s currently piled high with unopened packages and stuffed animals.

Clearing the room is probably the biggest task. Phil’s got a lot of clutter, and getting rid of it is weirdly difficult sometimes. Most of it just ends up in his room or in the common area, making the rest of the flat look even more topsy than it already did. Opening all the PR is fun, until suddenly he’s got dozens of empty parcels to dispose of and various merch items from his online friends scattered all over the rug. At least most of it is clothing and accessories - he’s got enough storage in his room to handle more clothes. It’s the trinkets that he’s got problems finding space for.

Phil’s parents didn’t give him a deadline, which was probably a mistake. He’s all too happy to just exist with a barren spare room until they get on his case again, but that’s before Bryony gets ahold of him. Somehow, she scares him a lot more than his own mum does.

“Phil,” she says, blunt and businesslike as if she’s calling from work. Maybe she is - it’s quarter to four, which he supposes is a normal time for adults to be at work. Phil is in his pants and eating cereal. He didn’t even want to answer the phone, really, too invested in the complicated storyline playing out on Riverdale, but he knows she’d just keep calling until he did. “Have you cleared out that room yet?”

“Yes, mum,” says Phil. “I hated every second of it.”

“Good,” Bryony says. Which part she’s replying to is unclear. “My mate just got kicked out of his place and I want him off my couch. Will you bump him up the nonexistent list of potentials you’ve got?”

Phil pauses the Riverdale episode. It’s hard to focus on that and Bryony’s drama. “Well, that depends on why he got kicked out. Like, is he a dick? Did he not pay rent? Did he leave dishes in the sink for three weeks? Did he kick a hole in the wall trying to do drunk karate?”

“You need to stop comparing people to your uni housemates. No, nothing like that.”

“Then what happened?”

There’s a pause, and then Bryony makes a disapproving sort of noise. “It’s not exactly my fucking story to tell, is it? I’ll just say he ran into a bigot landlord and leave it at that, yeah?”

Something like guilt for pushing the issue settles into Phil’s stomach, but he scolds himself. He couldn’t have known that, and he didn’t want to blindly do a favour for someone troubled and stupid and in need of help. Bryony has a habit of collecting those people. When Phil feels like being honest with himself, he can recognise that he’s in that category as well. He doesn’t really feel like it today.

“Fine,” Phil says, like it’s a bigger hardship than it is. “Send him over, uh, Thursday?”

“I’ll send him over tonight,” says Bryony. Phil makes a loud noise of protest that she bowls right over. “You said the room is empty. Dan is eight feet tall and he snores like a lawnmower. I want him off my couch.”

--

Bryony’s mate isn’t eight feet tall, obviously, although Phil thinks it would be pretty cool if he were. The flat has high ceilings that Phil has to jump to touch, and he’s been amusing himself by picturing a giant of a man reaching up and just tapping on them. He does have to duck around the hanging light in the kitchen, but so does Phil.

“I’m convinced that’s going to be the thing that kills me,” Phil says conversationally.

Dan hasn’t said much, mostly just mumbling awkward pleasantries, but he laughs at that. When he laughs, Phil sees a glint of silver in his mouth that has his brain short-circuiting a little bit.

“Maybe,” Dan says as he looks dubiously into Phil’s cupboards. “Only if the sugar intake doesn’t get you first, mate. Why the fuck do you need four bags of marshmallows?”

“They’re different sizes!”

“Do you do a lot of baking or something?”

The question makes Phil flash back to the last time he tried to make muffins. The stain from that adventure turned meltdown still hasn’t come out of his favourite jeans. Whatever expression twists onto his face makes Dan laugh again, louder, and Phil decides that being a little stupid is worth hearing that unabashed sound. He gives Dan a sheepish grin and sticks his hands in his pockets. “No. I just like marshmallows.”

“You know they’ve got gelatin in them, right?” Dan asks like he’s trying to be serious, but the twitching of his lips gives him away.

“I like jello, too.”

“That’s not what -” Dan starts, and then honks. “How d’you know Bryony again?”

That’s a bit of a long, mortifying story, but Phil tells it anyway. He makes tea as he relives spilling a blue cocktail on her very expensive shoes and then following her around like a puppy while he tried to make it up to her. Normally he’d feel like he was talking too much, but Dan leans against the breakfast bar with attentive brown eyes and laughs in all the right places, so Phil doesn’t feel that hint of self-consciousness.

He hands Dan’s tea over in a Kirby mug and pours his own into an ugly commemorative one from a dinky Florida gift shop. For a moment, there’s quiet. Dan doesn’t seem uncomfortable as much as he seems contemplative, running his tongue absently over his teeth to catch on the silver ball in his tongue.

Then Dan says, “I don’t have any mugs. Or furniture. Or anything, really.”

“Nothing?” Phil asks, wondering if he ought to be aghast or just empathetic. He wonders if that has something to do with Dan being kicked out, or if he’s one of those minimalist people. “Not even, like, clothes?”

“I’ve got clothes, Jesus,” says Dan. Despite his grumbling, he looks more embarrassed than anything.

“Well,” Phil says, then comes up short. He hasn’t had to live with other people in so long, he forgets how this part works. “You can use whatever I’ve got. I don’t expect you to go out and buy your own plates or something, that would be silly. And we’d probably put off dishes even longer if I did.”

Dan smiles, but there’s a wariness that Phil doesn’t quite understand. “Okay. Thanks.” He takes a long sip of his tea, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, and Phil reminds himself - not for the first time, not even for the first time today - that it’s pointless to think about how pretty a guy is when nothing is going to come of it. “So you’re, like, really okay with me living here? You don’t need to let Bryony bully you.”

“Not quite sure what the alternative is,” Phil jokes, “but I don’t mind. I need a flatmate.”

“I can be a good flatmate,” Dan says, with a weirdly determined air about him. Phil has no reason not to believe him, aside from his own bad experiences with young men sharing space with him, but at least Dan isn’t a uni lad.

Phil finds himself shrugging. “Okay,” he says, because this is all going much easier than he expected. He supposes Bryony was doing him a favour as much as he was doing her one, because the relief of not having to do a bunch of interviews with potentially creepy strangers is settling into him now. “Rent’s due on the first, the water pressure sucks on weekends, and I’m gay.”

Dan blinks. Some of that wariness melts into something that Phil can’t read before he looks down at his tea.

“Me too,” Dan tells the drink. “More or less.”

It takes actual effort for Phil to bite back the joke. Maybe if the admission weren’t pulling at Dan’s shoulders in such an obvious way, he’d ask if Dan meant he also sucked on weekends. Instead, he just smiles. “That’s good. If Bry sent me a homophobe, I’d have to return her Christmas present.”

--

Dan leaves just long enough to get his bags, and then Phil has a flatmate. He promises to get a key cut in the morning, but Dan just shrugs and says he doesn’t leave the house much anyway, so there’s not much of a rush. That’s when Phil figures out that they both work from home, and anxiety swirls in his gut at the idea of that quickly becoming an issue. It’s so much easier to get on each other’s nerves when they’re both around practically all day every day, but that’s a bridge he’ll have to burn when he comes to it, or whatever.

For a couple of days, Dan is like a wounded animal that only comes out of hiding when he hears the fridge door open. Phil knows there isn’t really anything left in the room aside from his futon and a desk that he and Martyn tried to put together tispy, but he supposes that Dan’s got a laptop and big padded headphones to entertain himself with.

After a little while of getting used to the place, though, Dan starts doing his work in the common area of the flat. He’ll sit at the breakfast bar to sort through potential articles with the air of someone very bored on Tinder or make a nest on the corner of the sofa to watch Phil play Zelda. He’s good about staying quiet whenever Phil is streaming, but sometimes he’ll laugh or tease Phil for a dumb move, and people start wondering who the voice out of frame is.

They play games together, too, when neither of them have work to do - or, more accurately, are avoiding their tasks for a little while with pizza and Mario Kart - and Dan wins more often than not. That should probably be embarrassing to Phil, since he plays video games for a living, but he’s never been the type to try and excel at every single game he plays. It’s more about the entertainment, both for himself and for his audience. He imagines Dan feels similarly torn between sheepish and intrigued when Phil looks at the HTML on Dan’s laptop and points to an issue that Dan’s been trying to find for an hour.

Dan is a nerd with a contagious laugh who writes up a chart of ridiculous Riverdale theories on their fridge whiteboard, and it’s getting more and more difficult for Phil not to notice him.

His hair looks soft, his eyes are as expressive as the rest of him, he’s all lanky limbs and hairless chest when he hangs out half-naked - which is unfortunately often - but his mouth is probably the worst offender. He’s always chewing on a pen or toying with his tongue ring, like he’s got to be doing something with it when he’s not talking, and that’s not a train of thought that Phil should be going down except during the privacy of his showertime.

At this point, he’s not sure if he should thank Bryony or strangle her for delivering him a gorgeous ‘more or less’ gay man with all the same hobbies and interests as him, because there are too many ways for this to end badly and only, like, one way he wants it to end.

--

Phil is streaming Apex Legends in a surprisingly competent team when his phone rings. It doesn’t ring very often, and it’s probably Bryony asking why he’s been holed up for over a month, so he ignores it. It’s only when it starts ringing again, immediately after it stops, that he frowns.

“Hey, Dan,” he calls. Last time he checked, Dan was rearranging the spice shelf into something that makes a bit more sense than its current state. He thinks it’s a little silly, and he’ll probably still reach for the hot chocolate in the wrong place, but he likes that Dan has been making himself more at home lately. He’s noticed a few of his knick-knacks shifting around the room as well. “Can you check who’s calling?”

There’s a clattering noise that slightly worries Phil, and then Dan says, “It’s your mum.”

Phil freezes. He’s in the middle of something, sure, but he’s been waiting for this call. He doesn’t want to tell the couple thousand people watching him play about his dad’s health, so for a long moment he doesn’t know what to do.

Then, Dan is leaning over the back of the sofa. He takes the controller from Phil’s hands and replaces it with his still-buzzing phone.

“Go talk to her,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep playing for you.”

Gratitude washes over Phil, and he practically runs to his room to take the call. He doesn’t have time to worry about what his Twitch audience will think of Dan’s sudden appearance after so much time as a disembodied voice, because he’s got to spend all his brain power concentrating on the things his mum is telling him. At least he knows he’s not letting his team down - if anything, getting Dan as defense is an upgrade.

The conversation with his mum is long, but it’s all good news. Phil lets his mum talk his ear off, because the relief in her voice is so palpable and contagious that he doesn’t have the heart to say he’s in the middle of a video game. She only says goodbye when he gently reminds her to call Martyn as well, and then Phil is alone in his room with nothing but the pounding of his own heart in his ears for company. They’ve had good news (and bad news and no news) from the doctors before, but every time it’s like a shot of adrenaline right to Phil’s system. His dad is okay, his mum is happy, and his rampant anxiety can take a short break.

Dan isn’t playing anymore when Phil comes back, probably because the round ended, but he’s rambling about his own Apex opinions to the chat. He’s passionate like he is about basically everything, his hands and mouth moving faster than his brain, and Phil feels more warmth settle into his skin.

“Gunning for my job?” Phil jokes, plopping back down on the sofa. His thigh is pressed to Dan’s, but neither of them shift away.

“Maybe,” Dan teases. He hands the controller back all the same.

There’s a question in Dan’s big brown eyes: Everything okay? He doesn’t need to know details to pick up on how important that call was, and Phil thinks that this would have been the point of no return if he hadn’t hit that a couple weeks ago. He beams at Dan and nods, and the crinkly-eyed grin he gets in response makes Phil feel like he’s floating on air.

Later, when the night is winding down, Phil’s body is thrumming. Normally he’d be curled up with a book on one side of the sofa while Dan and his laptop took up the other, and that would be enough interaction before they headed to bed, but Phil still feels wired.

“You wanna go out?” he asks for the first time since Dan moved in. He’s always been more of a homebody than most of his friends, but having a friend like Dan - because that’s what they are now, isn’t it? - who also enjoys sitting in relative quiet doing their respective activities has made him even more of a shut-in than usual. Dan is clearly surprised by the question, and Phil doesn’t blame him. “I just - y’know, I got good news earlier, and I’m happy, and I want to get a drink or something.”

“And you want it with me?” Dan asks, his dimple deepening in the tell-tale beginnings of a grin.

“Yeah,” says Phil. Maybe he ought to have some kind of explanation that doesn’t make him sound like an idiot with a crush, but he can’t be bothered to think of one right now. Besides, Dan is smiling with the silver ball between his teeth, so he probably doesn’t mind how Phil sounds.

“Alright,” Dan agrees easily enough, shutting his laptop. “I’ll get dressed.”

--

Neither of them dress up; Phil leaves his top buttons open and Dan’s jeans are distractingly tight, but that’s as much of a concession as they’ll make. Phil likes bars more than he likes pubs or clubs, and he thinks splashing ten quid on a neon pink cocktail is absolutely worth it tonight. Dan doesn’t offer his opinion one way or the other until they’re sat at a booth, and then he says, “Thank fuck you’re not a clubber.”

“You don’t like clubbing?” Phil asks, distracted by Dan’s mission of blindly finding his straw with his tongue. The longer he knows Dan, the more he’s tempted to look up whether or not oral fixation is a real thing. “I mean, I don’t really love it, but it’s fun sometimes.”

“I’d have to already be wasted to dance in public,” says Dan.

“Oh, I can’t dance,” Phil says, matter-of-factly, and Dan snorts into his drink. “But I do it anyway.”

The bar isn’t overly busy or loud, but Phil still has to strain his ears to hear when Dan mutters, “Maybe it’d be more fun with you.”

It’s a little too easy for Phil’s overactive imagination to picture. Dan, pressed close to him and laughing with his head thrown back every time Phil says or does something stupid. He hopes that the flush he feels high on his cheeks isn’t obvious in the low light, but he’s not optimistic. Dan’s smile is more of a smirk.

Maybe getting drunk with the object of his stupid affections is… not smart. But Phil’s drink is good, and Dan is striking up an easy conversation about the music that’s playing, so Phil pushes logic aside for the moment to just enjoy himself.

--

Phil wakes up with a dry mouth and a slight headache, which is honestly better than he expected after three cocktails and a greasy kebab on the way home. Either Dan drank less than he did or he’s better at holding his alcohol, because Phil remembers getting guided away from lamp posts by his big, steady hands a couple of times.

He remembers making a bit of a fool of himself in general, but if anything Dan got more and more smiley the more that Phil rambled about Star Wars. Phil had reached across the table and poked at one of Dan’s dimples, and Dan had laughed loudly before taking Phil’s hand and holding it to the tabletop for a couple of seconds. Phil hadn’t wanted him to let go, and he wonders now if the hesitation stemmed from Dan’s own reluctance to stop touching him or if that’s just wishful thinking.

Phil gets himself together enough to take some ibuprofen and a long shower. By the time he gets out, wrapped in various towels, Dan is awake and making breakfast. It smells like bacon, but Phil is wary. It might be that fake stuff Dan insists on buying.

“That smells good,” Phil says, suspicious. He drifts over to the breakfast bar to try and get a peek at the pan.

“It’s real bacon,” says Dan. He turns specifically to roll his eyes where Phil can see it.

“Oh, cool. I thought you weren’t eating meat.”

“I’m not,” Dan says. “This is for you. I’m not hungry.”

“God, you’re incredible,” says Phil. He thinks that maybe he should tone it down a bit, because Bryony will kill him if he messes up this very good thing they’ve got going, but he’s not humble enough to not notice the way Dan dimples and turns pink at the earnest compliment. “Seriously,” he adds, talking to Dan’s back as he plates up some toast and bacon. “I am so lucky you needed a place to stay.”

“Luck’s not real, first of all,” Dan says as he hands over Phil’s breakfast. “Secondly, you’re only saying that because I cooked for you.”

Phil isn’t just saying that for the food, but it certainly takes over his attention. He pulls the towel around his shoulders tighter and leans against the breakfast bar to eat. Dan steals the crusts off his toast, rambling the whole time about the work emails he’d woken up to. Every time Dan talks about the ins and outs of journalism and website upkeep, Phil feels grateful all over again for getting a job so far out of his official field that the sectors barely touch. He doesn’t think he could handle working with so many people who can’t figure out how to change the alignment of text in simple HTML or which words they should capitalize in a headline.

“Thank you,” Phil says when he’s done, coming into the kitchen proper to rinse his plate. It’s the least he can do, considering his inability to actually wash the dishes before Dan gets fed up with the mess.

“At the risk of sounding gross and sappy,” Dan hums, “it’s really me who should be thanking you.”

“Maybe we should just both thank Bryony,” Phil suggests, turning to look at Dan again. Dan’s eyes snap up from - somewhere? Phil’s bare legs, maybe? - to stare determinedly at Phil’s face as if he can pretend that they never wandered. “You being too big and loud for her couch is the whole reason you’re here.”

Dan honks a laugh and reaches out like he’s going to shove at Phil. He doesn’t make contact, possibly remembering that Phil is somewhat naked, and just lets his hand fall back to his side awkwardly.

“As if your futon is any fucking better, mate,” he says, seemingly insistent on not drawing attention to the weird things he’s doing. Phil isn’t exactly stupid, is the thing. He thinks about Dan hesitating before letting go of his hand last night, the way he always grins when he catches Phil staring at his piercing, how it feels less like an unrequited crush between them and more like they’re just hovering at the edge of something, and Phil decides to throw caution to the goddamn wind.

“Y’know,” he says, messing with his damp hair for something to do with his hands. “I don’t think you’d be too big and loud for my bed, if you wanted to try that out.”

Dan laughs like he’s not quite sure if it’s a joke or not, and Phil shrugs to hide exactly how much his heart is pounding.

“Where were you planning to sleep, then?” Dan asks. His dark eyes are careful, searching, and Phil’s anxiety doesn’t like that at all. He doesn’t need Dan seeing things that he’s not purposefully putting on display.

“With you,” says Phil. “If you’d want me.”

There’s a long moment of quiet where Phil starts to worry that maybe he’s made a huge mistake. Then, Dan grins slowly and comes closer, pinning Phil to the counter without actually touching him, and Phil grins back at him in sheer relief. “I dunno why, but I never figured you as the type to be so blunt about this sort of thing.”

“What, you thought I was capable of subtlety?” Phil teases, putting a hand to his own chest as if he’s touched by the sentiment. “That’s so nice of you.”

Dan laughs, louder and more genuine, and then his big hands are cupping Phil’s jaw as he leans in to press their smiling mouths together. It’s been a hot minute since Phil kissed anyone while he was sober, so for a moment he doesn’t remember what he’s supposed to do with his hands. When he feels cool metal drag against the underside of his tongue, though, his brain shuts down enough that his hands find Dan’s hips without endlessly second-guessing himself.

It takes a while for them to reluctantly separate, because Phil is busy figuring out how to snog Dan without metal clacking against his teeth too much and Dan is busy figuring out all of the weak points in Phil’s neck with his thumbs.

“You taste like bacon,” Dan says in a strangely scolding tone of voice for someone who had cooked it for Phil.

“Sorry,” Phil says nonsensically, sliding his hands up Dan’s shirt to trace shapes over his lower back. The movements pause when Dan shivers. “Bad? Or good?”

“Your hands are just cold, you spork,” says Dan. He kisses Phil again, quick but firm, and then takes a step back. Phil doesn’t even realise he’s frowning until Dan giggles at him. “C’mon. Bed sounds fucking great right about now.”

--

Phil doesn’t remember the last time he kissed someone for so long that his lips started to tingle, but he’s certainly not complaining. He stopped feeling self conscious about being naked almost immediately after Dan told him it was frankly illegal to put damp towels on a bed, because the hungry way Dan looked at him and grabbed at him after he hung them up quieted the anxiety right away. Dan’s shirt has been discarded somewhere in Phil’s absolute tip of a room, but the soft material of his joggers keeps making Phil bite back noises when it comes in contact with his cock.

“You’re so hot,” Dan tells him in one of the times their mouths aren’t locked, one large hand wrapped around Phil’s thigh and the other supporting his weight on top of Phil.

“No, you,” Phil insists, not caring how dumb he sounds. He’s been mapping Dan’s back with his hands, but he slides them down the back of Dan’s sweats to win the argument before it starts. Sure enough, Dan’s words get cut off by a loud whine of a noise that gets pressed into Phil’s collarbone. Phil feels up Dan’s ass a little before using his grip to roll their hips together. “Fuck. What d’you want?”

“That depends,” Dan hums against Phil’s skin, nipping at his chest.

“On what?”

“On if this is a one time thing.”

There’s a jolt of guilt in Phil’s stomach, and he winds fingers into Dan’s curls to force Dan to look at him. “Hey, no, it’s not like that. I like you, you idiot.”

Dan smiles, and there’s no small amount of relief in it. Phil feels like he should have been more clear, but at least he’s got Dan in his bed and smiling about it now. “Oh good. I like you, too, and it would have been really awkward if you just wanted a fuck.”

“I do also want a fuck,” Phil says, teasing. “If I’m being honest.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Dan says sarcastically, rocking his hips down again and grinning when a noise is surprised out of Phil. “Well, okay, since I don’t need to bucket list this, I wanna go down on you.”

“I’d love to hear that bucket list sometime,” says Phil. He lets go of Dan’s ass and uses his hold on Dan’s hair to push him down, a little more impatiently than he intended. He’s got an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Dan just grunts an approving sort of noise and presses his mouth to Phil’s inner thigh. “But - ah - not right now.”

Dan’s got a mouth made for sucking cock, so it doesn’t take Phil by surprise when he sinks down easily, squeezing Phil’s thigh and running his tongue over the head of Phil’s dick whenever he comes back up, but it sure does make his legs start to shake.

“Fuck,” Phil breathes, doing his best to keep his hips still. That’s a lot more difficult when Dan looks up at him with those big dark eyes and takes him as deep as he can. “You look so good like that, you know that? Bet you do.” Dan hums around his cock and the vibrations from his throat make Phil shiver. “Yeah, fuck, of course you do. Such a pretty mouth, huh?”

With a quiet, wet noise, Dan pulls up to catch his breath. He grins. “I also didn’t figure you for a talker.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this,” says Phil. He runs his fingers through Dan’s curls, tugging a little bit to watch Dan’s eyelashes flutter. “How’s it feel to be wrong about me?”

“In this case? Very good.” Dan presses his mouth to Phil’s stomach and bites down, just a little. It doesn’t hurt at all, but it still makes Phil’s hips jerk up. “I dunno, Phil, you’re usually a pretty fucking awkward person, which is, like, a big mood, and you don’t seem like much of a flirt.”

“I’ve been flirting with you for, like, a month and a half,” Phil laughs.

Dan grins wider. “Oh, oops.”

“I don’t have to talk if you don’t like it,” says Phil, even though he can fully tell that Dan does like it. Maybe he just wants to hear that Dan likes it.

The way Dan rolls his eyes makes it obvious that Dan can tell that he’s fishing, but he dimples anyway. “You don’t have to stop talking,” he says dryly, wrapping a big hand around Phil’s cock. “You know I like it.”

Dan takes Phil back in his mouth and closes his eyes like he loves it, which is a visual that Phil will absolutely be coming back to when he’s alone in the shower. Phil tells him as much, gives him a running commentary on every passing thought he has, because it’s hard to control his mouth as it is and the more he talks, the more worked up Dan gets. He sees Dan grinding into the mattress and pulls at him, not bothering to be gentle with it.

“Get rid of these,” Phil says, pushing at Dan’s joggers with a foot. He doesn’t actually think he’ll be able to help like that, but it gets his point across. “And then c’mere, I want to get you off.”

Dan laughs. “Alright, bossy.”

He sits up to get his sweats off and Phil sits up to watch. They grin at each other a bit as soon as Dan is naked, and Phil makes grabby hands.

“Bossy,” Dan repeats before knee-walking into Phil’s lap and kissing him hard. Dan wraps a hand around both of their cocks, but he doesn’t try to stroke. Without fully pulling away from the kiss, Dan murmurs, “Lube, now, I want to come.”

“Now who’s bossy?” Phil huffs a laugh, blindly reaching for his nightstand. He knocks over a couple of things in his search, but eventually he finds the bottle he’s looking for. He pours some over their cocks and gasps when Dan’s hand slides up and back down so easily. Phil would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about this, hadn’t wondered if Dan’s wide reach could envelop both of them, but he doesn’t bother telling Dan any of that. Instead, he drops the lube back onto his nightstand and settles a hand on Dan’s ass as he kisses Dan deeper.

Phil’s mouth finds Dan’s neck, and he can’t help laughing at the loud keen of a noise that seems surprised out of Dan’s mouth.

Even though Dan didn’t have his dick sucked, he’s as desperate and horny as Phil feels, and having a tongue and teeth on his pulse point seems to escalate it even more. His breathing is ragged, his hips are jerking up into his own hand, and he comes so hard between them that Phil feels some of it hit his face.

“Fuck,” Dan whines, letting go of himself to stroke Phil’s cock in tight, quick movements. Phil’s breath hitches, and he digs his fingers into the soft skin of Dan’s ass for something to hold onto. Dan kisses Phil’s forehead, then his nose, and then kisses his cheek. His tongue comes out to press against Phil’s skin, the cool metal ball still a small shock somehow, and it takes Phil’s brain an addled moment before he realises that Dan is licking his own come off Phil’s cheek. That’s so unbelievably hot to Phil that he couldn’t stop himself from coming if he even wanted to. He groans and fucks into Dan’s fist, tugging him into an open-mouthed kiss. He can’t taste Dan’s come on his tongue or anything, but the idea of it is enough to make him shudder through an intense orgasm.

Their kisses turn softer than Phil thought possible as they come down from it, and he nuzzles at Dan’s jaw. “I just had a shower,” he says, gently scolding. “Now I’m all gross again.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” says Dan, grinning. “I’ll clean you up, you big baby.”

Phil is fairly sure that their shower isn’t big enough for that, but he’s always up for trying.

--

After a heated debate on the benefits of flowers versus gift baskets, they end up taking Bryony out for pizza and beer. As thanks.

[mydeardeath]

To belong with (7/8)

Whole series on tumblr (to belong series tag) or AO3

---

Tim started trashing in his sleep just a few hours after going to bed, awakening Damian with a hit to his face. He kept muttering unintelligible words, but while Damian could not decipher their meaning, he could guess that it was related to the time Tim was away.

He had to hold Tim for five minutes before the Omega calmed down, lost in his nightmares. When Tim finally came to his senses, he did not speak a word. The Omega sank further against Damian, taking all the comfort he could get. Tim had seemed fine since his return. He had calmed down as soon as he had recognized Damian. After that, he had acted as he used too. Mostly, anyway. Tim hadn't asked to go back on patrol. He had not even questioned Damian about the Gotham's current night activities. In fact, Tim hadn't mentioned this part of their life at all, acted as if he was a simple civilian. Those had been obvious hints that should have alerted Damian sooner. Tim had always been one of the most dedicated to the mission.

He may have no idea what had happened to him while he was captive, but he should have deduced that it was no good. And Damian had ignored that so he could play house with Tim.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Damian murmured in his ear, still hugging him.

Tim didn't respond right away. He started tapping softly on Damian's wrist with the tip of his fingers. "I don't know. I don't know where I was. Who had taken me or why. I was alone for weeks. Alone in the dark. Nobody came to see me or to interrogate me."

"You weren't with the others?"

"What others?" Tim asked, confused.

"People started popping off as the same as you did. People presumed to be dead from the attack that took you."

"I never saw anyone else. I had nothing to clutch to while I was there. Nothing to analyze, nothing to work on, all I could do was wait. I never felt that powerless."

"We'll figure out, and they will pay for touching you," Damian promised, determined to avenge his Omega.

Damian had held Tim for over an hour before it became clear that neither of them had any chance of going back to sleep. Thus, he had offered the Omega to go downstairs to spar for a bit. The equipment had got an upgrade since Tim had last been into the room, but he hadn't remodeled the room, so it should still be familiar to him.

Damian dug out some of Tim's old training gear. He ignored the look that earned him. Damian knew pretty well how it looked like: who kept all of someone's stuff, and not just one item of sentimental value after they died? The whole family had already criticized him for clinging to Tim's belongings years after he had died. The Omega was free to judge him too. He had stopped to care a long time ago. He had his own way of coping, and nobody would change that.

"I guess it's a good thing your sentimental," Damian snorted a that, nobody had put it that way thus far, "Sometimes I feel lost when I realize that the world has changed without me to a point where I not always sure I'm really home. I mean, I can still recognize the world, but it could be a mind trick for all I know. Having my stuff makes it easier, anchors me."

They started slowly, not fighting right away, leaving Damian enough time to assess Tim's physical conditions. He didn't have enough details about his captivity to know if he had been malnourished or if he had been able to exercise. Muscle memory would allow Tim to get back pretty quickly, but Damian wasn't sure that his strength was still the same, nor his stamina. Furthermore, Damian had grown a lot during the past six years. It was weird to say, but he was now only one year younger than Tim. After presenting as an Alpha, he had grown fast, outgrowing Dick in a year, and was catching up to his father as the days passed. Not only was Damian taller but also a lot stronger and more experienced than before. Before, he knew how much strength he could put behind his punch to train but not arm. Now he wasn't sure, but he didn't want to restrain himself too much lest that Tim noticed. He wasn't sure the Omega would appreciate the precaution. He had proven himself many times in the past, questioning his abilities would be a terrible insult. Plus, none of them knew how to take it easy after an injury, Tim wouldn't accept to restrain himself. They hadn't had the best example, growing up. So, Damian was a little at loss.

Tim gave the first hit, sensing the Alpha hesitation. He didn't hold back, certain that Damian could take it. The strike did not even connect. Damian intercepted it with ease, faster than Tim had first imagined. The Alpha may have put on a lot of weight, but he was still quick and agile, it seemed. All the Robins had had training, but Damian had been groomed from birth. He was the one with the most techniques and potential when it came to fighting. Damian didn't have to rely on preparation, as Tim did. It had been quite impressive to witness when Damian had first entered their life, and something told Tim that it was nothing compared to what he could do now. He was quite curious to see it all. Tim threw a few more punch at Damian, taking the opportunity to assess the other's movement. Analyzing was what he was best at. Tim was used to facing opponents that were stronger than him, better than him. Smarter was another matter. He would find a way to beat Damian, even if he took hours.

It's only after two hours of pulling punches and dodging that Tim managed to knock Damian off his feet. He had pretended to be more tired by their sparring session than he truly was for the past ten minutes, leading to Damian lowering his guard and giving Tim an edge. That approach wouldn't have worked in a real fight, but he didn't care. He was damp with sweat, and his attacks were becoming sloppy. He wouldn't have lasted another hour. So, he let himself regain some strength for a minute and got his victory. Damian had given him lessons about fighting dirty when he was they had fought soon after meeting each other. So, the Alpha shouldn't hold it against him.

"Well done, Timothy." Damian's words were reluctant, but he seemed proud of Tim at the same time. Probably didn't like landing on his ass.

"Thanks, D," Tim smiled brightly at him, and Damian had no other choice than to return it, mollified by Tim's expression.

***

They spent the rest of the day at home. Damian had promised himself to contact his father today, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew there was a risk of Bruce or Dick showing up unannounced if he ignored them for too long, especially after declaring that he would be looking for Tim. Not that he had been wrong, but they didn't know that. Yet.

In the meantime, Damian was just enjoying Tim's company while they cooked together, or watch shit tv shows.

"You don't have to skip patrol because of me, you know?"

Tim had noticed that Damian had never left at night. The Alpha still maintained his nest downstairs, so he obviously hadn't given up on that part of their life. Watching tv with Damian was nice, but he didn't want to hold him back if he wanted to go out.

Damian sighed. "I don't want to leave you alone, not because I think you cannot take care of yourself. But I'm afraid that if you disappear from my sight for more than a minute, you will disappear forever." Damian honesty was heartbreaking. Tim could understand his fear, he had the same.

"I could come with you. You don't seem to be working on any major cases."

Damian looked away before answering. He wasn't sure the Omega was quite ready to go back, but Tim being able or not to patrol was not the problem.

"I haven't announced your return to the rest of the family," Damian confessed, looking guilty.

"What? Why?" Tim almost yelled.

"They refused to believe you could be alive! I search for you for hours, alone. I know it might be childish, but I wanted to keep it from them. I'm sorry," Damian apologized. It had been selfish of him. Tim deserved to be with them if that what he wanted. He had no right to take that decision from him. "I can call them now if you would like."

"No. We'll go. Now." Tim announced.

"Now? I don't think they will be home."

"Alfred will," Tim interrupted him, settling the matter.

[dbh-is-a-crime]

All Dbh Chapters

@kaydel your reply to my ask has inspired me to give my thoughts on each of the chapters.

Chapter 1: The Hostage

Is honestly a good first chapter, the tension and stakes are high, it pulls you in. There's a reason people who played the demo were hyped for the game. And regardless of what I think of Cage's writing, it's not the first time he's done a solid intro to a game. (Swiftly followed by garbage but I digress..)

We learn something about deviancy and how it starts, we get a sequence of dialogue based gameplay to set up how important it is to the story, and we get a taste of Connor’s somewhat underdeveloped investigation gameplay. 

I will admit that there are several lines I kind of like in this scene (’You can’t kill me, I’m not alive’ I’d like this even better if Bryan didn’t love it so much) And most of the outcomes are very cool! 

Chapter 2: Opening

Is not a chapter, it's the opening credits. It's not really interesting, but it's not as bad as Heavy Rain's, only because it's about half as long. Kara was robbed.

Chapter 3: Shades of Color

What a title am I right! And no, it's not just because of the paints. This chapter, title aside, isn't bad! We don't learn anything about Markus but it sets the world up nicely. It's one of the cooler open areas. It shows off the graphics nicely. 

And all of that is promptly ruined by the overly heavy-handed scene with the protesters. With the follow up of the back of the bus! Also the preacher guy is weird what was the point of that.

Chapter 4: A New Home

Easily one of the most (if not The Most) boring chapters in the game. Mundane QTEs? We all looooooove those! At the end of the chapter you get some exposition to a very nice composition (this game really would be nothing without the music) and that part is actually ok. But the mundane housework gameplay doesn’t get a pass, even if it is to give context for what the life of an android is like. Would be 100% better if there was 40% less housework.

Chapter 5: The Painter

A solid chapter! Learning about Markus through his interactions with Carl? An actual good narrative device? Unbelievable. At surface level their relationship is sweet and Carl is so supportive of Markus growing beyond his programming. Though there is a darker undertone that mirrors the caged android birds. And that it’s all a gilded cage. And I like both of those interpretations, they’re interesting. 

The music mini game is interesting the first time you do it but after that I’m never picking it again, chess it is from now on.

Chapter 6: Partners

Connor’s return after 5 chapters. I think that might be the longest break between appearances for any of them. Anyway this chapter is mostly fine. It sets up Hank and Connor’s troubled partnership and shows us what most of Connor’s gameplay is going to be. (Detective work and trying to reason with Hank) It would be interesting if there was an option to let Ortiz’ android go, seeing as there if a version of the scene where you don’t find him. But I guess it’s too early for Connor to be disobeying.

Chapter 7: Stormy Night

Classic David Cage has women being abused by men! Unfortunately this is one of Kara’s best chapters. The tension from the very first moment if real, and as soon as Alice runs up stairs, you just know what’s going to happen. Without fail, every person I’ve ever watched, immediately tries to follow her. Honestly? Solid way to make me care about the kid. 

I know some folks have problems with showing child abuse on screen, but my opinion is that they kept the worst of it as implied, like in the failed ending of the chapter, you don’t see it actually happen. So I’m personally okay with it, but I can understand why some may disagree.

10/10 for the chase/escape scene. It’s stressful as hell but honestly the music just makes it...like idk the moment Kara deviates? I nearly, literally screamed the first time. The build up to it is so good, and you as the player are determined to protect Alice and will fight through the programming to do it.

Chapter 8: Broken

Gonna be honest, Markus’ deviating scene falls a little flatter for me. I’ve watched several people play for the first time and actively not want to break programming and retaliate. Which makes the fact that its a scripted event you can’t avoid frustrating to them. I guess we just haven’t seen any anger from him yet so it doesn’t feel like the reaction you expect? (I get that it’s supposed to be him finally cracking, the story just...doesn’t convey that very well.)

Also the fact that you get punished for staying silent with Carl dying is shitty.

Chapter 9: The Interrogation 

Talk about fucking tense! This scene is a real challenge, in either difficulty. Unless you don’t care about the android self-destructing? 

I don’t have much else to say, it’s not a bad scene but there’s not a lot of substance to it. The ‘the day will come when we will no longer be slaves’ line is...the start of the truly terrible writing choices in this game.

Chapter 10: Fugitives

Not a bad scene. Getting to choose to steal a bunch of stuff is fun, and the fact that you can steal all this shit and then go and sleep in the car is pretty funny. I don’t like the house or Ralph, just because it’s another chance to put a female character at risk from a male character. 7/10 I’m never picking the house. (Also did you know you can fail to steal from that guy in the laundromat and he wakes up lmao)

Chapter 11: From The Dead

Ok this is going to be kind of a controversial opinion...but I’m tired of this scene. While it’s true that no scene in the game holds up on the 20th watch/play, this scene lost most of it’s shock value on the 3rd watch. Now that being said, the sound design in the scene is brilliant. And putting the audio processor back in does still give me chills, but the rest of the scene? I mean, I guess cannibalising other androids is a pretty powerful story action. But the fact that you can take all of the things you need from dead androids if you search hard enough kind of ruins that for me. 

Also idk why but everyone collectively thinks that Markus screams when he reaches the top of the slope and I have no idea why.

Chapter 12: Waiting For Hank

Boooooooring. Ok, getting beat up by Gavin after refusing to make him coffee is mildly interesting. But the fact that Hank just hates you in the scene is honestly quite tiring. Like, his opinion of Connor will inevitably go down at least once, you can’t avoid that. Also there’s nothing to explore in the office so...

Chapter 13: On The Run

Both versions of this scene are very tense. And not in...a super fun way. Like ok, Kara has that empowering woman moment where she cuts her hair, great, but the rest of the scene isn’t that good. (And the version with Ralph is downright disturbing.) 

Chapter 14: Jericho

Oh god let’s players cannot do this part. And the amount of time I’ve spent watching people run around clueless because they weren’t paying even the slightest attention or follow the obvious path, makes me hate this chapter. I also hate it because the gameplay isn’t very interesting. Markus’ precog is mildly interesting, but that’s really it. (The end of this chapter has some pretty stunning visuals tho)

Chapter 15: The Nest

Ok, the opening conversation with Hank is cute if Connor is trying to be nice. Though the actual chase is pretty tense. The music is on point as always, because the composers for this game were very overqualified for the job. Also the fact that you get punished for not saving Hank both amuses and vexes me. You don’t catch the guy because you were a shitty partner. But what was the point of taking the risk with Hank if there’s no reward? (Yes I know he still ends up in evidence lock up but that’s hardly reward enough for risking your partner’s life)

I mean okay the pigeons flying through the roof is pretty funny, but the investigation in the apartment isn’t all that interesting. Also I’ve just realised I haven’t mentioned the Zen Garden once but honestly most of the scenes there aren’t that interesting anyway.

Chapter 16: Time To Decide

Wow where do I start on how uninteresting this chapter is. You learn very little about Markus’ companions, you get to have a conversation with a magical minority, and you get a line about an android being dragged behind the back of a car. (After reading the wiki about James Byrd I feel genuinely sick and could not be more disgusted that this was used so clumsily in the game.)

Chapter 17: Zlatko

His name sounds like a brand. Also this is my least favourite Kara chapter. They go to his place for almost no reason (just so they can get caught) and we get a 20 minute scene of Zlatko being a cartoonish monster of a man. Also this has been pointed out and now I can’t stop thinking about it. Why is Kara scared of Luther when she sees him? Like...??? Anyway re-finding her memories is boring, finding Alice is also boring, and hiding from Zlatko is just stressful. Nothing interesting to the story happens here, except that Luther joins Kara and Alice.

Chapter 18: Russian Roulette 

Perhaps the shortest chapter in the game. It’s not like...super boring, but it’s not interesting either. Also don’t forget to notice the picture on the table or you’ll have no chance of getting the good ending later! Seriously, they should have made it a requirement for the scene to move on if it’s going to be that important.

Chapter 19: Spare Parts

The whole freerunning thing at the start is lame. And the fact that you have to grab the android and then release him to get the best outcome is confusing as hell. (I have seen many folks fuck this up.) The part where you sneak around in the guard house is actually kind of cool. Also North go down if you’re nice to people....I love this game.

Chapter 20: The Eden Club

Pity the lesbian sexworker androids!!! In all seriousness though this is a chapter I do not like. The endings are unfulfilling, the whole storyline is gross, poorly written and very Cage-esque. (Also why would you make the two android lovers the same model?! Just make one of them one of the other 8 female WR800 models you have!) I mean I guess I can say that the glowly design of the sexclub is nice or whatever.

Chapter 21: Pirate’s Cove

Ok this is a personal one but I don’t like this chapter. Something about the family dynamic between the three falls flat for me and so the whole scene being about them makes it...ehh. Also Kara under threat again! Woohoo! The scene on the carousel is kind of cute and the scene composition is nice, but the fact that all the Jerrys are standing around watching is a little weird. Also bait us with rA9 crap why don’t you! we’ll just never learn anything about this i guess

Chapter 22: The Bridge

I like this chapter to be honest. I know Pirate’s Cove is meant to be relaxed but I find this chapter more relaxing. Even if it ends with a gun to Connor’s head. I mean it’s not that hard to not get shot really. And seeing Hank start to care and question their mission is interesting. I don’t know, I guess I just like the visuals of the snow and the bridge. (Anyone notices that it goes from raining to snowing like three days later, wtf)

Chapter 23: The Stratford Tower

Now this one is complicated. Because I like the breaking in and getting up to the broadcast department part, I even like the pre-speech tension. Markus carrying the weight of history and knowing his words will shape what people across the world think of androids. 

The music as he gets ready to start the speech is....just so good. But then he starts talking and.....mmmmm press x for civil right yes please! Press square to end slavery? Absolutely! God...the writing in this scene is Bad. Which is a shame! Because it squanders the carefully crafted tension built up until this point. I like the energy going into this scene, the idea that they’re about to take a stand, make history. But it is unfortunately ruined for the sake of a poorly executed racism allegory.

Chapter 24: Public Enemy

Ok, going to investigate the crime scene of what you just did as Markus is pretty good. Its not an original idea, that was the opening sequence for Indigo Prophecy, but it still works I’m not going to lie. Also the cop from the Hostage showing up to thank you if you saved him is cute. The fact that Hank is starting to question Connor and look for signs of deviancy in him is also nice! Also I hate it but going after Simon gives you a more cohesive storyline if you’re going for a deviant Connor route. (Can I get an F for Simon? He can die so many different ways)

Chapter 25: Midnight Train

Can’t believe that the chapter about the underground railroad is literally called Midnight Train. Yeah the dialogue in this? Shocking, terrible, absolutely unforgivable. Rose I am so sorry this happened to you. Also a cop arrives to....put Kara in peril at the hands of a male character again! Can’t go a chapter without that!

Chapter 26: Capitol Park

Hmmmmmmmmm. ‘We have a dream’? ‘I can’t breathe, but I’m still alive’? Hi, yes, hello? David Cage is doing it again, yeah he’s co-opting black history for his story about androids, somebody needs to stop him. Why did no one stop him.  

Ok, most of this chapter other than that is ok. It’s not particularly good, but it’s ok. (wiLL yOu bE gOoD oR eViL?!?!1)

Chapter 27: Meet Kamski

Ok this man is so creepy and emotionally manipulative and as a narrative tool I’ve actually come to love it. Like the tone of this chapter is such a breath of fresh air. Maybe it’s just the fact that they added a new character after such a long time and that he knows more than he ever lets on. rA9 baited again...

Also this is Connor’s turning point in a way. You can still choose to change your path later on, but this is the real moment of truth where a character pushes him to reveal where he’s at. (Also the fucking MUSIC)

Chapter 28: Freedom March

Oh no. I’m so sorry Markus you deserve better. I hate this chapter if you can’t tell. The combo of the black history slogans and the jesus music is too much for me. Also the good ending is locked behind Simon being alive/Spare Parts success route??? Also F for that random android who’s name is John that we hear about twice.

Chapter 29: Last Chance, Connor

I usually keep a low profile with Gavin so I miss out on the beatdown unfortunately. But having the option is hilarious. If you don’t sacrifice at the march, Simon is alive, interrogation bad end, Rupert and the Tracis escape....can you even find Jericho?

Just a thought, anyway this is short but tense chapter. Don’t hate it.

Chapter 30: Crossroads

Kara’s part of this is dumb as hell. The Alice twist literally destroys the storyline but anyway...

Markus has very little to do until the end. His version is ok, but Jesse’s line delivery leaves something to be desired. (You’re one of us....)

Connor’s is easily the most interesting of the three concurrent stories at this point. Going in to capture Markus/North, chasing them through the hold if ur a machine..very good. 

And....going deviant. Okay yes that still gets me, I did actually shout YES!! out loud the first time I witnessed it. The music’s slow build in the scene, and most of the dialogue (if you choose carefully) swells to this point and...and..it happens!! 

Like idk I’ve only been slowly building up to this for 9 hours, sue me.

Chapter 31: Night Of The Soul

I like this chapter! Or Markus’ version anyway. Connor’s...well the Hank version is just sad. The Jericho version is fine.

But Markus? Visiting Carl’s grave or the man himself is such an emotional moment for the character. And the single humanising moment he’s had in several chapters. The conversation is so weighted with his doubts and fears and Jesse Williams gives a beautiful performance! (Also as I’ve said, the alarm system saying ‘welcome home markus’ kills me on impact)

Chapter 32: Battle For Detroit

Is a good chapter. What, did you expect me to say it isn’t? Cause it is. Or some versions of it are.

The tension in all three characters stories, regardless of which version, is perfectly hit at this point.

Kara’s....ah fuck idk I mean the border version is ok? The others....kind of suck? The guy letting them through with high public opinion and Markus doing a peaceful demonstration is kind of cute and sort of makes sense in a way.

Markus’ versions (both in which he is alive) are pretty cool. The revolution is hard, and I do like that it ends with him saying that they haven’t won, they’ve only started a war. The demonstration is kind of dumb, and I actually prefer them getting shot and then the news anchors suggesting that maybe androids are people in their own right that humans refused to acknowledge. (Feels more real, ya know?) Also black folk song!! Why??

Gonna be real, most of Connor’s versions of this scene are pretty good. Cyberlife tower is tense as hell but he’s a fucking badass. Machine Connor on the roof gives us the best line in the game. ‘What’s up lieutenant, ran out of whiskey so you came here looking for trouble?’  

So that’s some of my thoughts on each of the chapters of dbh, I could go into more depth but my eyes hurt and I’ll probably hit post limit soon.

[phantomhydeoftheopera]

Hello @chengsang!  I am your person for the MDZS network gift exchange!  I did my best to include as many of your favorite pairings as possible, so I hope you like it!

Jiang Cheng stared down at his phone with a deadpan expression.  He sighed and gently banged his head back against his bedroom wall.  He peeked back at the screen.  Nope, the text from his brother was still there.

Jiang Cheng!  Don’t forget about our party tonight!  And remember the gift exchange!

His phone slipped from his hands and fell onto his purple duvet cover.  Sure, work was busy, apparently so busy that it had pushed all memory of his brother’s holiday party out of his mind.

His brother was annoying as hell, he wasn’t going to lie.  His husband was scarily straight faced, and they were all.  Over.  Each.  Other every time he saw them.

Still, free food was free food, and his sister’s restaurant was catering.  The only problem was that now he had to get a gift for whoever Wei Ying picked out of his ridiculous Santa hat.  It was totally rigged anyway, he always ended up with some random person Wei Ying had invited just to set him up with them.

It never worked but nevertheless his brother was determined.

Jiang Cheng got himself ready and left his apartment.  He figured he could treat himself to breakfast while he was out.

It was snowing lightly as he walked into town and he buried his chin further into his coat as the flakes settled onto his hair.  He appeared to be one of the many people doing some last minute shopping.  He thought that all of his shopping was done; he had gifts for his siblings and their families, his parents, and his nephew.  This was the only thing in the way of having a relaxing holiday.

He ducked into the least crowded store he could find and stomped his boots on the mat to get the excess snow off.

Jiang Cheng didn’t think he’d ever been inside this particular store because he would have remembered taking an immediate liking to the cozy atmosphere, the aroma of coffee permeating the air, and…

… oh boy.

Here’s the thing.  Jiang Cheng has had high standards since his first year of college.  The only time they had ever changed was when he expanded his tastes to include men.

But the boy behind the counter made Jiang Cheng want to throw those standards out the window.

The first word that popped into Jiang Cheng’s head was “cute.”  He was sitting on a high stool feeding a… was that a bird in his hand?  A little yellow canary was seated on his knuckles and the boy was feeding it seeds like some kind of Disney princess.  The bird tweeted and he laughed, a sound Jiang Cheng thought sounded just as sweet as the birdsong.

Jiang Cheng walked closer, trying not to disturb the boy.  He didn’t notice after a while, but the canary turned around and flew to the boy’s shoulder.

“What is it, little guy?  Do you see- shit!”  The boy cried, nearly falling off the stool in a hurry to tidy his already neat shoulder length hair, and greeted Jiang Cheng with a too-wide grin.  “Hi!  Welcome to Little Bird Gifts!  May I help you with anything?”

Now was the time to say something smooth.  Something that would instantly charm the boy and temporarily convince him that Jiang Cheng wasn’t a complete moron.

“... Are you selling that?”

Or maybe not.

The boy turned to the urns of coffee behind him with the tall stacks of paper cups that Jiang Cheng was pointing to.

“Oh, the coffee?  Yes, it’s thirty yuan.  Care for a cup?”

“Yes please, thank you.”

He poured a cup and handed it to Jiang Cheng.  Their fingers touched and he noticed that the boy’s hands were soft.  The boy leaned on the counter and rested his chin in his hands.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

Oh he sure was and he might’ve found it.

“Just something generic.  My brother is having a party that involves a gift exchange.  I just need something that anyone would like.”

“I have some ideas, follow me.”

He hopped off the stool and came around the other side of the counter and led Jiang Cheng further into the shop.  The boy was wearing a green turtleneck sweater and tight black jeans with low heeled black ankle boots.

Jiang Cheng tried really hard to focus on how the jeans hugged his ass perfectly and his height was great for cuddling.

“There’s some incense sets, scarves and gloves, nice glasses, cheese knives, and my personal favorite, fans hand painted by me.”

Jiang Cheng curiously unfolded one of the fans.  It was beautifully painted with an image of gentians and curling vines.

“You really made this?  It’s stunning.”

The boy grinned, a real one this time and not a customer service smile.

“Just a hobby of mine.  I’ll leave you to your browsing.”

Jiang Cheng wandered through the rows and displays of items.  He decided that he might have to come back to this shop for other occasions, or just to get something fun for himself.  Not to mention the cute employee…

Suddenly something landed on his head and started to tangle in his hair.  He swatted at it only to be met with a sharp bite on his finger.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry I don’t know what got into him,” the boy cried as he ran over to untangle his bird from Jiang Cheng’s hair.  He had to bend down so the boy could reach the top of his head.  God, he even smelled good.  The bird flew out of Jiang Cheng’s hair and nested on the boy’s head instead.

“Do you always let him go free?”

“Well, yes, he’s sort of my mascot.  I promise he doesn’t fly into everyone’s hair all the time.  Maybe you’re special!”

Well if the bird likes him then Jiang Cheng was one step closer.

The boy reached out to smooth down his messed up hair, but ended up running his fingers through it.  “I’ll just… leave you to it then.”

God was he whipped.

After some careful deciding Jiang Cheng chose a pretty mug with some coffee and tea.  A safe choice, everyone was bound to like one or the other.

“Good choice,” the boy commented as he rang up the purchases.

“Thanks.  I’ve never been in here before, it’s nice.”

“I’m glad you like it,” the boy leaned forward and scribbled something on the receipt, “let’s hope I can convince you to come back some time.”

His number.  The boy had written his number on the receipt.

“Oh, I’m sure you can.”

———————-

Jiang Cheng arrived at his brother in law’s ridiculously large house that evening with his gift and a small host gift for his brother.  Every edge of their mansion was lined with lights and Jiang Cheng has to shield his eyes as he walked up the driveway.

“Jiang Cheng!”  His brother exclaimed as he opened the door, “so glad you could make it tonight!”  Wei Ying gave his brother a tight hug and led him into the house.  “You can put that under the tree, there’s wine and food over there, most of the people are here and- oh is that for me? You shouldn’t have!”

“You would have complained otherwise,” Jiang Cheng grumbled.

“Oh don’t be like that!  Have some cheer!”  Wei Ying plunked a headband down on Jiang Cheng’s head, which turned out to have a pair of antlers on them.

“You’re lucky I don’t want to make a scene at your party.”

“I know.  Now, go mingle.”

Wei Ying vanished from his side and left Jiang Cheng to fend for himself.  He wove through the crowd of people and tried to locate the alcohol.  If getting wasted was going to get him through this party then so be it.

“Nice antlers,”

… It couldn’t be.

What are the odds?

Jiang Cheng turned around and, as he suspected, it was the cute boy from the gift shop.

“Believe me, I’m wearing them against my will.”

“Well if that’s the case, let me help with that.”  The boy took off the headband and placed it on his own head.  “How do I look?” He asked with a twirl.

Cute.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng said.  “I’m Jiang Cheng, by the way, I didn’t say earlier.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Nie Huaisang.”

“I haven’t… seen you at one of my brothers parties before.”

“Ah, I was a last minute invite,” Nie Huaisang explained, “Lan Xichen is, was, a good friend of my brother, but after his death I would have been alone on Christmas so he asked if I could come.”

Jiang Cheng had met the eldest Lan brother a few times and that sounded something like he would do.

“I’m glad you’re here though, someone’s gotta cut me off at some point, and you get to try my sister’s cooking.”

“Well, if it’s as good as I’ve heard, I’m in for a real treat.”

They spent the rest of the evening together, just talking and enjoying the company of another lonely soul.  Jiang Cheng found himself opening up after a while, and not because of the alcohol.  He learned that Nie Huaisang owned the store and had two more birds in his apartment.  He had been close with his brother who had been a martial arts instructor and world champion before his sudden death.  Nie Huaisang had taken it pretty hard but was doing okay.

“It’s hard, but you have to remind yourself that they wouldn’t want to see you moping around, you know?  Can’t be sad for too long,” he said before taking a sip of spiked eggnog.  “But enough of that, let’s get some of that good food I’ve heard so much about.”

Jiang Cheng introduced Nie Huaisang to his sister and her girlfriend, and said hello to his nephew, his sister’s son from her previous marriage.  He was talking with one of his friends and was about to enter the kitchen when Wei Ying stopped him.

“Look up, you too, I’m not letting you in my kitchen unless you kiss.”

Wei Ying had hung a sprig of mistletoe on the doorway in hopes of catching unsuspecting victims.  Instead of complaining, Jin Ling blushed as his friend Lan Jingyi gave him an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek.

Jiang Cheng made a mental note to go through that doorway with Nie Huaisang.

After dinner came the anticipated, or dreaded, gift exchange.  Everyone gathered in the living room and one at a time Wei Ying would take slips of paper with names on them out of his Santa hat, and the person that was given the name had to give their gift to whoever’s name was on the paper.

He knew for a fact that Wei Ying color coded the slips of paper so he could try and play matchmaker.

“Your turn A-Cheng!” Wei Ying said, ignoring Jiang Cheng’s protests against the nickname, “You have… Nie Huaisang!”

“What a coincidence!” The adorable boy on his right laughed.

“Yeah, a coincidence,” Jiang Cheng grumbled.  Wei Ying grinned cheekily.

“Well, I guess I don’t have to open this.”  Nie Huaisang accepted the gift anyways, “but it’s the thought that counts.”

“But that’s not all!  Nie Huaisang has… Jiang Cheng!”

“Oh good!  I picked this with you in mind.”  Nie Huaisang placed a box in Jiang Cheng’s lap.

“How did you know you would get my name?”

“Oh, I have my ways…” Nie Huaisang said mysteriously.  “Open it.”

He carefully unwrapped the gift and pushed apart the tissue paper.  A black and purple plaid scarf was nestled in the layers.  “I saw that you weren’t wearing one when you came in, so I thought I’d give it to you.”

“This is…” Jiang Cheng picked it up and held it against his face.  It was soft, felt like cashmere, and even smelled like the shop.  Smelled like him.  “I love it, thank you so much.”  Feeling brave, he pulled Nie Huaisang into a hug, which he returned.

“I’m happy you like it.”

Someone next to them cleared their throat, and Jiang Cheng looked to see Wei Yong holding the mistletoe that was previously in the doorway.

“Come on, you have to do it!”

Nie Huaisang laughed.

“Well, if you don’t mind…”

He turned Jiang Cheng’s face towards his and kissed him right on the lips.  It took him a minute to register what was happening, but he pulled Nie Huaisang closer and kissed him back.

“I don’t mind at all,” Jiang Cheng whispered when the broke apart.

“Good, because I plan to do that again.”

[elizabethrobertajones]

Do you think Sam's reluctance to call the Bunker "home" has more to do with the Bunker's function as a library and a laboratory and a Men of Letter's charter house (essentially not his and Dean's, especially now that they know about the BMoL), or because he's probably afraid that any place he calls home will be taken from him (like when Azazel killed Mary, then when he killed Jess)?

DEFINITELY the second, but I think there’s room in the pie chart to say that Sam has always traditionally defined “home” in a white picket fence aspirational way that may not even make him happy, truly, without a lot of other terms and conditions (e.g. never once has he got to experience an attempt at normal life while actually friends with Dean/knowing he was alive/also emotionally at peace) but he does still aspire to this whole wife, kids, dog, big house, garden for them to all run around in thing… He might not even THINK he wants it at times, and he might settle or throw himself into hunting or see no happy ending or whatever, but he and Dean both have a strong image of this as the sort of suburban happy ending. Dean still emotionally seems less suited for it and still needs to be talked out of the idea that he will never have it because he’ll die in the process of securing it for everyone else, ESPECIALLY Sam, but he is also extremely adaptable to the sense of home.

Actually, Bugs has the best little metaphor for it - Dean keeps on talking about how suburbia gives him hives, while Sam is still basically convinced he’s on a road trip and after they’re done he can have another go at college and the normal life… Dean might disdain the houses but he breaks into one, happily uses the power shower, and generally sinks into acting the part in suburbia to get free food and access to the case. 

I mean Dean could make anywhere home, and we see him in general making more use of the places they use as home bases as homes - we don’t see him, like, getting domestic at Bobby’s, but he constantly uses the car yard for fixing Baby and hanging out, in a way Sam isn’t associated with, so he and Sam have a shared more business related relationship with the main rooms of the house where we normally see them for cases, but Dean has an extra, personal connection to the scrapyard. And at Rufus’s cabin, he colonised the sofa in 7x03 and later it seems to lowkey play a part as being a domestic space belonging to Dean, the symbolically worst example in 8x10 when Sam and Dean dump Amelia and Benny and Sam gives up the chance at a normal life again to spend it with Dean, who would have been there anyways so he is very much the one invited to sit on the sofa with Dean. 

And then obviously once they find the Bunker, Dean immediately settles in while Sam sees it as a valuable resource. Dean might have a bleak outlook on the future but in a way that means that he makes the most out of where he is at that exact moment. They find a weird bunker, Dean moves in and makes a house a home with throw pillows and lava lamps (I wish) while Sam is busy just reading everything there, determined to get the job done and that metaphorically is the character traits behind the argument in 8x14 where the nesting scene takes place, that escalates into Sam trying to do the trials, and Dean ends up just the manager of the home, and responsible for who should have been there (Kevin, 8x21) who is there (Kevin, after that, for the rest of his life Dean comments on his whereabouts when he isn’t in episodes) and who can’t stay (ow. Cas. 9x03.) 

And in 9x04 we see Sam has barely altered his room except for the TV for downtime, but other than that only brought more boxes of files to his room, opposed to Dean who made it a personal space immediately that you could recognise as his. I don’t really think at this point he’s holding out for the white picket fence but he has an emotional disconnect to the Bunker as home - Dean tries to kill him in it as a demon, and in 11x04, 2 seasons later, he still picks Baby as home over the Bunker, as we get the strong reminder of Swan Song in that episode, and how Sam has literally known no other stable home, we get the poking at the concept of “someone in the life” and Dean is much more open to thinking of the Bunker and where Cas is currently as “home” while Sam’s emotional connection is adrift, because despite their best efforts he just didn’t bond with the Bunker that way. 

And 8x22 is where Sam jokes to Cas that Dean was going to make the Dean Cave that took 5 years to actually show up, and these days Dean is getting even more comfortably happy in the Bunker and less worried about despite all the fighting and occasional murder or attempted murder that takes place there, it is still where they live and they deserve real comforts, while Sam still hasn’t expressed a strong opinion about the Bunker as home - I think Cas has referred to it that way in significant dialogue more often than Sam. And that difference in how they rate their work/life balance is a significant part of their low-key, mostly unstated character stuff that is nonetheless pretty much constantly on screen in how they relate to or have it relate to them when the question of home or the Bunker comes up. 

I think fundamentally Sam’s relationship to the job goes WAY beyond just what he calls home and it’s a symptom of his own issues - which tie in with the stuff he discussed with Rowena about Lucifer, and his lingering presence in the story where he just will not go away, but Sam (and Rowena) don’t get catharsis until he is dead. That’s the overall big issue, but there’s also the one from 8x03 about how Sam could leave the job 100% but at the cost of ignoring everything that might have been a case and assuming other people would handle it, which the discussion from the end of 12x18 and 13x15 seemed to be about - Sam is wandering back to that doing the trials mindset that maybe they could find a switch to turn off all monsters forever… (not happening - your legacy is Wayward Sisters and they’re gonna need things to fight for as many seasons as the CW can squeeze out of them if things go our way, no matter when you retire :P)

Ideally Sam needs to strike a MoL/Bobby level retirement, PROBABLY in a white picket fence house (You know, like in 3x10 where he walks out of Bobby’s terrifying haunted house into the garish garden… you know what, he should just buy Bobby’s and refurbish it, and then marry Jody and be a frequently mentioned but invisible background character and once per season cameo  in Wayward Sisters) and find a peace with his place in the world where he doesn’t have to be actively ensuring monsters are being killed, but can be chill about it all and get out of the job he never wanted to have. Hunting is in his blood and he’s happy doing it in some ways so I don’t think he can tear himself out of it like he wants to at his worst moments, and burying his head in the sand is a terrible idea, and he NEEDS a someone-in-the-life to understand him and for him not to end up with that dreadful problem where he doesn’t want to ruin their view of the world so he lies to them about his entire identity for their sake… but he’s also messed up and even being the younger sibling, I honestly think he needs retirement far, far, far more urgently than Dean does (and 13x14 has utterly broken me about that >.> GO HOME. GET A DOG, SAM). Dean, with no threats to his loved ones, could happily keep hunting into his early 60s with his angel, bizarrely younger mother, and smol nougat stepson at his side :P All people born into the life and more willing to continue the fight without being utterly consumed by it like poor Sam >.> 

[h-styles-babes]

No Control | Chapter Thirty-Eight

Summary: 

Micky Bennett: college student, loyal friend, aspiring nurse, One Direction fan, Harry Styles enthusiast. Her best friend, Trevor, wins tickets to a show in New Jersey with meet and greet passes. Micky expects a quick photo op with the boys and a great night at the concert with her best friend. What she gets a whole lot more than she bargained for.

To read previous chapters, you can go here.

*Please feel free to reblog and send feedback. It’s much appreciated :)*

*Gif is not mine.*

THIRTY-EIGHT

“You never actually talked about what was going on between him and Kendall, did you?” Trev asks once we’re back at the flat, after I’ve told him everything that happened while we were at Harry’s house. 

He’s in the kitchen, making me a cuppa—something I’ve taught him to do well in the nearly four years that we’ve been friends—as I lounge on the couch. “No, it got brushed over amidst all the baby stuff and getting over what happened when we lost contact. Kendall hadn’t even crossed my mind, honestly.”

He shrugs as he hands me my steaming mug over the back of the couch. “I really hadn’t thought of her, either, to be honest. Kinda completely forgot that she was even in Harry’s life.”

I take a sip of the tea as he settles into the couch beside me, and the bitter flavor washes over my tongue. The shudder that runs through my body isn’t from the tea, though. It’s from the memory of what she said while I was in the loo and the images it’s created in my head.

“I could deal with it if it was just my stupid insecurities about comparing myself to her,” I sigh, playing with the tea bag string. “I can get over that shit. It’s the intimate stuff she was talking about while she thought I wasn’t listening. Like, who brings up your past sex life while the other person’s significant other is nearby?”

“That was pretty shitty of her,” Trev agrees, scrunching up his nose. “And she seriously brought up the kinky stuff?”

I groan. “Yes. Which wasn’t too bad until she said that Harry referred to himself with her like he does with me when we’re together.”

“I totally wanna kink shame you right now for the whole ‘daddy’ thing, but I’ll save that for a less fragile time,” he snickers, making light of a situation.

Pursing my lips at him, I say, “Thanks, Trev. So kind.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” he shrugs, sending me a smirk. “But seriously, I’d be pissed, too. I think your feelings are justified here, Mick. I feel like that dynamic should have been sacred to you two. Harry definitely shouldn’t have brought Kendall into it.”

I whine and sink further into the couch, as much as I can without suffocating from the extra weight pressing into my chest in the form of my unborn child. I rub my hand over my stomach, feeling her moving around in there and nudging lightly against my touch. The smile that slips onto my face is soft, and it makes me feel a little bit better knowing that she’s with me right now. Her daddy’s being a prick, and I feel like we’re standing together in some sort of solidarity or something. 

“We finally came up with a name at the appointment,” I tell Trev, wanting to get away from the Harry/Kendall topic now. 

His eyes light up behind his spectacles and a smile stretches across his face. “Yeah? Are you gonna tell me? We need to decorate her nursery, and I wanna put her name on the wall.”

I smile at Trevor’s excitement over the whole nesting thing. I still have to get my shit together and get around to actually getting the things we need for her nursery, and I guess I’ll have the time now that I’ll be on maternity leave soon. “Yeah. We decided on Waverly.”

His smile widens. “That’s really cute, Mick. I love it.”

“Harry came up with it. Said he wanted a New York-related name to represent all that happened for us there.” I sniffle as I remember how bashful he’d been explaining that, and how adorable he looked as he’d suggested the idea. I already miss him, but I’m still pissed. 

“That’s sweet,” Trev nods, reaching to rest a hand beside my own. “Come up with a middle name?”

I shake my head. “I was thinking Anne, since it’s Harry’s mum’s name and my mum’s middle name.”

“Waverly Anne Styles,” Trev nods. “I think Harry will like it.”

My phone begins ringing from the coffee table, Harry’s name and face flashing across the screen. 

“Speak of the devil,” I mutter. Neither Trev nor I make a move to reach for it, to either silence it or answer it. We just let it ring until he gets sent to voicemail. He calls again almost immediately after. 

“You gonna answer him today?” Trev asks, reaching to grab my phone and silence the ringing.

My jaw clenches as I shake my head. “No, I don’t feel like talking to him yet.”

“Then we’ll put his number on Do Not Disturb,” he determines, fiddling with the settings under Harry’s contact. “You’ll get his messages and voicemails when you turn the setting off tomorrow.”

I lean my head against Trevor’s shoulder when he falls back into the couch. “Thanks, Trev. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Be just as badass, I’m sure,” he teases. “Just without a super cool, gay best friend by your side.”

After dinner that night, Trev holes up in his room, studying for his last midterm that he has the next morning. I busy myself with showering and getting my things together for work the next morning. I make my lunch and set up the coffee maker to brew in the morning before Trev wakes up so he won’t have to bother setting anything up in the morning. I almost never do this, because Trev is a grown man who’s capable of making his own coffee, but I’m pretty much doing just about anything to distract myself at this point. I keep flicking my eyes to my mobile that’s sitting on the counter, waiting for Harry’s call or a text, but I remember just a beat later that I’ve blocked him for the day. I’ll probably turn it off tomorrow, since I don’t want him to worry, but I’m just not ready to speak to him yet. 

I’m just sitting down with another cup of tea to watch my recordings of Law & Order that I’ve yet to catch up on, when the intercom buzzes with an alert that someone’s requesting entrance at the gate. There’s really only one possibility for who it is, so I sigh and push myself back up, waddling my way to the door. Of all the things to come along with my pregnancy, the waddling when I walk is definitely one of my least favourites. 

I push my finger down on the button. “Yeah?”

“Micky, sweetheart, please let me up.” Harry sounds a bit desperate and sort of tired, and it makes me feel a little bad, but not bad enough to let him up right now.

“I don’t really wanna talk to you right now, H,” I sigh.

“You weren’t answering my phone calls or texts. I was worried about you.”

I smile a little at his concern, but it doesn’t break my resolve. “I’m fine, H. Just been hanging out with Trev all day. I just don’t want to talk to you right now.”

There’s a few moments pause before he responds. “You’re alright, though? Baby’s okay?”

“She’s perfectly fine, Harry,” I assure. 

“Can—can you call me? When you’re ready to talk? I owe you an explanation and an apology. And I just really miss you, princess. I was just as surprised at Kendall showing up as you were.”

I snort to myself, thinking he couldn’t have possibly been as surprised as me, since she made it very clear that she’d dropped by like that before to ‘keep him company’, but I don’t say that, not wanting to stir the pot while we’re having a conversation over our intercom system. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow, H. Just go home and get some sleep. I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Okay, Mick. I love you.”

“I love you too, Harry.”

The next day seems to drag on like no other. I’m completely exhausted when I wake up the next morning, even though I got at least eight hours of sleep. Who knows how much actual sleep I got, though, because since I’ve been getting further along in my pregnancy, it seems like Little Bean has been keeping me awake more often than not. Either way, I’ve got bags under my eyes and an aching back when I go into work, and everyone can tell that I’m not feeling so hot because one of the more senior nurses offers to do half of my rounds for me. When I try to protest, she reminds me that I’m only a few weeks away from having a baby, and I have no reason to put undo stress on myself. I feel like that’s a load of bullshit, but I let her do what she wants, grateful for the little bit of a break. 

By the time I get a break for lunch, I’m ready for the longest nap of my life and my back hurts like I’ve never experienced before. I can’t even get comfortable sitting down, and I’m pretty miserable while I eat the lunch I packed myself in the staff lounge. I want nothing more than to get a massage and lay down in bed for a few hours, but I’ve still got five hours on my shift and two of them will be spent assisting a doctor on an endoscopy and a lumbar puncture for an eight year old. Not exactly by idea of a good time, at the moment. 

“How much longer you got left, little mama?” one of our senior nurses, Joy asks me. Joy is a rather lovely, eccentric Southern woman who likes to bake us treats just as much as she likes to talk shit about people in the hospital. She’s like everything I’ve ever wanted in an aunt, but both of my parents only have brothers, so I’ve adopted her to fill the role. She’s in her mid-forties and she’s been very invested in my pregnancy ever since she found out about it. She had even offered to fly over to England and “straighten out the Styles boy” for me when she put two and two together about who the father was, long before Harry popped back into my life. She has three daughters, all a few years younger than me who keep up with social media and the lives of celebrities, so she knew all the hot gossip about my life when I arrived at the hospital.

“About five more weeks,” I sigh, rubbing over my distended belly lovingly. Waverly has been particularly active today, kicking me and pushing on my bladder whenever she sees fit. I’ve gone to the loo more times than I can count in the last few hours, and it’s getting a bit annoying. 

“Heard you put in for your maternity leave yesterday,” she says, taking the seat next to me. She rubs her own hand over my belly after I nod for her to go ahead. Waverly kicks at the sensation, and Joy’s face lights up like she’s just won the lottery. 

“Yeah. I’m exhausted all the time. I don’t think I can do this for much longer with a watermelon attached to my front.”

“Well, Baby Bennett will be worth all the trouble in the end,” she assures with a kind smile.

“Baby Styles,” I correct automatically. 

Joy raises her eyebrows in surprise, and I remember too late that I haven’t updated her on the goings-on of my life recently.

“Harry’s an active part of this now,” I tell her. “We’re actually dating each other, too.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” she asks tentatively.

I chuckle. “Yeah, I love him. He was proper freaked out when he found out, but he’s been a good father-to-be recently.” Except for the recent run-in with a certain Jenner woman, I add in my head. “And we’ve decided to name her Waverly.”

Joy’s smile is back. “Well, congratulations. And that is such a cute name,” she coos. “You’re gonna let us throw you a baby shower, right? Before you leave.”

“I feel like there would be a threat to bodily harm if I didn’t let you give me a baby shower,” I joke.

“Never!” she protests. “At least, not while you’re carrying precious cargo.” Her wink at me has me laughing and Joy giggling.

At the same time, there’s an alarm sounding through the floor and a mechanic voice announcing a Code Blue. Both our faces drop, instantly in nurse mode. I move to get up, but Joy places a hand on my shoulder to keep me in the chair.

“You’re not getting up on a bed to do compressions. You sit this one out, Micky.”

I relax back into the chair with a huff, a little upset that I can’t be the one to help a patient in need, but I realize that she’s right. She sends me a small smile over her shoulder as she jogs her way to the room where the code’s being called. Luckily, it’s not one of my patients, but it’s still heartbreaking to know one of these kids is having such a rough time.

It feels later than usual when I stumble into my flat after work, Trevor already sat at our kitchen table, something cooking on the stove. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask, kicking off my shoes. I hadn’t even bothered to change out of my scrubs at the end of my shift, just really wanting to get home. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating the end of your last midterm before spring break?”

He shakes his head, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Nah, I’d rather have a low-key night with you. Think we could use a good dinner and a movie night. I was thinking eighties rom-coms.”

“As long as Can’t Buy Me Love is thrown in there, I’m all for it,” I nod, a small smile slipping on my lips. 

“Already sitting in the DVD player,” he confirms, a wide smile on his face. “Go shower and get comfy. I’m gonna finish up dinner.”

“You’re the best, Trev,” I tell him, dropping a kiss to his cheek before heading off down the hallway to wash off the hospital. 

When I get back from my room, having showered and pulled on a pair of sleep shorts with one of Harry’s button downs that I conveniently left his house with, I’m greeted by the wonderful smell of the pasta Trev’s made. It makes my mouth water, and my stomach gives an indignant growl at having not been fed in several hours. 

Trev must hear it, because he chuckles as he rounds the corner with two bowls of pasta, the red sauce looking absolutely amazing and the sausage bits added on top smelling delicious. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” I admit, taking a seat at the table. Trev walks back to the kitchen after setting down our food and returns a few moments later with glasses of sweet tea. I wasn’t too fond of the drink when I first came to America, but it’s grown on me, just like plain English breakfast tea has grown on Trev since we’ve been friends. 

We talk about how work’s going for me, and Trev tells me about his plans for his spring break. He hasn’t got anything crazy planned, like a trip to Mexico or anything, but he pretty much begs me to go to the beach with him on my day off so that we can have one more fun outing before the baby is born. I agree only after he guilts me into it, claiming we don’t spend any time together anymore. I really don’t want to get into a bathing suit while I’m eight months pregnant, but he promises me that I still look hot, so agree with a roll of my eyes. 

About halfway through eating, I remember that I never got around to taking Harry’s number off Do Not Disturb, and I curse quite loudly, pulling my phone out of my pocket and changing the setting. Trev looks on, amused, as my phone buzzes for nearly a minute straight with all the notifications I’ve gotten. I ignore the ones from the day before, since I talked to him last night, and I just focus on the ones from today. There’s a few from the morning, wishing me a good day at work and letting me know he loves me. I swoon a little, but press myself on, quickly reading through the rest of them. 

They get increasingly more sad as I read on, Harry’s desperation to talk to me about what happened extremely obvious. I feel sort of bad about not speaking to him for nearly two whole days. I know he must feel like shit about what happened, and I’m not helping matter by refusing to have a conversation with him. The last message I received was sent only a few minutes before, and he sounds a bit resigned, letting me know that he understands my reluctance and is sorry for what happened. He expresses his wish to talk to me and bids me a goodnight. 

His pain stabs me in the heart, and I rush to send him a text in response.

I’m sorry, I wasn’t getting your messages today. We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise. Come meet me at the hospital for lunch?

His reply is almost instantaneous.

Of course. Let me know when you’re free. Love you xx

Love you too, H. Goodnight xx

I can’t sleep that night. My back hurts so bad and I can’t get comfortable in any position. I fall asleep for a few hours just after three in the morning, but I’m wide awake by six, even though I feel absolutely exhausted. I’ve got to get into work, though, so I just take it in stride and get up to take a shower. I’d really love a few cups of coffee right about now, but that’s not a possibility for me right now.  

Trevor is still blissfully asleep by the time I leave for work. I leave him a note to tell him I’m taking his car to work, since there’s no way in hell I’m walking with how badly my back hurts. I make it there okay, but as soon as I walk onto the floor, everyone can tell I’m a little worse for wear. Joy offers to do my rounds so that I can put my feet up, but I won’t have it. I’m still plenty capable of doing my job for right now, so I trudge on, meeting with all my patients and making sure everyone’s been good throughout the night. 

Joy brings me an herbal tea after I’ve finished rounds and I’m charting at the nurse’s station. I thank her as she sits with me.

“You feeling okay, little mama?” Her brow is furrowed in concern and her lips are pressed into a tense line. 

“My back is killing me,” I admit. “I slept for about three hours last night, so I’m also exhausted.”

“You should’ve just stayed home, Micky,” she scolds.

I shrug. “I’m a nurse. My patients come before my comfort.”

“That’s only true when you’re not growing another little person inside of you. She comes first.”

“She’s fine,” I brush off, pressing my hand to where she’s kicking against my side. “She slept peacefully while I was awake all last night.”

Joy shoots me a skeptical look but relents. “Fine. Don’t hesitate to page me if you need anything, though.”

I give her a mock salute and she rolls her eyes at me with a chuckle before she leaves. 

By the time noon comes around, I’m feeling worse for wear. I’ve been on my feet since charting a few hours previously, and I finally take a seat when I get a text from Harry, letting me know he’s arrived. He’s just getting in the lift when he texts me, so I take the opportunity to relax and let the charge nurse on duty know that I’m heading out for lunch. It’s been a relatively slow day in the ward, so I’m not urgently needed, and she agrees, making sure I know to be back within an hour, unless I’m paged.

I’m looking through my emails when the lift dings, indicating a car has just arrived. I look up to see Harry emerge once the doors open, looking a bit tired and rumpled. His hair is a bit of a mess where it’s pulled back into a bun, some pieces falling out , his curls a bit frizzy. He’s wearing just a plain grey t-shirt and his black jeans today, sunnies perched on his head. When he sees me, he lifts his lips into a soft smile, obviously hesitant. I don’t know what expression I’m giving him, but I’m sure he’s assuming that I’m still a bit upset with him. He’d be correct. 

“Hi, princess,” he greets, walking around the counter to get closer to me. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head, gently cradling the back of my neck as he does so. I’m a little put out by the lack of kiss to my lips, but I can sense his apprehension. 

“Hi, H. You alright? You look a little tired.” 

He sighs as he sits down in the chair next to me. “Haven’t been sleeping well,” he admits. 

“Me neither,” I tell him. 

“I’d suggest a Starbucks run along with lunch, but you can’t really do caffeine.”

It’s my turn to sigh. “I know. I was pissed about it enough this morning as I was getting ready for work.”

“Well, there’s this little cafe ‘round the corner from here. Serve really good tea and sandwiches. Know the owners.”

“Of course you do,” I chuckle. “Let’s go, then. I’m starving.”

Harry pushes himself up from the chair he’s in, a hand on my elbow to help me stand. As soon as I’m upright, my vision starts to fade into black splotches and I feel my pulse rush in my ears. Everything fades around me, and the last thing I hear is Harry calling my name, sounding frantic.

THIRTY-NINE

[dustingrayves]

boy ive been tagged by @skia-visuals, @soymilkheaven AND @amarietie!! hmmmmmm lets see then! ill include some unposted stuff and wips too, to keep it Actually last 15!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 15 stories. See if there are any patters. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

> 1: dulcet

The evenings at the lab slash house were always quiet; someone would be catching up on sleep, or outside running errands or searching for that one goddess-damned things they’re missing for their newest creation. Or they’d just be in the kitchen, absentmindedly stirring a mug of cocoa, just like right now.

> 2: natans

With the sun high in the sky and a breeze, any place could be transformed into a tranquil hideout. However, it seems to have less to do with the unobscured sun or fluttering trees, and more with the company.

Though, Sorey would be lying if he said the sound of softly flowing water and chirping birds all around didn’t help the atmosphere.

> 3: [untitled], next part of the seawards au

The ocean’s pull is unpredictable; one second the waves are calm and almost soothing, and the very next one they could be bringing a calamity, the earth’s wrath in the form of a devastating storm. But for now, it’s calm.

It’s calm when Sorey looks around, eyes skimming the shimmering surface where the sun reflects just right.

And it’s still calm when he blinks and turns to his companion, a wide grin now stretching his lips and a glimmer to his eyes, making them look just like the ever-moving water.

> 4: [untitled], tyrant king au

“We can’t raise taxes anymore, your majesty, not unless you want to face kingdom-wide rebellion and an uprising.”

The king, seated on his golden throne, taps his fingers against an armrest and huffs. “Why do you always go against everything I say?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at his advisor, who folds his scroll back up, tucking it into a fold of his long, flowing robes.

“I’m sure you haven’t forgotten my position,” the white-haired man says, as exasperated as he can. “And, frankly, all you majesty’s recent ideas were bad.”

> 5: consolo, vestimentum mea

“Hey,” comes a soft voice from the doorway.

Lusa twists from his table and mess of parts to see Esper’s portal glowing where the door should be. He’s about to make a remark about him finally taking Lusa’s requests to use doors like normal human beings to heart, but he notices the deep circles under the time traveler’s eyes (not unusual on their own, but they look a little too dark now) and his current paler-than-a-wall complexion. “Hey,” he breathes instead.

> 6: oasis

The beating sun stays in the sky for longer here than anywhere else, it feels like. Or maybe it’s just the lack of shadows that makes it feel so; the last tree they stopped under to give their hot skin a little reprieve almost wasn’t big enough, and that was while all the Seraphim were gone.

No one is quite sure of the time, though Edna does grumble that they’d been running around all day, and frankly, they’d all be much, much happier if they could get out of this hotland and back somewhere cool and shaded. Preferably an inn. And preferably right now.

> 7: auxilium

The familiar door stands before him, and yet Mikleo can’t force himself to reach out, to push it open and step inside.

Grass shuffles beneath his sole as he drags it over the breeze-fluttering greenery; his fingers tug at the leather gloves of the other hand. His heart is stuck in his throat, like a lump that refuses to leave, no matter how many times he swallows around it.

> 8: tonsus

Slow, practiced movements.

Sorey’s eyes follow them, the soft lengths of Mikleo’s fingers running through white tresses, parting and holding and weaving them together into an easy braid. It’s immaculous, almost without stray hairs, so utterly pretty and perfect and infuriating—

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” he finds himself uttering.

> 9: coeo

The castle towers tall, stone so cold he can feel it even standing paces away. Head craned back, he looks up, watching the contrast of the dark walls against the pale yellows and pinks of the setting sun.

And then he decides he had stalled enough. His feet disobey only momentarily, and then he’s pushing the main entrance open, a heavy wooden door thrice his height.

> 10:  praegressus

“You have ice cream on your lip,” Sorey points out, actually pointing at the Seraph with his (equally messy) finger.

“Oh— Lemme get a—” Mikleo reaches over to grab a handkerchief but Sorey is faster, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Mikleo’s. His tongue peeks out and swipes over the soft lips, licking the few stray droplets of the matcha cream clean before pulling away.

> 11:  clean slate 7

Lusa had thought Esper would be uncomfortable, but much to his surprise (and elation), he isn’t. Then again, he hadn’t been that uncomfortable around Knight or Arme.

At least the second time around.

Esper had taken to cooking lunch for them all, the biggest pot sitting on the stove, filled with rice. A saucepan rests next to it, thick sauce with pieces of meat slowly cooling down from its boiling point. The scent permeates the whole house; it had lulled Arc downstairs from where he’d been preparing his room for the other boys.

> 12: abet

He’s embarrassed, feeling all the blood that had rushed up to his face, but he’d already been cooped up inside the bathroom for too long, and the fact that Sorey is still silent while waiting doesn’t really say much more about his patience than his determination to go along with this. Really. Mikleo is only doing this because it’s him. He’d’ve declined without a second thought if it were anybody else.

Then again, there never would be anyone else.

> 13: flosum osculis

Like a waterfall, like a tidal wave of sea foam; white hair falls over Mikleo’s shoulders as soon as it’s out of its tie. Just as soft as it looks, and glimmering in the setting sun’s rays.

Sorey takes a moment to simply run his fingers through the curling locks, carding gently. Mikleo hums and leans backwards, into the touch, so Sorey keeps at it, softly tugging at the hair and parting it between his fingers, watching in fascination as it bounces when let go of.

> 14: quia

There’s blood thumping in his ears, and he almost misses the warehouse door creaking open. Light footsteps advance towards him, but he only snaps back to himself when a hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

“You did quite the number on him,” the man says, the low lilt of his voice dragging through Esper’s mind like the knife he grips in his tense fingers.

“Has it already been ten minutes?”

> 15: amicable

The seaweed digs into his back, unpliant underneath him as he’s pushed further into the nest. A grin plays on his lips, and he thinks he could stay like this forever.

Mikleo nuzzles into his neck again, scratching the sensitive skin with his fin and gills, and then soothing it with the softness of his hair right after. His lips press a line of soft kisses all over, just the faintest traces of teeth inbetween them.

hmmm i do notice a pattern! it seems i like to start with a description of some sort most of the time! and i know exactly why, too. i used to do a lot of writing bare bones and ive always wanted to do those poetic descriptions of places and people and idk i like to practice! also that most of these are fluffy mmmm love me that sweet sweet softness

theres not enough people left who havent been tagged that i keep up with so ill just go with @rainsonata (｡´ ‿｀♡)

[josephkitchen0]

A Beginner’s Guide to Keeping Ducks in Suburbia

Ducks can be charming companions in suburban backyards. As someone who never raised so much as a parakeet on her own, the idea that I could look out the window and watch our five full-grown, food-producing, bug-eating, fertilizer-creating waterfowl would have been pure fantasy only two years ago. Actually, it was a fantasy — a dream of my young daughter’s and mine when we moved to comparatively yard-rich Westchester County, New York from the land of tiny lawns, Westside Los Angeles. Like many urban and suburban families, we saw the cute pictures of folks with their A-frame chicken coops and their adorable backyard chickens and said, “That’s what we want!” My husband thought we were flat-out nuts but he loves fresh food and so humored us when we presented my latest eat-local scheme. (I mean, eat really local scheme.) Then, on our way to chicken ownership, we fell in love with another species altogether and decided to start keeping ducks.

Why Start Keeping Ducks?

I’m not sure that Groucho ever gave Chico a satisfactory answer but when people ask me, I give it to them straight: Why not a duck? Nothing against chickens — I like chickens, my mom kept chickens, I eat chickens — but in our particular case, ducks made more sense. As beginning poultry owners, we wanted the easiest option and our research kept suggested we start keeping ducks. Ducks are less prone to disease, more weather-hardy and easy(ish) to herd. The male is actually quieter than the female so if you want a mixed gender flock, you won’t have the same no-rooster issues that you might have with chickens. Now, please note, this means the female is louder, so if you’re in this for the duck eggs, keep that in mind. Certain duck breeds are noisier than others and, of course, more ducks make more quacks so factor that in as well.

Ducks are Delightful!

Download your FREE Guide to learn how ducks can make a perfect addition to your backyard flock. YES! I want this Free Report »

Cayugas make little noise, good for suburban living. Ask your hatchery about their birds’ temperaments before you place your order.

Why Keeping Ducks & Suburbia Go Together

Even though I didn’t know this when we started, I’m sort of amazed at how simpatico the duck is to our cul-de-sac residing, SUV-driving lifestyle. For one thing, ducks are more like feathered dogs than you might imagine. They listen, they learn, they let you direct them where they need to go. Even at barely eight-weeks-old, our teenaged ducks figured out how to leave their temporary home in the garage then waddle across the driveway to the backyard play area. We showed them once and the second day, with very little motivation, they managed it on their own, without scattering or hiding. Try that with five cats!

Getting them out of the pen is easy, you might say, and that’s true — breakfast is a great motivator — especially for me! But even though we sometimes have to pick up a straggler, most nights, bedtime is also straightforward. Often our group even put themselves to bed—it’s hard work foraging among the hydrangeas all day and they can’t always wait for me to finish the dishes.

In practical terms, this tractability means you can share waterfowl supervision with others. Even my husband, a life-long cat person, can handle pen-up duty from time to time. Some folks strike deals with their neighbors, swapping duck eggs for duck-sitting. For those longer-term situations, however, i.e. vacation, I prefer to get professional pet-sitters who come twice a day while we’re gone. “Easier than dogs,” one of our regular caregivers pronounced after his initial stint. And dogs can’t give you breakfast!

10-year-old Pamela Rosenburgh, hanging with Puff, a Buff Orpington drake.

How Many Ducks is Just Enough? 

Ducks love company. A minimum of two—ducks seem to be happier in groups. Also, if you’re having ducklings shipped to you, most companies won’t send fewer than two or three. Ducks need adequate space. On the Cornell Duck Research Lab’s website, William F. Dean, Ph.D., and Tirath S. Sandhu, DVM, Ph.D. write that laying ducks need 3.02 square feet of floor space per duck. Holderread’s guide describes a “triplex duck run” consisting of secure sleep area and covered outdoor space within a fenced, grassy yard of at least 50 square feet per bird.How Many Eggs Do You Want?Some breeds can produce several hundred eggs per year. Multiply that by each female to determine your possible output—you may have way more than you need (or want.) Remember, however, that although domestic ducks can live 7+ years, productivity peaks then declines over time. Also, sexing ducks is not 100% accurate—you might get an eggless drake (or even two! That would be us.) What’s your plan if you get Donald instead of Daisy?

Laying the Groundwork for Keeping Ducks

Before your first duck lays her first egg, though, it’s a good idea to do a little nest prep of your own. Probably the single most important item of research is making sure your local laws permit keeping ducks and if they do, what are the parameters (how many birds, how big a property, etc.). On one hand, living on the edge of a city might mean you have enough space to raise a duck or two in a healthy and wholesome manner. On the other hand, even if you have the room, your town might prefer swing sets to barnyards.

In the other good news/possibly bad news department, you might well consider soil testing before you order your birds. Many suburban lawns would in no way qualify for organic status and, for all their pretty greenness, were neither zoned nor built for food production. If your ducks are roaming, digging, eating and drinking from the products of your yard, they are ingesting whatever nutrients and less-nutritious elements may be found there. It pays to know in advance whether you’ll be able to enjoy the daily egg bounty or whether that dream will be, er, scrambled.

Last, but certainly not least, it’s a great idea to acquaint your neighbors with the news of your plans of keeping ducks before the hatchlings show up at the post office. Although you’re not starting a rooster factory (I hope), you’ll find when keeping ducks that they do make some noise from time to time. For instance, they might feel moved to send out a powerful quack when you show up in the morning with a bowl of kibble. The girls will be happy to see you at 7:00 a.m. but the fellow next door might not feel the same.

On a similar note, good fences make good poultry neighbors, especially in the ‘burbs. At our house, we went through the laborious but necessary process of surveying, permitting and installing a deer fence months before our ducks put one webbed foot on the lawn. Now, though, we can rest assured that our ducks won’t wander and friendly dogs can’t conduct unscheduled visits. Better for both sides of the fence.

The final fortified set-up in the garage—kiddie pool, poultry fencing, brooder lamp with crumble feeder and water dispenser on raised platforms.

Just Add Ducklings

Once you’ve determined that keeping ducks will work for you, time to figure out where to put ’em. If you’ve got a typical suburban set-up with attached garage, you already have the perfect housing. Actually, the more attached the better because it’s important to stay in tune with the hatchlings’ needs and the closer, the easier. Although, I’d draw the line at the guest bedroom, please.

In our garage, we began with the typical starter kit—a cardboard pen with brooder lamp and stand— but our birds quickly outgrew those tight quarters. We started raising ducklings with their food and water into a large kiddie pool frequently re-stocked with clean bedding. And I do mean “frequently.” Because as any duck person will tell you, waterfowl are messy creatures, their big floppy feet tailor-made for toppling bowls of crumble. They also produce wondrous amounts of wet poop. And five ducks, I have to admit, make an awful lot of poop. Something to think about, by the way, when calculating your property’s total waterfowl capacity.

In addition to supplemental heat, baby ducks need constant access to clean water. The tricky part is that in the early weeks, you can’t use too big a bowl as they may fall in and not be able to get out unassisted. They are waterfowl but before their adult plumage comes in, ducks can get chilled or even drown if not monitored. We used age-appropriate waterers but these had to be refilled frequently, especially since the rambunctious ducklings often knocked them over. This means—and parents of all ages will recall these days—you can’t leave the little ones alone for long stretches of daytime. For suburbanites whose primary occupation is not animal husbandry, a plan for this aspect of duck-minding will be necessary.

The five hatchlings in their starter pen.

Making Your Backyard Duck-Friendly

Even though you have about two months from hatch to outside living, it’s wise to have your ducks’ adult needs in mind from the get-go. Basically, it comes down to this: Where are they going to sleep? And what I mean by that is, where can they sleep where they won’t end up as duck dinner? Many homeowners already know about the relentless cunning raccoons employ to get into trash cans but the outcomes could be much worse when they’re after your Pekin ducks and Cayuga ducks. Do not underestimate their ability to get through fencing and undo latches! Furthermore, in your part of the country, other varmints may come take a look. Do some research and secure accordingly.

When we entered the poultry housing market in early 2012, there didn’t seem to be any duck-specific coop options for sale in the U.S. (There were a few British models but think of the shipping costs!) Most of what I found on this side of the pond was more suitable for raising chickens than keeping ducks and different fowl have different habits. Ducks, for example, don’t use chicken roosting bars, won’t necessarily fit into a small coop and can’t use those nifty nest boxes built for hens. In the end, we purchased the stylish and easy-cleaning Yolk System but as the weather warmed up, decided that the coop itself would be too cramped and hot for overnight duck use. Instead, we took advantage of the extra-long pen and, with some reinforcing of the wire enclosure, used it exclusively for sleeping quarters. The plan now is to try keeping ducks in the coop this winter but we’re still not perfectly sure if it’ll be too small (or just right) for frigid conditions. We also don’t know if the ducks will be able to navigate a chicken-friendly ramp or whether we’ll have to “assist” them. In a nor’easter, of course, they might not mind a little help.

If you don’t want to jury-rig chicken housing, you can plan on keeping ducks in a general-use structure such as a shed or even build something custom. Just remember that cleaning is a huge part of owning duck real estate. We like an outdoor pen option because it drains easily onto the lawn and can be hosed or scrubbed down as needed. Our set-up does need to be lugged around every few days to avoid creating mud bogs and it is a bit awkward getting to the eggs if the ducks won’t cooperate by laying them near a door but so far it’s a reasonable trade-off. This year, we’re also going to experiment with a deep litter system, parking it for the season once the lawn dies back. One of our neighbors pens her birds this way and then turns the fertilized space into a garden plot in the spring.

Ducks in the Mist: Afternoon lettuce snacks kept up the ducks spirits when the heat and humidity wore everyone down this past summer.

To Pond or Not to Pond

Almost everyone who finds out we have ducks asks us the same thing, do you have a pond? Our answer is, well, no. Pools not ponds are more common in suburban areas and at this point, we’re not interested in the cost and maintenance of either. Still, it’s a reasonable question. In Storey’s Guide to Raising Ducks, Dave Holderread says “ducks can be raised successfully without water for swimming.” Nonetheless, ducks are waterfowl and still need plenty of water for drinking, bathing and playing. In our backyard, we use a couple of different sources—an automatic waterer, a sheep dip for daily baths and an oversized kiddie pool for the occasional swim treat. We drain all of these overnight to avoid encouraging mosquitoes. Not that they need much encouragement.

We also invested in a few extra-long hoses of varying sizes and made sure they were rated for drinking water—like those used for boating. And, in case you’re wondering, our water bill did go up this summer but not as much as my husband feared. In all fairness, the extreme heat didn’t help but neither did our 10-year-old’s extravagant efforts to keep the ducks happy in muggy weather.

A duck will lay an egg any old place, on the deck this time.

Do You Really Need All That Lawn?

Of course, one of the hallmarks of suburban living is the manicured lawn. Perfect for keeping ducks, right? They roam around, dining on unwanted bugs, looking all decorative and peaceful. Um, sort of. The thing about ducks I didn’t know before keeping ducks is they like to play in mud. OK, right, they’re waterfowl but give them some dirt with that H20 and suddenly, they’re in hog heaven, so to speak. Even on their maiden voyage outdoors, the moment some water splashed from a dish, the ducklings dug holes in that thatch faster than a jackhammer (but, luckily, much quieter!)

Which, however, does not bode well if you’re hoping to retain that manicured lawn. Or, at least not in the same place where your ducks wander. The solution, once again, is fencing. Creating zones where you allow yourself the pleasure of grass cultivation (mowing and weeding, oh joy!) and others where you just accept that there will be less than pristine green space. Or space that is not even green at all, alas!

At our house, we’re in the process of converting the backyard in a scheme I call “anything but lawn.” For instance, we maintain ornamental plantings around the borders, including lots of shrubs where the ducks can hunker down in the hottest weather. We also installed a giant sunflower maze for our daughter and the ducks to play in and (for the ducks) to take shelter. In addition, we have two raised beds for corn as well as a pumpkin patch that, by the end of summer, takes over a huge chunk of grass. We hope to add even more features next year because, let’s face it, the less lawn you have, the less you have to mow!

Whatever you decide to do, you will need to maintain the groundcover (clover counts, right?) because you don’t want those aforementioned mud holes. Sometimes, though, I can’t get around to moving the pen fast enough so I have to mulch the bare spots and avoid those areas for a while. Well, so much for “best-laid plans.” Duck shoes, obviously, are in order.

Atten-shun! Ducks do pretty much everything together.

Home on the Free Range

And speaking of fences (again), have you thought about the effects of keeping ducks (or chickens for that matter but ducks have bigger feet) on your plants, ornamental or vegetable? It’s fine at the end of the season when they can nose through the post-harvest detritus but ducks love those sweet leaves of plant youth like nobody’s business. We learned straight off that if we wanted our corn, pumpkin, and sunflowers to make it to adulthood, we needed to get our plastic poultry fence up as soon as possible. Once secured, we let the birds noodle around the perimeter in hopes they would keep the slugs and other pests in check. We still got some bugs on the cornstalks but not too many. With a no-spray, duck-only deterrent, I actually think we did rather well.

With flowerbeds, it’s a different issue. Covering the sedum with bird mesh and caging the ferns may be effective but it sure defeats the prettifying purpose! Again, it helps to look at this as duck-allowed vs. duck-protected areas. And remember, if there’s no barricade, the ducks will come by and check stuff out. They have absolutely no sense of personal space—yours, that is. I guess it never occurred to me that our ducks would like to come up on the deck and peek into the French doors just to say hey. (Or ask for a snack.) The duck, as it turns out, is a curious bird. So without further impediment, our group goes wherever it likes—around the patio, on the deck, under the deck, along the fences, in the flowerbeds, up by the composter. This is wonderful for two reasons—one, if the weather shifts and you’re not around, you don’t have to worry that they are cooped up (literally) in uncomfortable conditions—they can seek shelter in the rhododendrons or wherever they like. Two, it’s distinctly pleasurable to walk outside and have your ducks waddle out with a quackish greeting or to glance out a window and see them moving around, busy and content. In fact, I find it truly restful just watching them go about their ducky business.

Which, come to think of it, is a perfectly good reason to start keeping ducks.

Further Reading on Keeping Ducks

For more detailed information on predator protection, housing, feeding and much more, I recommend starting with the comprehensive and newly revised Storey’s Guide to Raising Ducks by Dave Holderread, Storey Publishing, 2011 edition. Also, Ducks: Tending a Small-Scale Flock for Pleasure and Profit by Cherie Langlois, BowTie Press, 2008; and Carol Deppe offers useful tips in The Resilient Gardener: Food Production and Self-Reliance in Uncertain Times, Chelsea Green Publishing, 2010.

Photos and text ©2012 by Lori Fontanes

Newbie poultry enthusiast Lori Fontanes blogs about converting her suburban lawn into a backyard homestead.

Originally published in Backyard Poultry December 2012 / January 2013

Which Duck Breeds Are Best in Suburbia?

A response from duck expert Dave Holderread

After 50 years of keeping ducks, I’ve come to the realization that there is no “best breed” or “best breed for any given situation.” Why? Here are some of the reasons. Every micro-climate, every micro-environment is slightly different, and each strain and individual may respond slightly differently in any given situation. In fact, different strains of a breed may be as different in their response as different breeds are. Furthermore, the personality and temperament of the people who are in contact with the birds can have a profound effect on how they thrive in any given situation. In addition to the variations in temperament, etc. of people, their purposes for keeping ducks can vary widely: some people are primarily interested in meat birds, some in egg production, some for pest control, and some simply for the pleasure of watching duck antics.

So, then, there is no simple answer. Generally, my recommendation when someone asks me, “what is best…?” is that the best way to find out what works well in any situation is for people to try a variety of breeds and discover what works best for them. That said, if the primary purpose is for a larger meat bird, Muscovy, Saxony and Silver Appleyard ducks are some of my favorites. If egg production is the primary purpose, my favorite breeds include: Harlequin, Campbell, Hook Bill, Magpie, Ancona and some strains of Runners. If pest control (slugs, snails, mosquito larva, etc.) is the primary purpose, Runners, Harlequin, Hook Bill, Mini Silver Appleyard and Australian Spotted are my favorites.

A Beginner’s Guide to Keeping Ducks in Suburbia was originally posted by All About Chickens

[josephkitchen0]

A Beginner’s Guide to Keeping Ducks in Suburbia

Ducks can be charming companions in suburban backyards. As someone who never raised so much as a parakeet on her own, the idea that I could look out the window and watch our five full-grown, food-producing, bug-eating, fertilizer-creating waterfowl would have been pure fantasy only two years ago. Actually, it was a fantasy — a dream of my young daughter’s and mine when we moved to comparatively yard-rich Westchester County, New York from the land of tiny lawns, Westside Los Angeles. Like many urban and suburban families, we saw the cute pictures of folks with their A-frame chicken coops and their adorable backyard chickens and said, “That’s what we want!” My husband thought we were flat-out nuts but he loves fresh food and so humored us when we presented my latest eat-local scheme. (I mean, eat really local scheme.) Then, on our way to chicken ownership, we fell in love with another species altogether and decided to start keeping ducks.

Why Start Keeping Ducks?

I’m not sure that Groucho ever gave Chico a satisfactory answer but when people ask me, I give it to them straight: Why not a duck? Nothing against chickens — I like chickens, my mom kept chickens, I eat chickens — but in our particular case, ducks made more sense. As beginning poultry owners, we wanted the easiest option and our research kept suggested we start keeping ducks. Ducks are less prone to disease, more weather-hardy and easy(ish) to herd. The male is actually quieter than the female so if you want a mixed gender flock, you won’t have the same no-rooster issues that you might have with chickens. Now, please note, this means the female is louder, so if you’re in this for the duck eggs, keep that in mind. Certain duck breeds are noisier than others and, of course, more ducks make more quacks so factor that in as well.

Ducks are Delightful!

Download your FREE Guide to learn how ducks can make a perfect addition to your backyard flock. YES! I want this Free Report »

Cayugas make little noise, good for suburban living. Ask your hatchery about their birds’ temperaments before you place your order.

Why Keeping Ducks & Suburbia Go Together

Even though I didn’t know this when we started, I’m sort of amazed at how simpatico the duck is to our cul-de-sac residing, SUV-driving lifestyle. For one thing, ducks are more like feathered dogs than you might imagine. They listen, they learn, they let you direct them where they need to go. Even at barely eight-weeks-old, our teenaged ducks figured out how to leave their temporary home in the garage then waddle across the driveway to the backyard play area. We showed them once and the second day, with very little motivation, they managed it on their own, without scattering or hiding. Try that with five cats!

Getting them out of the pen is easy, you might say, and that’s true — breakfast is a great motivator — especially for me! But even though we sometimes have to pick up a straggler, most nights, bedtime is also straightforward. Often our group even put themselves to bed—it’s hard work foraging among the hydrangeas all day and they can’t always wait for me to finish the dishes.

In practical terms, this tractability means you can share waterfowl supervision with others. Even my husband, a life-long cat person, can handle pen-up duty from time to time. Some folks strike deals with their neighbors, swapping duck eggs for duck-sitting. For those longer-term situations, however, i.e. vacation, I prefer to get professional pet-sitters who come twice a day while we’re gone. “Easier than dogs,” one of our regular caregivers pronounced after his initial stint. And dogs can’t give you breakfast!

10-year-old Pamela Rosenburgh, hanging with Puff, a Buff Orpington drake.

How Many Ducks is Just Enough? 

Ducks love company. A minimum of two—ducks seem to be happier in groups. Also, if you’re having ducklings shipped to you, most companies won’t send fewer than two or three. Ducks need adequate space. On the Cornell Duck Research Lab’s website, William F. Dean, Ph.D., and Tirath S. Sandhu, DVM, Ph.D. write that laying ducks need 3.02 square feet of floor space per duck. Holderread’s guide describes a “triplex duck run” consisting of secure sleep area and covered outdoor space within a fenced, grassy yard of at least 50 square feet per bird.How Many Eggs Do You Want?Some breeds can produce several hundred eggs per year. Multiply that by each female to determine your possible output—you may have way more than you need (or want.) Remember, however, that although domestic ducks can live 7+ years, productivity peaks then declines over time. Also, sexing ducks is not 100% accurate—you might get an eggless drake (or even two! That would be us.) What’s your plan if you get Donald instead of Daisy?

Laying the Groundwork for Keeping Ducks

Before your first duck lays her first egg, though, it’s a good idea to do a little nest prep of your own. Probably the single most important item of research is making sure your local laws permit keeping ducks and if they do, what are the parameters (how many birds, how big a property, etc.). On one hand, living on the edge of a city might mean you have enough space to raise a duck or two in a healthy and wholesome manner. On the other hand, even if you have the room, your town might prefer swing sets to barnyards.

In the other good news/possibly bad news department, you might well consider soil testing before you order your birds. Many suburban lawns would in no way qualify for organic status and, for all their pretty greenness, were neither zoned nor built for food production. If your ducks are roaming, digging, eating and drinking from the products of your yard, they are ingesting whatever nutrients and less-nutritious elements may be found there. It pays to know in advance whether you’ll be able to enjoy the daily egg bounty or whether that dream will be, er, scrambled.

Last, but certainly not least, it’s a great idea to acquaint your neighbors with the news of your plans of keeping ducks before the hatchlings show up at the post office. Although you’re not starting a rooster factory (I hope), you’ll find when keeping ducks that they do make some noise from time to time. For instance, they might feel moved to send out a powerful quack when you show up in the morning with a bowl of kibble. The girls will be happy to see you at 7:00 a.m. but the fellow next door might not feel the same.

On a similar note, good fences make good poultry neighbors, especially in the ‘burbs. At our house, we went through the laborious but necessary process of surveying, permitting and installing a deer fence months before our ducks put one webbed foot on the lawn. Now, though, we can rest assured that our ducks won’t wander and friendly dogs can’t conduct unscheduled visits. Better for both sides of the fence.

The final fortified set-up in the garage—kiddie pool, poultry fencing, brooder lamp with crumble feeder and water dispenser on raised platforms.

Just Add Ducklings

Once you’ve determined that keeping ducks will work for you, time to figure out where to put ’em. If you’ve got a typical suburban set-up with attached garage, you already have the perfect housing. Actually, the more attached the better because it’s important to stay in tune with the hatchlings’ needs and the closer, the easier. Although, I’d draw the line at the guest bedroom, please.

In our garage, we began with the typical starter kit—a cardboard pen with brooder lamp and stand— but our birds quickly outgrew those tight quarters. We started raising ducklings with their food and water into a large kiddie pool frequently re-stocked with clean bedding. And I do mean “frequently.” Because as any duck person will tell you, waterfowl are messy creatures, their big floppy feet tailor-made for toppling bowls of crumble. They also produce wondrous amounts of wet poop. And five ducks, I have to admit, make an awful lot of poop. Something to think about, by the way, when calculating your property’s total waterfowl capacity.

In addition to supplemental heat, baby ducks need constant access to clean water. The tricky part is that in the early weeks, you can’t use too big a bowl as they may fall in and not be able to get out unassisted. They are waterfowl but before their adult plumage comes in, ducks can get chilled or even drown if not monitored. We used age-appropriate waterers but these had to be refilled frequently, especially since the rambunctious ducklings often knocked them over. This means—and parents of all ages will recall these days—you can’t leave the little ones alone for long stretches of daytime. For suburbanites whose primary occupation is not animal husbandry, a plan for this aspect of duck-minding will be necessary.

The five hatchlings in their starter pen.

Making Your Backyard Duck-Friendly

Even though you have about two months from hatch to outside living, it’s wise to have your ducks’ adult needs in mind from the get-go. Basically, it comes down to this: Where are they going to sleep? And what I mean by that is, where can they sleep where they won’t end up as duck dinner? Many homeowners already know about the relentless cunning raccoons employ to get into trash cans but the outcomes could be much worse when they’re after your Pekin ducks and Cayuga ducks. Do not underestimate their ability to get through fencing and undo latches! Furthermore, in your part of the country, other varmints may come take a look. Do some research and secure accordingly.

When we entered the poultry housing market in early 2012, there didn’t seem to be any duck-specific coop options for sale in the U.S. (There were a few British models but think of the shipping costs!) Most of what I found on this side of the pond was more suitable for raising chickens than keeping ducks and different fowl have different habits. Ducks, for example, don’t use chicken roosting bars, won’t necessarily fit into a small coop and can’t use those nifty nest boxes built for hens. In the end, we purchased the stylish and easy-cleaning Yolk System but as the weather warmed up, decided that the coop itself would be too cramped and hot for overnight duck use. Instead, we took advantage of the extra-long pen and, with some reinforcing of the wire enclosure, used it exclusively for sleeping quarters. The plan now is to try keeping ducks in the coop this winter but we’re still not perfectly sure if it’ll be too small (or just right) for frigid conditions. We also don’t know if the ducks will be able to navigate a chicken-friendly ramp or whether we’ll have to “assist” them. In a nor’easter, of course, they might not mind a little help.

If you don’t want to jury-rig chicken housing, you can plan on keeping ducks in a general-use structure such as a shed or even build something custom. Just remember that cleaning is a huge part of owning duck real estate. We like an outdoor pen option because it drains easily onto the lawn and can be hosed or scrubbed down as needed. Our set-up does need to be lugged around every few days to avoid creating mud bogs and it is a bit awkward getting to the eggs if the ducks won’t cooperate by laying them near a door but so far it’s a reasonable trade-off. This year, we’re also going to experiment with a deep litter system, parking it for the season once the lawn dies back. One of our neighbors pens her birds this way and then turns the fertilized space into a garden plot in the spring.

Ducks in the Mist: Afternoon lettuce snacks kept up the ducks spirits when the heat and humidity wore everyone down this past summer.

To Pond or Not to Pond

Almost everyone who finds out we have ducks asks us the same thing, do you have a pond? Our answer is, well, no. Pools not ponds are more common in suburban areas and at this point, we’re not interested in the cost and maintenance of either. Still, it’s a reasonable question. In Storey’s Guide to Raising Ducks, Dave Holderread says “ducks can be raised successfully without water for swimming.” Nonetheless, ducks are waterfowl and still need plenty of water for drinking, bathing and playing. In our backyard, we use a couple of different sources—an automatic waterer, a sheep dip for daily baths and an oversized kiddie pool for the occasional swim treat. We drain all of these overnight to avoid encouraging mosquitoes. Not that they need much encouragement.

We also invested in a few extra-long hoses of varying sizes and made sure they were rated for drinking water—like those used for boating. And, in case you’re wondering, our water bill did go up this summer but not as much as my husband feared. In all fairness, the extreme heat didn’t help but neither did our 10-year-old’s extravagant efforts to keep the ducks happy in muggy weather.

A duck will lay an egg any old place, on the deck this time.

Do You Really Need All That Lawn?

Of course, one of the hallmarks of suburban living is the manicured lawn. Perfect for keeping ducks, right? They roam around, dining on unwanted bugs, looking all decorative and peaceful. Um, sort of. The thing about ducks I didn’t know before keeping ducks is they like to play in mud. OK, right, they’re waterfowl but give them some dirt with that H20 and suddenly, they’re in hog heaven, so to speak. Even on their maiden voyage outdoors, the moment some water splashed from a dish, the ducklings dug holes in that thatch faster than a jackhammer (but, luckily, much quieter!)

Which, however, does not bode well if you’re hoping to retain that manicured lawn. Or, at least not in the same place where your ducks wander. The solution, once again, is fencing. Creating zones where you allow yourself the pleasure of grass cultivation (mowing and weeding, oh joy!) and others where you just accept that there will be less than pristine green space. Or space that is not even green at all, alas!

At our house, we’re in the process of converting the backyard in a scheme I call “anything but lawn.” For instance, we maintain ornamental plantings around the borders, including lots of shrubs where the ducks can hunker down in the hottest weather. We also installed a giant sunflower maze for our daughter and the ducks to play in and (for the ducks) to take shelter. In addition, we have two raised beds for corn as well as a pumpkin patch that, by the end of summer, takes over a huge chunk of grass. We hope to add even more features next year because, let’s face it, the less lawn you have, the less you have to mow!

Whatever you decide to do, you will need to maintain the groundcover (clover counts, right?) because you don’t want those aforementioned mud holes. Sometimes, though, I can’t get around to moving the pen fast enough so I have to mulch the bare spots and avoid those areas for a while. Well, so much for “best-laid plans.” Duck shoes, obviously, are in order.

Atten-shun! Ducks do pretty much everything together.

Home on the Free Range

And speaking of fences (again), have you thought about the effects of keeping ducks (or chickens for that matter but ducks have bigger feet) on your plants, ornamental or vegetable? It’s fine at the end of the season when they can nose through the post-harvest detritus but ducks love those sweet leaves of plant youth like nobody’s business. We learned straight off that if we wanted our corn, pumpkin, and sunflowers to make it to adulthood, we needed to get our plastic poultry fence up as soon as possible. Once secured, we let the birds noodle around the perimeter in hopes they would keep the slugs and other pests in check. We still got some bugs on the cornstalks but not too many. With a no-spray, duck-only deterrent, I actually think we did rather well.

With flowerbeds, it’s a different issue. Covering the sedum with bird mesh and caging the ferns may be effective but it sure defeats the prettifying purpose! Again, it helps to look at this as duck-allowed vs. duck-protected areas. And remember, if there’s no barricade, the ducks will come by and check stuff out. They have absolutely no sense of personal space—yours, that is. I guess it never occurred to me that our ducks would like to come up on the deck and peek into the French doors just to say hey. (Or ask for a snack.) The duck, as it turns out, is a curious bird. So without further impediment, our group goes wherever it likes—around the patio, on the deck, under the deck, along the fences, in the flowerbeds, up by the composter. This is wonderful for two reasons—one, if the weather shifts and you’re not around, you don’t have to worry that they are cooped up (literally) in uncomfortable conditions—they can seek shelter in the rhododendrons or wherever they like. Two, it’s distinctly pleasurable to walk outside and have your ducks waddle out with a quackish greeting or to glance out a window and see them moving around, busy and content. In fact, I find it truly restful just watching them go about their ducky business.

Which, come to think of it, is a perfectly good reason to start keeping ducks.

Further Reading on Keeping Ducks

For more detailed information on predator protection, housing, feeding and much more, I recommend starting with the comprehensive and newly revised Storey’s Guide to Raising Ducks by Dave Holderread, Storey Publishing, 2011 edition. Also, Ducks: Tending a Small-Scale Flock for Pleasure and Profit by Cherie Langlois, BowTie Press, 2008; and Carol Deppe offers useful tips in The Resilient Gardener: Food Production and Self-Reliance in Uncertain Times, Chelsea Green Publishing, 2010.

Photos and text ©2012 by Lori Fontanes

Newbie poultry enthusiast Lori Fontanes blogs about converting her suburban lawn into a backyard homestead.

Originally published in Backyard Poultry December 2012 / January 2013

Which Duck Breeds Are Best in Suburbia?

A response from duck expert Dave Holderread

After 50 years of keeping ducks, I’ve come to the realization that there is no “best breed” or “best breed for any given situation.” Why? Here are some of the reasons. Every micro-climate, every micro-environment is slightly different, and each strain and individual may respond slightly differently in any given situation. In fact, different strains of a breed may be as different in their response as different breeds are. Furthermore, the personality and temperament of the people who are in contact with the birds can have a profound effect on how they thrive in any given situation. In addition to the variations in temperament, etc. of people, their purposes for keeping ducks can vary widely: some people are primarily interested in meat birds, some in egg production, some for pest control, and some simply for the pleasure of watching duck antics.

So, then, there is no simple answer. Generally, my recommendation when someone asks me, “what is best…?” is that the best way to find out what works well in any situation is for people to try a variety of breeds and discover what works best for them. That said, if the primary purpose is for a larger meat bird, Muscovy, Saxony and Silver Appleyard ducks are some of my favorites. If egg production is the primary purpose, my favorite breeds include: Harlequin, Campbell, Hook Bill, Magpie, Ancona and some strains of Runners. If pest control (slugs, snails, mosquito larva, etc.) is the primary purpose, Runners, Harlequin, Hook Bill, Mini Silver Appleyard and Australian Spotted are my favorites.

A Beginner’s Guide to Keeping Ducks in Suburbia was originally posted by All About Chickens

[josephkitchen0]

A Beginner’s Guide to Keeping Ducks in Suburbia

Ducks can be charming companions in suburban backyards. As someone who never raised so much as a parakeet on her own, the idea that I could look out the window and watch our five full-grown, food-producing, bug-eating, fertilizer-creating waterfowl would have been pure fantasy only two years ago. Actually, it was a fantasy — a dream of my young daughter’s and mine when we moved to comparatively yard-rich Westchester County, New York from the land of tiny lawns, Westside Los Angeles. Like many urban and suburban families, we saw the cute pictures of folks with their A-frame chicken coops and their adorable backyard chickens and said, “That’s what we want!” My husband thought we were flat-out nuts but he loves fresh food and so humored us when we presented my latest eat-local scheme. (I mean, eat really local scheme.) Then, on our way to chicken ownership, we fell in love with another species altogether and decided to start keeping ducks.

Why Start Keeping Ducks?

I’m not sure that Groucho ever gave Chico a satisfactory answer but when people ask me, I give it to them straight: Why not a duck? Nothing against chickens — I like chickens, my mom kept chickens, I eat chickens — but in our particular case, ducks made more sense. As beginning poultry owners, we wanted the easiest option and our research kept suggested we start keeping ducks. Ducks are less prone to disease, more weather-hardy and easy(ish) to herd. The male is actually quieter than the female so if you want a mixed gender flock, you won’t have the same no-rooster issues that you might have with chickens. Now, please note, this means the female is louder, so if you’re in this for the duck eggs, keep that in mind. Certain duck breeds are noisier than others and, of course, more ducks make more quacks so factor that in as well.

Ducks are Delightful!

Download your FREE Guide to learn how ducks can make a perfect addition to your backyard flock. YES! I want this Free Report »  

Cayugas make little noise, good for suburban living. Ask your hatchery about their birds’ temperaments before you place your order.

Why Keeping Ducks & Suburbia Go Together

Even though I didn’t know this when we started, I’m sort of amazed at how simpatico the duck is to our cul-de-sac residing, SUV-driving lifestyle. For one thing, ducks are more like feathered dogs than you might imagine. They listen, they learn, they let you direct them where they need to go. Even at barely eight-weeks-old, our teenaged ducks figured out how to leave their temporary home in the garage then waddle across the driveway to the backyard play area. We showed them once and the second day, with very little motivation, they managed it on their own, without scattering or hiding. Try that with five cats!

Getting them out of the pen is easy, you might say, and that’s true — breakfast is a great motivator — especially for me! But even though we sometimes have to pick up a straggler, most nights, bedtime is also straightforward. Often our group even put themselves to bed—it’s hard work foraging among the hydrangeas all day and they can’t always wait for me to finish the dishes.

In practical terms, this tractability means you can share waterfowl supervision with others. Even my husband, a life-long cat person, can handle pen-up duty from time to time. Some folks strike deals with their neighbors, swapping duck eggs for duck-sitting. For those longer-term situations, however, i.e. vacation, I prefer to get professional pet-sitters who come twice a day while we’re gone. “Easier than dogs,” one of our regular caregivers pronounced after his initial stint. And dogs can’t give you breakfast!

10-year-old Pamela Rosenburgh, hanging with Puff, a Buff Orpington drake.

How Many Ducks is Just Enough? 

Ducks love company. A minimum of two—ducks seem to be happier in groups. Also, if you’re having ducklings shipped to you, most companies won’t send fewer than two or three. Ducks need adequate space. On the Cornell Duck Research Lab’s website, William F. Dean, Ph.D., and Tirath S. Sandhu, DVM, Ph.D. write that laying ducks need 3.02 square feet of floor space per duck. Holderread’s guide describes a “triplex duck run” consisting of secure sleep area and covered outdoor space within a fenced, grassy yard of at least 50 square feet per bird.How Many Eggs Do You Want?Some breeds can produce several hundred eggs per year. Multiply that by each female to determine your possible output—you may have way more than you need (or want.) Remember, however, that although domestic ducks can live 7+ years, productivity peaks then declines over time. Also, sexing ducks is not 100% accurate—you might get an eggless drake (or even two! That would be us.) What’s your plan if you get Donald instead of Daisy?

Laying the Groundwork for Keeping Ducks

Before your first duck lays her first egg, though, it’s a good idea to do a little nest prep of your own. Probably the single most important item of research is making sure your local laws permit keeping ducks and if they do, what are the parameters (how many birds, how big a property, etc.). On one hand, living on the edge of a city might mean you have enough space to raise a duck or two in a healthy and wholesome manner. On the other hand, even if you have the room, your town might prefer swing sets to barnyards.

In the other good news/possibly bad news department, you might well consider soil testing before you order your birds. Many suburban lawns would in no way qualify for organic status and, for all their pretty greenness, were neither zoned nor built for food production. If your ducks are roaming, digging, eating and drinking from the products of your yard, they are ingesting whatever nutrients and less-nutritious elements may be found there. It pays to know in advance whether you’ll be able to enjoy the daily egg bounty or whether that dream will be, er, scrambled.

Last, but certainly not least, it’s a great idea to acquaint your neighbors with the news of your plans of keeping ducks before the hatchlings show up at the post office. Although you’re not starting a rooster factory (I hope), you’ll find when keeping ducks that they do make some noise from time to time. For instance, they might feel moved to send out a powerful quack when you show up in the morning with a bowl of kibble. The girls will be happy to see you at 7:00 a.m. but the fellow next door might not feel the same.

On a similar note, good fences make good poultry neighbors, especially in the ‘burbs. At our house, we went through the laborious but necessary process of surveying, permitting and installing a deer fence months before our ducks put one webbed foot on the lawn. Now, though, we can rest assured that our ducks won’t wander and friendly dogs can’t conduct unscheduled visits. Better for both sides of the fence.

The final fortified set-up in the garage—kiddie pool, poultry fencing, brooder lamp with crumble feeder and water dispenser on raised platforms.

Just Add Ducklings

Once you’ve determined that keeping ducks will work for you, time to figure out where to put ’em. If you’ve got a typical suburban set-up with attached garage, you already have the perfect housing. Actually, the more attached the better because it’s important to stay in tune with the hatchlings’ needs and the closer, the easier. Although, I’d draw the line at the guest bedroom, please.

In our garage, we began with the typical starter kit—a cardboard pen with brooder lamp and stand— but our birds quickly outgrew those tight quarters. We started raising ducklings with their food and water into a large kiddie pool frequently re-stocked with clean bedding. And I do mean “frequently.” Because as any duck person will tell you, waterfowl are messy creatures, their big floppy feet tailor-made for toppling bowls of crumble. They also produce wondrous amounts of wet poop. And five ducks, I have to admit, make an awful lot of poop. Something to think about, by the way, when calculating your property’s total waterfowl capacity.

In addition to supplemental heat, baby ducks need constant access to clean water. The tricky part is that in the early weeks, you can’t use too big a bowl as they may fall in and not be able to get out unassisted. They are waterfowl but before their adult plumage comes in, ducks can get chilled or even drown if not monitored. We used age-appropriate waterers but these had to be refilled frequently, especially since the rambunctious ducklings often knocked them over. This means—and parents of all ages will recall these days—you can’t leave the little ones alone for long stretches of daytime. For suburbanites whose primary occupation is not animal husbandry, a plan for this aspect of duck-minding will be necessary.

The five hatchlings in their starter pen.

Making Your Backyard Duck-Friendly

Even though you have about two months from hatch to outside living, it’s wise to have your ducks’ adult needs in mind from the get-go. Basically, it comes down to this: Where are they going to sleep? And what I mean by that is, where can they sleep where they won’t end up as duck dinner? Many homeowners already know about the relentless cunning raccoons employ to get into trash cans but the outcomes could be much worse when they’re after your Pekin ducks and Cayuga ducks. Do not underestimate their ability to get through fencing and undo latches! Furthermore, in your part of the country, other varmints may come take a look. Do some research and secure accordingly.

When we entered the poultry housing market in early 2012, there didn’t seem to be any duck-specific coop options for sale in the U.S. (There were a few British models but think of the shipping costs!) Most of what I found on this side of the pond was more suitable for raising chickens than keeping ducks and different fowl have different habits. Ducks, for example, don’t use chicken roosting bars, won’t necessarily fit into a small coop and can’t use those nifty nest boxes built for hens. In the end, we purchased the stylish and easy-cleaning Yolk System but as the weather warmed up, decided that the coop itself would be too cramped and hot for overnight duck use. Instead, we took advantage of the extra-long pen and, with some reinforcing of the wire enclosure, used it exclusively for sleeping quarters. The plan now is to try keeping ducks in the coop this winter but we’re still not perfectly sure if it’ll be too small (or just right) for frigid conditions. We also don’t know if the ducks will be able to navigate a chicken-friendly ramp or whether we’ll have to “assist” them. In a nor’easter, of course, they might not mind a little help.

If you don’t want to jury-rig chicken housing, you can plan on keeping ducks in a general-use structure such as a shed or even build something custom. Just remember that cleaning is a huge part of owning duck real estate. We like an outdoor pen option because it drains easily onto the lawn and can be hosed or scrubbed down as needed. Our set-up does need to be lugged around every few days to avoid creating mud bogs and it is a bit awkward getting to the eggs if the ducks won’t cooperate by laying them near a door but so far it’s a reasonable trade-off. This year, we’re also going to experiment with a deep litter system, parking it for the season once the lawn dies back. One of our neighbors pens her birds this way and then turns the fertilized space into a garden plot in the spring.

Ducks in the Mist: Afternoon lettuce snacks kept up the ducks spirits when the heat and humidity wore everyone down this past summer.

To Pond or Not to Pond

Almost everyone who finds out we have ducks asks us the same thing, do you have a pond? Our answer is, well, no. Pools not ponds are more common in suburban areas and at this point, we’re not interested in the cost and maintenance of either. Still, it’s a reasonable question. In Storey’s Guide to Raising Ducks, Dave Holderread says “ducks can be raised successfully without water for swimming.” Nonetheless, ducks are waterfowl and still need plenty of water for drinking, bathing and playing. In our backyard, we use a couple of different sources—an automatic waterer, a sheep dip for daily baths and an oversized kiddie pool for the occasional swim treat. We drain all of these overnight to avoid encouraging mosquitoes. Not that they need much encouragement.

We also invested in a few extra-long hoses of varying sizes and made sure they were rated for drinking water—like those used for boating. And, in case you’re wondering, our water bill did go up this summer but not as much as my husband feared. In all fairness, the extreme heat didn’t help but neither did our 10-year-old’s extravagant efforts to keep the ducks happy in muggy weather.

A duck will lay an egg any old place, on the deck this time.

Do You Really Need All That Lawn?

Of course, one of the hallmarks of suburban living is the manicured lawn. Perfect for keeping ducks, right? They roam around, dining on unwanted bugs, looking all decorative and peaceful. Um, sort of. The thing about ducks I didn’t know before keeping ducks is they like to play in mud. OK, right, they’re waterfowl but give them some dirt with that H20 and suddenly, they’re in hog heaven, so to speak. Even on their maiden voyage outdoors, the moment some water splashed from a dish, the ducklings dug holes in that thatch faster than a jackhammer (but, luckily, much quieter!)

Which, however, does not bode well if you’re hoping to retain that manicured lawn. Or, at least not in the same place where your ducks wander. The solution, once again, is fencing. Creating zones where you allow yourself the pleasure of grass cultivation (mowing and weeding, oh joy!) and others where you just accept that there will be less than pristine green space. Or space that is not even green at all, alas!

At our house, we’re in the process of converting the backyard in a scheme I call “anything but lawn.” For instance, we maintain ornamental plantings around the borders, including lots of shrubs where the ducks can hunker down in the hottest weather. We also installed a giant sunflower maze for our daughter and the ducks to play in and (for the ducks) to take shelter. In addition, we have two raised beds for corn as well as a pumpkin patch that, by the end of summer, takes over a huge chunk of grass. We hope to add even more features next year because, let’s face it, the less lawn you have, the less you have to mow!

Whatever you decide to do, you will need to maintain the groundcover (clover counts, right?) because you don’t want those aforementioned mud holes. Sometimes, though, I can’t get around to moving the pen fast enough so I have to mulch the bare spots and avoid those areas for a while. Well, so much for “best-laid plans.” Duck shoes, obviously, are in order.

Atten-shun! Ducks do pretty much everything together.

Home on the Free Range

And speaking of fences (again), have you thought about the effects of keeping ducks (or chickens for that matter but ducks have bigger feet) on your plants, ornamental or vegetable? It’s fine at the end of the season when they can nose through the post-harvest detritus but ducks love those sweet leaves of plant youth like nobody’s business. We learned straight off that if we wanted our corn, pumpkin, and sunflowers to make it to adulthood, we needed to get our plastic poultry fence up as soon as possible. Once secured, we let the birds noodle around the perimeter in hopes they would keep the slugs and other pests in check. We still got some bugs on the cornstalks but not too many. With a no-spray, duck-only deterrent, I actually think we did rather well.

With flowerbeds, it’s a different issue. Covering the sedum with bird mesh and caging the ferns may be effective but it sure defeats the prettifying purpose! Again, it helps to look at this as duck-allowed vs. duck-protected areas. And remember, if there’s no barricade, the ducks will come by and check stuff out. They have absolutely no sense of personal space—yours, that is. I guess it never occurred to me that our ducks would like to come up on the deck and peek into the French doors just to say hey. (Or ask for a snack.) The duck, as it turns out, is a curious bird. So without further impediment, our group goes wherever it likes—around the patio, on the deck, under the deck, along the fences, in the flowerbeds, up by the composter. This is wonderful for two reasons—one, if the weather shifts and you’re not around, you don’t have to worry that they are cooped up (literally) in uncomfortable conditions—they can seek shelter in the rhododendrons or wherever they like. Two, it’s distinctly pleasurable to walk outside and have your ducks waddle out with a quackish greeting or to glance out a window and see them moving around, busy and content. In fact, I find it truly restful just watching them go about their ducky business.

Which, come to think of it, is a perfectly good reason to start keeping ducks.

Further Reading on Keeping Ducks

For more detailed information on predator protection, housing, feeding and much more, I recommend starting with the comprehensive and newly revised Storey’s Guide to Raising Ducks by Dave Holderread, Storey Publishing, 2011 edition. Also, Ducks: Tending a Small-Scale Flock for Pleasure and Profit by Cherie Langlois, BowTie Press, 2008; and Carol Deppe offers useful tips in The Resilient Gardener: Food Production and Self-Reliance in Uncertain Times, Chelsea Green Publishing, 2010.

Photos and text ©2012 by Lori Fontanes

Newbie poultry enthusiast Lori Fontanes blogs about converting her suburban lawn into a backyard homestead.

Originally published in Backyard Poultry December 2012 / January 2013

Which Duck Breeds Are Best in Suburbia?

A response from duck expert Dave Holderread

After 50 years of keeping ducks, I’ve come to the realization that there is no “best breed” or “best breed for any given situation.” Why? Here are some of the reasons. Every micro-climate, every micro-environment is slightly different, and each strain and individual may respond slightly differently in any given situation. In fact, different strains of a breed may be as different in their response as different breeds are. Furthermore, the personality and temperament of the people who are in contact with the birds can have a profound effect on how they thrive in any given situation. In addition to the variations in temperament, etc. of people, their purposes for keeping ducks can vary widely: some people are primarily interested in meat birds, some in egg production, some for pest control, and some simply for the pleasure of watching duck antics.

So, then, there is no simple answer. Generally, my recommendation when someone asks me, “what is best…?” is that the best way to find out what works well in any situation is for people to try a variety of breeds and discover what works best for them. That said, if the primary purpose is for a larger meat bird, Muscovy, Saxony and Silver Appleyard ducks are some of my favorites. If egg production is the primary purpose, my favorite breeds include: Harlequin, Campbell, Hook Bill, Magpie, Ancona and some strains of Runners. If pest control (slugs, snails, mosquito larva, etc.) is the primary purpose, Runners, Harlequin, Hook Bill, Mini Silver Appleyard and Australian Spotted are my favorites.

A Beginner’s Guide to Keeping Ducks in Suburbia was originally posted by All About Chickens