#and that would raise general happiness and make work stress seem less threatening and more managable

[ladylee13]

All right, y'all, I've had enough with shitty society. I say we start a cult called "Actual Inclusivity."

Instead of the center of the cult's teachings being some manipulative bullshit, it's literally just love, acceptance, and respect.

We buy some land and start a communal living situation but instead of the money going up to whoever is on top and making them rich, all the money goes toward upkeep and improvement for the whole community. The finances are transparent and available for anyone to see and anyone shown to be corrupt or messing with the money gets kicked out.

We keep a farm to feed everyone. We have high speed wi-fi and some apartments (maybe with communal kitchens, maybe with private ones, idk logistics aren't my strong suit but I wouldn't be the only one running this, so we'd work out the kinks)

Everyone gets to do what they enjoy. Artists make art (and they could do commissions and freelance work and stuff like that to help raise money for the community in addition to art for art's sake), scientists can do their science thing, people who enjoy gardening can tend the farm. Tech people can do tech stuff (idk, I don't do much stem stuff, but we wouldn't be amish, so there'd be upkeep for tech stuff needed, so y'know). Whatever else. Autistic people can spend loads of time focused on their special interests. Non-verbals are not expected to talk. Depressed people or people with anxiety are not expected to work on days when getting out of bed is too difficult. Anyone having a panic attack or PTSD episode while working immediately gets to put down their work, walk away, and come back when they are again capable of giving their work their attention, be that in an hour or not until the next morning. Everyone uses whatever pronouns they prefer, and everyone else uses the appropriate pronouns when addressing or referring to them. If swearing makes someone uncomfortable, people will be expected to respect that and filter their language around them. Everyone gets to love whoever they want with zero societal repercussions. If two people want to get married, they get to. If two people want to live together without getting married, no prob (living together pre-marriage is against my religious beliefs, so I wouldn't do so, but that doesn't mean no one is allowed to. Live according to your own beliefs as long as they don't hurt anyone else. The goal here isn't to make everyone believe same thing or act the same way. It's to respect each other, and hopefully foster more understanding for others and lower discrimination and hate). In that vein, polygamy makes me feel weird, (admittedly, I don't really understand it,) but if some people in a polygamous marriage wanted to join us and were willing to follow the rules, great! Hop in! Let's even have a talk about it. You can help me be more understanding. No one is allowed to force their beliefs into anyone else and if someone feels pressured by someone else, all they have to do is say so and the other person will stop. I've had enlightening and wonderful conversations about religion with people of other religions/also atheists (once even with a drunk atheists and that was great). And all those conversations were great because in no way did they expect me to change my beliefs and vice versa. There was just a sharing of perspectives. And afterward, I felt like I understood them better and they understood me better. And that's what I'm aiming for here.

We can have a few sensory deprivation tanks and weighted blankets available for people with anxiety/PTSD. We can have tons of fidget toys for anyone who needs them to help them focus. We can have anything people need to function their best (I don't know much about what people with neurological disorders that I don't also have need, but whatever they need we'd have). Everything written is also written in braile. There's elevators and ramps in every building. Guide dogs and ESAs are accepted anywhere except in the space of people with animal allergies (Like, the communal areas are regularly cleaned to prevent hair causing allergic reactions and such and there are signs designating pet-free zones). We could maybe have like an animal shelter in a nearby town that anyone can come into to help with and spend time with animals. There would be a prayer room for quiet meditation (with whatever anyone needs for their best prayer environment, like I know Muslims pray toward Mecca and I don't know if there's any ornamentations or anything that they would prefer to have, but if so, it would be there). There'd be a gym to give people access to exercise equipment. There'd be a big old clock tower with bells to indicate prayer times for anyone who needs them. There would be a church building for use by any religious denomination. There'd be regular community activities to give people the chance to have leisurely social interaction and also sometimes exercise in small or large groups, but no one is expected to take part. Everyone with any form of neurodiversity or from any minority group gets to be treated fairly and have their needs accommodated.

No proving you have a disability like you have to to get accommodations from colleges. No one telling you it's all in your head or it's not natural or you should try harder or you just haven't met the right person yet or treating you as being under them for your gender or skin color or anything else you have no control over. Just actual acceptance on every front.

Basically, you'd pretty much be able to live your best life under the principle I learned as a kid: "your agency ends where the next person begins." As long as your actions do not harm anyone, you are free to do as you like.

The rules for living here? Everyone will be expected to contribute however they can (no punching a time clock, but contribute to the best of your ability). There will be no discrimination or hatred toward others. That's pretty much it. It's not that complicated. You will be expected to respect others and they will be expected to respect you. Any crime of any kind would be punished (and I mean things like theft, which I expect would be far less likely to happen given that everyone would have their basic needs fulfilled, and not like things like drug addiction because criminalizing addicts doesn't really prevent people getting addicted and just makes the problem worse.)

I figure the system would be run by committee. Any issues would be put to a vote, and given the size of the group, everyone would get a vote and everyone's vote counts. There would be no one person in charge of the community. Not me, not anyone. Everyone is equally in charge. Issues of things like accusations of discrimination would be handled by a court type situation where a mediator is chosen and both people get to explain what happened (in case of false accusations, which hopefully wouldn't happen, but y'know), and if the problem is based on a misunderstanding or an unchecked or unevaluated privilege, maybe the discussion alone could help the two people work it out, and if not, they get a big meeting with everyone there, and they get a chance to give their side to the group and the group votes on whether or not the accusation is solid and if the accused person will be punished (idk 100% how the punishment would work, but I figure depending on the severity it could be like a first offense would get community service and some kind of lesson in bridging cultural differences or something and a second offense would get something harsher and a third offense would be getting booted from the community. And then something like rape would get an immediate boot.).

Straight/white/cis/NT/any other non-minority people would also be accepted and welcomed so long as they treat everyone there with respect.

And anyone who says or does something homophobic or misogynistic or racist or ableist or anything else along those lines gets first a gentle warning and a chance to re-evaluate their prejudice and if they refuse to check themselves they get kicked out with whatever money they came in with.

I know that no matter what system is in use, there will always be someone ready and willing to find holes and take advantage. So we'd run on a spirit-of-the-law system instead of a letter-of-the-law system, and with everyone getting a say and everyone basing their decisions on that foundation of respect, it would be easier to enforce.

And sure, maybe this is just a fantasy-land-pipe-dream, but come on. How cool would it be? No more forcing our triangle or star or pentagon or splatter-shaped peg asses into circular holes? I don't believe in humanity at large to implement large-scale actual acceptance, but a little mini-society? That seems a little less impossible, right?

This is all spitballing, but the more I think about it, the more I love it. Feel free to add on.

#admittedly that science part would probably suck up a decent chunk of money and we'd still have to apply for 3rd party grants and such #but like having a meal on the table and a roof over your head would almost certainly be a weight off their shoulders #and that would raise general happiness and make work stress seem less threatening and more managable #I'm sick of society #let's all go live in a mini-society of love and acceptance #fuck prejudice #neurodivergent #all inclusive #love and acceptance #lgbt pride #actuallyadhd #social anxiety #depression #a step in the right direction #i dont have all the kinks worked out #the criminal justice system probably needs some work #and I'm not a member of all minorities so I don’t know what other important cultural or religious things everyone would need

[phoenixyfriend]

Togruta Marking Headcanons (Evolutionary and Epigenetic)

Okay, so the question is:

Do you think togruta markings are purely genetic or partly genetic and partly influenced by the environment?

e.g. a stressful adolescence leads to more complex markings/breakage

This conversation was had in large part on discord with @atagotiak and @dracothulhu.

Striation and Complexity

Now, my take comes entirely from Ahsoka having VERY complicated markings compared to Shaak, but we played around with it and had a lot of fun tangling out some headcanons that aren't really supported by canon, but aren't voided by it either. Also it makes time travel fun.

(Shaak Ti looks at time traveled Ahsoka and goes "Oh dear. You okay, honey?" The answer is always No.)

(This is actually EXACTLY why I was hoping there's a combined genetic/environmental factor, so any given time-travel Ahsoka has a different pattern, to some degree, from her younger self so that they can say "IDK, maybe we're cousins?" instead getting side-eyed for having Identical Marks.)

(Happy AU Ahsoka ends up with smooth rings instead of what almost looks like blue veins in marble? It would also probably make time-traveling Ahsoka’s bad future story seem a lot more real.)

Reference image:

So like these three with their clean lines and stuff probably grew up ok, as much as their lives suck now.

Some of the complexity of the markings is definitely genetic, especially with face markings. 14 yo Ahsoka has some significant complexity there already, and while she’s got early childhood trauma from that one time she was kidnapped, she otherwise seems to have been fairly happy and healthy as a child in the Temple.

On the other hand, her lekku markings do go from fairly smooth and even to really jagged looking.

My thoughts are that facial striation is indicative of stressors in childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood, but Montral/Lekku striation indicative of adulthood stressors (and maybe some late teens).

The adult/child distinction in striation is imo because their faces mostly stop growing after they hit adulthood, but there's more growth in the montrals and lekku.

So Shaak has a lot of striation on her montrals because adult Jedi Masters, with field work on the regular, encounter a lot of stressful situations (more dangerous missions, raising a padawan). But her childhood and adolescence, while occasionally adrenaline-heavy on missions with her Master, were usually no more stressful than one would get with, say, hunting lessons on Shili, so her markings end up very simple and blocky on her face and more detailed on her montrals and lekku.

If if we assume that the Montral tips are the later stressors showing, then it’s plausible Shaak Ti’s got a lot of little markings partly because of the stress of being a council member. Sure it’s not life threatening but the stress of a high-pressure administrative position is still stress.

(And the three ladies here probably start getting a little more fragmentation in the years after the Zygerria arc, assuming they survived.)

It doesn’t look like a lot, compared to Ahsoka at least, but there’s a moderate amount.

Between the beskar and the complex facial markings and lekku striations, I feel like other Togruta tend to give Ahsoka a lot of respect as a warrior.

Doesn't matter that she isn't wearing Akul teeth! Whatever! She clearly knows her shit!

It could be a byproduct of evolving as a communal species. Like yes, striation is good for hiding when you hunt, but seeing complex patterns on a child's face can indicate an unhealthy home life or otherwise invisible medical problems. In that context, Togruta in general watch out for complex facial patterns as a sign of child abuse.

(Obviously not foolproof but it seems like a reasonable option.)

A more stressful childhood could be indicative of low food security, and then evolution led to the marking complexity to make hunting easier in response. Tddlers and babies with early complexity might have had mothers with food insecurity or high adrenaline levels in pregnancy, too. It’d be difficult to pinpoint a specific pressure that caused it, but there’s definitely a lot of reasons it was advantageous to keep in the gene pool.

(Baby Anakin didn't know a lot of togruta growing up but I imagine most of them were heavily striated, so in those time-travel AUs, he doesn't understand the big deal with Fulcrum's markings until someone explains...)

(Slaves had stressful lives all around, and slavers liked it when togruta girls had complicated markings, they were considered Prettier, so this... worked out for them and Nobody Else.)

(If he noticed that other Togruta he’s seen since, like Shaak Ti or other Jedi or some civilians he’s met, seem to have less striation he maybe just assumed it was genetics and didn’t question it further?)

Montral Shape and Lekku Length

Another interesting thing is just the massive variation in montral shape.

My guess, personally, is that it's regional evolution. Did your ancestors live in an area with lots of trees, or was it more canyons, or maybe grasslands? It was an evolutionary reaction to how sound bounced around in your area.

In regards to lekku, even ignoring the live action stuff, Rebels Ahsoka has smaller lekku than Shaak Ti does. And some of that could be partly random chance and partly because Shaak Ti of age, but some people also think it’s partly malnutrition. I've personally been assuming it's just age and genetics, but...

We do see a significant lekku length disparity by gender, like these images:

To which I suggest:

...trans Ahsoka, whose lekku started growing out a little late because that's when she started estrogen (or the Togruta equivalent). There are a few male togruta with long lekku, but it seems pretty common for them to have short ones, so maybe they're transmasc.

#togruta #Ahsoka Tano #Shaak Ti #screen analysis #character analysis #evolution #epigenetics #headcanons #Phoenix Posts #star wars #the clone wars #I'm not married to any particular trans headcanons but I think it's a fun option here #child abuse mention

[fleursdemeduse]

Remembrance AU: Little Brother Knows Everything

I lied. Here's a bonus chapter.

Warnings: Mention of Death ; Unrequited[?] Love ; Mention of bombs ; Jealousy

Words: 3.1k

Tommy may have been an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid. He noticed the little things more often than he didn’t. But there were four things he knew about you better than anyone else.

Tommy knew that you liked tea.

Siblings, and people in general, seem to have this habitual kind of indicator of their mood. Some people bounced their leg when they were nervous, others liked to twiddle their thumbs or pop joints; It’s different for everyone.

But he could always tell how [y/n] felt by the tea they were drinking.

When they were nervous, they made tea brewed from lavender buds collected from a flower field they often visited with Technoblade or Phil. They brought Tommy once. He had run around the whole area with infinite energy before the blond climbed the tree. He had climbed higher and higher until he could feel the warmth of the setting sun shine on his face. The branch broke, but when he plummeted, he wasn’t scared. They were at the bottom, waiting to catch him. They were always waiting to inevitably catch him no matter if it was from his own stupid decisions or from someone else’s. They got nervous a lot, but when he was by their side, he could never be.

When [y/n] was stressed, they made tea out of the peppermint leaves in their garden. The scent filled their house while it brewed and the act of harvesting the herb was “soothing”. Tommy wasn’t sure how weeding was supposed to be relaxing, but he happily did it when their newest sibling figure asked him to. He remembered pulling out a whole mint plant the first time he had worked beside them, unknowing that that was the plant he was supposed to be protecting. They had laughed, gently scolding him, before setting it aside. Even if they were stressed out, they never took it out on him.

When he was sad or upset, they made chamomile tea with honey. Chamomile is a calming flower, he remembered them saying once. And the honey helped you remember that golden days were ahead. They made it for him every morning after he would wake up in the bed he seemed to sleep in more than his own. Sometimes the honey came from Technoblade, sometimes they had retrieved it themselves from wild hives, but they always seemed to get the best stuff. Even when he cried or started to -what was the word they had used? Disassociate? That sounded correct-, he could expect the mug to be pushed into his hands, a sugary but not cloying aroma wafting off it. He always felt much better when he left. He could never remember seeing them drink the tea, despite having such an abundance of it. Did they even get sad? He had never witnessed it.

When they were happy, they made black tea of various kinds and drank sweet iced tea that reminded him of what diabetes would taste like if it were liquid. They drank this with him almost daily. It was always a new blend they wanted to try and perfect or one they wanted him to taste. He loved smelling this tea the most. When its fragrance filled the air, somehow, everything felt right in the world. He couldn’t recall a single time when he didn’t see them on the porch, drinking the amber liquid out of a glass when they knew he’d be coming over for dinner.

It was the days when you didn’t drink tea at all, he was afraid.

Tommy knew that no matter what someone did to them, [y/n] wasn’t afraid to make enemies or insert themselves between their friends and any sort of danger to protect them.

Dream was surprised to see [y/n] at the meeting between the Greater Dream SMP and L’Manburg. It was only supposed to be him and George convening with Tubbo and Tommy. They held no real power in the country. They didn’t belong in this meeting, just like they didn’t belong in this timeline.

He watched the way they, during George and Tubbo’s discussion, rested a hand on Tommy’s arm when his hands clenched hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He saw how they would murmur quietly to him and the child would relax ever so slightly. He noticed the nods they gave the blond when he looked to the adult for confirmation after he made a questionable statement. He observed your true role here.

“Nice to see you replace Wilbur so quickly, Tommy. That’s good. He was a horrible role model for you.” His lips curled behind his mask at the shocked expression on everyone else’s face aside from the vice president before him. His eyes were sharp, angry. “Maybe without his influence, you’ll actually be a competent leader for something.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Considering L’Manburg was supposed to be totally destroyed and returned back to the Greater Dream SMP, I’m glad you found someone a bit less self-destructive to help keep you under control. We all know Wilbur did a horrible job at it.” Watching the child soldier stand quickly gave him a certain satisfaction.

“Fuck you, bitch! I don’t need to be told what to do.” Dream watched [y/n] give Tommy a warning look and the way he ignored it.

“And yet you followed someone who lost his own presidential race and blew up his own country before seeking out validation from someone else.”

“I don’t-”

“Tommy.” He watched the blond flinch at the edge to your voice and look down at you.

“He’s saying I-”

“I’m aware. He’s just trying to rile you up. It’s what he does. Ignore him.” The glare they sent him made a sharp jolt go down his spine, but he couldn’t help the chuckle that spilled from his covered mouth.

“Listen to your sibling, Tomathy. At least this one is sane. And if they kill themself, they’ll come back.” Tommy opened his mouth once more to say something before it snapped closed and he released a breath through his nose.

“I don’t need this.” The slam of the door echoed through the now quiet room.

Dream’s attention was immediately back on [y/n]. He watched them square their shoulders and lower their head to look him dead-on. Their glare met him with a hidden fury threatening to break forth and raise the hell that seemed to be just as deeply rooted in them as it was the company they kept. Their lips were pursed in a way that made his own grin grow larger. "Wilbur may not have been the best man. He may have hurt me and put the rest of L’Manburg in this situation. But that is our business alone, and you have no right to say anything bad about him or about Tommy, for that matter."

There was a pregnant pause and he heard George start laughing awkwardly to dispel the tension before being hushed hurriedly by Tubbo.

“And what is it you’ll do to me if I do?” Dream kept his voice level.

“You know why I’m here and who’s behind me. You can use your imagination..” They stood, chair scraping against the floor loudly. “I’m going to check on Tommy.” “But we’re not done!” They stopped at the door, hand resting on the handle.

“I’m sure you can handle the rest by yourself, Tubbo. You know what to do.” They looked at him over their shoulder, before glancing over George and then settling on the man in green. “Don’t you ever speak his name ever again. Or we just might have to build that prison you mentioned. Am I understood?” Sullen nods came from the monarch and the president as they stormed out.

“Well, that was something.”

Tommy had been sitting in the hallway, curled in on himself the same way he had been after the Pit incident.

“Toms?”

“Why is he even here?”

You sat next to him, back resting against the wall.

“Because he cares about George. Kinda like why I was in there for you.” You felt the taller lean against you and relax when you wrapped your arm around him. “I’ll always be here for you, Kiddo.”

You felt him nod and you pressed a kiss to his hair.

“You know I’m not trying to replace Wilbur, right?”

“Of course not. We were like brothers.” His lips quirked a little when he heard your laugh.

“If he were here, I’m sure he’d tell you not to say that or he’d cry.”

“Good. Fucking bitch.”

He didn’t know what he’d do if you never came back.

Tommy knew that the only other person who loved you as much as he did was Technoblade.

Techno had never felt jealous of Tommy before. Or really anyone. He was pretty secure in his position as your best friend, and the vast amounts of platonic affection you showered him with kept him content. Even during the Pogtopia rebellion, watching the looks and touches Wilbur gave you or seeing the child sneak into your bed for another night in a row didn’t make him jealous. So why did he suddenly have the very real impulse to shove the blond off the side off a cliff just to retake some of your attention?

The hybrid watched you talk with your hands as you recounted the night before and your surprise at finding Tommy already there when you came home from Phil’s. He was happy he had been right. You and Philza were similar in many ways and got along well. You would constantly joke with Techno that you were trying to get yourself adopted by the older blond and he would just respond with an amused “don’t tempt him, he might.”. You would always laugh in response.

That was always the best sound.

He listened to your words as he topped off the teacup in front of you with more of the red-tinted liquid. The warm scent of earl grey and roses wafted off of the cup tinged with the subtle tang of the orange peel he had added on a whim. You were right in your suggestion. Citrus always makes deeper teas better.

“If it’s really that bad, the offer to move in still stands. I have more than enough room and you can escape that raccoon.” He snickered at the pout that rested on your lips.

“I never said that I didn’t like it! And don’t call Tommy a raccoon.” He sipped his own tea.

“It’s true. Gets into trash, beady little eyes, a nuisance. He even breaks into your house.”

“He has a key, Tech. It’s different.” You had rolled your eyes at him, but the smile on your face spoke of your fondness for them both. He felt the small well of jealousy in his chest flare. Did Tommy know how privileged he was? He hoped the child knew.

“I’m just sayin’. Whenever you want to leave that place, my door will always be open for you.” He watched your smile soften and the firm squeeze when you reached across the table for his forearm.

“I appreciate it, but Tommy needs me still. Maybe one day, okay?” He grunted at you and you giggled. “Who knows, maybe Phil will come with! He could build his own little cabin and everything.”

“I’ve already extended the offer to him as well. He said he’ll think about it.” You shook your head.

“He’s probably trying to figure out how close to the meadow he’d be in comparison.”

“Man loves the flowers, what can he say?”

“Sure, it’s definitely the flowers.” You sipped your tea with a knowing grin.

“What else would it be?” He watched the glint in your eyes, seeing exactly what Tommy had always said about you. They had seemed a lot deeper lately, more knowledgeable. The child had always claimed that you spoke like you knew more than you let on and he saw it in your smile sometimes, but the look you were giving him right at that moment confirmed it.

“Maybe it’s all the memories.”

He couldn't imagine you not returning the feelings they both held for you, despite the vast difference.

Tommy knew that you wouldn’t hide anything from him unless it was absolutely imperative.

He found you sitting in the living room, curled into an old recliner that you would never tell him where it came from. You felt Tommy haphazardly throw his arms around your shoulders from behind, releasing a small sigh of contentment as he pressed his face further into your neck.

"Hey, Kiddo, what’re you up to?" His grip on you slackened, and you could almost feel his face draw up to a small pout. He absolutely hated that nickname but couldn’t deny the small warmth that flared in his stomach whenever you called him it.

"[Y/n], how many times have I asked you to stop calling me that?" He removed himself from you when you shrugged your shoulders.

"Sorry, Toms, the nickname stays. You're too much of a brat for it to leave." He groaned, eyebrows drawing together. You knew he wasn’t entirely mad at the name. He wouldn’t have whined the way he did if he truly wanted you to stop. You and Tommy seemed to share a wavelength. It wasn’t the same one you shared with Techno, but it was just as perfect. You wished you could tell him why it was.

The realization set a rock that started in your throat and slowly started to sink to your stomach. It spread through you, causing a wet hot sensation to form behind your eyes. You’d never be able to tell your little brother your deepest secret. What if he hated you? What if he told everyone else and they cast you out? What if he felt he couldn’t trust you anymore?

Carefully pulling yourself out of your own thoughts, you looked up at the child. “I’m sorry, what was it you wanted?”

"Can I talk to you?" Your eyes flicked to the book you were reading before back to him. You knew what he wanted. A bookmark was wedged between pages and the room was silent before you stood. "Sure, kiddo. Is it going to be a long chat?" You set off to the kitchen, soon pouring some water into an old kettle that Phil had given you the day that you had awoken. You had been “gone” for over a full day. Aside from Phil, no one else knew what had happened and where you went.

An opaque jar was pulled from the cupboard, carefully opened, and he watched as purple buds, green leaves, and yellow-white flowers were deposited gently onto the mesh cloth that you would tie into a sachet. He had never seen them combine those teas. He didn’t even realize you had such a large jar of it stored.

“What happened at Phil’s?” You hesitated before steadying your hand and pouring the steaming water into a teapot before setting the sachet in. It floated for a moment before you used the string to dunk the bag a few times to soak it before it sank midway.

You only pulled one mug down.

You gestured for him to sit at the table and he took it. You could see the way his anxiety rose even higher when you didn’t sit across from him.

“What day? I’ve been at Phil’s a lot lately.”

“Oh fuck off. You know what day I’m talking about.” You shrugged, trying to keep your expression even.

“I really don’t, Tommy. You’re going to have to narrow it down for me.” Your fight or flight instincts were dialed to high when he gave you a knowing look.

“You don’t have to lie to me, [y/n]. I’m not a child.”

“Yes, you are, and I’m not lying.” You flinched when he slammed his hands on the table, chair screeching as it was slid back with too much force before it fell backwards.

“Then why have you changed?” You froze. “You used to love spending time with me before-”

You wanted to reach out, to comfort him, when you saw his lips quiver, but he turned his head away from you. He couldn’t look you in the eye.

“Before you were gone for almost two days and came back wrong. You don’t talk like how you used to either. It’s like you know things, but like, more than you used to. And come to find out from Ranboob, you had gone to Philza’s house. What did he tell you?”

You just shook your head, wanting to tell him you remembered him. You remembered every timeline he was in. Every moment he had fought for what he believed in and won. Every time he had died. Every timeline he could have died.

“Did I do something? Is it because of Ghostbur? Do you-” He looked back up at you, looking exactly like the sixteen year old he was supposed to be. “Do you hate me?”

“Of course not, Tommy. Why in the world would you ever think that?”

“Then why won’t you tell me what’s going on? Siblings don’t keep secrets.”

“They do when they’re trying to protect the ones they love, Tommy.” You watched his face grow red in frustration.

“You’re not always gonna be there for me, [y/n]!”

“You don’t know that.”

“Why won’t you just tell me?” His voice broke, and so did your heart.

“Because you’re still just a kid, Tommy. And I think sometimes you forget that. And everyone else too. And I can’t tell anyone what happened.”

“But why? I stopped being a child when we won our first war. I should be able to hear about this!”

“Because the things I saw, the things I heard, no one else should have to bear this weight.” You swallowed back your tears. This was no time to cry. “You can be mad at me all you want, Tommy. But I’m still the same [y/n] who tucks you into bed and links pinkies with you on the Prime Path and who will always be there for you.”

The hurt look he gave you would haunt you for the rest of your lifetimes.

“Then why won’t you let me be there for you?” You could only shake your head.

“Because that’s not how it works, Kiddo.” Tommy’s eyes hardened and he sucked in a quivering breath.

“Fine.” He started walking back towards the door.

“Toms, where are you going?” He didn’t answer you.

His tea was bitter and cold by now, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but feel the same.

Tommy knew all those things about you. So why did it feel like maybe he didn’t know you at all?

#RemembranceAU #dsmp au #dream smp au #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #technoblade x reader #tommyinnit x reader #platonic!tommyinnit x reader #philza x mumza #mcyt x reader #unrequited feelings #tw: death #tw: bombs #tw: arguing #tw: jealousy #angst

[perhapsthanatos]

10:32 pm with yuta ♡

nct’s yuta x fem!reader (got inspired by a dream of mine & found the idea really cute)

alternate title: be the james dean to my audrey hepburn

genre: fluff. a pinch of angst. non idol au. badboy!yuta au.

word count: 1400~

playlist: chinatown by wild nothing, lover’s rock by tv girl & work this time by king gizzard and the lizard wizard.

warnings: featuring johnny (not a warning though). smoking cigarettes. cursing. lowercase intended. not proofread.

a/n: hi i was supposed to post a vampire!haechan fic but i really wasnt happy w it in general :( the plot or overall idea of the fic was really good, but i just felt as if i didnt do it justice so here we are :( but ngl, i kind of like this concept more? maybe bc i can see it more vividly? idk, i feel like my writings r getting repetitive & its getting on my nerves lmaoo this is getting long im sorry do u guys even read this part anyway? i would also like to apologize abt the amount of projecting im doing lmao ive been having some rough days & i love my sister but hate being compared to her so often so this is a way for me to rant abt it ig? also so sorry its coming out a little later bc i woke up late today (& procrastinated for the rest of it so here i am posting really late at night) & decided to go to the convenience store to get ice cream (& a ton of other bad shit pls dont do this its rlly unhealthy) for breakfast bc i can :) any who, enjoy lovelies <3

“oh my, y/n! you’ve grown up so well! just like your sister!”

“oh! i’m sorry i’ve almost mistaken you for your sister! y/n is your name, correct?”

“y/n, darling, you are looking so dashing! you really do resemble your sister, don’t you?”

“ah, you must be y/n! i’ve heard all about you and your sister from your father!”

you swear that your reddening cheeks are threatening to fall off any moment now from all the fake smiling. the hundreds of superficial compliments, the insincere flattery and the need for these people to constantly compare you to your godforsaken sister makes you feel even weaker than you are. it gets harder and harder to keep up with a big persona that isn’t at all you. as lucky as you are to live such a lavish lifestyle, you can’t help but hate how your family has to be so perfect. you hate how you have never fit in with them, even if you are so good at faking it. you hate how you have always been stuck in your sister’s shadow, constantly haunted with the reminder that you yourself aren’t good enough. you hate how you now have to entertain the rich and brainless guests at your parent’s gala because she’s gone for some stupid prodigy competition and everyone is only talking about her in front of your face. so what if she’s better the better sister? you still have the right to earn respect, right?

you’re exhausted from all the small talk. your facade gets more brittle by the second under all the pressure. your body feels as if it's gonna give out due to your brain shutting down after all that interacting. you try to keep on going with the night as it unravels itself by being the perfectly poised poster child, trying to make your parents proud. but alive yet almost completely devoid, you decide enough was enough. what if you left right now? no one would notice, would they?

after pulling up your phone discreetly to send a few text messages, you pass through lots of people dressed in gold and finery in a way that wouldn’t have you noticed right away. keep your head down and don’t you dare make eye contact with anyone. nearing the end of the room, grabbing the first glass of whatever alcohol you see and downing it in one gulp, you start walking away as quickly as possible from the ballroom. “ignorant privileged fucks,” you angrily whisper to no one in particular, setting the now empty glass on whatever surface and begin to head to the main exit where no one could spot you running away.

“and what do you think you’re doing here, miss?”

a voice interrupts you, looking up you see that it is your father’s head butler; johnny. he is dressed in a simple black suit that makes him appear taller than he is. his long brown hair is slicked back and his bowtie seems brand new. you have known the man since he started working in your household less than ten years back. you were a reckless child, often trying to find ways to sneak out, finding a way to escape from this life and he sympathized with you. after all, he could barely imagine living your life, never catching a break for yourself and always pretending to be someone you weren’t. he often helped planning when you would sneak out into the night, scheduling things like what time you should leave and what time you should be back, more specifically a time when no one would notice. he would take care of your form of transportation and have your location on at all times, just to be extra safe. as much as he wants you to have fun and have a bit of freedom, he still worries that something might happen to you. because of all this, you two have grown to have a very strong bond. you could confidently say that he is most definitely a parental figure in your life since your parents (and even your sister) are often overseas for work.

“what do you think i’m doing? you think i wanna be in a room with those half-baked bipeds? fuck no!”

“i know, i was just joking. you looked like you were about to explode in there, i wish i could help.” he laughs, pulling out his phone preparing what you might need. “so what will it be for today? the driver? we just need to pay him to keep his mouth shut. a taxi? it’s cheaper than paying the driver, but you still need to pay… not like that’s a problem for you though. maybe an uber would be good enough—“

“actually, i got myself covered. thanks.”

his jaw slightly drops and his eyebrows furrow. he looks straight at you in shock. “what do you mean you got yourself covered?”

you look down at your feet, a nervous habit. “i got myself a ride, you don’t need to help me. i’ll be back as soon as dawn comes.”

he raises his eyebrow. “who’s your ride?”

“doesn’t matter,” you glance down at your phone seeing a notification and wave a goodbye, leaving rather suddenly. “i gotta go, i’ll text you when you need to open the gates!”

“y/n! wait! who’s your ride— and she’s gone.” johnny sighs, watching as you run towards the front gates, tossing your stiletto heels away on the grass while you’re at it. he heads back inside, silently hoping you’ll be fine.

knocking the window of the old black mustang parked outside behind the big bushes, the driver rolls down his window and sends the most charming smile.

yuta in his black beanie, long blonde hair, worn out doc martens, signature leather jacket and black skinny jeans. it almost makes you laugh on how he wears the same thing almost everyday but still manages to look so good.

he is most notable for having a big bad boy reputation and you knew that he was the breath of fresh air you needed in your life. a person who can understand having the pressure of having to be or to fulfill your persona. a person you can completely be yourself around. a person who is full of warmth no matter how cold he may seem on the outside.

“get in, princess.”

and that was all you needed. you tiredly walked to the other door and sat yourself in the car. rolling his window back up, he looks at you. you are wearing a simple yet stunning black dress along with silver jewelry adorned on your neck and wrists. your makeup is perfectly done but still struggles to hide the fog in your eyes. he has the sudden urge to clear them away. he softens at the sight of you. no one is perfect, but he finds you being perfect enough without ever having to dress up.

“where to?” he asks as gently as he could. he knows that you are most vulnerable during these moments and that it is hard to finally break down your walls after a day full of stress, so he doesn’t pry immediately. all he wants to do is to keep you here, safe and away from your burdens and for you to stay comfortable with him, even if it couldn't be for long. but is that too selfish of him to ask? he hates how you hate your life and it is taking every bone in his body to not run away with you. but who is he to tell you what to do or what to change anyway? all he can do for now is try to find a way to make you genuinely smile.

“take me anywhere,” you whisper to the latter. “i just want to be as far from myself and my life as possible. miles away or the nearest convenience store, just take the long way home before dawn.”

you look down at the cup holders, spotting an open cigarette box. you tug one out of the nineteen and light it with the lighter you kept in your pocket. you lean back and close your eyes. he only admires as you bring the cigarette to your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke afterwards. letting the radio play quietly, he starts the car and begins to drive away from the mansion. he can’t help but wonder how you (an elegant daughter) and him (a bad boy) are millions of worlds apart, but more similar than you think.

© perhapsthanatos (efa)

#efa writes! #im on my bathroom floor LOSING IT #its 3 am & the more i read it the more i hate it #yuta #nakamoto yuta #nct yuta #nct #nct 127 #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines #yuta imagines #yuta timestamp #yuta drabble #yuta blub #nct imagine #nct drabble #nct blurb #nct 127 blurb #nct timestamp #nct 127 drabble #nct 127 timestamp #nct fluff #nct 127 fluff #nct angst #nct 127 angst #badboy!yuta

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Another One?!, Part 5

First > Previous > Next

It turns out that people with access to military-grade equipment are not the type of people you want to dislike you.

Really, the only reason she was still alive was because being Ladybug made her marginally more lucky than the average person.

From people in holding randomly getting out from time to time and somehow managing to get their hands on a weapon, to getting shot by ‘malfunctioning’ firearms, to constant bomb threats, to the one time someone actually tried to drop an anvil on her head, things were just not looking good for Marinette.

And, it turns out, being a boss is just a hard thing in general. When they weren’t attempting to kill her, they were coming to her with questions. She spent most of her day in the office, scanning through manual after manual. She got basically zero breaks, because even when she had a sign on her door saying she was eating lunch they still came in to ask her things.

And then, at the end of the day, she’d get home… things weren’t great there, either.

Barbara had moved in after a year of dating Dick (Marinette had been stunned to learn that their relationship was actually real but that had quickly been dropped when she realized that Barbara was actually a responsible adult that could take care of herself). She had banned caffeine in the house when she’d seen Marinette and Tim’s coffee habits and, unfortunately, everyone else had been perfectly happy to enforce this for her.

This meant that she only had about four hours when she got home to patrol before her exhaustion caught up with her and she’d be forced to go home and collapse on the couch.

On top of that, tensions in the house were high. It turns out that one of the biggest problems with avoiding your problems for years is that emotions get pent up inside and it gets harder and harder to ignore. No one had completely snapped yet, but even the densest person in the world would have been able to recognize that it was coming.

It didn’t help that she no longer had time for baking, which was her normal way of relieving stress…

And let’s just say they were lucky none of them were going on patrols together, those kinds of high-stress situations do not help.

~

Adrien needed sleep.

He worked ten hours a day, which isn’t that much longer than average but was still emotionally taxing considering his job was teaching.

Then, he’d go on patrol for a few hours. He liked patrol, beating up random people is great for stress, but it was physically exhausting.

Then, he’d come home.

And he’d have two kids and an adult to keep alive.

(Barbara had the night shift, which meant that Adrien was alone for this. He swore it was on purpose.)

He’d go to his room and find Dick swinging around on the indoor gym they’d had installed (they were getting tired of him breaking light fixtures and had given in and put little hand and footholds on the ceiling for him to climb around on).

And then Dick would fall asleep, often hanging from the ceiling still, and Adrien would pick him up and take him to his room and tuck him in.

He’d rush back to his room, desperate to get there for just a second of sleep, only to find that, no matter how quick he was, Jason would already be on the bed. You would think that Adrien would be able to sleep. After all, Jason would be reading a book... that’s supposed to be a quiet thing…

Well, you see, the problem is that Jason reads books like people watch soap operas. He’d curse out characters and call them stupid, tell Adrien contextless jokes, and occasionally close his book to vent about what was going on.

And, eventually Jason would sleep. Adrien wouldn’t move him because a) it would wake him up and b) on the very small chance it didn’t wake him, Jason sometimes half-joked that when he woke up alone he feared that they’d left him behind…

So, yeah, Jason got to stay in the room.

Adrien would blink and then he’d find Tim in the door with his computer.

Tim, it seemed, would actually wait to see if Adrien was okay with it if he came in. He always stood in the door, hugging his laptop to his chest, and wouldn’t dare come inside until Adrien said he could.

Of course Adrien would sigh and nod his head yes, making a joke about how his kids were sleeping in shifts to annoy him, and move over on the bed a bit to let Tim on.

And then Tim would do homework or play games on his computer.

Adrien hated the sound of clicky keyboards. He’d had no clue he was alone in this until one day he complained about it and everyone in the room had stared at him like he was crazy.

But, yeah, the keyboard made him want to die. He just wanted to sleep...

And then Barbara would poke her head in after a long night’s work to tell Adrien that it was time for him to get ready for work.

Sprinkle in one or two probably life-threatening accidents and you’d have a typical night for him.

Now, you might be thinking, why doesn’t he just fall asleep on the couch?

Beyond the fact that the kids would just… follow him there, Adrien was also a rich kid growing up. He couldn’t sleep on couches. They’re uncomfortable.

No, now his only saving grace was the fact that Barbara didn’t have a way to monitor the coffee machine at his work.

… Oh kwami, he had become what he’d hated.

~

She dropped onto the bed -- she’d had enough energy to make it all the way there for once -- and glared at the mostly empty bulletin board on Antony Agoura. The man was smart, unfortunately, opting to keep his identity a secret as much as possible. He used a fake name. He wore gloves no matter what. He used solely cash…

And it wasn’t like she was going to be able to lure him out again. That had been an intimidation tactic, a way of saying ‘leave it alone or you’ll see exactly what I can do’.

And, as much as she hated to admit it even to herself, she was a little bit scared of him. For the first time since Zucco, the person she was facing knew who she was as a civilian, and she hated that she’d lost that advantage. Even if her family was better trained in self-defense than most, they weren’t invulnerable and they couldn’t be careful every second of the day.

Part of her was tempted to pack up and go on the run like they had done with Zucco… but the situations were different. With Zucco they knew they would eventually be able to catch him but with Agoura...

She closed her eyes, unable to look at it any longer.

Fuck. She was really screwed this time, huh?

She felt someone sink into the bed next to her and reached out for them. She didn’t really care who it was as she buried her face in their shoulder.

Sleep…

Less than a minute later, her phone buzzed to tell her that it was time to start cooking everyone’s meals for the day and she mumbled a curse before peeling herself away from the person. She squinted a little bit in the dark to see who it was. Tim.

She yawned and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Want to cook with me?”

“I’d burn the house down.”

“Probably. Want to stand nearby and make sure I don’t fall asleep while cooking so nothing burns?”

He shrugged a little bit. “Don’t see why not.”

They both crawled out of bed and she used him for support as they made their way down to the kitchen.

~

Adrien had been on patrol when she’d appeared.

And ‘appeared’ was definitely the way to describe it. He’d been relaxing on a rooftop, giving himself a few second break to just breathe in silence for once… and then he’d felt a hand shaking his shoulder.

He fought the urge to jump or lash out, his head whipping around to look at the person who was shaking him.

It was… a girl?

Actually, she looked about Jason’s age, so maybe a woman?

It didn’t matter. She looked terrified. Her eyes were so wide it looked almost exaggerated, her lips drawn into a deep frown.

The more he took in about her appearance the more concerned he was. Her stance was wide, which likely meant she fought often. Her clothes were ratty and torn. The little parts of her skin that weren’t caked in dirt were split with cuts that were either infected or about to be infected.

He rested a hand over hers as gently as he could and looked at her. “How are you up here? Actually, that doesn’t matter. What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Is your family hurt?”

She waved her free hand around frantically. Wordlessly.

He raised his eyebrows.

“Do you not speak English? Or are you mute? Deaf?”

He realized all these questions weren’t going to get answers and he sighed. Crap, what could he do?

He mulled it over for a second before snapping his fingers. He held up a finger for one minute, then held up his hands and made a tiny ‘stay’ motion with them just in case, and then ran to the nearest convenience store.

He didn’t care enough to detransform. It got him through the line quickly, at least.

He found a pen and a pad of paper and returned to the rooftop…

She wasn’t there anymore.

He sighed, a mix of frustration and concern coursing through him. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He should get back to patrol. Maybe he’d find her and/or whatever situation she was trying to get his attention for…

He opened his eyes and actually did jump this time. She was right in front of him. What? He hadn’t heard her…

He shook off his growing unease and handed her the notepad and pen.

She frowned, her face a little more than confused. Had she never seen a pen and paper before? Surely that couldn’t be right…

Still, he gently took the paper and pen back and wrote a tiny question mark.

He handed it over again and she looked at the mark like she’d never seen it before. Maybe her language didn’t have question marks…?

Then she started doodling.

Well, his plan had been for her to write whatever it was down and he would see if his phone would translate it, but he guessed this would work, too.

The first drawing explained some of the girl’s problems with communication. It was a little doodle where the mouth and ears had been X-ed out. She couldn’t speak or hear… or, at least, that’s what he’d figured.

He searched his memory for his old sign language lessons. Unfortunately, though, sign language is something that has to be practiced. All he could do is fingerspell “U O-K?”

She didn’t seem to understand.

Fair enough. He was pretty sure he was using LSF, anyways, and he didn’t exactly know for sure how close that was to ASL… or whatever other language she could have known. He couldn’t really tell much about where she was from, her skin was covered in dirt, okay?

She started doodling the rest of her life story and he nearly punched something. Probably would have if he hadn’t been scared he’d startle her or scare her off.

Whoever her dad was, he was committed to killing him if he wasn’t dead already.

He smiled at her and tried to think of a solution. He couldn’t take her to the police. Even with Marinette in charge, there was only so much she could do to keep the kid safe. An orphanage wouldn’t accept her because he doubted she was a legal US citizen.

He sighed. Marinette was going to kill him…

He reached out a hand to her to tell her to follow and blinked in surprise when she actually took it. Wow. He trusted her.

He tried not to feel proud as he led her home. He probably should have been scared that she was a spy or lying, but he found himself trusting her…

Weird, but he had bigger problems.

He detransformed a little bit outside the house and slowly walked to the door. He pushed it open and cringed when it creaked. Please don’t be home…

Marinette shifted under her blanket and opened an eye to look at him.

He quickly pushed the girl behind himself and smiled at his wife. “Wow, it’s you. You’re home. Wow.”

“Yeah, amazing, right?” She rubbed her eyes and gave him a tired smile. “How was patrols?”

“Great. Uneventful. Definitely good.”

Her smile dropped into a frown. “You’re acting weird.”

“What? Me? Acting weird?”

“Yeah… are you coming inside?”

“Uh… no. Actually, I think I’ll go back on patrols.”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re hiding something. I’m too tired for this, Adrien. Fess up.”

He cringed a little bit and slowly led the new adoptee inside.

The girl clutched Adrien’s shirt sleeve anxiously. He did not think this was a good thing.

Marinette stared at the girl in front of her for a while before a way too wide smile crossed her face. “Adrien…” She began slowly, before shaking her head. Her smile widened, somehow. She looked up, her voice sickly sweet: “Hey! Sweeties! Come down here.”

The reaction was instantaneous. There was a mad scrambling noise and they appeared in the doorway, expressions frazzled.

“Whatever happened, it was Dick!” Said Tim before anyone could speak.

Dick gasped. “No! It wasn’t!”

Marinette gave a pleasant laugh. “You’re not in trouble. Boys, could you help her get cleaned up for me, please?”

“Why is there another kid? Why does he have another one?” Said Jason incredulously.

When neither parent answered, they started ushering the girl away.

She grabbed Adrien’s arm when he tried to disappear through the door with them. “Not. You. Transform, we’re going out.”

He tried not to look too scared as they both transformed. She kept a way too tight grip on Adrien as they made their way through the town, as if she thought he was going to suddenly run away.

Fair enough. He was absolutely considering it.

But he didn’t. That would only make things worse.

They stopped at a relatively abandoned part of town and she turned to him, letting go to cross her arms over her chest.

“Explain.”

~

Did she feel bad for the kid that Adrien had adopted? Sure. No one deserves that kind of life…

But that didn’t calm her down in the slightest.

She was trying to relax herself. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she heard him out to keep herself from yelling or interrupting, her nails dug into the skin of her palms to keep her grounded…

Adrien finished with a sigh and a “I don’t regret it, she was in trouble and it’s our job to protect civilians.”

She didn’t know why those words made her anger worsen. There was some sense in them, and yet she had to strain to keep her voice level when she spoke: “Just once, could you actually just own up to a mistake you make?”

“I’ll own up to a mistake when I actually think it’s a mistake!”

“Whatever.” She thrummed her foot on the floor. “We can’t keep adopting random kids, Chat, there’s only so much we can do!”

“They need our help!”

“Bullshit! You need them more than they need you! Newsflash! Helping a bunch of kids isn’t going to make your own childhood any better!”

Adrien flinched and she felt a twinge of guilt finally poke through the anger, but before she could apologize he was jabbing his finger in her chest.

“At least my terrible coping mechanism helps people! You want to pull trauma into this? What about the fact that we still can’t say Lila’s name? What about the fact that you refuse to make friends with people our age because you fear them leaving you?”

She winced and her face reddened. “Okay, but does that inconvenience you? No! At least mine is only self-destructive! Yours is going to drag the entire family down with you! We’ve already fucked up these kids for sure, but you just keep making it worse and worse by spreading our limited time thinner!”

“Shut up! What do you know? You hardly ever talk to them anyways! You’re always at work or asleep!”

“Really? And whose fault is that? If you’d just stuck to the actual plan B instead of going out and attacking all the cops in the GCPD there wouldn’t have been as much attention on what had happened!”

He rolled his eyes. “I’VE ALREADY TOLD YOU THAT I HAD TO DO THAT! IT WAS TO KEEP EVERYONE AWAY FROM THE SECURITY ROOM TO KEEP PEGASUS SAFE!”

“PLEASE! NO ONE WAS GOING TOWARDS THE SECURITY ROOM! YOU’RE JUST AN IMPULSIVE DICK!”

“ARE YOU REALLY CALLING ME IMPULSIVE?!”

“YOU ADOPT KIDS LIKE THEY’RE POKEMON! OF COURSE I’M GOING TO CALL YOU IMPULSIVE!”

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO ALWAYS GETS IN RANDOM FIGHTS BECAUSE YOU’RE NEVER CAREFUL!”

She groaned and fought to make herself relax enough to speak without yelling. They were in a relatively abandoned part of Gotham but that didn’t mean that there was no one around. The last thing they needed on top of everything going on was to have their fight end up in the papers.

Adrien was clearly doing the same, because he was quiet for a long time before he spoke in little more than a whisper:

“Do you not want to be a part of the family anymore?”

She opened her mouth to say ‘of course I want to be a part of the family’, but no sound came out. She wasn’t sure why she was even hesitating. She cared about them, obviously. She wouldn’t be working so hard if she didn’t…

But it was definitely a lot.

She could only handle so much at once. Beyond the powers she was just a human, and supporting that many other people is hard. Especially considering she essentially had two jobs to keep up with, as well…

The longer she went without answering the more tears spilled over his mask. Still, he was waiting for her answer. He was waiting for some kind of verbal confirmation that she couldn’t do it anymore.

She reached up and gently cupped his cheeks, wiping his tears away with her thumb.

“Chat, I…” She swallowed thickly. “I don’t know how much more we can do.”

He hesitantly brought his hands up to rest over hers. “I know. I just… I can’t just leave them. They always look so sad.”

She’d fallen in love with Adrien for his kindness and now it was the thing that was threatening to tear their marriage apart.

But he’d fallen for her because of her problem solving skills. And she was determined to not let this be the one problem she failed to solve.

The problem wasn’t exactly that he was getting more kids. Marinette loved kids.

The problem was that they didn’t know if they could raise kids without messing them up too badly.

Part of it was that everyone in the family had had one or more big events that had traumatized them, and it looked like it was finally time that they started getting past it.

Could they even get past it at this point? It had been over two decades since Marinette and Adrien had originally gotten their traumas, what if it was too late? What would happen if they somehow did get over it? It had been a part of them for such a long time, what would they be without it?

And then there was the kids. Could they even get them to go?

It was worth a shot, at least...

And the other change they needed to make was to make more time for their kids.

Neither of them were going to give up their day jobs (Adrien wouldn’t and Marinette, unfortunately, couldn’t just yet). That meant that they either needed to get caffeine in the house or give up vigilantism…

Well, cross of the giving up vigilantism thing automatically. On top of just not being able to give up on the city they were in when there was still so much to fix, they knew it would only be temporary. They’d already tried to give up vigilantism. They simply couldn’t bring themselves to.

So that left trying to get caffeine past Barbara. The kids (outside of Tim) were very much against caffeine and they worked very hard to make sure neither Marinette or Tim ever managed to get their hands on it. From purposefully making sure Marinette and Tim couldn’t go anywhere without one of them to monitoring the break room camera at her work to make sure she didn’t drink any, the kids were determined to make sure Marinette couldn’t get her hands on anything.

But Adrien could. No one would suspect him.

She bit her lip. This wasn’t going to go over well. Getting Adrien to therapy AND make him get caffeine? Man, this was going to suck.

“Chaton… I might have an idea… but you’re going to have to hear me out…”

~

He and Marinette were arguing again, though this was far more light-hearted.

“We are not opening another portal. We’re already lucky enough that this dimension hasn’t collapsed on us, we aren’t testing it.”

He rolled his eyes and stopped scratching runes into the wall to glare at her. “Would you rather we let a girl-woman-female-you-know-what-I-mean room with a guy?”

“What about we give her Jason’s room and let Jason sleep with us? He comes into our room to sleep either way.”

“Jason still uses his room to store things.”

“This is a bad idea, Chaton…”

He grinned. “Mhmm.”

“This is what I meant when you said you’re stupidly impulsive.”

“Would you rather do it?”

“Sure.”

He rolled his eyes. “And that’s what I meant when I said you don’t care about your own health. It’ll be fine.”

She clicked her tongue and motioned for him to go on.

He finished scratching the last rune and sighed when he saw some weird tentacle monster slowly unfurling itself on the other side. He got to his feet quickly and raised his staff to fight it, only to cringe when he heard Dick and Jason scream downstairs.

“I’ll deal with that, do you have this taken care of?”

She winced. “Sure. Where exactly is the portal, to be sure?”

He pointed it out and then ran downstairs.

Jason was currently not having a good time, it seemed. The bottom half of his body had been swallowed by a hole in the floor and he was struggling to get a hold on the slick floors.

Dick was also there, screaming incoherently from one of the ceiling lights.

Adrien ran over and grabbed one of Jason’s arms and started slowly pulling him out of the portal. After a bit Dick snapped out of it and scrambled to help.

The three were panting by the time they managed to get him all the way out.

“What the heck what the heck what the heck what the heck --,” Dick mumbled, holding his heart.

Jason, though just as shaken, seemed to be getting over it quickly. “How do we fix that?”

“Don’t remember, ask your mom,” mumbled Adrien as he crawled over to the portal on the floor and peered down.

It was a tiny group of people crowded around a computer.

Wait, what the heck were they wearing? Were they cosplaying as vigilantes? They definitely had the tacky outfits down if they were but Adrien didn’t know who they could be. Well, it had been a long time since they’d visited the Justice League, maybe he just didn’t know them…

He cleared his throat awkwardly and flashed them a blinding smile.

“Um… sorry about this, we’ll fix it as quickly as possible.”

“Was that… was that Dick Grayson?” Said the tallest of them.

Was he dressed as a bat? Why was he dressed as a bat? Dressing up like animals wasn’t technically their thing but on the other hand it was absolutely their thing. Adrien was almost offended.

Wait, he’d said something. He tried not to go pale when his brain finally processed it. This wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted the world to find out their identities…

“What kind of name is Dick Grayson? Ha! Lame!”

Dick sent him an affronted look from where he was on the floor. Adrien gave him an apologetic smile and a shrug.

Jason came back down with a baking pan. “Mom said to drop something through, so…”

“What’s that?”

“Brownies.”

“You’re dropping our brownies down there? Are you trying to kill them?” Asked Dick.

Adrien blinked once then sighed. “It could have worked for once. Be nice.”

Jason scoffed. “It didn’t. She forgot sugar. That’s why we’ll give it to them.”

“Sorry about this!” Said Adrien as Jason dropped the pan through the portal.

As promised, it closed now that something had been sacrificed.

The three looked at each other for a few seconds before Dick looked away and said, “So… pretend this never happened?”

“Yep.”

~

She cursed as she fell back on the couch, never mind the fact that Adrien was already laying there. Her husband made a quiet ‘oof’ sound as she dropped on top of him. She was hopped up on caffeine and ready to bond with her kids but the problem was that the kids, in fact, had lives.

The little time that Marinette and Adrien didn’t have work was taken up by patrols, by Jason’s homework, by Tim’s extracurriculars, by Dick’s job...

“There’s still not enough time.”

“We might have to stop being vigilantes for a bit…” He said, though he sounded reluctant. “Or rotate off by day…”

She didn’t like the idea either, but it didn’t seem like they had much choice in this if they wanted to be better for their kids. They’d already had to cut back on vigilantism because of their jobs and need for sleep, could they really cut it out of their lives entirely? Just like that?

No, there had to be something they could do. The city was still the most crime ridden city in the world. They couldn’t give up on it.

But then what to do…?

She watched Tim stumble in with a dislocated shoulder and squeaked, pushing herself off of her husband and rushing over.

“Shit! What happened?”

“I… might have messed up a boomerang-horseshoe-thingy catch and it might have hit me in the shoulder.”

She clicked her tongue. “Right. I’m going to reset it on three. One, two --.”

Tim gave a grunt of pain as she pushed his shoulder back into place.

“You should have told someone, how long were you fighting with a dislocated shoulder?”

“A little while…”

She shook her head and glanced at Adrien to give him the ‘kids, right?’ look, only to find him lost in thought.

He snapped out of it and flashed her a grin.

“I think I have an idea. How do you feel about going back on patrols with partners?”

~

He stretched across his family’s lap as they waited.

Adrien, Marinette, Dick, Jason, and Tim all sat in a therapist’s office for family counseling. They would have invited Cass but the whole ‘not speaking’ thing made therapy difficult. They actually had invited Barbara, only to get shut down because apparently she didn’t want to ‘deal with all that mess’.

So, it was just them.

Well, I say ‘just’ like five people isn’t a lot of people to have in a single therapy session. The poor therapist looked like she was going to have a heart attack when she saw all of them waiting for her.

Good thing they'd chosen the shortest session...

“Um… Agreste?”

“Yep!” Said Dick, far too brightly for a therapy session but whatever.

“Cool… right this way!”

His family glanced at each other before shrugging and pushing Adrien off of their laps in unison. He pouted up at them from his new place on the floor, but no one seemed all that guilty about it.

Marinette did reach out and pull him to his feet by the back of his shirt, though, so there was at least that.

They filed into the therapist’s room and took a seat on yet another couch.

Dr. Quinzel smiled at all of them. “Okay, does anyone have anything they’d like to start us off with?”

The family eyed each other warily. They were here as civilians, so they had to make sure not to slip up and talk too in depth about most things…

“Jason keeps calling me ‘Replacement’!” Said Tim, finally.

Marinette and Adrien frowned at Jason, who was attempting to sink into his hoodie.

“Well, we definitely didn’t know about that…” said Marinette.

“Of course you didn’t!” Said Jason. “You’re hardly ever around!”

Tim sighed. “They’re just busy.”

Adrien flinched. That was way too close to the excuse he used to make for his own father for his liking. Were they really that bad? Sure, he and Marinette were definitely not around as much as they’d like to be, but they were making an effort… did that really matter, though?

“No, Jay is right. We’ll try and do more. We’ve talked about how we’re going to free up time for you guys recently, actually. We’re hoping to include you more in our...” He glanced at Dr. Quinzel. “... hobby. Do more things with you in general, really.”

Marinette nodded her agreement.

She glanced at the boy’s faces and then clicked her tongue. “Anyone have problems they want to share?”

“No, our family is perfect how it is!” Said Dick brightly, his gaze fixed on the window.

Adrien followed his gaze to make sure nothing bad was going down on the streets and then sighed. “Dick, there has to be something. You’ve been just as tense as the rest of us recently.”

“Nope! Everything’s great!”

Everyone else exchanged skeptical looks but they couldn’t really feel comfortable pushing --.

Dr. Quinzel frowned a little bit. “Okay. We’ll come back to you when everyone else has had their say, then. Hopefully you’ll be more comfortable then.”

Dick gave a charming smile. Dr. Quinzel didn’t seem all that perturbed as she turned to look at Marinette.

His wife pursed her lips tightly as everyone else’s eyes went to her and she smoothed out the front of her dress. “We’ve already talked about this one-on-one, but… I think Adrien could maybe think a bit more before doing things. Or, at least, he should tell me when he makes major decisions like adopting kids.”

Dick’s smile dropped instantly. “Are you really complaining about not being told things? You guys tell me nothing! I have to figure everything out myself!”

Everyone startled a little at the sudden change of heart and gave each other wary glances before finding their way back to Dick.

The man in question had pushed himself to his feet (Adrien whined a little bit about losing the person to lean against) and started pacing. “You even ask Barbara things before me! It’s like you think I’m stupid!”

“Sweetie --.”

“Dont!” Dick sighed and came to a stop. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “It’s fine, it’s just… don’t you trust me?”

Marinette and Adrien looked at each other before nodding.

“Of course we do,” he said gently. “We’ll talk more about this at home, okay? When we’re not in the present company?” He looked at Tim and Jason, but he meant Dr. Quinzel. That was a hard subject to tiptoe around.

Dick took a seat on the armrest, likely so he could get up again without disturbing anyone.

Dr. Quinzel nodded. She looked at Adrien, and he fought the urge to try and hide behind Jason. She looked way too smart for his liking, it felt like she knew just by looking at him exactly what was wrong with him...

“I…” He struggled to find the words in French, let alone in English. “... think I try and get a lot of people in the house so I never have to be alone for long. I used to be alone all the time. I can’t do that again.”

Dr. Quinzel nodded thoughtfully. “It seems that all of you feel excluded or lonely in some way. Thankfully, that means all of you are the solution to each other’s problems. But, also, I suggest branching out some. Family is good, but so are friends. Everyone understand?”

They all gave each other wary looks, but they smiled all the same.

“Great, we can have a session again in a month or two to check your progress. That’ll be $7000 --.”

~

Marinette met her husband’s eyes and they exchanged nervous looks before walking into their room. As expected, Jason was already there. He was ready for bed, it seemed, with his pajamas on and his book out.

They took seats on either side of him and each took a hand.

“Jay…” Began Adrien. “We don’t love you any less because you’re not the newest kid anymore.”

“I know…”

Marinette bit her lip and pressed a tiny kiss to his forehead. “We’re not lying. And you don’t have to, either, just tell us why you think that.”

Jason looked at both of them warily before sinking into his shirt. It didn’t work as much as it did when he was wearing a hoodie or turtleneck, but it still worked surprisingly well.

She looked at Adrien nervously and he took the lead again:

“The reason we tend to focus on the newest the most is because they usually have the freshest problems. When we first got you we focused on you more than Dick because you were still struggling with old habits you picked up while homeless, and he was mostly over what had happened with his original parents.”

Marinette nodded. “And when Tim came in we focused on him because he was dealing with realizing his parents weren’t great and adjusting to a family who loved him. Now we have Cass, who…  will definitely need some extra care…”

Jason sniffled a little and nodded his understanding. “I know you have to, I just… it feels like you don’t want me as much anymore...”

“No way!” Marinette said, squeezing his hand tighter. “We love you, sweetie, you’re just as much our kid as any of the others.”

Adrien smiled. “Exactly. You’re stuck with us, whether you want to be or not.”

Jason gave a wobbly laugh before slowly drawing them in for a hug.

“I love you, too, guys.”

They hugged him back.

“... and I’ll go easier on Tim.”

“Thank kwami, I didn’t want to ruin the moment by bringing it up, but… yeah, be nicer to Tim, please,” said Adrien half jokingly.

Marinette grinned. “Maybe give him a nicer nickname, at least?”

“How about Timbers?”

“Uh…”

“Timberly?”

She clicked her tongue. “How about just Timmy? Or Tim?”

“No, no, I think I’m on to something.”

~

Adrien stared in disbelief.

“You… you did what?”

Dick fiddled with a Rubix cube. Adrien wasn’t sure if that was just to help stay concentrated on the conversation or so he could more easily avoid eye contact.

“I joined the mob two years ago because I wanted to be more in the loop…”

Adrien and Marinette exchanged exhausted looks.

“Don’t be mad! I’ve been rising in the ranks for years now, eventually I’ll be close enough to Agoura to help you guys!”

Marinette sighed lightly and shook her head. “Sweetie, we aren’t mad.”

Adrien raised his eyebrows. “Yes we are.”

“You’re right. We’re mad. But we’re going to let this one slide.”

“No, we aren’t.”

“I can’t read minds!” She said, then she shook her head again. “Look, we just want you to be safe.”

Adrien nodded. “The reason we don’t tell you much isn’t because we don’t trust you, it’s because we don’t like involving you guys in dangerous things when we can avoid it.”

“But Barbara --!”

“We asked her about her opinion on one thing. She actually gave the same answer as you, and we turned her down, too. We’re sorry that you felt like we didn’t trust you, though, that wasn’t ever our intent.”

“And, besides,” added Marinette. “You have a tendency to snoop. We always figured you’d learn everything on your own.”

They took a seat on either side of Dick on the couch and wrapped him in a hug.

Dick beamed as he hugged back.

“... you’re still in trouble, though. That was stupid and dangerous and neither you nor your siblings can never do that again,” said Adrien.

Dick started whining.

~

Marinette bit her lip anxiously as she looked at her phone. All it would take was one click to call, but…

Adrien sighed beside her and reached over. He took the phone and pressed to call, then tossed it back at her.

She panicked, juggling the phone in her hands as it dialled. Nononononononono don’t pick up don’t pick up --

“Hello?” Said Nygma.

Fuck!

She looked at her husband anxiously.

“This or the Justice League,” mouthed Adrien.

She squeaked and brought the phone to her ear. “Nygma! Hi!”

“... Hello?”

“Hey! I’m a bit bored, so… I was just wondering if, um, you want to do something as…” she wheezed. “... as um… as…”

“I don’t really have anything prepared right now, I’m still waiting on that shipment of penguins...” The Riddler seemed confused, which was a first.

Was she a little concerned about whatever Riddler was doing with penguins? Sure. Then again, this is Riddler she was talking about. What was he going to do? Steal one of her ninja kids and then tell her exactly where they were? Whatever.

“No no! Like um…”

“Friends?”

“Yes! That!”

Adrien rested his head in his hands with a deep sigh. She flipped him off despite knowing he couldn't see it.

“I guess my schedule is free until the penguins come in... Sure! Want to go try an escape room?”

“No, I do an escape room every time I see you. I’m making you a new outfit.”

Adrien and Riddler both groaned.

She smiled.

~

He hesitated, messing with the strap of the bag over his shoulder.

“The city might need me --.”

“The city will be fine for a week,” said Marinette.

“The kids might need me --,” he tried, only to get silenced by a kiss.

She pulled back a little bit later. “It’s one week. Besides, we’re all doing what Dr. Quinzel said, and you’ve stalled long enough.”

He sighed. “For good reason! It’s a week alone! I’m going to go insane.”

“Chaton, we’re murderers. I think we crossed over that line a while ago.”

He cracked a grin, weak as it was, and pressed another kiss to her lips. “Are you sure --?”

“Yes! Oh my kwami! Now go!” She gave him a playful shove.

He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. “It almost feels like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“And it almost feels like you’re stalling.”

She waved down a taxi for him and he couldn’t help but cringe as they took the bags from him. It made it feel much more real…

“I love you, Chaton, I’ll see you in a week.”

“I love you, too, M’lady.”

He waved at the kids long after they had disappeared over the horizon and he sighed as he sunk back in his seat. He knew it was for the best, he needed to learn how to function as a person on his own, but…

It was only a week. Only a week.

Besides…

He looked down at the coordinates of the last known location of David Cain (it was amazing what Tim, Barbrara, and Marinette could do when angry enough).

He wasn’t going to be bored, at least.

~

She turned away from the cake she’d been decorating and nearly screamed when her eyes landed on Cass. She hadn’t even noticed her walk in.

Marinette forced herself to relax.

She glanced over the tiny girl in front of her and bit her lip. She was wearing a mix of different shades of black which…

She suppressed a shudder. The outfit was okay, if she was being honest, but it definitely needed a splash of color.

“Right, that’s it, we’re finding you some new clothes.”

Cass looked at her blankly.

Right. She didn’t speak language. Marinette pursed her lips as she tried to think of some sort of movement that would convey what was going on, then settled for reaching out a hand for Cass.

She couldn’t help the smile that broke across her face when the girl took her hand. She trusted her! Score!

She hesitated for a minute before yelling: “SWEETIE! I mean… JASON! COME ON WE’RE GOING SHOPPING YOUR CLOTHES ARE GETTING SMALL FOR YOU!”

There was a few seconds’ pause before Jason poked his head in. He glanced at the two of them and frowned, sinking a little bit into his hoodie. “You noticed?”

“I… don’t even know how to respond to that. I’m a designer, of course I noticed. If you want to keep going for the grunge look that’s fine but you need to up your size.”

Jason nodded.

She rested her arm around his shoulders (something that was very hard for her to do now that he was both taller and wider than she was) and pulled the two kids out to the mall.

Jason was getting used to buying things for himself. He still resisted a little bit when people spent money on him or asked what he wanted, but he was making progress.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and handed him a credit card. “Buy what you want. Remember the PIN?”

“Mhmm…” said Jason. He sent a wave over his shoulder as he made his way over to the men’s section.

She hummed lightly as she walked through the girl’s section to look for things for Cass. The girl was short and skinny for her age -- she was determined not to think about it for too long -- and she could easily fit in kid’s clothes…

But no kid of Marinette’s would have a shirt with the words ‘Girl Power!’ or ‘I love tacos!’ on it.

She helped pick out different shades of black shirts and jeans for the girl, mulling over the different colors she should give her. Yellow and red matched her skin tone but she doubted the kid wanted anything bright…

Marinette settled for giving Cass a blue scarf and some gold accessories.

She smiled and offered them to Cass, only to pale when the girl burst into tears. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck --

Cass hugged Marinette around the middle and buried her face in her chest and Marinette was just very confused.

Jason came back with two bags of new clothes and he blinked a few times as he took in the new situation.

“What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know!” She hissed back, waving her hands vaguely. “She’s crying and I can’t even ask what’s wrong!”

“We need to teach her a language,” mumbled Jason.

“No shit, Sherlock!”

“Fuck off, Watson!”

She was getting judgemental looks from fellow shoppers now. Great. Amazing, even. She rested an arm around Cass and then used the other hand to flip them off. How dare they judge how she parented her kid she just met.

She waited until Cass was done to pull away and lean down to check her face. Even if she couldn’t really speak, her expression should be a good gauge of what was wrong --.

Cass gently took the items from Marinette and flashed her a blinding smile.

Damn it. Now Marinette was going to cry. This kid was so cute.

She leaned over and gently pressed a kiss to Cass’s forehead.

HER kid was so cute, she reminded herself as she led her along to .

She helped her wrap the scarf around her neck. Was it kind of hot out? Yes. Was Cass super cute with her mouth hidden behind the fabric? Also yes.

She glanced at Jason, who was also smiling a little bit despite not having all the attention.

His smile dropped at her next words, though:

“I know you still have my card. Hand it over.”

“Fuck.”

~

It turns out ASL is hard.

It also turns out that teaching ASL, while you’re still learning it yourself, to a person who doesn’t even comprehend language is even harder.

Weird how that works out.

They started with simpler things. Everyday objects, basic emotions, the first letters of their names so she could say who she was talking about. It was a slow process, especially because they often would take two days per lesson because of everyone’s conflicting schedules.

But it was a process.

And he thought the family was doing pretty well, too. It probably helped that Cass was, at least so far, the nicest person in the house and none of them wanted her to be sad or lonely.

Look at that. They were working on making her not feel excluded. Progress! Dr. Quinzel would be proud.

~

Marinette paused her walk to the kitchen when she saw blonde hair. Adrien had blond hair, but he was still out on patrols with Dick so…

She turned and looked at the person on the couch with Tim. “Please, kwami, tell me he didn’t get another one when we just started making progress.”

Tim barely even looked up from his computer. “No, just my friend, Steph. She’s here because she thinks I’m sad my parents died.”

“Oh, oka --.” Marinette took a step back. “Hold up, what?”

“Yeah, they were killed by this guy in Haiti. I was sad about it for a while but then I was like ‘wait a minute! I can just kill him back!’ Anyways, it’s all good now.”

Steph didn’t seem all that perturbed about the murder thing, so she brushed past worrying about their identities or, y’know, her kid getting prosecuted...

Marinette pulled out her phone. “Yeah, Dr. Quinzel? I’m going to need to schedule another appointment…”

Tim frowned. “I’m fine, Mari.”

“Oh! Yeah! This isn’t for you… but, Steph, he doesn’t have anything going on Friday night, right?”

“I’ll make sure he’s free.”

She nodded. “Thanks, sweetie. Want anything to eat?”

“Guys! I’m fine! I got my revenge! I feel great!”

“Of course, you do, Timmy. And… waffles?”

She continued her walk to the kitchen to finish up scheduling and make Steph waffles.

~

Listen, at this point Cass having a miraculous was a given.

He might as well make sure it was a good one that would come in useful. And, it kind of matched her fighting style of predicting people’s moves to have one that allowed her to go five minutes into the past. She’d be even better at predicting people’s movements if she’d seen them before!

Besides, she liked the color blue. Perfect fit.

Marinette had agreed to train her, but Adrien was the one to take her out on patrols with him.

It was good to have people with different fight styles together, it made solving problems easier. Adrien paired with Dick and Cass, Marinette tended to pair with Jason, and Tim would tag in on either side since he had no real consistent fight style (he liked to change based on his opponent).

Besides, with group patrols they got to spend more time with their kids! They were nothing if not efficient people.

He and Cass sat on the rooftop across from the building Agoura had asked to meet Dick in. There was a low chance it was going to get violent, there should be no way that he’d know anything was off (Marinette and Dick had been publicly fighting for the past year to make it seem like they were on opposite sides), but it was better safe than sorry.

He watched Dick wave to Agoura and head off. Adrien and Cass watched carefully for any sign that they were suspicious, that they were going to do something underhanded, but Agoura just turned and started heading off into the night.

When his oldest son came up to sit with them, he had a thought. He glanced at Cass and made a swiping motion on his wrist.

She nodded her understanding.

They waited for Dick to transform before following Agoura and his goons. Five people were with him, but that wasn’t actually that bad by Agoura standards, so...

“Y’know, if he gets suspicious of me because of this, I’m never going to forgive you,” said Dick.

He shrugged absently, then broke into a wide grin when Agoura turned down an alley. “Living hotel to hotel wasn’t that bad back in the day.”

“Hm. I disagree, but…” The three of them exchanged grins as Cass activated her power. “Let’s do this.”

Dick brought his flute to his lips and played a high-pitched note that made Agoura and his goons stop in their tracks. Duplicates of each vigilante slowly spread out over the rooftops, as well as a replica of Dick.

The vigilantes and their fakes dropped down to surround the group and Cass suddenly reached out and jerked Adrien’s hand. He almost complained but then a bullet soared past where his head had just been and he went pale.

He squeezed her hand once as thanks and then pulled away so he could activate his Cataclysm.

Doubles went after the goons while Cass went to work disarming people. It was kind of creepy how she disappeared into the shadows without any help from Dick, but no one said anything because it was useful. She would pop out of shadows and break arms and legs to put goons out of commission.

Dick was giving himself an alibi. The fake lawyer ran into the action, only to get taken out by a fake Cass.

Agoura was making a run for it. Too bad, really, that he couldn’t exactly see anything that was going on. The world in front of Agoura was a mess of dumpsters and trash bags that he was struggling to run around. Adrien, who knew for a fact that everything was either fake or light enough to brush away with his staff, followed after him at a calm pace.

He grabbed Agoura by the back of his tailored suit and smiled at him.

“Agoura! Buddy! Where are you going? I just want to chat!”

“Nice one!” Yelled Dick from somewhere in the chaos.

“Thanks, Robin!”

He tipped his head to the side and regarded the man in his grip. It was clear he didn’t really know that much self-defense, but he must have some kind of weapon hidden on him…

Cass seemingly materialized out of the wall nearby and threw herself at Agoura, a blur of blue and black, and the man was nearly knocked out of Adrien’s grip by the force. Then she pulled away with a gun and a few knives.

Adrien raised his eyebrows a little bit before sending her a smile. Yeah. It was definitely a good thing that he’d given her that specific miraculous...

He turned his attention back on the mobster, who was beginning to look a little pale.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not here to kill you. You deserve way worse,” he said brightly.

He pressed his hand to the man’s wrist. He closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate on just dissolving the wrist. It was kind of hard to do with the mobster screaming his head off. Kwami, you’d think he’d be quiet so Adrien wouldn’t dissolve him into nothing but apparently not…

The hand popped off and he let go instantly. He looked down and winced at the black webbing its way under the glove.

He glanced at the mobster nearby, who was still screaming, and rolled his eyes. He punched him as hard as he could and smiled when he fell to the ground in a heap by the hand. Good, now that that was dealt with...

He scrunched up his nose a little bit as he slowly peeled the glove off of the hand and then his face split into a wide smile. Thank kwami, he hadn’t ruined the prints.

He turned to his kids and found them waiting for him amidst a pile of bodies. He didn’t know if the henchmen were alive or not, but when he saw the tiny scrape on Cass’s cheek he decided he didn’t care.

He waved the hand at them.

“We got him!”

~

Listen, Marinette had considered staying commissioner…

For approximately two seconds.

The vigilantes had made their point in getting Agoura arrested (they gave him about four days before he ‘mysteriously committed suicide’ in jail thanks to either underpaid henchmen or old victims). They were done. It had been way too hard to even think about doing it consistently. No, murder was definitely the way to go.

She glanced over at Nygma. “Thanks for helping me pack up.”

“Well, I figured it would be nice to visit again.”

She nodded slowly and looked around her old office. Tomorrow there would be someone else in that chair, someone likely far more corrupt…

“Got a knife on you?”

“Obviously, but why?”

She shrugged and took it from his outstretched hand. She knelt down by the chair and sawed on one of the legs until she had taken off a tiny piece of it. She pushed on the chair and giggled a little when it wobbled. Yes. Perfect. That would be so annoying.

She tossed the piece of chair leg in the air and then caught it, sending Nygma a wink. “The budget here is terrible, it’ll take at least a few months to get a new chair.”

Nygma rolled his eyes and took his knife back from her. “Hm. And they say I’m the evil one.”

They each grabbed a box. His was full of personal items, hers was full of files on every person currently in the GCPD and every mobster and goon she could think of the name of.

“You owe me one escape room.”

She groaned as they slipped out into the halls. “Why? Wasn’t it enough to spit on the floor?”

“Nope! Spitting on the floor was payment for me showing up, you’re making me do manual labor so I get one hour of escape rooms with you.”

“Don’t you know every solution already?”

“A new one opened up across town!”

She clicked her tongue irritably but shrugged. “Fine. But only because I owe you, not because we’re friends.”

He rolled his eyes and then looked down at the box he was carrying. “Wow, it sure would suck if all these pictures of your kids just… fell.”

Her eyes widened. “You ARE the evil one!”

He raised his eyebrows.

“And… you’re also my friend.” She made a retching noise. “Kwami, I’m going to die.”

“What?! No! Only one of my traps is allowed to kill you!”

“Too late! I’m dying. I’ll never recover…”

“Nooooo…!”

~

He raised an eyebrow at the girl on his couch. He was pretty sure she was Tim’s friend but… she was definitely around a lot…

Whatever, he might as well at this point.

“Hey, how many parents you got?”

Steph didn’t even glance up. “Zero, thanks to you.”

He went still. Wait, was she saying this in the ‘my parent(s) was evil and you killed them’ way or the ‘they were civilians and they got caught in the crossfire and I blame you’ way?

“Um… did you like them?”

“No, he was a dick.”

He allowed himself to breathe. Cool. Great. That would have made everything difficult…

“Want to be adopted?”

Steph laughed a little and shrugged. “Do I get to be a vigilante, too?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Then... yeah, whatever.”

~~~

Taglist

@i-am-ironic @nathleigh @mialuvscats @golden-promises @sassakitty @deathwishy @toodaloo-kangaroo @ladythugs @moonlightstar64 @dahjokester @jjmjjktth

#another one?! #maribat #adrienette #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #adrien agreste #chat noir #dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #cassandra cain #orphan #damian wayne #robin

[anerdinallherglory]

Approaching Sun (29)

Author’s Note: Happy Halloween! Sorry this is so late everyone. I am currently writing my thesis for graduate college (the very reason why this chapter is not longer) and it has been sucking up ALL of my time in combination with Covid-19 face-to-face teaching and virtual teaching. In short, my life has been a walking list of “to-do’s” which causes me to neglect my writing. This chapter is dedicated to zeidika (hope you are reading this) who reviewed my story back in July. I occasionally think about your message and it keeps me going through stressful times. I hope your upcoming graduation is a memorable moment and that your son is doing well. You inspire me too! Congrats on the outstanding GPA! I am hoping to follow you soon with graduation!

Please let me know what you guys think. More action-packed chapters coming your way soon (hopefully).

P.S. While you are waiting on more chapters of A.S., go check out my new mystery/horror fiction story, “Beneath the Harlow Grove” by @anerdinallherglory on Wattpad.

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

Chapter 29: A Generation of Weaklings

Sasuke blasted through a few too many red-dirt mountains in Kaguya’s core dimension. With every blast, he felt more like himself. Something chemical happened in his brain when he tunneled raw chakra through his veins; it helped him adopt the right mindset. Sasuke found that the quickest way to erase his thoughts was to surrender them to his shinobi persona who had to be focused. That chakra felt like a jolt to his nervous system, reminding him of himself and his shinobi goal.

Of course, now that he was less distracted, he found himself too depleted of chakra to do anything more than take a breather. Now that he was in the core dimension, Sasuke would have to adjust his plans. Previously, the Uchiha had been trying to cross into the desert dimension without going through the middle dimension. Now that he had jumped ship and escaped here by instinct, he was going to have to do this whole thing in reverse. Logically, his next step would have to be crossing into the desert dimension and then overpassing this core dimension directly to Kunagakure. All this would require a lot of chakra.

Just to speed up the process, Sasuke momentarily considered swallowing one of the chakra pills that he had swiped before his cold exit hours before into this dimension. It might be a good idea for experimentation purposes, but Sasuke knew enough about shortcuts to comprehend that chakra pills would do more harm than good, which is why they were typically reserved. It was best, the Uchiha decided strategically, to take the pill when he was at his chakra max, so he could ultimately top it off and have just the right amount to make the jump.

And besides, Sasuke just didn’t have enough time or chakra to experiment recklessly. He would get one shot to try it before he had to wait a significant amount of time for his chakra to replenish enough to try it again if he failed. Not to mention in what ways he would have to recover from whatever side effects he would suffer through from abusing the chakra pills.

Sasuke pinched his nose in concentration and tried his best to expel Sakura from his mind while he waited. And it worked just enough, for the most part…consciously—until he fell asleep that night and dreamt of her, his suppressed thoughts confronting him in his subconscious. He had developed a habit of dreaming about Sakura lately, so this wasn’t something new to him. His dreams of her usually involved her imminent death; an enemy threatening her life in a way that Sasuke was too late to prevent. This was the case. Usually. But something about that kiss earlier had unnerved Sasuke, transforming his instinctual focus on her from one of concern to one of…how would he describe it? Desire? Hope? Longing? None of those words seemed acceptable to the Uchiha; he hated to have to admit to any of those feelings even when dreaming.

In this dream, he was back in that damn medicine preparation room, glaring into Sakura’s green eyes after that unexpected kiss. But this time, instead of sensibly leaving, the Uchiha gave in to her desperate pleadings, taking her chin between his fingertips and bringing her mouth back to his. In this dream, Sasuke kissed her. Was kissing her frenziedly, hand suddenly twisting in the pink fuzz at the nape of her hot, flushed neck. Was, until a hand clamped firmly on his shoulder, jerking him abruptly back away from her. When he turned, Sasuke was face-to-face with himself. His conscious self vs. the subconscious.

When Sasuke woke, he laughed derisively as he realized he would always be the one to get in his own way in both reality and fiction.

“Good,” he said aloud to the airless dimension, suddenly frustrated for fantasizing about the opposite scenario of the one he had chosen. He hoped Kaguya, or others like her, somehow were able to hear him through this connection of dimensions. They would see just how determined he was to rid the world of them; how dedicated he was to protect those he loved. So much so, that he would sacrifice and surrender every aspect of his life to this goal.

Sasuke stood then, forming the hand sign to split the dimension in the space before him until raging sand materialized before his eyes. He decided he would just not sleep; not unless he was so tired that he wouldn’t even have enough left in him to dream.  

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sakura was a quick learner. The medical ninja gave herself that credit at least as she imitated the slow intake and exhale of breath that professed sleep. This certainly wasn’t her first kidnapping. Half a year ago, Kido had done just exactly that and as soon as his posse realized she was awake, the show had begun. Sakura’s poison-trained system had finally started to break down whatever sleep-induced toxin Mako had spiked her drink with. With no conception of how long she had been unconscious, Sakura had become cognizant and immediately began to mimic an undisturbed state. This time, she was set on listening. This time, she would assess and strategically plan.

She had been waiting to hear the answer as to “why” she found herself in this particular situation as she was dragged, then hoisted over someone’s shoulder. For a blurry second, Sakura was taken back to her drunken episode several weeks ago when Sasuke carried her home after the medic had decided to deplete Tsunade’s alcohol stash. The only similarity between this state of stupor and that one was the pounding headache that made Sakura want to vomit. That was when memory caught up with her and she began to “act.”

She was exchanged from one shoulder to the next and Sakura realized suddenly that she had been carried by Mako up until this point--that bastard--and was being surrendered to someone else. She didn’t know the voice.

“Great job,” a guttural accent commended Mako for his successful abduction. Sakura planned on commending him herself once she regained the upper hand.

“Just shut up and walk,” came Mako’s voice, in a tone that sent shivers down Sakura’s spine. She had never heard him speak like that. How could she have been played by him this whole time?

Sakura began to second-guess her decision to pretend the longer that they walked. In cases of abduction, it was well known that a person’s chances of survival drastically dropped if the kidnapper succeeded in moving them to a second location. But Sakura thought of Isao, her patients, her coworkers, and even Sasuke and resolved herself. It was better for them if she could allow these maniacs to believe that they had got her. What they didn’t know, was that their mistake would be getting Sakura just far enough away from civilians where she could cause some real damage. She had handled Kido; she could take care of these two as well. Neither of them could have anticipated her other skillset; Mako didn’t know her well enough.

When they had dropped her not so gracefully onto her back an hour later, Sakura bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making a pained groan or facial expression to give away her performance. Other voices chimed in then, and Sakura realized her adversaries had just doubled.

“About damn time,” someone drawled as she was dropped. “You couldn’t have taken care of this sooner?”

There was some shuffling as her capturers arranged themselves in what sounded like a cramped space.

Mako announced: “She’s surprisingly resistant. Not to mention Uchiha’s been around just until recently.”

That particular statement wounded Sakura a little more than the fall she just sustained. Of course, this was all about Sasuke. She should have known. Kido had kidnapped her for this same reason: to lure in Sasuke, kill her in front of him so his eyes would change. Sakura was starting to get pretty annoyed with people trying to use her to get to Sasuke—as if she would ever let that happen. When would they learn that things weren’t so black and white? Mako’s previous statement the morning of her capture began to make more sense to her now: “Well, it’s obvious that he likes you. To be honest, I thought you were already a couple.” And Sakura cursed her mouth for confiding in him because now she identified his interest as a predatory investigation.

“Or maybe you just weren’t trying hard enough because you liked her,” came a response from a voice Sakura seemed to recognize for some reason. It was different from the rest—distinctively female. Sakura mentally raised an eyebrow at that fact.  

“Believe me, that’s not the case” came Mako’s defense. “Ashuwa just didn’t do the trick on a medical specialist as we had hoped.”

And then Sakura was cursing. Cursing a stream of silent words that wouldn’t do her any good to express verbally now that she was getting information. The bastard had even convinced her that Sasuke should take it. She thanked the universe for Sasuke’s non-allergic reaction to it.

“What ended up working?” came the female voice again, expressing honest curiosity.

“Tea and kindness,” Mako stated unemotionally, eager to move past the topic. “Now let’s get on with this.”

“Of course,” said the female again, tossing what sounded like clanging metal onto the floor at his feet. “You have been given a position among us as promised for your service. Welcome.”

Sakura couldn’t resist. She snuck a peek through the corner of her eyelashes at them then and did not like what she saw. She was in a small gathering room with a domed ceiling, one of the many adobe homes on the outskirts of the Sand Village. She had also miscounted by 1. There were four of them, an extra silent companion seated & leaning against the wall farthest from her, seemingly uninterested. In the same second, Sakura also noted that Mako had bent down to retrieve something she recognized, a headband with a foreign symbol etched onto it—the same symbol she had seen on the headbands of their assailants back at the Tanigakure lodge. She made the connection: these were the same ninja who had followed Sakura and ambushed her and Sasuke in the night. The ninja she had recounted to Gaara, who was supposedly on their trail. How did they manage to get past him?

Just as Sakura thought this, an unexpected thud came from the ceiling accompanied by the crumbling sound of sand. Quiet consumed them as no one moved. Sakura observed quietly as all ninja revealed their weapons in silence as if they were snakes quietly coiling back to strike.

The man in the corner nodded toward the door, and the ninja closest to Sakura’s head disbanded from the group and disappeared within a second. Once outside, the same ninja began swearing loudly at some surprise. Everyone in the room relaxed as a child’s vocal squirming reached their years. The shuffling continued as this child was being brought inside.

“Damn kid must have followed us!” the returning ninja said in annoyance. “Got some bite to him.”

If Sakura hadn’t been laying down already, she would have collapsed in shock and fear at the memorable voice of the child they had just apprehended and threw down next to her. “Get away from me!” Isao shouted, the boy swinging a kunai out in front of him. They laughed wickedly at the boy’s ferocity.

Okay, show’s over.

Protective instincts kicked in swiftly as Sakura successfully reached forward and stole the kunai away from the child in less than a blinking second. There were unanimous intakes of breath throughout the room as Sakura managed to get Isao behind her and compress the blade threateningly against the esophagus of the man who had touched the both of them—it all happened within a microsecond.  Sakura’s sudden revival activated the group’s defense and they were upon her, but she let out a snarl, drawing blood against the man’s throat.

They immediately stopped their advance when the man she had ensnared began to laugh, throat nicking against the knife as he did so. “Do it already,” he breathed through his laugh. “My death will be a part of this effort. It will only help us in our cause.”

Sakura was certainly tempted by that. The way he had roughly handled Isao seconds before with his colossal insensitive hands was like a fresh and bloody burn on her skin, painful and needing the immediate relief of this man’s execution. But something in his words froze her hand. A cause?

“Glad you are finally awake,” came Mako’s distinct tone, a vicious friendliness warming the words again.

“Shut up you liar,” Sakura spat viciously.

“If you let him go, we’ll tell you why we are going to kill you,” came the female’s voice, and Sakura flashed her angry green eyes over in the woman’s direction. Her face and hair were covered, and Sakura acknowledged the same black shemagh that had concealed her attackers in Tanigakure.

Fat chance, she thought. Sakura immediately assessed her chakra levels and was aggravated by how slow chakra was reacting to her body’s summoning of it. Mako was a fellow medic, and Sakura deduced that whatever he had given her had strategically messed with her system and chakra connection. Sakura mutely criticized herself for trusting Mako. How many times would she be tricked in her lifetime? Probably many more, but she would learn from them all. Oh well, she thought. She had had worse odds before. Her only additional complication was Isao because now she was responsible for herself and the 11-year-old boy who had pursued after her. Had he somehow witnessed Mako’s abduction of her?

It was at this moment that the woman at the front of the room began to take off her mask, and Sakura almost dropped the knife altogether. As the black wrap was loosened and it slumped around the woman’s neck, Sakura immediately recognized the face of Hisa, the female medic ninja who had been her assistant throughout Sakura’s entire stay in Kunagakure. Even Isao behind her, gasped when he saw the woman who had helped take care of him.

Sakura’s moment of surprise was all it took for the ninja she stood behind to reach his hand lightning-quick between his own throat and the kunai. He grabbed on to Sakura’s wielded wrist with his left hand and flung her forward over his shoulder. She mentally cursed as she went flying toward the forefront of the room, landing painfully into the opposite wall. She practically went through it, and the side of the adobe house collapsed around her. As she fell, Sakura realized that the brute force used against her revealed their intention to truly kill her. They weren’t planning on preserving her, let alone sparing her life.

Sakura had been launched farther than she initially realized because when she managed to rise from the dust and sand, she winced at the other consequences of her distraction that was now beyond reach. One by one, the villains stepped through the new door that Sakura had made, carrying Isao with them. In the next second, Isao was tossed to the sand, screaming threats and clutching at the thug man’s foot that suddenly pinned down his chest. When the beast applied pressure to the child’s sternum, Isao began to moan in pain.

The sight enraged her, and she broke her silence. “You’re wrong if you think this plan of yours will work!” she screamed at them. “I am nothing to Sasuke. Nothing to anyone, do you hear me?!”

All but the quiet man snickered in response to her declarations, but she continued, seething through her teeth.

“He will not come to save me! You will not get what you want by using me! Let the child go!”

“This isn’t about Sasuke,” replied the wraith-like man who came last through the shattered side of the building’s exterior wall. For the first time since her awakening, the still man walked to the head of the party and addressed her. “Neither is it about the Hokage, or even the Jinchurki. This is about you.”

The night suddenly seemed starless, dark, and void of all sound save the squealing wind. As the stranger spoke this truth, three of the other members flanked his sides before fanning out beside him like Tamari’s fan, creating a close-knit semi-circle. The phantom-like man stood casually in the middle, his face cloaked in the combined darkness of night and the face wrapping he wore. As Sakura looked closer, even this man’s eyes, the only thing that could be seen between the black fabric, seemed like depthless holes of nothing. This man reminded Sakura of a walking desert mirage, some sort of shadow demon hiding in human clothing.

Sakura gritted her teeth as her body instinctively begged her to flee. Isao’s need for her overpowered that. She would die before abandoning him.

“Me?” Sakura asked instead, revealing her honest surprise. “What do you want with me?” It was a trick, the kunoichi told herself. What could they possibly have to gain from killing her when much more powerful figures literally walked side by side with Sakura? There was nothing to gain besides Sasuke’s, Naruto’s, or Kakashi’s ultimate death, defeat, or capture.  

“Your efforts to fix the ‘mentally ill’ goes against the philosophy of our newly founded group,” came Hisa’s poison-dripped answer. Sakura noted that they all took a step toward her in synchrony, tightening in on her a little closer. This practiced pack was testing her and Sakura took a step back to match their own. She was smart enough not to let them surround her like the meal they believed her to be. Sakura felt suddenly empathetic for those mother animals who felt torn between their captured young and their own safety. Let them believe that she was this helpless observer who reeked with fear.

“And what philosophy is that?” She asked, imitating the breaks of a trembling in her throat. She practically seeped the question with distress. It must have had the effect Sakura wanted, for her enemies smiled in response and took another step toward her.

With an insanity that Sakura had not heard in his statements before, Mako declared emphatically, “Progression!”

Sakura couldn’t wait to punch his teeth so far down his throat that Mako’s vocal cords and epiglottis would permanently suffer damage.  

Sakura stammered again, portraying the weakness they wished to see. “Pro--progression?” Another step back. Just a little more.

“Whether or not it is your intention, you will create a shinobi generation of weaklings,” stated the leader again. He essentially breathed more darkness, because the night around her suddenly grew thicker. Was she imagining it, or could this be some sort of jutsu?

“How do you figure that?” she questioned, adding a nervous laugh to her annoyed tinged inquiry. Sakura’s exasperation with their reasoning was starting to make her focus waver.

As she asked, Sakura concentrated on her chakra. She was calling it, calling it, calling it, but it did not spring forth. She would have compared the sensation to drawing blood from a syringe, except her chakra was like liquified cement and the syringe was the size of a pen. If she chose to use it, the Strength of a Hundred Seals just might flood her chakra paths and burst through whatever plug the medicine had caused, or it could potentially well up like water in a dam and she wouldn’t have any access to it. Medically, that might be a concern. And it had only been a few weeks since she had last used her reserves to assist Sasuke crossing dimensions, so would the risk be worth the additional amount behind her forehead?

In an eerie declaration, the masked leader stepped toward her again and said, “If you go around curing the next generation of their anger and pain, brainwashing them with this vision of peace, there will be no more progression.”

“What the hell does that mean?” she asked, all pretense gone now. The confidence in her tone made them stop their encroachment. For a second, Sakura didn’t look so weak to them. They glanced at the leader, the shadow-man, and then again at Mako because Mako knew her best out of the group; he had also drugged her.

“The medicine should still be working. We must hurry though. It won’t last all night.” Listening to this, Sakura inhaled and exhaled, willing the small drip of chakra to pool more heavily in her palm. She would only have one shot before she could collect enough chakra for another one. Sakura took another step back. And another, drawing them away from Isao and his captor. Just a little more. Keep them talking.

“There is peace in the world now,” Sakura baited. “There’s no need for children to suffer through trauma alone anymore.”

The leader did not hesitate a second before responding with the practiced mission justification of their group: “Without anger, hatred, and pain, there is no incentive for war between villages. And without war, there is no need for young shinobi. You will create a generation of weaklings who cannot defend our borders. The world of Shinobi as we know it will disappear.”

Sick freaks, Sakura thought. She was their target because she worked with children? They were afraid that children would be weaker without pain? “The world would be a better place,” she commented, “if there weren’t people like you in it.” Sakura didn’t care to listen to this nonsense anymore. She hated to kill them, but they weren’t giving her much of a choice.

At exactly this moment, Isao had somehow reached into his pocket for another kunai, stabbing it into the foot that held him down. Apparently, the ninja had been distracted by the rest of the pack’s slow pursuit of Sakura and the conversation. Isao left his mark, slicing it clean across the top. The ninja screamed which turned the heads of all those before her. Isao bolted up before anyone had the chance to stop him.

On his feet now, he charged the group and Sakura watched in panic as the ninja he had left behind now followed, brandishing a sword of his own.

“Kill that brat!” came Hisa’s order.

And then Sakura was in the air, her fury propelling her forward and then down on top of them.

Mako let out a cry of alarm, the first to notice her above them. The kunoichi had just enough for one hit, and Sakura prayed the sand wouldn’t buffer too much of it. She fisted the meager amount of chakra between both of her palms, fingers interlocked to make a combined fist. She brought them down as hard as she could at their feet, making it through several feet of sand before she connected it with the ground. Sakura was not able to see the damage done, because not only did sand fill the air, but all light blinked out and a shroud of complete blackness consumed her.

#approachingsun #approaching sun #sasusaku #sasusakufanfiction #ssfanfiction #naruto fanfiction #prosasusaku #Sakura Haruno #sakura hiden #Sasuke Uchiha #sasukeshinden #sasuke and sakura #sakura uchiha

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

My friends and I occasionally play that made-up game called "Kerfuffle" - A bit like DnD but with everyday life tasks and not as nerdy (sadly :D). You pick a random politician, TV char., etc. and try to overcome some challenges in a way you assume they'd do it. Last time we played, I obv picked s.o. from ST - Joyce. That was when a random thought crossed my mind: If s.o. were to name each ST main character's greatest weakness/ strength, what would be the outcome? I immediately thought of you. :D

Ok, now that the election is over, and my anxiety has come back down to its usual “only a little high” status, it’s back to business here. This is an interesting question from my pal @sollody here. I’m not going to be able to go too much into depth given the breadth of the question here, but it’ll be a nice look at several characters. Perhaps this will result in requests for more in-depth looks at some of them individually. For the sake of having a defined meaning of “main character,” I am only going with characters who were in all three seasons and were directly involved in the action (sorry, Mr. Clarke). I will make an exception for Max, as she’s just too central to leave out.

The Party

Mike

Greatest Strength: Determination. Once he sets his mind on something, he does everything in his power to see that it happens. Do not try to come between Mike and his objective. God help you if you try to stop him when his objective involves Will or El.

Greatest Weakness: A lack of emotional intelligence. Mike reacts to his emotions as they come. There’s no apparent self-awareness, and this results in impulsive behavior that leads to negative outcomes for himself and his relationships. The feelings themselves aren’t the problem. Mike just doesn’t understand them enough to react appropriately.

Will

Greatest Strength: Quick thinking. I was tempted to mention his compassion, but really Will’s greatest asset is his mental acuity. Since season 1 he has shown an impressive capacity for quick thinking in stressful situations.

Greatest Weakness: Insecurity. Will has self-esteem issues resulting from not only the Upside Down situation, but also more mundane personal and family experiences. He worries about how people view him and fears that he’s being left behind. This leads to him keeping important things to himself, things nobody, especially a child, should be expected to deal with alone.

Lucas

Greatest Strength: Rationality. Lucas has generally been the member of the party with the most down-to-earth mindset. Regardless of all of the supernatural goings on, Lucas has tried to view things realistically. His approaches to the events of the series have typically been the most practical, skeptical, and grounded. Ironically, this actually does make him a good Winston, though I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell him this.

Greatest Weakness: Overconfidence. Lucas is very sure of himself, sometimes too much so, even when warned off by others. From being sure that El was trouble, to risking a beating from Billy, to thinking he’s some suave expert on women, Lucas has made trouble for himself and his friends. He doesn’t meant to, of course, and a lot of this may come from some desire to “be a man.” Lucas needs to learn to accept himself as he is.

Dustin

Greatest Strength: Curiosity. Dustin is always looking to learn more about anything and everything. Nothing is too weird or off-putting for him. His knowledge has come very much in handy for the Party, and this general attitude has led to him accepting the supernatural events in stride.

Greatest Weakness: Recklessness. Dustin, in his pursuit of satisfying his curiosity, or some other goal, can fail to see clearly obvious dangers. Find a strange creature? Raise it yourself. See a strange growth in the underground tunnels? Go get a closer look. Find out about a possible Russian base in the mall? Let’s go check it out! His goals are often admirable, but his approach is often foolish.

El

Greatest Strength: Adaptability. El has managed to escape a government facility, survive in the woods, and travel to unfamiliar locations despite her young age. While she has been somewhat dependent on her powers, she’s managed to accomplish some impressive feats for someone who hasn’t had anything close to resembling a normal upbringing.

Greatest Weakness: Ignorance. This isn’t the “you’re so ignorant!” meaning of the word. I mean it in the truest sense of the word: El just lacks a lot of information in life. Most critically, she’s emotionally and socially unaware. A lot of her schemas for relationships come from TV shows and what little she picked up from Mike in season 1. She’s gotten somewhat better as the seasons moved on, but there’s just a lot she doesn’t know. This had led to her being suspicious, angry, and possessive (specifically of Mike), harming her relationships with others.

Max

Greatest Strength: Acceptance. Max doesn’t unduly judge anyone. Her issues with Mike stemmed from his treatment of her. Aside from that, some light teasing aside, she was more than happy to accept the Party as her friends. She didn’t let Lucas’ race get in the way of their mutual attraction, despite knowing what Neil and Billy would think about it. She wanted to be El’s friend from the start, and, despite being harshly rebuffed at first, she accepted El when she sought Max out in season 3. It’s really a testament to how determined she is to not continue the cycle that Neil and Billy brought into her life.

Greatest Weakness: Family. Honestly, Max’s biggest drawback is her home life. She’s worried that she may end up going down the same angry, abusive road as Billy and Neil. She’s mistrustful, snarky, and blunt even when not worked up, behaviors she likely developed due to exposure to Billy and Neil. She also seems to still love Billy despite his abusive behavior. This sort of family dynamic can be very damaging (and it was probably just as harmful to Billy). Hopefully, Max’s found family serves to offset the harm done by her “real” family.

Older Teens

Nancy

Greatest Strength: Determination. It must be a family trait. Nancy is relentless, and she will get to the truth of the matter, one way or another. Nobody, and indeed no monster, will keep her from what she’s after.

Greatest Weakness: Egocentrism. Nancy can easily lose sight of how things impact those around her. Her desire to prove herself has left her somewhat blind to the difficulties other people face. She has trouble relating to people from other situations.

Jonathan

Greatest Strength: Compassion. Jonathan has sacrificed a great deal for his family, and he’s apparent done it without any noticeable resentment. His treatment of Will resembles the ideal that a lot of parents hope for in their kids (though in reality Mike/Nancy or Lucas/Erica is the more realistic outcome). Jonathan just wants those important to him to be happy.

Greatest Weakness: Social Awkwardness. Jonathan has a great deal of trouble interacting with other people. This likely stems from his family situation, as his father leaving left his family as pariahs of sorts, and it also left him having to be a sort of father figure when he should have been able to be a regular teenager.

Steve

Greatest Strength: Courage. Yes, Steve has been freaked out by everything, but that’s irrelevant. Courage isn’t the absence of fear, it’s the ability to feel fear and not let it control you. Steve has willingly put himself in harm’s way for the sake of others in all three seasons. The only thing that scares Steve too much to overcome is social judgment...

Greatest Weakness: Insecurity. Yes, our buddy, King Steve, has self-esteem issues. This is why he’s always trying to play himself off as a hotshot. He’s simply too afraid to just be himself. Sadly, it’s only when he lets this guard down that he’s at his best. He’s made some stride at overcoming this, and I’m hopeful that he continues this in season 4.

Adults

Joyce

Greatest Strength: Ferocity. Do I even need to explain this? Do NOT threaten Joyce’s loved ones, especially Will. Just don’t.

Greatest Weakness: Emotional Reactivity. When stress hits Joyce, she reacts hard. It’s perfectly normal, given the level of stress she feels, but it leaves her seeming “crazy” and makes it hard for others to understand what she’s trying to get across. As a result, her message, warning, etc. is lost and her credibility is damaged. In less serious occurrences, she instead just comes across as belligerent or annoying, even though she’s generally right about whatever she’s on about.

Hopper

Greatest Strength: Compassion. Hopper is at his best when he’s trying to protect others. Despite having worked to close himself off from the world after his personal trauma, Hopper still feels compassion. He probably never wanted to feel anything for anyone again (perhaps why he returned to a boring town like Hawkins), but when tragedy struck it brought out the best in him. Though, that brings us to his weakness...

Greatest Weakness: Insensitivity. Perhaps ironically, Hopper’s weakness is the complete opposite of his strength. Hopper is a man who runs hot and cold. Which version of him that you get depends on his mood. If you get his bad side, prepare for harsh words, and perhaps harsher fists. This may help him get the job done at times, but it harms his relationships. He has a tremendous fear of loss, which results in him lashing out fiercely at those he cares for if they do something to that risks him losing them.

Ok, that’s the best I could come up with. I’d love to read other people’s thoughts on the matter.

#stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #eleven #max mayfield #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #steve harringrove #joyce byers #jim hopper

[jessicalynnhepner]

What Every Parent Needs to Know About Child Sex Trafficking

For most police officers, this scene is a familiar one—a young kid gets mixed up with the wrong person and finds him or herself on the wrong side of the law. In virtually every case, this would be the end of the story. The young girl would get a slap on the wrist and be released into her parents’ custody where they could, presumably, set her straight. And, at this point in our story, Officer Scott was prepared to do just that—to trust the overwhelming testimony of prior experience and process this girl out so that he could get on with his shift. But, something was different this time… Discerning the SignsAs Officer Scott sits down to file his paperwork, he’s reminded of last Tuesday’s roll call.  His Sergeant, having recently attended a training seminar on human trafficking, used that day to teach his officers how to identify potential trafficking situations. All of a sudden, alarm bells start going off in Scott’s mind: The Fear — Sure, a kid’s going to be afraid of the consequences. But, this girl seems to fear for her physical safety. She’s acting like there’s something worse waiting for her than an angry mom and dad at home. The Stolen Merchandise – Why did she need a Red Bull and a pack of condoms? Scott recalled that traffickers use starvation to control their victims. Usually, their only choice is to steal the bare necessities. The Boyfriend – Per the owner’s description, this guy was at least 10 years older than she. What were they doing there together in the first place? A New ApproachWith these things in mind, Scott calmly invites the young lady out of holding and brings her to a quieter part of the station, away from prying eyes and menacing glances. She looks cold, so Scott hands her a sweatshirt. As he does, he notices a small tattoo of a crown with the name ‘Hugo’ scrawled beneath it—likely a brand to show who ‘she belongs to.’ They start to chat. This time, he speaks less like a cop and more like a friend. Clearly, she hasn’t had anything to eat for quite a while. Moments later, a female officer appears with a bag from McDonald’s. The three make their way to a private lounge. As they talk, the girl lets her guard down. Scott listens as she describes her broken home life, struggles with friends at school, and her constant search for belonging. All the while, her phone continues to buzz. “Your boyfriend?” “Yes. He just wants to make sure I’m ok.” He really is a great guy, she explains. He’s been there for her when her parents weren’t. He shows her the affection and attention she needs. She feels protected. He loves her……only, sometimes he makes her do things—things she would ordinarily never do. TrustHaving earned at least a glimmer of trust, Scott asks if she would slide her phone over. Reluctantly, she does, and he begins to scroll through the text messages. Wisely, Scott checks his emotions before he begins to read. It doesn’t take him long to realize these are not the supportive words of a loving boyfriend. No, they’re the verbal assaults of a degenerate thug bent on belittling her into submission. Scott does his best to hide his disgust as he reads about threatened consequences for ‘missed quotas.’ Horrified, he sees insults that no human being should ever have to endure, capped off by threats against her little sister for talking to the cops. Officer Scott thanks the young woman for her trust and politely excuses himself to make a call. He can read the writing on the wall: this girl is clearly a victim of trafficking. She needs someone with much more experience than him to help regain her freedom. He picks up the phone, dials his Sergeant, and together, they get to work. What Made the Difference?This story, though generalized in some ways, is rooted in the accounts we hear from police officers every day. The first part of the story is common enough. But, what about the second when, in Scott’s eyes, the girl goes from ‘shoplifter’ to ‘trafficking victim’? Not so much. So, how do we get from A to B? How do we help police officers learn

to look at each ‘punk kid’ as a potential victim, to ask deeper questions, and find the real story lies beneath the surface? Just as in Officer Scott’s story, that turning point comes when an officer recognizes the signs, trusts his or her gut, and decides to unravel that thread. It all starts with that one officer—a soldier on the front lines of the underground battle to set captives free. This can only happen when officials at every level of law enforcement learn to detect the signs and receive the tools they need to bring trafficking victims out of the cruel darkness and into the liberating light of day. National Human Trafficking Law Enforcement Training ProgramAt ERASE, one of the most impactful things we do is train police departments so that they produce more officers like the one in this story. It’s our mission to educate officers to detect the warning signs, identify potential victims, and safely lead them to freedom.  Your donations make this possible. Source Child Sex Trafficking-Not My Child Mom shakes her head and Dad raises his voice. Their 16-year old daughter storms up the stairs. As the bedroom door slams, she collapses on the bed with phone in hand. She’s ready to vent her frustrations one status update at a time. With every angst-laden tap of the keyboard, she lays bare her soul: “Nobody here gets me.” “No one understands!” “I feel unloved.” 📷An hour later, a boy from the next town over reaches out. She doesn’t know him, but they’ve got a few mutual friends, so it’s probably no big deal. He’s cute and thoughtful. And, he seems to understand what she’s going through better than anyone else. For the next two weeks, they exchange messages every day. He’s sweet, a digital shoulder to cry on when nobody else seems to care. They decide to meet up in person, so she borrows Dad’s car “to meet some friends at the mall.” That night, Daddy’s little girl doesn’t come home for dinner and Mom sits up all night. The next morning, they call the police. An officer searches her computer and finds evidence of the girl’s new relationship. Turns out, the boy she thought she knew didn’t exist. And, just like that, she’s gone.Reality check about child sex trafficking At ERASE, we hear heartbreaking tales like this all too frequently. Stories from average families dealing with everyday stresses when out of nowhere, their child is lured right out from under them. Whenever we tell these stories, the most common response goes something like this: “Child trafficking is something that happens to those types of kids out there. We live in a great community and our neighbors are good people who look out for one another. Something like that could never happen to one of my children.” This is the kind of response that makes us cringe. If only parents knew what we know, they wouldn’t be so quick to ignore this real and pervasive threat. Sadly, that very ignorance is what traffickers count on most when looking for children to target. The danger is far more imminent than most parents recognize. If we’re going to protect our children, we need to be clear on the real threats child traffickers impose. Traffickers are Smart, Motivated, and Tech-SavvyA dark and horrific market has grown up around the purchase and sale of human beings. Researchers estimated that, in 2007, Atlanta’s underground sex economy alone brought in $290 million. Even in a far less “saturated” market, sex trafficking in San Diego enables a pimp to pull in over $11,000 per week. Fast forward 10 years and there’s no reason to think that number hasn’t grown. Innocent children aren’t given a pass here. Instead, the most vulnerable among us are routinely bought and sold like property—many of them up to 15 times a day. With business booming, traffickers are working harder than ever to keep up with demand. Leaving no stone unturned, they use social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat, to research, target, and groom children for sexual exploitation. In fact, 77% of sex trafficking victims

report having been initially approached online. Just as a skilled marketer uses sophisticated keyword searches to identify his audience, traffickers monitor social media for anything at all that would suggest an easy target:Children with social media profiles open to public viewing Teenagers posting introspective status updates about feelings of insecurity Boys and girls who are venting about arguments with their parents Like a lion crouched in his thicket, a predator will scan through lines of text looking for vulnerable children to drag off into the tall grass. How many of those lines will have come from one of your children? Yes, your child can be a victim of sex traffickingThe children that traffickers rip from their happy homes aren’t pretend characters on television or disembodied faces from the evening news. They’re our kids, the ones we work hard to raise and the ones we hope to see grow up happy and healthy. They’re the kids we teach to be smart, to mind their surroundings, and never talk to strangers. And yet, we give them free reign to explore every dark corner of the internet via their cell phone. We must do betterLittle more than half of parents closely monitor their children’s online activity. So, when a stranger asks to connect on Snapchat, it’s nearly an even shot that no one will be looking over that kid’s shoulder. You can count on a child trafficker to take that bet. Do you know which platforms your children are using or who they connect with online? Do they have any secret accounts and how would you find out if they did? If someone asked to meet in person, would they do it? Can you be sure? These questions may seem intrusive and even overbearing. However, considering the reality of child trafficking in the United States, we have to ask these questions.  Every day, thousands of children disappear into slavery. We’d like to hope our kids could never be victims but the facts simply don’t allow us that option. Understanding the facts of child trafficking is the first and most important step in prevention. There is HopeGood people around the world are standing up and fighting back against this great moral evil. You don’t have to live in constant fear for your children. The story we shared at the beginning of this post doesn’t have to be your story. And with some common sense and the will to step intentionally into your kids’ digital lives, you can protect them from becoming a victim of sex trafficking. The question is: will you? At ERASE, we want to educate parents on how best to protect their children from online predators. Please take a look at our tips and best practices pages to see how you can teach your children to be safe online.Juvenile Delinquent or Victim of Human Trafficking? Blog Story of a Human Trafficking Victim It’s midnight. Officer Scott pulls his patrol car into the lot of a small, 24-hour convenience store. As he approaches, he peers through the decal-laden glass door to see a middle-aged man struggling to restrain an agitated 16-year old girl. The store owner had caught this young woman and her boyfriend stuffing items into a small handbag. Her companion—a ‘white man in his late 20’s’—had bolted out the door without so much as a backward glance. The last thing on Officer Scott’s mind was “human trafficking victim”. Scott had seen this before. Some young teenager, looking for thrills, decides to pocket a few items from the local bodega and gets grabbed by the watchful owner. As he escorts the girl to his police car, Scott’s treated to an earful. She can’t stop going on about what a jerk he is, how he had violated her rights, and how much trouble she’d be in if he didn’t let her go right away. “Just wait until I call your parents,” he thinks. 📷 The Same Routine When they arrive at the station, Scott walks this young woman to his desk. She can hear the snide remarks of a few men handcuffed to chairs nearby. As they leer conspicuously at her, she shrinks further into herself.  Scott starts in on his typical line of questioning: name,

age, address, and so on. The entire time, her phone buzzes with one text message after another. She begs Scott to let her reply, but he refuses. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk to your parents later.” “I’m not worried about them,” she snaps back. “They don’t give a crap about me, anyway. They’re too busy arguing to even notice I’m around.” Not sure what to make of that outburst, Scott begins to sort through the items she had attempted to steal: a sleeve of Hostess Cup Cakes, a Red Bull, and a box of condoms. “Must be one heck of a boyfriend to leave you there like that, huh?” “You wouldn’t understand. He loves me. He takes care of me.” Angry and frustrated by this girl’s bad attitude and ignorance about that poor excuse for a boyfriend, Officer Scott escorts her to a holding cell and prepares to process her out.Is This the End of the Story?

https://whateveryparentshouldknowaboutcps.blogspot.com/2020/08/what-every-parent-needs-to-know-about.html

#Child Sex Trafficking

[untilmynextstory]

Chapter 2: THE SLEEP OF BABIES

WORD Count: 7.9k

Enjoy!

Jax and Alma are laying in bed in his dorm room. They are still in lockdown. It’s midafternoon and the kids are out with his mom. It left him and Alma some valued alone time. With the door locked and Alma’s shirt raked up to under her breasts, Jax takes the time to admire her flat stomach as his hand lays atop of it. He can really soak in that they will be having another baby in the house. He barely thinks about the fact he is about to be promoted to Vice President. It pales in comparison to this news. 

Though, as he tries to spot the small changes that pregnancy brings to Alma, he does disclose everything that has happened the past few days within the club. He brings up the general unease the guys feel about agreeing to sell to the Mayans despite their current deal with the Niners. 

“You don’t seem happy about it.” Alma points out. Her small hands grab his and she contorts his fingers as she pleases. A small smile forms as both of his kids do the same thing. 

“It’s less blood, but now the Niners won’t be happy.” It’s like exchanging one enemy to make a new one. 

Alma’s teeth tug at her lips. “They have to understand that it’s just business.”

“We promised to never sell to the Mayans.” He informs her. It was the one thing that gave them such an easy alliance. Now they will be selling guns to their enemies that will aid them in their ongoing turf war. 

Jax doesn’t want to talk of club business anymore. He shifts so that he is laying in between his wife’s legs.  His breath tickles her stomach. “When can we announce the news?”

“I’m 10 weeks.” She informs him. “But I want to wait a little bit longer…”

“You’re worried?”

“Cautious. After Kaylee…I’m just cautious.” She informs him as she plays with his blonde hair. 

Jax places a kiss to her flat stomach. He doesn’t know how to ease her valid concerns, but it doesn’t take away the joy he feels for the upcoming expansion of his family. 

“I’m your old man,” he whispers to his unborn child. 

.

.

Jaxs’ smile threatens to break his cheeks as he embraces Opie. He clutches his friend tight and thanks god that he sees it fit to keep his friend safe and alive in prison. He is even thankful Darby has not broken his deal. 

He hates that his friend is stuck in prison for 5 years. But his friend is alive and that is all that matters. 

“Oh hell, don’t tell me you managed to knock Alma up again?” Opie guesses correctly. 

Jax smiles brightly. 

“Congratulations, bro.”

“Thanks. Having the two is crazy enough, but three,” Jax mutters. 

“You got yourself a good family.”

“The kids miss their Uncle Opie. Kaylee was upset she didn’t have the picture she wanted me to give you done in time.”

“I miss them. I miss all of them.” Opie tells him tightly. “But what else is going on?”

Jax lets the conversation change. “Well, you are looking at your new Vice President.”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“We’re getting closer.” Jax tells him. They are getting closer to achieving their childhood dreams of being head of the club. 

“So new baby, promotion, what is the third thing we should be looking out for.”

Jax chuckles. “I don’t think the 3rd thing will be a good one.”

Opie tugs at his beard. “That sounds ominous.”

“I painted a wall.” Jax informs him. 

Opie’s eyebrows skyrocket. “What color?”

“Blue for the green. Had to be done. It looks better with the black.” Killed an official for the Irish. For the money. They had to kill Brenan Hefner and they basically got a free shipment of guns. 

“Someone helped.”

“Yeah, but green isn’t turning out to be my favorite. Doesn’t look right. I covered the carpet and windows, but I’m not sure…”

“Well painting isn’t our business.”

“I know.” They weren’t hit men. But maybe the thought of new life has him having doubts about taking one. 

“It’s just the impending fatherhood.” Opie cautions. 

“Maybe.”

.

.

It’s funny that it isn't until Alma realizes she is pregnant that her house is incredibly small. It’s then she notices how it’s not just having two kids leave her tripping over toys, but the fact there is barely any room for them. Even after going through and having the kids decide what they wanted to keep or donate, she realizes a third baby would be a tight fit. 

Alma loves her small home. It was hers and Jaxs’. They managed to make it their home. It is where she raised her babies. She doesn’t want to give it up. She thinks maybe they could add to the house. 

She knows Jax would contemplate it although ultimately deciding it would be better off just to buy a new one. She thinks she could manage him to at least add a room. She imagines it would be cheaper. 

She just doesn’t want to give this up. She is attached to this house after all the work and love she has put into it. 

She smiles as with her being pregnant she knows she can convince Jax of nearly anything. They would be keeping the house. She stands in front of her bedroom mirror and lifts up her shirt. Before Jax had left to head to Chino to see Opie, the doctor had confirmed she was two months and a couple weeks into the 3rd month. She turns to the side and she doesn’t really expect to see anything. She just looks bloated. But it’s all the evidence she needs to be extremely giddy about the pregnancy. 

She’s worried, of course, but it doesn’t stop the happiness at the thought of her and Jax bringing another child into the world. She doesn’t care if it’s a boy or girl. She just wants a healthy baby. 

A knock at the door startles. She drops her shirt and thinks it’s Gemma. She has the kids. She doesn’t know why she would knock, but she doesn’t think too hard on it. She walks to the door and expects the whirlwind of her children, but her body freezes at the sight of Agent Stahl standing at her doorstep. 

“Mrs. Teller –“

“Agent Stahl, how can I help you?” Alma interrupts. 

The tall blonde smiles at her. “I was just wondering where I could find your husband.”

Alma folds her arms across her chest. “I bet if you looked hard enough you could find him.”

“True, but actually I’m more interested in you and your family history.”

“Don’t know why? I’m not that much fun.”

Stahl chuckles at her. “I think dad would’ve had a problem with the Prince knocking up his daughter at 16.”

“This is old history, Stahl. The only person you could piss off with that knowledge is my mother. So tell me why you are here?”

Stahl quickly drops her charade and digs a photo out of her bag. “You recognize this man?”

Alma looks at a picture of an older gentleman. He looks like an average white man who could be anyone. “No, should I?”

“His name is Cameron Hayes. IRA. He is a known terrorist who we managed to track down in the Northern California area.”

“What does this have to do with me and my family?”

Stahl smirks. “A port commissioner was murdered a couple weeks ago. Rumored to piss off the IRA. Wondered if some friends helped with that.”

“Speculations don’t add to a warrant. If you appear on my doorstep one more time without one, I will call your superiors for harassment.”

“Gemma trains them well.” Stahl muses.

Alma keeps a blank face as Stahl walks back to her unmarked vehicle. It’s only her luck that Gemma pulls up into her driveway and Stahl even has the nerve to wave at the biker matriarch. Alma assumes the two women have already encountered each other. 

Alma steps down from the steps and goes to Gemma’s Escalade to help unbuckle the kids. 

“Mama!” Kaylee exclaims from her carseat. Alma unbuckles her and holds her close as she presses a kiss to her head. “Did you have fun with Grandma?”

“Lots!” Kaylee exclaims as she wiggles to be let down. “Is Daddy home?”

“Not yet,” She tells her daughter. Nathan doesn’t need help out of the car as he grabs his bag and rushes back in the house. Kaylee rushes in after him. 

She shakes her head and Gemma stands next to her. “What did Stahl want?”

“Just playing mind games.” Alma says brushing off the encounter. She’s been through this before. 

“It’s bullshit. They don’t have anything.” Gemma adds. 

“It’s all smoke going after the women, huh?” Alma knows the boys did something. She just doesn’t want to dwell on it. She wants nothing to distract her from the pregnancy. She doesn’t need the stress. 

It’s then that she gets a strong whiff of Gemmas’ perfume that her stomach turns. It has her running to the closest garbage can, which is in the kitchen. 

Fuck, her morning sickness couldn’t have come at a better time. She heaves and heaves until her throat burns something fierce. She groans and grimaces as she can smell her sour breath. She walks over to the sink to rinse her mouth out with some water. She needs a shower at this point. 

“So?” Gemma questions. “The last time I saw you throw up was when you decided to decorate my rose garden when you were pregnant with Kaylee.”

Alma takes another swish of the water. It seems the cat is out of the bag. She faces Gemma and wraps her arms around herself. “I’m two months along.” She admits. 

She watches as an ecstatic look overtakes Gemma’s features. The biker matriarch embraces her in a tight hug. “Another grandbaby. Who would’ve thought. Why the hush hush?”

“I’m just worried.”

“Sweetie –“

“I know.” Alma says with a sigh. She knows worrying will make her pregnancy more stressful, but she can’t help it.

“Everything will be fine.” Gemma assures her. 

.

.

.

It was quite easy to see that the wife of Opie Winston was the weakest link out of the few SAMCRO old ladies. Agent Stahl knows the recent single mother will crumble easily under the weight. Her intel had informed her how the small brunette had begun isolating herself from the inbred bikers. It was a rookie mistake and would leave the woman vulnerable. 

Stahl seats at the wooden table with the angry brunette. A baby is sleeping in a bassinet in the living room with the oldest boy coloring. Stahl tries to at least feel pity for these kids. 

“How are things going for you, Donna?”

“I’m pretty sure your notes already tell you how I am doing.”

Stahl gives her a stiff smile. “You’re smart, Donna. You can only see how SAMCRO is going to rip your family apart. It already has.”

“My family is fine.”

“And in five years…a lot can happen.” Stahl tells her as she leans up. “Are you aware of the enemies that your husbands’ motorcycle club has? Mayans, Nords…just to name a few are surrounding your husband right now.”

“Are you threatening his safety?”

“I’m giving you the facts. Two kids, a single income…it is going to be hard to manage. You might fall behind on the mortgage or get in credit card debt.”

“And what can you help me with?”

“I can help your husband.” Stahl tells her bluntly. “I can get him out this year and as a sign of good faith move him closer to home. Six hours is a long drive.”

Donna snorts. “You really need to work on your sales pitch.”

“We both know when Opie gets out he is going to go back to the club…back to arson…or back to prison if he even makes it out of this sentence.” Stahl tells her without any care. “If anything, think about the two kids who will be without a father. They are more important than that club.”

Donna stands up from the table. “I don’t know shit about Opie’s club business. And even if I did, I'd never rat on him. Get out of my house, bitch.”

Stahl gives her a grim smile and doesn’t need to be told twice. Her partner, Estevez follows her out the house. 

“Well that went well.” Estevez mutters. 

Stahl chuckles. “No, it went perfectly well. She is going to run to Alma Teller. Means we got her rattled or doubting. We just need a crack.”

.

.

.

To see Donna on her doorstep after weeks of silence and broken playdates with the kids has thrown Alma for a loop. Clearly the recent prison widow is struggling and Alma is glad to help. However, she can’t help but feel this isn’t just out of Donna’s own doing. Something pushed her to try to mend the broken bridges she had been trying to burn. 

Alma knows she won’t be vindictive and turn her away. Ellie is sleeping peacefully and Kenny is glad to be back to playing with Nathan and Kaylee. It leaves the two women some privacy in the kitchen.

Alma has her own cup of green tea in front of her while Donna has a glass of water. Alma stares intently at the brunette and wonders when they start to become strangers. 

“What happened?” Alma asks softly.  

Donna chews on her bottom lip as she picks at her fingernails. “A fed came by my house. Was trying to see if I knew anything about Opie’s business.”

Alma blows on her tea and nods her head. “Agent Stahl, I presume.”

“She said she could get Opie closer to home and out in a year.”

“They will say anything to get you to make a slip up Donna. That would only hurt Opie and your family.” Alma replies. 

Donna’s brows furrow. “Opie is in jail that is hurting my family. This club hurts my family.”

“You married into this, Donna. You knew going into this what could happen.”

Donna releases a bitter laugh. “So that excuses everything? I’m just supposed to accept that the father of my children is a convicted felon.”

The grip on her mug tightens. Alma knows she is treading on dangerous territory. She knows what she can say can push Donna in 20 different directions that can only hurt Opie. “If you talk to Stahl…you can get him killed, Donna.”

Alma watches as the blood leaves Donna’s face. Maybe, Alma shouldn’t have said that, but she also believes Opie should’ve had this talk with her. It would make a lot of things easier. 

“From who? The Mayans? Nords?” Donna hisses. 

Alma’s brows furrow and she assumes Stahl gave her those names. Alma thinks it is better for Donna to have that conclusion considering that Alma was talking about the club. Alma knew Jax would never let anything happen to Opie, but he was only one person. If Donna talked…

“From you. You coming here talking about giving a Fed information is gonna have him spun. He is going to be too focused about what is going to come out of your mouth than his safety in prison.” Alma tells her honestly. 

Donna releases a bitter laugh. “This can’t be happening. I came here for a friend and I feel like I am talking to Gemma.”

Alma takes a sip of her tea. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not going to encourage you to rat.”

“Because your family is perfectly safe and fine right? Jax is still here. Who cares about Donna?”

“It isn’t even like that.” Alma snaps. “And the fact of the matter is one day I will probably be in your position or worse burying my fucking husband in an early grave. Don’t forget I grew up in this shit, Donna.  I lost my father to this life.”

“And look where you are! Married to the fucking Vice President of the outlaw motorcycle club!” Donna roars. “What does that say about you, huh?”

“What’s going on here?”

Both Donna and Alma jump at the sound of Jax’s voice. His eyes are going back and forth between Donna and Alma. Alma can see his concern and agitation because the last thing she needs is stress during this pregnancy. 

“Nothing,” Donna spats. “I was just leaving.” 

Jax raises his eyebrow at the venom in her tone. He doesn’t stop her from leaving as she picks up Ellie’s carrier and interrupts Kenny playing with the kids to leave. She doesn’t bother with a goodbye and even slams their door. 

Alma moves from the table with her tea and places it in the sink. She hears Jax moving behind her and his arms wrap around her. 

“Does the club need to be concerned?” He asks her softly. 

“Stahl rattled her.” Alma admits. “And I don’t know what is going on in her head.”

“Going after the women is a smart tactic especially ones that have the most to lose.” Jax mutters to her. 

She turns in his hold to peer into his blue eyes. “What is going on Jax? Don’t tell me it’s smoke because they wouldn’t wait until after Opie’s case and sentence to start digging into club business.”

Jax pulls back some as he looks over her and sighs. His hands come up and caress her face. “I don’t want you worrying about this shit.”

“Don’t use this pregnancy to keep me at length. Not telling me shit keeps me worried.”

“A port commissioner was killed. He was the enemy of the Irish.” He tells her and nothing else. 

“Jax…” Alma knows there is more to the story. He isn’t telling her everything and it burns. 

“Babe, if it becomes something trust me I will let you know before shit hits the fan. Just focus on the little one, yeah.” He tells her as he pulls her close and back into a tight hug. 

Alma only nods her head against his chest. 

.

.

It was a close one Jax can admit. Luckily, with Unser on the payroll, it had been easy to sneak into the police to relay word to Luann about the Feds plan. Unfortunately, it meant Otto getting more infractions against him as he gave Stahl a busted nose and black eye. He hasn’t yet told the club about Donna’s visit to Alma or even Opie about his wife’s doubts. He hopes now that he won’t need to. 

The club is in a good mood. It still hasn’t settled in that he is now Vice President of his father’s club. He has just gotten through his first, but many waves of heat the club will always get. He didn’t fuck it up and that is a plus. He smiles as he spots Alma at the bar. The new Prospect, Half Sack, is keeping her company. 

God, his wife is beautiful and he knows he is a lucky bastard. He glances over to the portrait of her father. Sometimes, he wonders how he would’ve handled knowing he had gotten her pregnant and married her. Jax knows for sure he would’ve gotten his ass handed to him. Though he hopes the man is at least comforted in the fact he is taking care of her. He knows he treats Alma thousand times better than her father ever treated Ana. 

Jax makes his way to his wife and wraps his arms around her. She laughs at the affection, but she melts into the hold. 

“Miss me, baby?” She questions. 

“All the damn time,” he admits as Half Sack slides a beer to him. 

Alma smiles as she sips her cranberry juice. He moves to her side and is practically hovering over her. She doesn’t seem to mind. “I think we should tell people.”

“Now?”

He nods his head. “You’re closer to four months now. If you weren’t wearing loose sweaters people would know by now anyways.”

Jax can see her hesitation. He watches as the gears turn in her head. He doesn’t like it. His fingers pinch her chin bringing her back to him as he places soft delicate kisses on her lips. “It’ll be okay.”

Alma relaxes in his hold and she nods her head. A small smile pulls at her full lips. He slams his beer back before he pulls his beer close. 

With his right hand he brings his fingers up to his mouth a whistle gathering everyone’s attention. 

“Listen up, I got something to tell y'all.” He shouts. All eyes are on him. Curious as they look between him and Alma. He smiles wide. “I got another kid on the way.”

The club roars and he gives Alma a deep kiss before his brothers tackle him with hard slaps on his back in form of congratulation. 

.

.

It was hard saying goodbye to their old house. Due to Alma’s heightened emotions, they didn’t sell the house, but decided to tackle being landlords. Alma just could not give up their former home. 

The new home was a massive upgrade that Jax didn’t really care about and showed off the perks from his lifestyle. The European inspired home was 6 bedrooms with a 4 car garage. An in-ground pool in the backyard. 

To welcome them into the home there were massive columns and arched windows over the front door. From the foyer it featured two circular staircases leading to the balcony that overlooked the Formal living room. 

The kitchen included a prep island, a walk-in pantry, and a 6-person eat-at peninsula bar. Leaving the kitchen it opened into the breakfast room and family room, which featured a curved wall of windows. It also included a fireplace and directly across from there they had a covered porch. 

Like the family, the master suite also had a curved wall of windows and Jax and Alma were treated to their own private covered porch. Their master bathroom had a corner glass shower, a whirlpool tub, and walk-in closets for him and her. 

The hallway from the foyer leads to the spacious game room, large home theater and guest room with private bath. 

The second floor of the house, which basically belonged to the kids, included 4 additional bedroom suites each with a private bath. 

It was a beautiful home. 

Jax smiles as he brings his arms around his wife and caresses her bump. Alma pregnant is his favorite site in the world. He presses a kiss to her cheek as she giggles. 

“It is so big, Jax.” She whispers as they watch the Prospect being ordered by Kaylee where boxes are going. 

“Nothing but the best for my family.”

Alma turns in his arms. Her bump pressed against his stomach. Her brown eyes are glowing. “I love you.”

“I hope so. Being married to you ain't cheap.”

Alma scoffs as she slaps him in the stomach. “It’s cheaper to keep me. You remember that.”

Jax smirks and he gives his wife an Eskimo kiss. “So no Kobe rings could ever help me out in the future.”

“Are you purposely trying to irritate your pregnant wife?”

“Maybe.” Jax quips as he presses a kiss to her lips. 

“You’re a jerk.” 

“I’ll give her a full body massage later, yeah.” 

“You promise?”

“Of course, darlin’.” He promises as the doorbell rings. “I’ll get that. You should be sitting somewhere. Direct from the couch.”

“I’m perfectly capable of standing,” he hears Alma mutter to his back. 

Jax doesn’t bother checking the windows to see who is at the door. He thinks it is probably his brothers wanting to see where their new place to freeload is. 

He swings the door open and his good mood is instantly soured by the presence of Agent Stahl. “Can I help you?”

Stahl opens her mouth, but she is interrupted by the sound of his kids laughing behind him and Kaylee saddles up to his leg. 

“Daddy! You missed it. Half Sack –“ She stops as she looks at the group of suits at their door. 

“What’s going on, Dad?” Nathan asks as he too looks at the people on his steps. 

Jax manages to keep a straight face as he picks up Kaylee and presses a kiss to her head before setting her back down next to Nathan. “Go to your mom.”

Nathan’s eyes widen at his words. “Dad –“

“Go now,” Jax orders. 

No one is prepared for Kaylee to scream for her mother making all of them jump. They are all frozen when Kaylee attempts to close the door on the agents. “You’re not taking my Daddy!” She screams before latching onto her father tightly. 

“Jax – “Stahl begins. 

“Don’t do this now,” he says between clenched teeth. 

“Is your wife home?” Stahl asks instead. 

Her question is answered as Alma appears confused. “What is going on?” Half Sack is behind her. 

“Mrs. Teller, you need to take your daughter.” Stahl says. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I really wouldn’t like to do this in front of your kids.”

“Sack, take her,” Jax orders. 

The Prospect comes over and with a tight grip pries Kaylee away from him. Jax forces himself not to watch as his daughter’s screams and cries echo throughout the house. 

He presses a kiss to Alma, who is standing in shock as realization dawns on her. “I love you. Call my mom.”

He hugs his son real quick. “You take care of your mom and your sister and the little one.” Nathan nods and holds him tightly before letting go. 

Jax walks away from his family. 

He stands in front of Stahl as an agent with cuffs walks behind him. 

“Jackson Teller, you're under arrest for the murder of Brenan Hefner. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” Stahl says as she begins leading him to the unmarked car. 

He is silent as he walks to the car. He doesn’t resist as they push him in the backseat. 

He doesn’t want to look at his family as he is whisked away. But as the car pulls out of his driveway, he looks back as Nathan begins screaming for him. 

Alma stands behind their son who has turned in her arms. His tears staining her swollen belly. 

.

.

.

Sometimes, Alma hates the club. She hates the hierarchy it upholds. She hates that her husband is in jail. Right now, she thinks she may even hate Clay Morrow. It wasn’t as if she was a fragile newlywed. She had grown up in this shit. He was beating around the bush and not giving her a straight fucking answer on as to why her kids had to witness their father being arrested. 

“I know you’re upset –“

“I’m fucking pissed!” Alma snaps at her father in law. 

Clay purses his lips in displeasure as Gemma even keeps her lips shut as she massages his hands at their dining room table. 

Clay knows he is in a tricky spot. For one, he isn’t in the chapel and his status as President doesn’t matter right now. Right now he has his son’s wife demanding an answer because now club business is bleeding into family business. 

He isn’t about to open his mouth because he doesn’t know what Jax wants Alma to even know. At the same time, he doesn’t want to get taken out by some pregnant broad. He has dodged bullets from soldiers and rivals; his life isn’t coming to an end due to an angry pregnant woman. 

“Alma, jail time is always a risk for what we do.” He says slowly. He can see the steam rushing out of her ears. 

“Don’t be fucking patronizing. I want to know what the fuck he did.” Alma seethes. “I have that right.” She knows it is a murder charge, but she wants the details. 

“Alma, you need to calm down,” Gemma says, finally speaking up as she watched Alma cradle her stomach. “This isn’t good for the baby.”

Alma snorts. “That bitch arrested him in front of the kids.”

Alma doesn’t know why, but the tears just pour out of her eyes. She knows she couldn’t shelter her kids forever. She knew this day would come where her and Jax would need to explain their world. She just never wanted her kids to witness their father being taken away in handcuffs. 

Alma collapses in a chair as the tears don’t stop. Gemma moves up from the table to comfort her. They all think it is better for Alma to break down now than later. She can do it now and leave the house strong for her family. 

“We’ll figure this out,” Clay promises over the tears. 

.

.

.

Clay is annoyed and pissed. That ATF bitch is blocking all attempts of making contact with Jax. The only thing they know is that he is being charged for the hit they did for the Irish. He is more concerned how in the hell there was a witness. He looks at Tig and Bobby, his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses. 

“How’s Alma?” Bobby asks. 

Clay leans back into his chair and sighs. “Pissed once she was able to read over the charges fully and the penalties. I thought you guys said it was clear?” He asks with more bite than he intends. 

“It was, Clay,” Tig assures. “Easiest hit ever. Besides, Bobby and I were there. Wouldn’t they arrest us too?” 

Clay sighs. He doesn’t know what game that ATF gash is playing. 

“I don’t think it needs to be said, Jax ain’t gonna rat…so how in the hell are we gonna get him protection?” Bobby says speaking up. 

Clay runs a hand through his hair. The last thing he wants is to ask the Nords for more help. “What we need to do is find the rat.” Clay tells them. 

“Serious allegation, Clay,” Bobby cautions. 

“No shit, but how in the hell do you explain someone identifying Jax as the shooter?”

Both men turn silent. 

“Something ain’t right about this.” Clay mutters. 

.

.

“You need to calm down,” Gemma orders as she watches Alma pace in the kitchen of the unpacked home. Boxes are still closed and Gemma guesses Jax’s recent arrest has made her neglect certain things. 

Most importantly, Gemma is just worried about the health of her unborn grandchild. 

“I fucking can’t.” Alma tells her. “We just bought this house. I don’t work. How in the fuck am I going to support three kids on no salary?”

Gemma frowns. “You know that you don’t need to worry about that.”

“That is not the point.” Alma stresses. Alma wants to scream in frustration at being in this situation. She knows after this baby comes she is going to make some major changes in her life.

Gemma purses her lips together. She wants to snap and tell Alma that she needs to get her shit together. It is just a stark contrast to how Alma is usually calm and reserved. It makes Gemma wonder how much Alma buries or this is literally pregnancy emotions that can’t let her even allow to comprehend one emotion to latch onto.  

“How about we take things week by week, or better yet focus on that baby in your belly. Let the club worry about Jax.” Gemma advises. 

Alma takes a calming breath as she places a hand on her prominent belly. It’s a tense and uncomfortable silence that Gemma isn’t used to being on the receiving end of. Gemma almost jumps when fat tears escape Alma’s eyes. She watches as the tears splash against the woman’s cheeks and stain against her shirt. 

Gemma doesn’t exactly know what is stopping her from consoling her daughter in law. She is almost embarrassed when Nathan comes in and sees the state of his mother. 

Nathan rushes over to his mother. “Mom, what’s wrong?” He asks as his arms wrap around her as much as they can. “It’s going to be okay, Mom.” Nathan whispers. 

Alma opens her arms and embraces her oldest child. 

Alma’s eyes meet Gemma’s. The tears stop coming. 

.

.

The only good part about being locked up in Federal custody is that he isn’t in the general population. He is isolated and the food isn’t’ that shitty. He doesn’t need to try and make friends, which could mess up his standing and getting a deal. So he is not complaining or making a fuss too much and the last thing he wants is to give Alma added stress. 

And after two days of nothing, the agents were finally dragging him to the visitation room. He sits quietly before Stahl comes through the door with her manila envelope. 

She doesn’t bother with a greeting as she takes a sit opposite him. “You killed a state official, Jax. The U.S. Attorney will seek the death penalty.”

“I didn't kill anybody.” Jax tells her.  “And if you have anything else to say, why don't you talk to my lawyer?”

Stahl smirks. “Well, if my witness statement is a lie... then maybe you should hear all of it, hmm?”

Jax smiles. “Yeah, I like a good story.”

Stahl leans back in her chair as she opens her folder.  “Hefner got spooked by seeing Bobby. He turned back to you. You jammed your gun in his sternum and fired four shots. Hefner fell. You and Bobby fled the balcony... and met up downstairs with Alexander Trager.”

“Great fiction.”  Jax replies. Although in his mind, the wheels are turning. He knows Bobby and Tig would never rat, so someone had to be tailing them to know that.  

“Eyewitness fiction.” Stahl counters. “If you confess now, the attorney might go lenient. Maybe get you a better deal to maybe see your unborn child get married at least. Do you know what you’re having?”

Jax clenches his jaw. “Are we done here?”

“Is there anything you would like me to tell your family? I know that she is due soon.”

Jax doesn’t bother with a reply. 

“I would think about your family Jax. You’re going to be doing years. I can’t imagine a child only knowing their father in prison clothes.”

.

.

Clay can feel the other parents glaring at him, but he doesn’t fucking care. With Jax being in jail, Gemma handling the garage and family business, and Alma running errands to deal with Jax's future sentence, Clay is on babysitting duty. 

He is not really complaining. He loves being around his grandchildren. He loves every minute being with them. Though now, the reason parents are glaring at him, outside of him smoking his Cuban cigars, were the visitors he was getting at the playground. 

Usually Clay does his best to separate his business from family life. He knows Alma will have his ass on a sling if he finds out he was handling business at a wooden picnic table. However, with Jax locked up, business needed to be handled and he needed to figure out how to make sure his son can come home on a reasonable time frame. 

Clay looks over his shoulder to find his grandchildren causing havoc on the slides. He smiles before he almost drops his cigar at the site of Rosen. Usually, Lowen, Rosen’s associate, would get her fancy pumps dirty to deliver messages. 

He knows it must be serious and for a minute he is scared shitless he is about to deliver the worst. 

“Clay,” Rosen greets as he reaches the table. 

“Is it Jax?” Clay asks. 

“Surprisingly, no,” Rosen says as he sits opposite of him. “I got a message from Opie.”

Clay’s eyebrows skyrocket. 

“I should say Lenny’s lawyer reached out to me with a message from Opie.” Rosen clarifies. 

Clay doesn’t even want to know how in the hell Opie managed to get a message to Lenny, who is in Stockton, from Chino. 

“And how much are you charging me to deliver this message?” Clay quips. 

Rosen doesn’t banter as he looks at Clay in the eyes. “Opie says the Feds have gone to see him. A few times and even with the added threat to tack on more to his sentence.”

“Why?”

“Apparently someone is talking to the Feds. Gave a detailed list to the Feds of a bunch of alleged crimes Opie and Jax partook in. I mean it’s a lot of shit that goes back to their prospect years.”

What the fuck.

“Is it just Opie and Jax?” Clay asks. 

“He said there is some other shit that is more broad, but specifics are mostly him and Jax.” Rosen tells him. “Now before you say anything damning, I’m gonna go. We never had this conversation.”

Clay seethes as he watches Rosen walk away. Of all the things he expected to hear. There is a goddamn rat at the table. And he knows who the fuck it is. The goddamn fucking rat. 

“Fucking Kyle…” Tig mutters. 

“You put a goddamn tail on him.” Clay seethes quietly. “Call Happy down here. Download him. Figure what Kyle’s been up to.”

“On it boss.” Tig says as he pulls out his phone and walks away. 

Clay regrets that he didn’t see this coming. He failed as the President by not realizing the potential fallout of patching out Kyle. 

“Grandpa! Push me on the swings, please!” Kaylee yells out. 

Clay looks at his granddaughter. Her smile is a carbon copy of Jax’s. 

Kyle won’t be shown any type of mercy.

.

.

.

Alma finds it hard to sleep at night. It’s not that she isn’t tired. She is and the baby is sucking the life out of her. It is just that her mind won’t stop. Her thoughts won’t let her rest. It’s not like she can exactly go to a therapist to talk about the shit she lives through. 

But she knows she can’t go on for long like this. She does need to think about her children. She believes if she wasn’t pregnant her emotions wouldn’t be as severe. She would be able to pull back and let things simmer. She would be able to wade through the water before finding a crystal clear path. 

Besides, the last thing she needs is for Jax to be worrying about her. She needs to get it together. Nathan shouldn’t have seen her crying like that. She feels awful that he had to comfort her. She should have shed her tears alone in her bedroom where the cold is prominent on Jax’s side of the bed. 

“Mommy?”

Alma turns from where she is sitting at her vanity. She finds Kaylee standing behind the door in her purple pajamas. 

Alma smiles. “And what are you doing out of bed?”

Kaylee smiles sheepishly as she walks further into the room. Alma’s heart breaks a little to think that her baby is about to be five years old. It seems only yesterday she gave birth to her little girl. She was still changing her diapers. Now, she will be starting school. 

“I couldn’t sleep, Mommy,” Kaylee replies. Kaylee stands in front of her mother. Her attention focused solely on the cosmetics and beauty items laid out. 

“Couldn’t sleep? And why is that?” Alma questions. 

Kaylee gives her a mischievous smile. A smile that she knows that she inherited from Jax, Alma has seen that smile many times. 

“You’re very pretty, Mommy.” Kaylee says with a blush. “I want to be pretty like you.”

“You’ll be prettier than me when you’re older.” Alma says as Kaylee plays with the brushes on the counter. 

“Daddy says you are the most beautiful girl alive.” Kaylee tells her. 

“Did he?” Alma asks. She is at least grateful Jax’s absence hasn’t affected Kaylee’s love and fond reminiscents of Jax.

Kaylee smiles. “Can I brush your hair, Mommy?”

“Of course. Let’s move to the bed so you can reach me alright.”

Kaylee beams and hastily gets on the bed. Alma moves to the edge and her little girl is eager to start brushing. 

“Your hair is getting so long.” Kaylee says as she runs the brush through her long dark locks. 

“Do you think I should cut it?” 

“We both can get haircuts!” Kaylee decides. 

Alma laughs. “We’ll see after the baby is born.”

Kaylee brushes for a few more moments and then stops as she settles next to her mother. Her small hand is timid as she reaches out and places her palm against her protruding stomach. 

“I’m sad.” Kaylee announces. 

Alma frowns as she wraps her arms around her daughter. “Why are you sad, Baby?”

“Because you’re sad that Daddy isn’t here.”

“Kaylee,” Alma says shakenly. Alma isn’t even sure how to respond to that. 

“Do you think the baby will be sad?”

This Alma can answer. “No, the baby will be happy. They will have you and Nathan as a big brother and sister. They’ll be happy. And…Daddy will come home one day.”

“You promise?” Kaylee asks her with wide brown eyes. Alma’s heart almost breaks as she is reminded of a similar conversation she had with her own mother when her father went to prison. Her father never came home. 

“How bout you sleep with Mommy tonight. I’ll feel better when I wake up in the morning.”

.

.

It’s been a weird few days. Clay has been quiet on what’s going on with Jax. Alma doesn’t focus on it. Her main focus needs to be on her kids and she is just lucky her mom hasn’t gone on a soapbox about her situation. 

Besides, she promised the kids a camping trip in the backyard. She is sort of looking forward to it herself as she fills her cart up with marshmallows and chocolate. She wonders if she can borrow the Prospect to help. If anything it might be a vacation for him. 

She is leaving the aisle when her cart almost hits someone. 

“Sorry.” Alma says apologizing. 

“It’s alright, Mrs. Teller.”

Alma freezes at the sight of Stahl. “Agent Stahl, I would say it’s been nice to see you.”

Stahl presses her lips in a flat line. “Considering I am feeling generous, I would pick up tomorrow’s paper.”

“I think I would rather not.”

Stahl licks her lips. “I mean you had to see this coming? This life you lead and if your husband would talk he might get to see his youngest graduate from high school.”

“Screw you.”

“Any bit of cooperation can help your husband.”

Alma laughs bitterly. “If anything the very least you can let me talk to my husband.”

Alma walks away from Stahl and goes to check out, but the skinny agent follows her. “You know I get it.”

“Get what?”

“The struggle you must feel. Wanting to give your kids a good life and raise your kids with their father. But it’s a fine line though right. You’re about to be on the verge of repeating the cycle. After all, your father never came home from prison.”

Alma whips around to look at Stahl. She almost can’t believe the words that escaped the agent's mouth. 

Alma opens her mouth, but a pained gasp escapes her lips. 

“Mrs. Teller, you okay?”

Alma feels her lower body tighten. She looks down between her legs and finds blood spreading. 

.

.

Jax had been doing his daily workout routine when the guards had come to his cell. Usually they make some smart aleck remark and  there would be some light hearted banter. Today, there was none of that. The men were quiet as they escorted him to the small visitation room. As he sat and waited for Stahl, he wondered what bullshit she was going to sprout on him. 

He thought she would be up his ass the whole time during his stay, but she surprisingly left him alone. 

He is waiting for a couple minutes before Stahl presents herself and he doesn’t miss that the camera is turned off. She doesn’t greet him. She walks stiffly to her seat. She has no papers. Nothing. She just sits and stares blankly at him. 

“You got something you wanna say?” He asks, breaking the silence.

Stahl looks at him blankly. Jax feels he isn’t going to like what is going to come out of her mouth. That is the usual feeling with her, but this time something is extremely off. Something is wrong. 

She clears her throat. “I wanted to give you this news in person.”

Jax leans back in his chair. “Well, that doesn't sound good.”

Stahl chews on her bottom lip before she sits up straighter and looks him in the eyes. She folds her hands across the table top. “Your wife, Alma, she’s in the hospital.”

Jax’s spine stiffens. “What are you talkin' about?”

“She had a miscarriage. I can’t tell you what exactly went wrong, but it was a close call for her. She lost a lot of blood.”

Jax doesn’t say anything as he looks up at the ceiling. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “You make it sound like you were there.”

“I was the one to call the ambulance. She was at the store when it happened.” Stahl reveals to him. “There was a witness who fingered you. We also got some corroborating statements from Kyle Hobart about past crimes.”

“Why are you tellin' me this?”

“We'll be charging you with Hefner's murder. U.S. Attorney will seek the death penalty. I guess I'm feeling guilty about the pain your wife and children will go through.” 

Jax shakes his head. “I’m surprised you feel anything.”

Stahl stands up. “He was a boy, by the way. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Stahl leaves the visiting room. Jax doesn’t even wait to be taken back to his room as he breaks down in tears. 

#the unknown #soa fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfiction #jax teller #jax teller x oc

[baileys-aurora]

Under the Surface

Ateez x Reader (fem), Mermaid/ Pirate AU

Part 3/?

Previous Part: Part two

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: This chapter is a filler chapter but the next one will have much more action. Also THANK YOU on almost fifty likes on the first part I’m gonna go cry happy tears now. Hope you enjoy this one too :)

“First things first” The captain stated walking towards your still seated form, “you need to learn how to use those.” he gestured to your weak legs, “Jongho will help you since he is the strongest and can support your weight the best.” As if the boy was listening in, his appearance was made immediately after the captain finished his sentence.

Now that you weren’t so on edge you could accept the beauty of these men, stress from sailing adding maturity to their young selves. He didn’t smile. understandable you thought to yourself, you have caused great mishap for the entire crew and now he had to act friendly and teach you something humans learn early in their lives. “we will begin with you holding the railing on the main deck.” Jongho voiced as if he rehearsed what to say beforehand and held out his hand for you to take. his hand unlike Yunho’s was rough from his time working the ropes and weapons of the ship. You slowly made your way out of the cabin grabbing anything you could with your other free hand to stable yourself. However, nothing compared to the ladders on this ship, they were brutal on your upper legs. Even with Jongho supporting most of your weight.  

 Once you finally made it to the ships side, you were already exhausted from the small amount you’ve done today. Though, many attempts of you trying to walk to Jongho while holding the railing to stable yourself it slowly became bearable. You even ended up getting the boy helping you to crack a smile every so often due to your strange facial expressions. “Like this?” you would ask over and over again trying to copy how Jongho shows you. “close” he would say every time, his eyes telling you he was trying to be encouraging.

Although he didn’t show it, he was enjoying himself, and even showed you his smile every now and then unintentionally. You were turning out to be very different then he originally thought, less evil sea witch at least. After a very tiring two hours of walking you were able to walk a few steps and stand still for a while by yourself. “I think you will be walking in no time.” Jongho smiled at your sweating form now sitting down on the deck, “are mermaids even able to sweat?” he asked laughing a bit. “I don’t now actually, if we do no one can tell. Just like we can’t be seen crying under the surface.” “that must be nice,” you looked up at him as he looked down at his hands hanging over the railing and playing with his fingers before he continued, “no one being able to see you when weakness takes over I mean” he finished his thought not looking back down at you, as a dull shade of pink tinted his cheek from telling you something personal, eyes fixing on the endless ocean in front of him. You knew touching would be to pushing so you simply replied, “then how would someone know you are in danger from your own thoughts, being weak is ok but trying to handle everything on your own is the hard part.” he looked back down at you and sighed, nodding his head, “thank you” his voice was small. But you understood he needed reassurance.

As San was watching for any movements or shadows on the distance, he would also steal peaks down at you and Jongho, a small smile at his lips that you were doing ok and not like the terrified girl he saw in a cell the previous night.

 After a while he began to descend from his spot in the crow’s nest, as it was late in the afternoon and he hasn’t eaten yet. Meeting you and Jongho on the way to the kitchen San offered to take you off his hands so he could return to his work and you could eat, finally. “What is it mermaids eat?” San questioned light heartedly, “The souls of curios sailors” you answered with a serious face. The look on San’s face lying somewhere between horrified and curious, before you creaked a smile at the fact, he believed you. His face relaxing also after seeing your smile and laughing at himself for believing something like that. “so, what are we eating?” you asked still smiling at the gullible boy who was holding your arm for support. “I’m not going to tell you now” he pouted, and wow if it wasn’t the cutest yet weirdest thing you’ve seen a grown man do.

 Once you made it to the kitchen the only other person there was Seonghwa finishing his bread. “The fish is cold now, but the bread isn’t stale yet.” he stated minding his own business. Hoping they wouldn’t notice you slowly made your way to the bread, on your own, picking it up to examine it before finding your way to a chair in front of Seonghwa, while San filled his plate. “No fish?” the boy sitting in front of you asked, “not feeling it today” you smiled back trying the so-called bread. It wasn’t bad not as flavorful as you thought but still good. After that small exchange of words, the two men remained quiet as they ate, yet it wasn’t awkward. Once San was done, he waved as he left leaving you with Seonghwa who was still slowly working on the same piece of bread while staring blankly at it.

 “Are you ok?” you spoke up carefully, he didn’t look at you at first but continued to pick at the food in his hands. Maybe he didn’t hear you? you thought to yourself, his attention on the bread and mind somewhere else. You poked his hand gaining an instant reaction, “mm?” he looked up at you finally, “I was just wondering what you were thinking about so intently” “oh, um just this whole situation, and um how we are going to fix it.” he replied with guilt in his eyes, “not saying I want you gone but I do want you to get home safe” he clarified.

  “I know that me being here is a burden, and I’m sorry I even decided to impose.” “you don’t like us huh?” he asked with a smirk, “it’s because I do like you guys that I’m sorry” his smirk dropping “why? we dragged you to an under-deck cell and threatened you.” “and I tried to sleep with San” you responded laughing, “let’s just say we both did regrettable things in the past 24 hours.” “you regret trying to seduce San” Seonghwa teased showing his relaxed side to you for the first time. Your cheeks flushing red at the thought of it now, “awe look at you blushing~” “shut up” “I don’t think you regret it at all” your face getting hotter more so from the teasing then the subject itself. “you tried to see me naked” you pointed an accusing finger at him, so he would stop.

 Now it being his turn to be embarrassed his face also matching the color of yours, “you know that is not what happened” he shot back at you. Which lead to a stare off between you two. Which of course, Seonghwa lost.

 “I’ve always have been curious about that though, why do mermaids try so hard to seduce sailors? Why did you?” He brought up changing the conversation back to a serious topic, you sighed before answering, “it’s the only way our family name can be continued to the next generation and since we are all women, sailors are our only option.” “I see, so San could’ve been a daddy” Seonghwa joked again, “well now that I have met others maybe I should’ve chosen someone else” you winked at Seonghwa trying to make him smile or laugh again. Instead however you noticed his features fall, “don’t ever make that joke again” he replied to you coldly, making you feel bad for insulting him. “You are on a ship with men who haven’t had a women’s company since they joined, you could seriously be taken out of context. I don’t want that to happen to you.” You don’t know why but his words put knots in your stomach for a couple seconds. “I’m sorry” you hung your head not really wanting to look back up at him, “I’m not scolding you, I’m warning. Other than the main crew most of the men have the mindset of the man you met last night.” At that moment the knots in your stomach came back stronger but this time brought pain in your legs as well. Maybe it was the from pushing them so hard to support your weight earlier you wondered to yourself quietly. “Seonghwa, I want to go lay down” you said looking back up into his eyes, with your brows furrowed. “I didn’t mean to offend you” he responded quickly, “it’s not that, my legs are killing me, will you help me to the captain’s cabin?”

 Once you made it in the cabin Hongjoong looked up at you two with an eyebrow raised. “She is having leg pain” was all Seonghwa said as he helped you to the small mattress they added to the room earlier that day. The captain sighed taking the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, “okay, I will be back in the morning then” he said while picking up a couple pieces of paper and leaving you two behind. He seemed upset but that was the last thing on your mind.

 Seonghwa watched him leave before facing you again, “how bad are they hurting?” “I’m ok just pushed myself to much probably.” You slightly smiled at him, so he was reassured, “I just need some rest” to which he nodded his head and walked to the door looking back at you again to you smiling so he left.

 The knots became worse as your legs throbbed more, not long after the pain moved to your head as well, your vision becoming blurred and the room spinning. What was happening? You thought to yourself before becoming sick and releasing the contents of your stomach onto the old wooden floors.

 As the sun was setting Hongjoong became curious about how you were feeling and wanted to apologize for his cold personality earlier. As he made his way to the cabin, he noticed a body sitting next to the door, “Yeosang?” The captain questioned the younger boy looked up and smiled, “I wanted to meet her since I’m done for the day but didn’t want to disturb her. So, I just figured to wait.” “She was experiencing leg pains earlier so I don’t think she will be coming out anytime soon.” The sitting boy looked disappointed as he is normally busy, “are you planning on checking up on her?” He asked with some hope left in his eyes, “I wasn’t planning on it” he lied, “but I will now since you want to meet her” Hongjoong began knocking as he finished his statement.

 No answer. Maybe she was asleep? He knocked a second time with no answer. Should he enter without permission? He was debating when Yeosang interjected, “since she is asleep can I meet her in the morning?” “Yeah” the elder answered before they both went their separate ways. Something not sitting right with both of them.

 As they say, curiosity killed the cat.

 San made his way quietly to the captain’s cabin when he was relieved from his shift in the crow’s nest. He softly knocked so no one would hear him except you. When you didn’t answer he reached for the knob, “what are you doing” a voice spoke up next to his ear, causing him to yank his hand back and cover his heart. Turning around he found a smiling Yeosang, “were you about to enter a sleeping girls room?” San’s cheeks turned red as he is still trying to calm down. “I was just going to make sure she was ok” he confessed, “let me come with you” was all Yeosang replied looking at San, “I want to meet her” he spoke up again to clarify any confusion. San nodded his head and reached for the door again, opening it slowly. Whispering that they were about to enter.

 But satisfaction brought it back.

 They were horrified by what they saw, you are lying on the floor unconscious with your own throw up around you. Rushing towards you, San knelt down next to you and rolled you into his lap while brushing the hair out of you face. Yeosang on your other side feeling your forehead then looking up at San with wide eyes, “she has a really high fever” he stated worry heavy in his voice. “Shit! Go alert Hongjoong and bring back some water.” San ordered as he held your limp sweating body, repeating you were going to be ok.

Next Part

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez yunho #ateez mingi #ateez san #ateez hongjoong #ateez yeosang #ateez jongho #ateez wooyoung #ateez seonghwa #san #wooyoung #mingi #yeosang #hongjoong #jonho #seongwha #yunho #pirate au #pirate ateez #mermaid au

[milstrim]

Rise from the Ashes; Just to See You Again

Chapter 1: Mary Fitzpatrick

"It's yours, Mr. Stark."

The proof was indisputable, all labeled out clear as day in the paper in front of him. He searched through it, looking for anything that would prove the woman in front of him wrong, that he was not, in fact, having a child. Because he couldn't, he just couldn't. He wasn't supposed to be a father, and he most certainly wasn't supposed to be a dad.

He looked up at his assistant, who was checking things off on her clipboard, yet kept glancing at him expectantly, clearly waiting for a response. She waited a few more minutes before she got fed up with him sitting in his stupor, because she carried on.

"The mother, Mary Fitzpatrick, has asked for a meeting with you. I suggest you attend," she said, a hint of a warning in her voice, as if daring him not to meet the mother of his future child, "When would you like that scheduled, Mr. Stark?"

"Um, just--God," he covered his face and sighed through his nose, "Just get her over here as soon as possible. And I really mean as soon as possible. And, cancel everything else for the next few days."

"Very well. Will that be all, Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah--yeah yeah. That'll be all, Ms. Potts, just...don't tell Obie for the moment."

She gave him an odd look, but didn't question him, just continued typing and making notes. It was fair. He didn't exactly know why he didn't want to tell Obie, he'd known the man before he was even born, but something about the situation made him not want to. Tony knew how he would take it, it would be business as always, and that wasn't how he wanted to handle this...

How did he want to handle this?

"Of course, Mr. Stark. I'll alert you when she's ready to meet you."

"Thank you, Miss Potts," he grabbed a company stress ball off of his desk and threw it between his hands, just trying to find something to distract him from the news that was threatening to overwhelm him, "Dismissed."

Pepper left with a simple nod, her heels clicking on the floor as she did.

Tony leaned back in his chair, exhaling harshly through his nose. A kid, a baby. He was having a baby. Well, Mary Fitzpatrick was having a baby, he was more or less along for the ride. God, how had he been so careless? He should've, he should've--

Well, there was no point worrying about what he should've done, all he could do was plan for what he was going to do. And for now, the plan was to go home and...drink probably. To work in his lab and just try to forget, at least for a little while.

"Ughh, mmMMMm."

"Good morning, sir."

The voice of his AI rang through the room, worsening the headache that suddenly made itself apparent. He groaned in response, which Jarvis apparently took as a sign to turn his lights on, making him open his eyes before squeezing them shut again.

"I'm extremely sorry sir, but Ms. Potts has asked me to wake you up for your meeting,"

Meeting? He didn't have any meetings, Pepper had canceled them all. Unless--

Reluctantly, Tony got up, and, ignoring his throbbing head, he headed to the kitchen. When he looked out the windows overlooking the ocean, he realized just how late it must be. He vaguely wondered when he passed out last night, and how he got to his bed, before shrugging it off. It didn't really matter if he was being honest.

When he got to the kitchen Pepper was there waiting for him on her tablet, a pizza sitting on the counter next to her. He jogged over to her halfheartedly, making her look up.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark," she greeted.

"I hope that's for me," he said, forgoing a hello and grabbing the box, as well as pouring himself some juice. He stuffed a piece in his mouth, "Jarvis said I had a meeting, and I thought--"

"It's with Ms. Fitzpatrick. She also wanted a meeting as soon as possible so I went ahead and set it up for today. It's in a few hours at Stark Industries, and I'd advise you to not be late, Mr. Stark."

He swallowed his pizza nervously, feeling trapped under her piercing glare. Yeah, he should probably listen to her this time.

"Of course, Ms. Potts. Wouldn't dream of it."

He did end up being on time, for the most part at least. A few extra minutes making sure he got a good coffee couldn't have hurt, though judging by the look Pepper gave him as he walked into the pristine conference room, he was very wrong. She apparently decided to try and not make a big deal of it at the moment though, instead gesturing for him to sit down next to her. Reshuffling the stack of papers in front of her she turned to address the woman in front of her, who Tony had been pointedly ignoring.

He finally looked at her, and she looked right back, staring at him with a challenging gaze. Her curly hair was drawn back in a bun, and though she was probably seven or eight months pregnant she looked remarkably put together, sipping on a tea. She readjusted her glasses as they stared at each other until Tony finally looked away, turning to Pepper instead, who was leafing through her papers. The strawberry blonde didn't look up until she had found the one she was looking for.

"Now that Mr. Stark has finally joined us we can start," Pepper declared, setting a paper in the middle of the table, "This is a nondisclosure agreement, which we'll need you to sign no matter what decision you come to, which leads us to our next topic. What do you--"

"--I'm not keeping it," Mary interrupted, setting down her tea.

"What?" Tony asked, surprised. He understood that people generally didn't want to keep a one-night-stand baby, but the idea of his baby going up for adoption definitely irked him, "Why not?"

"I--well, being a mother in my line of work would be near impossible...I'm a SHIELD agent," she answered at their questioning looks, "And honestly, I just don't want to be a mother, but, well, I...I thought you might like the chance to be a father."

Tony let out a weird hacking noise, caught in between a cough and a laugh. Both women gave him strange looks, though Pepper's was definitely more judgemental. To be fair, he wasn't trying to be rude, but he had never been more caught off guard. And that was saying something.

"You-you want me to raise a child. I-I mean, the ways that could go disastrously wrong are numerous! I-"

"If you don't want it then you don't want it, Stark. I just thought you'd rather know, and that you'd rather have all the options laid out in front of you," Mary interrupted again, looking resigned.

That was true, he guessed. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if he Mary had had his child and hadn't bothered to tell him. But, him , raising a child!? It was crazy, ludicrous! And yet, he couldn't stand the idea that he would never know the kid, his kid.

"Where would it go instead? If-if I didn't take it," he asked, eyes wide.

"I'd look into families--I've been looking into families--but it'd most likely go up for adoption,"

Adoption. He...didn't know how to feel about that, but it seemed to gnaw at him. He hadn't really planned on having children, hadn't thought he'd be suited for fatherhood, he still wasn't, but imagining his child with someone that wasn't their own family, felt like a cold slap to the face.

It took Tony a moment to realize that both Mary and Pepper were waiting on him to make a decision, looking at him expectantly. Whatever he decided would determine everything about the future of the child and--he could feel his breaths becoming shorter and his heart beating faster as the weight of the moment set in, as everything he had been ignoring and pushing to the back of his mind caught up to him.

"I-I need to think about it," he blurted out, just to say something . Mary blinked in surprise, probably just expecting an NDA and a big fat 'no.' To her credit, she recovered quickly.

"Of course, Mr. Stark. Will you-"

"We'll be in touch, Ms. Fitzpatrick," Pepper smiled, reaching over and shaking Mary's hand and getting up to show her to the door, "Call me if you have any further questions. And we'll make sure to give you a call soon."

The two women walked out of the room, Tony assumed that Pepper was going to walk her to her car, or at least the lobby. Tony didn't even get up from his chair though, the situation seemed to be weighing him down, as if he had been chained to the chair the moment he had sat in it.

And so he sat, his chin in his hand, and pondered. Pondered the future of his child. If he chose to not take it, it would grow up without him, he might never meet them, and would that really be so bad? They might grow up with a loving family, one who does a better job than him, and maybe the kid should. But, for all his reluctance, he couldn't stomach that picture. A little doe-eyed boy or girl cuddled up with their family, their father--and it wasn't him.

The thought struck a nerve in him, and in an instant, the invisible weight that had been chaining him down only moments before lifted and was replaced with the need to move, to do something. He stomped out of the conference room, making his way to his car on autopilot.

He'd gotten to the parking lot and opened his car door, so close to being home free, when--

"Tony, m'boy!!" yelled a familiar voice from behind him. Not now. He held back a groan, instead putting on a smile and turning around.

"Hello, Obie," he greeted through grit teeth, hoping that he looked happy to see the man.

"What're you doing here? I thought you were working on the new missile at home."

"Oh, um, yeah," he replied, grasping for an excuse, "Pepper wanted me to come in and um, check over a few things. I'm just as surprised as you are that I came out here."

Obie chuckled good naturedly, taking his cigar out of his mouth lazily.

"Well, while you're here, care for a drink with me in my office? I've got a few things I've been meaning to go over with you."

Tony cringed, just wanting to be at home, alone, preferably. His friend looked at him expectantly, but Tony waved him off.

"No thanks. I just needed to be here for a couple hours, I'm at a real break through on the missile, so I'll have to pass," and without another word he climbed the rest of the way into his car, giving Obie a wave as he blasted off, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

He kind of regretted it, he realized as he drove off, not telling Obie. He'd known the man for longer than he could remember, and while he could be a little insensitive, he was always ready to help Tony with what he was struggling with.

Whatever, it's only been a couple of days. It can wait, he can wait.

He wanted to tell Rhodey, if anyone could help, it was him. But unfortunately, he was overseas and Tony wasn't able to contact him at the moment. It always sucked, but this was the worst possible time for the man to be away. He had always had bad timing, crazy good advice though. It made him wonder what he'd say.

Probably something helpful.

When he got home he still didn't know what to do, which was fair, he guessed. He'd been given the chance to be a father only an hour ago. It wasn't exactly a decision to be made lightly.

He walked over to the bar and poured himself a scotch, sipping on it slowly.

How could he be expected to raise a child when he was drinking at the thought of his own? How could he be expected to be a good father when he'd never had one himself? He had no example, no reference on how to do this. And God, what would Howard even think about this whole thing? He didn't even want to imagine the disappointment and shame that would burn in his eyes.

But, what would his mom think? She'd be disappointed sure, but she'd be so excited to have a grandchild, why, she would've spoiled the kid rotten. She would've given them everything they ever wanted and then some. There was no doubt she would’ve loved the kid.

"Jarvis, what makes a father? A good father?" he asked, borderline desperate on what to do.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, sir."

"What makes a good father? How..." he swallowed, " How can I be a good dad to my kid?"

"Sir, I am afraid I am not capable of answering this question."

Tony sighed, taking a long swig from his glass. It was at times like these that he missed the real Jarvis, who would've known what to do, who would've spoiled the kid just as much as his mom. Both of them would've loved his kid, loved them more than life itself.

And so would he.

He'd love this kid, tell them every day, they'd never question just how much he loved them. But, he could only do that if he took the kid. Mary didn't want it, and giving it up just wasn't an option for him.

Then there was only one option left. And if he was being honest, he wasn't dreading it as much as he thought he would.

"Jarvis, make arrangements for a meeting with Mary, as soon as possible. And, order everything a baby would need. A crib, toys, diapers. And I want every parenting book ever."

"Of course, sir," was it just him, or did Jarvis sound kinda happy? "I shall alert Ms. Potts that you intend on keeping the baby."

Tony smiled, before the feeling of his heart in his throat stopped him. He looked around his house in dismay, at his bar and the memories of countless women in these rooms. He wanted this kid, but he had a lot to do before they got here. It wouldn't stop him though, he was going to be a dad, and nothing could stop him.

Next Part

#Iron Man #spiderman #irondad #spiderson #spiderdaughter #spiderwoman #penny parker #tony stark #fanfic

[hkvoyage]

I am a real old lady, living in Israel, and I am a Klaine-MPreg addict. Do you have a list, or know of a list, of these stories. The regular klaine list (Lynne & Zinnia) doesn't have one. Thanks. OLK

A search for completed mpreg fics resulted in 183 fics on AO3 and 125 fics on FF.net. Here are the search results on S&C. Judging by the number of hits or favorites on these stories, there are plenty of readers that like mpreg!Klaine fics.

Under the cut are 11 mpreg!Kurt fics and 17 mpreg!Blaine fics. I placed an asterisk against the authors who have written a few mpreg stories.

Warning: Some of these also contain boypussy. Make sure you read the tags or author comments if this bothers you. Happy reading! HKVoyage

MPREG KURT

Who Says by Karanoaoi *

Wolves mate for life once an Alpha claims their Omega mate, but the ways of choosing your mate are changing from the traditional meets where all non-mated wolves of age are thrown in together and you end up with a mate. Alphas still have to start a mating run, but what if the Omega has their eye on a certain Alpha? Follow the Anderson and Hummel families through these changes. A generational fic starting with Grandma Anderson and going through Kurt and Blaines generation. 

Note: Part 1 of the The Life of a Werewolf series

~~~~~

Not As It Seems by fearlessly

Blaine had been frozen where he stood. The boy in front of him was gorgeous. He had never seen a creature so beautiful in his life and quite frankly, Blaine was awestruck. His eyes, they were like raging ocean storms yet they were gentle, inviting, and so utterly … organic.

~~~~~

The Ultimate Christmas Present by LilLizzie94

Blaine has been in Afghanistan for the past 7 months and Kurt has been home by himself…they recieved some interesting news right before he was deployed…Kurt was pregnant. Blaine has come home early to surprise Kurt for christmas…but he’s not the only surprise in store for the two. MPREG don’t like… Don’t read.

~~~~~

I’ll Be Home for Christmas by DreamingisBelieving

Imagine person A from your OTP is pregnant during Christmas and for some reason of your choice, person B won’t be home for Christmas, leaving person A alone. 

~~~~~

The Anderson Rose by missbeizy *

In the mountains of what was once the Northeastern United States of America, the descendants of a band of refugees who had escaped New York City at the end of a great World War are beginning to thrive after almost a thousand years of struggle. Relying on a combination of bits and pieces of advanced technology salvaged from the remains of great cities, as well as the still-pristine forest that they now call home, the people of Westerville are determined to rebuild a world in which peace, love, and cooperation mean more than victory, greed, and wealth. 

~~~~~

Wont Tell Anyone by karanoaoi *

The Royal family has never had a problem securing their claim to the throne. That was until now. The King and Queen have been unable to bear any children passed their only son, Blaine. Now when their reign is threatened by other Nobel families that declare their family as weak, they turn to the one way they know that will show everyone their family line has not ended. Having their son marry and produce a strong line of heirs.

Sequel: Make a Move

~~~~~

Be Still My Heart by witchcraftandclickery

During a stressful and almost disastrous Black Friday Shopping adventure for Kurt, he meets and is saved by a strange older man. As their friendship progresses, so does their relationship. After falling in love with the perfect man, Kurt finds out he’s pregnant. Age!difference Older!Blaine 

Note: Although this fic is not marked as completed, the reviews of the final chapter indicate that it is. It is easy to overlook marking a fic as completed on FF.net.

~~~~~

I Will by witchcraftandclickery 

Kurt, cheerleader with the jock boyfriend is failing English. Blaine, nerd with a crush is actually really good at English. Kurt is sent to Blaine for tutoring, where one thing leads to another. A few weeks later, Kurt learns he is pregnant. MPREG. GKM fill.

~~~~~

Come Take My Hand Now by controlofwhatido

Post 4x14 AU where Blaine finds out he's pregnant (instead of Rachel).

~~~~~

Men, Babies and Other Disasters by TheWhiteOwl

Kurt, the 30-year-old successful fashion designer is desperate for a child. He visits a fertility clinic but he soon realizes that getting pregnant won’t be as easy as it first seemed. But than he bumps into Blaine, a cute and hot guy and it changes everything.A quick decision. Just one night with a stranger… Blaine doesn’t even have to about it. Too bad Blaine seems to be everywhere Kurt goes and it makes avoiding him a little bit complicated.

~~~~~

Ontás lýkos by Verseau_87

Back from New York and visiting his parent's during summer vacation, Kurt (literally) bumps into Blaine. Another werewolf like him. Their love is quick and easy, but it seems life is never that simple. Trying to enjoy their time together and merge their respective packs, they both must navigate being in love, over coming every obstacle along the way.

Note: Part 1 of Being Wolves

~~~~~

Three Times Blaine Doesn't Have Sex with Kurt, and the One Time He Does by ohmywhy

The one in which mpreg!Kurt and Blaine are just friends and shouldn’t be. BP!Kurt

MPREG BLAINE

Chances Verse by DreamingKate *

Kurt liked his new boyfriend but something was a little different about him.

~~~~~

The Odds by @gleeana *

Canon compliant with the show through the Klaine wedding, with the rather major twist that in this universe, men can become pregnant … and Kurt learns Blaine is pregnant soon after the wedding. A little too soon, given the circumstances.

This is a story about the power of love and family, and about the consequences of secrets.

~~~~~

Baby Mine (Be My Baby) by anythingbutplatonic

Summary: Just weeks after he confessed to cheating when Kurt left for New York, Blaine discovers he’s pregnant. There’s no doubt in his mind that the baby is Kurt’s, but there’s no way anyone can know. Distraught after the break-up and afraid of being judged if anyone finds out, he decides to hide his pregnancy….until he can’t anymore. AU, obviously.

~~~~~

Apple of My Eye by idoltina *

A fill for this GKM prompt. AU after The Break Up. Blaine finds out that he’s pregnant after Kurt breaks up with him (with Kurt’s child, no less). He tries telling Kurt about it, but Kurt refuses to talk to him. Blaine decides to finish his senior year at home and give the baby up for adoption. Only he doesn’t. He ends up keeping the baby – a daughter – and takes her to New York with him when he leaves for college. He raises her partially on his own with some help from his parents, and tries to juggle parenthood, school, and work. And everything works out okay for a little over two years – until he runs into Kurt.

~~~~~

At the End of the Road by slaysvamps

AU from 4x10 Glee, Actually. Weeks after leaving Kurt in New York Blaine finds himself in a situation he never would have expected. With Kurt moving on with his life and ignoring him completely, Blaine must find a way handle things on his own. Until he doesn’t.

~~~~~

What I Call Life by warblerslushie *

Kurt broke off the engagement and left Blaine. Three years later, Kurt’s at a strip club for his bachelor party and sees Blaine working. Blaine’s been working there and enduring uncomfortable glances and touches for a year to make sure that his son was properly cared for. MPREG. Based on a tumblr prompt from blangstpromptoftheday. 

~~~~~

And Baby Makes Three by anythingbutplatonic

Klaine AU: A few weeks after Mr Schuester’s almost-wedding and the events that followed, Blaine starts having symptoms. Symptoms that appear to be a lot like pregnancy. 

~~~~~

We’re In This Together Or Not At All. by zigzag18

Blaine Anderson’s life is about to be turned upside down. After a hook-up with head Cheerio Kurt Hummel, Blaine finds out he’s pregnant. He didn’t tell Kurt that he was a carrier, so how is he suppose to tell Kurt? How is he, a 17 year old high school senior suppose to take care of a baby? 

~~~~~

Apartment 143 by idoltina *

Six years into their marriage, Kurt and Blaine are starting to be established enough in their careers to want to settle down into a more permanent residence. When they happen upon a refurbished apartment in an old building at a price that’s a steal, they immediately snatch it up. They settle into their new home over the summer, and after a fairly intoxicated and intimate Halloween, they find themselves expecting their family to grow by one more. But as the pregnancy progresses, so does the level of paranormal activity in their home. It doesn’t take long for them to bring in paranormal investigators to figure out what inhabits their home, if they can get rid of it, and how to protect themselves and their unborn child from it – if they can. 

~~~~~

Spark Like Empty Lighters by atticrissfinch

It was supposed to just be a hook-up between student and teacher…and it was. But what will happen when Blaine reveals to Kurt that he’s pregnant with Kurt’s child? an mpreg!blaine au.

~~~~~

When We’re Older by warblerslushie *

Kurt and Blaine have been married for several years and Blaine’s been wanting to start a family, especially since they’re getting older. However, with their work schedules and the fact that Kurt’s just not ready for kids right now, things have been slow within the Anderson-Hummel household. But what will happen when the couple receives some unexpected news?

~~~~~

thought i could do this on my own by ShanleenKinnJaskey

Prince Kurt Hummel falls in love with Blaine Anderson, an orphan servant boy, and thankfully he returns Kurt’s affections. But what will happen when one night Blaine disappears, leaving only a letter behind that contains an unbelievable explanation? When, years later, Blaine appears with two sons in tow (one deadly ill), will Kurt finally learn the truth?

Note: Part 1 of the to be loved series

~~~~~

Don’t Stop Believing by Julesmonster

Blaine is trying hard to win Kurt back now that they’re both going to be in New York, but even if he does, life has a few surprises in store for them, and not all of them are good. Warnings: MPreg, Character Death (Not Kurt or Blaine).

~~~~~

Hold My Heart by universalromance

GKM Fill: Blaine is a carrier who is sold by his parents when they are in need of money. He is gifted to Kurt by his buyer in order to gain favour with newly elected Congressman Hummel. He is expecting to be mistreated the way he was always told but soon discovers that there is still good in some people.

Note: Part 1 of Treasure My Heart

~~~~~

Heart Of Glass by framby

At the end of his senior year, Blaine left Kurt and Ohio without explanation. When they are forced to work together Kurt just wants to get it over with as painlessly as possible. Little does he know that Blaine's secret will turn his life upside down.

~~~~~

Nobody Said It Was Easy by Julesmonster

Following “The Breakup” Kurt and Blaine must discover where their relationship is going and if it will survive even as they face new problems. MPreg. Slash of the Klaine variety. Major spoilers for 4.4.

All Over Again by warblerslushie

Kurt and Blaine have been happily married for close to two decades and have three beautiful children. Not long after their oldest goes off to California to start college, they find out some very surprising news; the kind of news that really shakes up the whole family, especially when you're at that age where you've just started to get settled and ready for an empty nest. MPREG.

#klaine fic rec #mpreg!Klaine

[bluem0use]

It's about time I introduced you to the cast of The Crackin'-Up Studios. Don't worry. You'll be seeing them again, especially in the mini-comics!

**In order from top to bottom, left to right**

Billie Bob Willie-Nillie Black Sheep: The overall face of The Crackin'-Up Studios itself. She is the ring leader to the whole circus. The pilot to all the flight attendance. The manager to a corporate office. You get the whole idea. She's one poppin' fire-cracker (A.K.A. has a short temper) that's all for the business, but doesn't mind getting silly from time to time. On screen, she is the definition of unpredictable and crazy, fun and silly. She's a gun happy country gal that started off small and came out big with her talents for making people laugh. She worked hard to get her way to the top. And all of it has obviously paid off. If someone was to use words to describe her, it would be fun, loving, friendly, brave, courageous, generous, the list could go on and on. This gun-loving  little lady, no matter where she goes, always somehow seems to change people's lives. And for the better.

Poochie Pooh Poodle: Billie's partner-in-crime. Her bestest friend since her younger years. Her ride or die buddy. Poochie is the main co-star to the series, and a serious eye-candy to men. While Billie is featured as the funny, wacky, unpredictable, quirky character on-screen of the trio, Poochie is often featured as the sex-appeal. The sex symbol. The hot mama. She also models as a little side job whenever necessary. She's the sweetest sweetie-pie you will ever meet in your life. However, proceed with caution. When provoked, she's one sassy gal and won't hesitate to give you a mouthful (and probably a gun wound) if you mess with her, or her friends.

Wolfie Blackfang Wolf: What's the three musketeers without a male in the picture? Wolfie may not have known these two women as long as they've known each other, but their his closest family he's ever had since he left the orphanage. He is also the main co-star to the series, accompanied by being the musical genius of the three. Since a young boy, Wolfie has practiced music as not only his hobby, but his life. His alluring ability was able to trap the young black sheep and poodle in a trance on a fateful night in a club where he worked to try and make a living, thus landing him a job and a ticket to materialization through the ladies. From there, he has always acted as the stud of the three, protecting them whenever they needed an extra hand and also charming women with his attractive voice along the way.

Candy Bat: This "monster", this "usually nocturnal creature of the night", this "mysterious shadow" is nothing but a sweet treat in the eyes of many who travel far and wide to Nightwalk Bay to get a taste of his sweet treats at the local candy shop. At least, that's what Billie, Poochie, and Wolfie will tell ya. Famous for his line of business, Candy Bat is a harmless, humble candy man..err..bat that seeks nothing but to fill the mouths of the fortunate with a sweet after-taste. His delicious pastries, frozen desserts, and fizzy drinks aren't the only thing that appeals to the eyes of many. He's also a support character at The Crackin'-Up Studios during the day and a friendly (but hissy, due to his uncontrollable excited hisses whenever he meets someone new and/or is excited) candy shop-keeper at night.

Scratches: Whoa, watch out for that web! There's a BIG spider up there! And his name is none other than Scratches, yet another support cast character for The Crackin'-Up Studios. When in the presence of my six-armed friend, be cautious. Scratches loves the ladies and will go through extreme lengths to entangle you in his web, if he deems you a worthy enough mate. Don't worry fellas, he doesn't swing that way. Though..spider's gotta eat, right? What? Spiders only eat insects? Not this playful, flirtatious one. Note that this spider is dead, and has been ressurrected after a deal made by Ozzan (scroll down to reference Ozzan's bio). Therefore, Scratches likes human flesh too. Dont worry too much though. He's too busy chasing both Poochie and Billie around the studios, trying to declare his love for them. Though...something about a huge demon spider just..turns those two ladies off.

Honey Hyena: As the name implies, this hyena is sweet as honey! Raised on a bee farm, this little lady never expected to end up being a supporting cast character to The Crackin'-Up Studios. That was, until a little Black Sheep mozied on over and decided to offer her the position and the materialization process just like everyone else. She figured the nice lady would need the money boost besides "Milkin' bees all day long" - Billie. Honey loves bees. In fact, on her days off from woking at the studios, that's all she does! Is work, work, work at her long-descended family bee farm, making honey and selling it for some dough (money) as a side job. She is also the motherly figure to all the cartoon ladies on set and often tries to share her knowledge with them in hopes she can help guide them on the right path. I mean, not everyone is perfect, right?

Bon Isabell Bunny: Daughter of a long deceased magician (who was, ironically a white bunny), she has seeked to find more support by becoming a supporting cast character to the TV series. However, though, she wasn't looking to be a supporting character when offered the job by Billie Bob. Bon has a bit of a...strong hatred for Billie Bob. Bon saw how much love and respect the black sheep got, even from her "enemies". So, what does this tempered (its just as bad as Billie's, trust me), quick-to-anger, grumpy gal do? Well, it's like they say, "Kill the sheep, take her wool!". That is...if she could catch her first. Forever caught in this game of cat-and-mouse on screen and off screen, Bon decided to settle into this position for now. Hopefully one day, her magic tricks and traps can pay off and actually earn her a spot in the lead position.

Bon Iseah Bunny: Twin brother to the other Bon Bunny, this bunny seems the complete opposite of his sister. This magic bunny doesn't mind being a supporting cast character, and instead enjoys making others smile with her magic tricks and qurkiness. After all, its what his deceased magician father would have wanted. He admires Billie and everything that she does not only for everyone else, but herself. He just hopes with time, his sister can see that. For now, this calm bunny will just have to play as yin to his sister's yang (A.K.A., trying his best to calm her in her most stressed and ferocious moments).

Molly Cow: Before her rise to fame as another member of The Crackin'-Up Studios crew, Molly Cow, the half-pig half-cow offspring, could not keep a job to save her life! She was lazy, less focused, often slacking or ducking off, and/or giving up before she even set foot in the door! The funny thing is, she wouldn't care, and just go back to living with her parents. Seeing as though Molly's confident and care-free attitude was a necessity to bring on some laughs, all Billie had to do was offer a hand to the voluptuous, intriguing young woman and for some odd reason, this cartoon has managed to keep the job ever since. Side note, if you ask her what her "other" job would be whenever she brings it up, it would be shopping. She is ALL about the fashion!

Malachi (formerly known as "Michael Jamesking"): Yes, Malachi is actually an angel. AND, he is also a featuring asset to the team whenever needed. With the help of one of Veronica's potions (scroll down to reference Veronica's bio), he has the ability to shrink down to size on command. He also is a good line of defense if life-threatening danger ever be-falls the company, for even if he is a judgement angel, he is considered very powerful against a mortal (unless demon weapons are used against him). He is pure, friendly, and kind, however, you must not associate yourself with the presence of evil upon first meetings. He IS a jugement angel after all and will be quick to judge you and shame you for your choice of sin and avoid you like the plague while also be-littleing you. Ironically, the only exception to this treatment is Ozzan (his best friend in all universes) and Bendy (in the head-canon canon universe). Also note, Malachi was never always Malachi. Malachi was once Michael, a regular, normal, working business man who unfortunately got hit by a car on his morning rush to work.

Ozzan: Oh boy. This one's a bad one. If you thought Scratches (scroll up to reference Scratche's bio) was bad, wait until you get a load of this one! This foul-mouthed, ill-mannered, obnoxious, flirtatious pervert is somehow a necessity to The Crackin'-Up Studios. His crude sense of humor and anctics tend to get a good laugh out of adults more than oblivious children. He will flirt with anything, sleep with anything, hell even risk catching some sort of SEXUAL DISEASE for anything that has legs. This man lives, breathes, and embraces everything that is bad at every cost, every time. Its possibly why he was so close to Lucifer (the Devil) back when he was in Hell. Though, take caution. If you piss him off (which isn't really hard to do), he WILL tear you to bits and peices with his bare fists. Also, beware of tentacles and trendils ladies. He has them everywhere and can use them not only in battle, but also for...other things. So beware and..make sure your doors are locked.

Veronica Bat: Born "Daddy's Little Monster", Veronica is the daughter of Candy Bat and Valentine Naxxremis (formerly Bat)(She will be referenced in the next ref). For most of her life, she has lived with her mother and embraced her witch-hood, which usually ends up with the little gloom and doom bookworm getting bullied for being a "half-breed". However, her luck gets turned around when she meets Billie Bob (like a lot of these people's do) who helps instill in her to be happy to be herself and to screw what everyone else says..and to also get back at them at all costs. She looks up to Billie and Poochie as her "Aunties", though, has trouble getting along with her father. She was raised to believe she had left her and her mother and never really loved them. Which, is obviously not true, but, she has a hard time believing that. Once welcomed to the cast, Veronica is a huge hit with the goth little teen girls who aspire to be like her: beautiful and mysterious. Let's just hope she gets he powers under control first, for she struggles with that a great deal on screen for comical effect and off screen.

Patricia Greene Pig: (A/N: She probably has had the MOST change out of all of them, so beware) Patricia is Delloris's (scroll down for Delloris's bio) bestest friend since childhood. Snobby, rude, sassy, class. All of these combined makes her perfect for scenes where she's the girl that thinks she's too good for the male trying to win her heart. Likes are, their only trying to "woo" it for her money. Oh, did I mention she's very wealthy? Her and Delloris aren't friends for nothing. You have to have some sort of status when it comes to getting in goods with the mayor's one and only daughter. Also note that Patricia is an EXTREME germo-phobe and will pelt you down with germ-x if you've so much as TOUCHED an un-sanitized door knob.

Hank Kat: Hank Kat has been an aspired musician since he was a little boy. He has really known the struggles of what it's like to be broke from both of his poor parents. So, as a way to raise some money, he went out on the streets and played his father's old rusty trumphet for some pocket change. Crowds were so awed at his talent, before long, Hank was hitting the clubs to try and win over some cash to take care of his parents once he became of age. Similar to Wolfie, Poochie had just so happened to stumble upon him. Though they didn't exactly see eye-to-eye due to species war, they were able to put their differences aside the night they had spent together, dancing the night away. As they danced, Poochie would listen to this party-goer's story and become sympathetic for the poor fellow. Thus, she figured his wallet could be fed a little more and thus offered for him to be a support character on the team. With his toe-tappin', feed stompin', hand wavin; jams that he can play on trombone, trumphet, pretty much just about any instrument he could blow into, he would become not only a major asset to the supporting cast, but also the music, both at his day job at the studios and his night job in the clubs.

Puncho: This "unstoppable brick wall" can take a punch and also pack it. After all, they don't call him "Puncho" for nothing! Though he's not much of fan favorite unless it comes to his famous boxing episodes, Puncho is a well-served supporting cast in the crew. He's often seen alongside his partner, Scraps Skunk (scroll down for Scrap's bio), no matter what the situation. He has a temper just like Billie, girl Bon, and Ozzan, however, instead of unleashing it by yelling at coworkers and throwing large objects (Billie), chasing someone down the hall with a chainsaw (Girl Bon), or spewing a bunch of curse words that's enough to make a sailor blush (Ozzan), he lets out his steam in the ring. He is the undefeated champion (if you don't count his and Billie's first brawl in one of her posters) within the boxing ring and anyone who dare wants to challenge him in taking his belt, well. Better be prepared for the pain. Bring a lot of ice.

Scraps Skunk: A timid, shy soul who is pure and good at working the ring as a referee. He plays fair though, he always will support his bestest friend, Puncho no matter what. His often scared, frightened, shaky attitude is welcomed on screen whenever needed. He was often bullied through his childhood and unlike those who have toughed up from it, he only seemed to soften. Hell, even Billie has chewed him out for his overly push-over nature. Though, she gives up. For nothing can change this poor man's soft heart and kind ways.

Wallis Moose: What else to say about this guy besides him obviously being a horrible detective? After his first appearance as one in one of Billie's episodes, Wallis fell in love with the idea of being one and even off screen, tries to solve "mysteries" wherever he is needed. However, he always slips up short and makes himself to be a fool. How did he even earn a spot on the team? Well, to put it simple, Wallis is a stone cold, hard drunk. He drinks and drinks and drinks, and when he's hiccuping and stumbling all over the place, Billie couldn't help but find it amusing the first time they met. After all, the first night they met, they both danced drunkinly through the streets of Nightwalk Bay, where they somehow met. As kooky as it sounds, it actually happened. Believe me.

Chico Georgina Chick: This once poor broken flapper was able to leave her broken past of having to prostitute herself on the streets and go some nights starving behind. Coincidentally, Chico was given another opportunity at a better life by Hank Kat (scroll up for Hank's bio), who happened to run into her at one of the clubs and show her a much better life than what she was living by offering her a position at the studios and materialization through the machine. Now a re-born, classy lady, this former flapper...heh...well, let's be honest. Girl loves to party and dance like there's none tomorrow, is ready to bring all the club's joy and bump to the table on screen. Hank is often seen by her side, playing away on his trumphet while she dances on top of a table. Nothing too promiscuous or provocitive. Want to keep the adult's attention but not as much. She's known as the party girl out of the group and also knows a thing or two about fashion. Also, keep her as FAR away from Molly (scroll up for Molly's bio) as possible..they fight a lot.

Delloris Acorn: Delloris is the beloved daughter of the mayor of Toon City, within the alternate world where cartoons "live". Her mother died giving childbirth and though she never knew her mother. She was always expected to act lady-like and proper, is why she carries herself that way. Though, the day Billie met Delloris and her father and was allowed to spend the day with her, Billie turned her upside down and all around. To the point Delloris came home, dress cut into a tank-top, short short overalls, knee-high socks, messy hair, and busted shoes. Billie's excuse was they were pig wrestling (no pun intended Patricia). Her father was awfully upset and almost demanded Billie to be arrested, however, Billie's sly deal to offer Delloris a spot at the studios was the only thing that saved her from some jail time. Now, while away from her rich and perfect life as the mayor's "little princess", she's allowed to get down and dirty. Especially on screen where down and dirty are necessary for some laughs.

Mad Mouse (also known as "Maddison K Mouse"): Why is this mouse so quiet and mysterious? Why does he never speak or even take off his goggles? Wait, is this mouse even a "he" at all? Well, yes and no. To put a long story short, back in these days and times of the early 1900s, women weren't taken seriously. Even toon women. Born a genius, the only way to get people to notice her freakishly large brain talent is to disguise herself as a man and as to go as "Mad Mouse" instead of "Maddison Mouse". However, her little secret couldn't be kept that long, for an incident in her labs caused her to lose part of her disguise and have to come clean to Billie, Poochie, and Wolfie. It was through them who helped her realize that, no matter who you are, your voice deserved to be heard no matter what. From that point on, this support cast member decided to cease wearing the disguse and be her actual self. Though, I wouldn't mess with this quiet little genius. She's a little...mad (crazy), as the legends and cartoons portray her as.

[adrenaline-roulette]

Fic ideas that I don’t know if I should continue

Well howdy there folks, so here’s the thing, I’m looking through my saved documents and have found a few fics that I’ve started (And by started I mean, I’ve written like 1 page max for each one) For one reason or another, I never got around to continuing them, and reading over them again now, I’m not sure if I should.  I’ll post what I have bellow, but I would really love to know if anyone out there would be interested in reading these? 

If you are interested and would like to be tagged in the eventually finished product, just let me know 😊

Soulmate Fic. Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Reader 

Have you found your soulmate yet? If not, don’t panic, they’re out there somewhere! There have been cases of people not finding their soulmate until they turn sixty! But how do you know if you have found, the one? While scientists are still unable to explain exactly how this occurs, the moment you are in close proximity to your soulmate, you are able to hear them whenever they sing. But keep in mind, it is only when they sing, not when they listen to music!                                                                       

**********

“If it hadn't been for Cotton-Eye Joe I'd been married a long time ago Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?”

The moment you first hear your soulmate’s voice singing in your head, you practically had a heart attack. Okay, so not quite, but you did find yourself quite flustered. So much so, that the egg you were in the midst of cracking for the cake you were making, ended up with the egg itself in the trash, while the shell was deposited into the cake mix. “Bloody fucking fuckety fuck!” You hiss, as you scoop the cracked shell out of the flour mix.  This was certainly not how you had imagined your first encounter with your soulmate would go. You always heard about couples who had cute first interactions! Like one of them was singing old show tunes, or something of the likes. But oh no, what do you get? God damned Cotton Eye Joe.

You hear a door slam in the apartment, followed but feet pounding down the corridor. “I heard swearing, is everything alright?” Your best friend Ben appears in the kitchen entry, his green eyes scanning the room for any signs of injury.

“I’m fine, don’t stress.” You smile softly, the frown which had enveloped your features only moments ago, quickly vanishing as you take in Ben’s worried expression.

He nods, blonde curls swaying over his forehead. “Alright, if you’re sure Y/N, because I’m more than happy for you to borrow my oven, but I’m not alright with you injuring yourself in my home!”

“Duly noted. Thank you Benjamin.” You poke your tongue out at him, before turning back to the recipe, scanning over the paper for the next step. Ben had been more than willing for you to borrow his oven for the afternoon, the baking bug had bitten you, but you had recently found yourself without a functioning oven, which is how you found yourself stood in his apartment now, baking a monstrosity of a chocolate cake, complete with four layers.

Ben slides up next to you, leaning his back against the kitchen counter, looking over at you quizzically. “No, but really, what was the swearing all about?”

You shrug half-heartedly, keeping your eyes focused on the mundane task of whisking the ingredients together. “It was nothing, just heard something surprising is all.”

Ben nods, and for a split second you truly believe he will drop the subject, but you sadly have no such luck. “As in, you heard something surprising on the radio, or you heard something surprising in your head….”

Turning in his direction, you shoot a glare his way, hoping it would convey your desire for him to no longer pursue his line of questioning. “Y/N Y/L/N, I swear to any and all higher powers, if you mean to tell me that you just heard your soulmate while standing in my fucking kitchen, I will murder you!”

Your silence seems to be answer enough, and Ben lets out a screech, before planting his large hands over your shoulders, and pushing you towards the front door. “Ben! What to hell are you doing?” You squawk, as he marches you out of his apartment, and down the three flights of stairs that lead to the main entrance. “Seriously Ben, the oven is still on, you shouldn’t leave an oven unattended!”

Ben ignores you, removing one hand from your shoulder, for just long enough to open the double glass doors, before pushing you out and onto the street. “You will stand out here singing, until your soulmate finds you.”

Your mouth hangs open, as you turn to look at the triumphant grin on your best friend’s face. He genuinely looks proud of this plan he has come up with, and it worries you that he doesn’t seem to recognise the many, MANY flaws in this plan. “So what, I’m just supposed to stand out here for the rest of my life then? Ben your apartment is on a bloody main road! Whoever it was, was probably just driving past!”

“Well here’s a good way to figure that out, can you still hear singing?”

You stop dead in your tracks, scowling at the blonde. You had been so preoccupied with being physically dragged outside, that you had stopped paying any attention to the song playing in your head. “Well, the song’s changed.” You mutter, listening to the chorus of the Phantom of the Opera theme.  You had to give your soulmate credit where it was due, whoever they were, they could certainly carry a tune. Though perhaps opera wasn’t their strong suit….

“I promise to put everything for your cake in the fridge alright? You can finish it off later on, but for now, I don’t want to see you back in my apartment for at least the next hour alright?”

---

Getting caught in the rain after work.  Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

The phone rings, once, twice, three times. Neither you nor your fellow receptionist feel the desire to answer the incoming call, both of you knowing what the person on the other end of the line is after. It’s always the same, a patient will call up, desperate the see a Doctor immediately, paying no mind to the fact that they have just called on a Monday morning, three hours after the GP clinic had opened. You couldn’t count how many times you had been yelled at today by patients who couldn’t get their way. 

“I got the last one.” Jean smirks, gesturing to the incoming call with a pen.

“Oh, I didn’t realise we were keeping tally of how many calls we had answered today.” You grin back, swivelling in your chair to face the phone. Despite the constantly ringing phones, there had been an unexpected, but not unwanted lull in patients these past ten minutes, allowing yourself and Jean to take a bit of a breather from the chaos the morning had brought with it.

“Good morning, general practitioners’ clinic, Y/N speaking.” You greet, as you pick up the receiver, a friendly smile pasted over your lips. Rule one of working in a Doctor’s clinic, always speak with a smile in your voice.

“I’m dying.” A soft melodic voice wails through the line, causing you to pause mid-sentence. You would recognise that voice anywhere, whether you necessarily wanted to or not.

“Mister Taylor, I can assure you, you are not dying.” Jean turns to face you, raising a knowing eyebrow. She had played witness to what she called, yours and Mister Taylor’s ‘flirting’ for months now.

“And how do you know that?”

“Well, according to you Mister Taylor-“

“It’s Roger.”

“Sorry, Roger. According to you, you have been dying for the past week and a half. Either you had better hurry up and die, or recover immediately.”

The line goes silent for a moment, and you almost think that perhaps Roger had hung up. “Do you talk to all your patients like this?”

“No, only you.”

“Oh, well I’m honoured then.” There’s a soft laugh that breaks through Roger’s voice, and you can almost picture the cocky grin he’s sporting. He thinks he’s won, he always does. You know exactly how this conversation will end, it’s the same way your conversations have always ended. “So, will you let me take you out sometime soon? There’s a new pub that’s opened up on main, looks like it’s a little less dodgy than some of the others around.”

You pull the phone away from your lips to groan.

---

John Deacon has a new room-mate who doesn’t understand that paying the drums late at night is NOT socially acceptable. Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

You press your face into your pillow with almost too much force, just escaping from bruising your nose, while your hands clamp down over your ears, a second pillow arched over the back of your head, the sides pressed firmly against the shell of your ear.  Three weeks this had been going on, for three whole weeks, you found yourself attempting to fall asleep every night, with a pile of pillows threatening to suffocate you. Why, you may be asking? Well for three weeks straight, your usually quiet next-door neighbour had had someone staying with him, and that someone had clearly decided bringing a drum kit with him, was a phenomenal idea! Of course, you wouldn’t mind the drumming if it occurred during the day, but for some reason, this person had decided the ideal time to practise, was from ten in the evening onwards. Surely you couldn’t be the only one in your apartment building who had an issue with the late night percussionist? Though maybe they were all the same as you, unsure how to approach the subject of asking them to stop? You had known John Deacon for a few months now, he had moved in back in July,  and you had had a few fleeting conversations with the gentle man, mostly when you happened to cross paths while collecting mail, or taking out the garbage. during those chats, he never seemed like the type of person to condone such ungodly behaviour. Though you suppose, looks can be deceiving. So, after three weeks and two days of only sleeping for close to three hours a night, you decided to finally take matters into your own hands.  By writing a well worded letter.

“Dear Mr John Deacon’s housemate. If you could please refrain from playing your drums in the evening, during the time period where most people are attempting to sleep, that would be greatly appreciated. While I have no issues with your drumming in general, I do have an issue with you practising so late in the day. Perhaps you would consider playing in the afternoon instead, whilst most occupants of this apartment building, are at work? Kind regards, Y/N.”

You smile triumphantly down at the letter, folding it neatly before placing it into an envelope, leaving it unsealed, then resting it on your kitchen counter, you would drop it off on your way to work. Curling up back on your bed, you turn a pointed glare towards your bedroom wall, the thin plaster being all that separated you from the obnoxious drummer. “One way or another, I will make you stop drumming.” You grumble, before returning to your original position, of being buried beneath your pillows.

By the time your alarm clock sprang to life, you had managed to squeeze in another two hours of sleep, which made for a record four and a half hours of sleep for the night! You groan, as you pull yourself out from the comfort of your bed, scrubbing your palms over your face. As you pad into the bathroom, you scarcely want to look at yourself in the mirror, the bags beneath your eyes having grown progressively darker these past few weeks. Even your workmates had begun to notice how sleep deprived you were, you’re typically cheerful demeanour was being drowned out by your constant yawning, and continuous coffee consumption. You make quick work of getting ready for the day, throwing your hair up into a bun at the crown of your head, before applying a light coverage of makeup, just enough to try and hide the purple shadows of your eyes. It does little to help, and as the fluorescent light of your bathroom shines down on you, it occurs to you that you like just a tad corpse like. “Sexist dead girl there is…” You smirk, as you swipe a red lipstick across you lower lip.

 Back in your bedroom, you rummage through your closet for a clean shirt and skirt, before making a mental note to do laundry when you get home. Hopping on the spot, you simultaneously kick on one of your brown heels, whilst also buttoning up the pale pink blouse you had chosen for the day. You swap legs for the other shoe, as you tuck your shirt into your cream coloured skirt, fastening the zipper, before adjusting the waist band so the decorative brown buttons sat at your hips. Finally, after a couple of minutes of searching, you retrieve your purse from under your bed, frowning at yourself for placing it in such an awkward place.

Your shoes click against the tiled floor of your kitchen as you contemplate making a cup of coffee before leaving for the day, glancing up at the clock hung high on the wall, you realise you don’t have the time, and dart towards the front door. You skid to a stop just before the front door swings shut, holding your hand out to keep the door open, as you use your free hand to rummage through your purse, ensuring your key was there. It wouldn’t be the first time you had allowed the door to shut, with your key on the complete opposite side of where you needed it to be, just last week you had allowed this to happen while you went grocery shopping. It had ended up being a hard lesson learned, not to mention expensive, once the locksmith had made his appearance.

Upon finding your key safely hidden at the bottom of your bag, you turn towards your neighbour, marching the short distance to his apartment.  Stopping in front of John’s door, you tighten your grip on the envelope in your right hand. Perhaps half an hour or so ago, you had heard the door slam shut, but you had no way of knowing if both occupants had left, or just one. You contemplate knocking, to hand the letter to whoever may be inside, but quickly think better of it, and slip the think envelope between the door and the doorframe, either someone would find it when they arrived home, of it would fall to the floor in front of whoever opened the door from inside the apartment. With a spring in your step, you made your way downstairs, and out to the street walking towards the Doctor’s clinic where you worked. A smile tugging at your lips, as you imagined a peaceful night, with absolutely no drumming.

                                                                      *****

A deep frown had settled over Roger’s brow, as he held the letter between fisted hands, sitting at the dining table inside Deaky’s apartment. “What the fuck is this?” He snarled, as he read, then reread the letter. He payed little mind to the front door opening, an only bothered to look up when he heard John’s voice break the silence which had filled the room.

“Looks like a letter Rog.” Deaky smirks, as he kicked his shoes off by the door, before folding his arms across his chest and looking at the fuming drummer. “What’s going on?”

Roger tore his gaze away from the neat script he had been staring at for a solid twenty minutes, focusing now on his flatmate. “Nothing, it’s nothing Deaky. Don’t worry about it.” He finally sighed out, folding the letter back into the envelope, and pushing away from the table. He could vaguely recall John mentioning someone who lived in the building by your name, but he hadn’t actually met you, which made the letter you had sent, cut just the little bit more. You had said you didn’t mind his drumming, yet you didn’t want to hear it? Why not! Roger though of himself as a bloody good drummer! Anyone should feel honoured to hear him play, especially for free! “Hey, do you know where Y/N lives?” He called over his shoulder, as he made is way towards the sofa, where he had left his music journal and pencil.

John raised a curious eyebrow, has he moved around the kitchen, setting about to put together some cheese on toast. “Uh yeah, she lives next door, to the right. Why?” It wasn’t like Roger to ask where a woman lived, typically he found that sort of information out for himself.

“No reason, just heard the name around while I was checking for mail today, and realised I didn’t know here is all.”

John narrowed his eyes into a glare, which went unnoticed by Roger, as he began to scribble away in his journal. Roger hadn’t collected the mail today, he had…. Deciding it best to not question Roger’s motives, John continued around the kitchen, the only noises to be heard throughout the apartment were those of the frying pan heating up on the stove, and Roger’s fast moving pencil over paper.

“Deaky, I’m just ducking out for a few minutes, I’ll be back yeah?” Roger didn’t wait for a reply, before darting out into the hall, the paper he had been writing on, folded into quarters. Turning right, just as John had said, Roger steps up to what assumes must be your door. Just as you had done mere hours earlier, he slips the folded paper between the door and door frame.

---

Roger endeavours to sleep with a woman from every country before his 30th birthday. However the woman he picks from France proves to be more of a challenge than originally expected. Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader 

The dingy patchwork sofa bounced precariously as Freddie flopped onto it, pressing himself firmly in between Roger and Brian who had originally been the sole occupants of the sofa. The knitted blanket that was draped over the back slides to the ground, as its resting place is disturbed by the jostling lead singer. Finally, Freddie settles himself, crossing one leg over his knee, and turning his attention entirely on Roger. “How’s your body count looking these days?”

Roger flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette, before taking another drag, blowing the smoke up towards the sky. “Are we talking fucks, or murders?” He asks casually. John peers over at his band mates from his seat on the armchair, frowning somewhat at Roger’s response.

Brian smirks gently, shaking his head at the blonde’s antics, while Freddie lifts an eyebrow up at him. “For interests’ sake, let’s say both…” He finally decides, lighting a smoke between his lips, breathing in deeply.

“25, 67.” He states simply, stretching his legs out on the rug beneath the sofa, digging his toes into the soft material. This time, John’s expression changes from that of mild interest, to one of pure intrigue, a smirk forming over his lips.

“I can’t tell if that’s an unusually high number of murders or strangely low number of fucks.” Brian teases, reaching his arm around Freddie to punch Roger’s shoulder playfully.

Roger rolls his eyes, taking another long drag from his dwindling cigarette. “One of those numbers will be going up this weekend too.”

Freddie squints at the drummer, as he assesses which number they were currently discussing. Deciding to give the blonde the benefit of the doubt, he figured he was about raise his ‘fuck’ number, rather than ‘murder’ number.  “And do tell dear Roger, who is the lucky lady to be?”

John lets out a loud chuckle, causing the three men to look over at him, all with equal questioning looks adorning their features. “Oh don’t look at me like that. Especially you Rog, I know damned well who you’re talking about!”

A pair of piercing blue eyes squint at John from across the room, the bassist grinning at the drummer. “Just to make sure we’re on the same page, who are you talking about Deaky?”

John rolls his eyes, before begrudgingly pushing himself up and out of the armchair he had made himself comfortable in, strutting his way over to the back of the rehearsal studio. Pinned to the far wall is a world map, currently with pins stuck all across Europe, signifying where Queen would be next touring. “If my suspicions are correct, I believe Roger will be taking a bit of a drive across the border tonight.” John grins wickedly, gesturing with his index finger to France

---

Song fic - Jet Lag by Simple plan Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader (Could easily be changed to another Queen member if that what y’all would like to see!)

You collapse on your bed, sinking into the plush blankets, and massive pile of decorative pillows, it had been a long, and lonely week. It felt as if the standard five-day work week you had just endured, had been going on for at least a month. Though according to the red crosses on your calendar, it really was Friday the 1st, and not in fact Friday the 29th like it felt. The lonely part stemmed from the lack of company in your apartment over this past week, your boyfriend/ partner in crime, Roger Taylor was currently on tour with the rest of Queen, somewhere in Australia. While he had been away, your old school friend had come to stay while you had the house to yourself, but she had left for a business trip on Monday leaving you once again alone. You settle yourself more comfortably against your pillows, tilting your head back and to the side, keeping your eyes on the phone on your bedside table, just waiting for it to ring. Any minute now, you knew it would ring, and the anticipation of who would be calling had your heart racing.

The cool metal of Roger’s watch lay in your palm, and you clasped your fingers around the gold, circular face, rubbing your thumb gently against the glass. Just as you go to glance down at the time, the phone lets out a shrill ring. Once, twice, there isn’t a third. You dart your arm out quickly, and pick up the receiver, a wide grin spreading over your lips, showing off all your teeth. “Hello…” You ask softly with a bated breath.

“Y/N? Hi luv.” Roger’s smooth voice sends chills down your spine, goose bumps appearing over your arms.

 “What time is it where you are?”

“I’m in Sydney currently, and it is 9:15am. How about you?”

“6:15pm here, I just got home from work.”

“God, trying to figure out these time zones is making me crazy.”

“Hey, at least we’re doing better than at the beginning of the week. You were saying good morning, when it was midnight!”

“I just hate the thought of you alone. Five more days then I’ll be home.”

As if on cue, a rotund tortoiseshell cat leaps onto the end of the bed, purring loudly as she rubbed up against your toes.  “I wouldn’t exactly say I’m alone. Misty just joined me, I think she misses you too.”

You can hear Roger’s smile through the phone, and you grin softly yourself. Misty had been a rather unexpected addition to your household. One of Freddie’s cats had escaped his home one afternoon and had gone missing for an entire night. She returned the next day, and soon after, Freddie found himself a grandfather, and having to re-home five kittens. Never one to turn a stray away, you had leapt at the chance of adopting the kitten.

---

John Deacon forgets the bass line to Under Pressure, but who is the cause of his forgetfulness?  Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Miami found himself with four identical faces of shock staring at him as he stood in the recording studio, none of the band members were blinking, he wasn’t even entirely sure they were breathing either to be honest.

“I’m sorry, you’re going to have to repeat that darling.” Freddie was the first to break the silence, lifting a quizzical eyebrow at the manager before him.

Miami shook his head, an exasperated huff escaping his lips. “I said, David Bowie wants to record with you lot, he’ll be dropping by the studio in a week with some suggestions of his own, and I think it would be a good idea if you lot try to come up with something too.” He was met with more staring, and frankly it was becoming rather off putting. “Would you rather I call him back and say you don’t want to record with him?”

“No!” The four men shouted at once, no longer the statues they had been before.

“What we mean is, we would hate for you to disturb Mr Bowie, and would love to record with him.” John pipes up, ever the diplomat.

Brian nods along in agreement, while Roger and Freddie quickly begin discussing what it would be like to meet David. “We’ll come up some lyrics and tunes to show him.” Brian offers, grinning at their manager. It does little to reassure Miami, though all he can do is hope they don’t show up empty handed when Bowie arrives.

“I could do a massive drum solo halfway through the song.” Roger declares, waving his arms around like a crazed man. It was obvious to John that Roger was unimpressed with the album they were currently recording, though he couldn’t help but think that one drum solo wasn’t quite enough to get him to stop bitching about the other songs. “Or a bongo solo! Everyone likes bongo’s, right?”

“Darling, I refuse to have bongos on this song.” Freddie interjects, and John can’t help but grin as Roger’s face falls, he looks like a sulking child, which is more or less what he currently is.

“How do you know Bowie doesn’t like bongos?”

“Roger, shut up about the bongos.” John groans, as he turns on his heel to collect his bass where he had left it near one of the amps. It was one thing to listen to Roger complain, it was another to listen to him complain while not doing anything productive. John’s fingers slide over the strings of his bass, plucking a few chords at random as he closes his eyes, trying to picture a rhythm of some sort. There had been a few chords playing around in his head lately, though he hadn’t gotten the chance to play them as of yet.

‘Dun dun dun dadada dun’ his bass echoes the notes, as he plays them on repeat, bobbing his head along to the jazzy beat. The tune seemed to bleed into his soul as he played, and he soon found himself lost in the music. It was a simple rhythm, only a few chords, but he felt it had potential.

“That’s really good Deaky.” Brian grins, coming over to stand beside him, watching John’s fingers play across the strings. Freddie joins soon after, holding one of Roger’s drumsticks in his left hand. A smile plays across his lips, hidden behind his bushy moustache.

“It certainly has potential.” He offers, as he snaps his fingers on the second and fourth beat. Brian does the same, and soon Roger is joining in on his kick drum. “Next step, come up with a lyric.”  Freddie chuckles, as John places his bass back down, a smug smile on his lips.

“Wait, you guys think this is actually decent?” He asks stunned, his eyebrows creasing together, waiting for someone to start laughing, and to state it was all just a joke.

“Really John, if we can get the lyrics down, then I want to show this to Bowie.” Freddie grins broadly, as he returns his stolen drumstick to its rightful owner.

“I’m with Fred, just imagine having David, and Freddie’s voices singing along with that bass line, it’ll be an instant hit!” Brian supplies with an equally large smile. John takes a moment to take in what his bandmates were telling him, they truly liked what he had come up with, even if it was rather simple.

“I have one condition.” He declares, folding his arms across his chest. “And it isn’t negotiable.” All eyes are on him again, awaiting his next words in anticipation. “There will be absolutely no bongos on this song!”

“Fuck you Deacon!” Roger cries in outrage, throwing his drumstick with acute precision towards John’s head. Luckily, John knew what to expect from Roger these days, and easily stepped out of his firing line.

“If we agree with John, do we run the risk of having the drums thrown at us?” Brian chuckles quietly to Freddie, who instantly looks fearfully towards the drum kit.

“How about we go get some lunch?” Freddie sings out, waltzing his way towards the doors to the studio. Roger mutters under his breath as he follows him out, John can’t quite hear what he’s saying, though he’s sure it’s about bongos. Brian leaves next, and John takes up the rear. Freddie leads the group for a few minutes, in search of somewhere for lunch, they pass by their go to pub, with Freddie insisting he knew of somewhere far better and that it was just around the corner.

                                                                  *********

Just around the corner turned out to mean a twenty-minute walk, which had Roger grumbling the entire way.

“Just turn back if you’re going to complain the whole time.” Brian groans, which only increases Roger’s complaining. It was starting to grate on John’s nerves, he often forgot just how petulant the man could be.

“I’m gonna head-“ He began, before being interrupted by Freddie’s loud declaration of them having arrived at their destination.

“Go on, get in you’ll love this place!” Freddie grins, as he ushers the three others inside. The entire front wall of the café is windows, allowing the midday sun to stream in, warming everyone up on the cold winter’s day. Wooden chairs, with patchwork cushions sit nestled among wooden tables, each with a different mosaic design on top. The floor is covered in mismatched rugs, some more faded than others, but overall giving the café a warm and inviting feel. A young woman, with flaming red ringlets smiles brightly at the group, picking up four leather bound menus.

“Good afternoon! Will you be dining with us today?” She asks sweetly, her eyes falling on Roger almost instantly. “Roger Taylor, I don’t know if I should let you in. Y/N wouldn’t want you here.”

Roger has the decency to blush at her words, ducking his head low, allowing his hair to flop over his forehead. “Is Y/N here today?”

The hostess frowns, placing a hand on her hip. “Of course she’s here! She owns the bloody place!”

Roger gulps, shuffling his feet on the floor awkwardly. “We can go somewhere else, it’s not a problem.” John suggests, shrugging his shoulders slightly. They were all hungry, but there were other places to eat. Plus, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know what Roger had done to the owner, knowing him, probably a one-night stand or something of the likes.

The hostess frowns once more, before sighing. “Follow me, I’ll tell Y/N that you’re here Roger.” She instructs as she leads them all to a four-seater table, placing the menus down in the centre before walking to the bar. Roger buries his head in one of the menus, ignoring the outside world as best he can. The few patrons of the café stare and whisper, pointing to the band. Nothing they weren’t used to at this stage of fame, though they could go without it some days, especially when trying to get a bite to eat.

John, Brian and Freddie each take a quick glance at their menus, before looking between one another, all of them with the same question running through their minds. “Roger Darling, what did you do to the owner of this fine establishment?” Freddie finally asks.

He looks up from his menu, biting his lower lip nervously, if it weren’t for the fact there was a strict no smoking sign on the entrance, John was sure Roger would be rolling a cigarette instead. “Oh, you know. She’s just another one of my college conquests is all.”

“Conquest my ass! You can shove that excuse up your ass Taylor.” You grumble, as you stand beside the table, glaring solely at the blonde man before you. You turn your attention to the other men at the table, you weren’t ignorant, you knew who they were, you had kept track of what Roger was up to over the years, it was hard not to, given how much publicity Queen got. “I knew this idiot in college, while he was studying to be a dentist still. I complained to him I had a toothache once, so he decided to punch me square in the jaw, in an effort to remove the painful tooth. He took out one of my bloody molars, which was great expect for the fact that it was a canine that hurt!” You grumble, taking out a notepad and pen to take their orders. “Then, he runs off with you lot, and never returns, leaving me with the dental bill!”

Roger has his head resting against the table now, Freddie and Brain are laughing, and John isn’t sure whether to kick Roger for his idiocy or to comfort the woman. He had spent the time she was telling her tale, to study her. She was beautiful, a quiet subdued sort of beauty, that really shone through when she was passionate about something, just as she was now. “I told you I was drunk at the time, you said it was fine for me to take a look at your mouth!” Roger protested loudly.

“There is a difference between taking a look at my mouth, and punching me!” You cry out, before lowering your voice, not wanting to cause a scene in front of your patrons. You take a deep breath in, before plastering a smile on your lips, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Welcome to The Hideout, what can I get you today?”

John grinned up at you, finding your ability to jump between casual and professional rather impressive. You caught his eye and winked, as you tapped your pen against your notepad, awaiting the band’s orders.

Freddie is the first to speak, smiling up at you. “Could we get a large margarita pizza to share please darling? And, four pints of whatever you have on tap please?”

You raise an eyebrow at Roger, who was attempting to make a fort out of the menus on the table. “I’ll get you three beers. I don’t trust blondie over here to drink.” You smirk, before it turns into a smile directed at John.

“Hey! Why don’t I get to drink!”

Brian chuckles quietly, before gesturing to the menu fort. “It may have something to do with your inability to behave like an adult.” He shrugs, curly hair bouncing over his shoulders as he does so.

---

For everything else that I’ve written, feel fee to check out my MASTERLIST  You’ll find a heap of Queen, BohRhap, 6 Underground, Labyrinth and Night at the museum! 

#roger taylor fanfic #joe mazzello fanfic #john deacon fanfic #roger taylor #joe mazzello #John Deacon #ben hardy #Brian May #freddie mercury #fanfiction #queen band fanfiction #soulmate fanfic #fanfic ideas #fan fiction suggestions

[sweetlittlevampire]

Okay, let me - let me just reiterate this here, just to get these thoughts out of my head -

(Mentions of alcohol abuse, other substance abuse + physical/psychological abuse, and death mention under the Read More. Read at your own discretion.)

I seem to have a problem with drunk people in general, and sometimes - but very rarely - in fiction. And that’s okay, because confronting them in fiction might actually be able to help me confront them again in real life.

See, I’ve talked about this numerous times on here, but I’m not sure if I ever outright said it, and if you’re new here, you might not know this, but - my father died in 2008. Drank himself to his grave.

Addictive tendencies run in our family. My father’s sister also has a history with alcohol addiction and abuse, but unlike him, she was able to recognise her problem, and get help. After a very long time in therapy and still frequent visits to a therapist, she’s now over 70 and hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol since she was 57.

With her son, it was drug addiction and abuse. He went to therapy too. With me, it’s...similar. I had a stretch during my teens where I was so close to becoming addicted to a certain kind of pills - my girlfriend actually noticed and helped me. Never touched them again, but it was a hard way to get there.

My father, according to his two siblings, exhibited a penchant to drinking far too much already in his teenage years. He also exhibited severe anger management issues back then - he wrecked a door once because he was angry at his mother, and these European wooden doors we have are pretty sturdy.

He seemed to have behaved himself while he and my mother were dating - even my grandmother affirmed that he was exemplary. My mother wanted to get married, and to have a ton of kids, and my grandmother was delighted by the idea of her youngest son becoming a husband and father.

My father never wanted to marry or to have kids...but he desperately wanted to please his mother. And because he was old-fashioned, the idea of divorcing my mother after a certain time was absolutely out of the question; her divorcing him even more so. Turns out it would have been the best thing for everyone involved.

He nearly died from health complications shortly after they got married and was physically unable to look after me for a number of years. My mother was working full-time up to 1994, I believe, when she got her MS diagnosis. I spent most of my days at my grandmother’s; those were some of my happiest moments during childhood. My grandmother was more of a mother to me than my mum herself, who always tried her best and is still trying, but is hindered by illness and her own less-than-stellar experience with her own mother.

So my father began drinking again when I entered high school at age 12. At first it was a glass of red wine over lunch, so nothing special. It increased more and more; shortly before he died, alcoholic beverages were the only thing he consumed. If we refused to buy him some, we would face beatings, being choked, being threatened with knives, and verbal threats and abuse.

Fear makes you do the weirdest things, things you wouldn’t possibly do as a rationally thinking person.

I was used to the abuse. He told my mother he never wanted kids when I turned fourteen (he had a talent for hiding things very well), but he never hid it from me. I always knew that I was unwanted by him, and worthless and useless to him. He reminded me of it every day, 

My mother...she tried, but stress made her illness flare up, and there’s only so much you can do when parts of your body stop functioning and your mental health plummets. My father, besides being very talented at hiding things, also had a way of presenting himself in the best way possible to the outside world, so whenever we tried to speak up, no one would believe us.

(My high school headmistress and the deputy headmistress knew, and they believed me. However I never went to them to seek out help - I was too afraid - so there wasn’t much they could do.)

So when he died - and he died very suddenly - it was very weird. To my mother and me, it was instant relief. We would have never wished death upon him - I prayed thousands and thousands of times that he would - you know, just pack his things and leave, but die? That was something different entirely. Still, we had to tell his mother that her youngest son had passed. Had to endure shame and criticism when neither of us two was able to cry at his funeral. Had to hide that we were actually feeling better in the months after his passing.

My mother doesn’t talk about it - I know that she is bitter. She has lost her belief in love; every healthy and happy relationship is doomed to fail in her eyes, because her own was so miserable. It’s really sad.

For me it is - I used to flinch and get scared when someone in my vicinity raised their voice in anger. I sometimes still do when I’m feeling unwell and/or if I’m sleep-deprived. When I’m with people and two of them start fighting? Literal hell. I speak to someone and they don’t instantly reply? My brain goes into the “Oh no I’ve annoyed them look at you you made them angry now they hate you and never wanna talk to you again”-mode (I’ve gotten better at that one over the years, but sometimes it’s still hard). I slide into showing off the things I can do, not because I want people to acknowledge how great my talents are, but because my brain is begging “Please say you like it, that I didn’t do this in vain, please say it means something, that it isn’t worthless, that I am not worthless” - I am still struggling with that one.

Now drunk people - not too long ago I witnessed two friends getting drunk for fun here on tumblr and blogging while doing so, and my brain instantly was torn between yelling at them to “please stop, you’re going to get addicted and then you can’t stop anymore and then you are going to die, and I don’t want you to die because I love you”, and “Oh God, just don’t say anything because if they notice you they will come for you and yell at you and hit you and punish you-” . yeah, it was unpleasant. I had no idea it would trigger me so much until it did.

Usually when I encounter drunk characters in a movie/on TV, or while reading, it’s fine because I can put some emotional distance between me and them. Today I read a piece of fanfic featuring a drunk character for only a few paragraphs, but the way they behaved and spoke and carried themselves was so reminiscent of my father that I could smell the beer and wine off them while reading. It was intense.

I love this fic, and I know this character won’t be drunk for the entire thing. And it made me realise that I won’t be able to avoid drunk people for my whole life. I’ve encountered a few of them in the years after my father’s passing, especially when I was out and about later in the evening or at night; most of them minded their own business, were occupied with trying to stand straight, or even singing loudly. Absolutely no threat to me, and yet I was so afraid to just walk past them.

People are allowed to get drunk. Not every drunk person is addicted to alcohol. Not every drunk person constitutes a threat to me. Hell, not every person addicted to alcohol constitutes a threat to me. I might stay cautious for the rest of my life and consume not more than a glass of alcohol per year, but I have to learn that yes, drunk people exist. Yes, people I love might get drunk sometimes. No, they probably won’t automatically punch the living daylights out of me just because they’re drunk.

I’ve reread that piece of fanfic again, and - it’s still vivid and hits home, but it’s...not as bad anymore.

What I might be trying to say is: trigger warnings are important. Use them if you need them. In my particular case, this is something a trigger warning cannot shield me from in real life. This is a fear that I’ll have to face one day or another, and while I won’t be seeking out media depicting (severe) alcohol abuse, I do think that confronting my fears through fic, within that safe environment, might actually be helpful to me personally. I can always stay away from it if I recognise that it does more harm than good.

That took a detour, wow.

#Sweet is rambling #tw: death mention #tw: abuse mention #tw: alcohol abuse mention #tw: substance abuse mention #you don't actually have to read this #it's just - sometimes it feels good to just talk about it you know? #Even if it's just to the nothingness of the internet

[trylonandperisphere]

ASK POLLY APR. 1, 2020

‘I Don’t Think I Can Handle 18 Months of Isolation’

By Heather Havrilesky

Hi Polly.

So the world’s falling apart. I’m seeing quotes from experts that predict this will go on for 18 months or more. I don’t think I can stand the stress and isolation all that time. I have mental-health challenges, so I think I might crack. And I’m not sure our infrastructure can endure it either. I have a medical condition that’s stable and doesn’t put me in danger of COVID-19. However, I worry the strain on the health-care system will take away my treatment, leading to a slow death. And then there are the usual worries about things like food. Will the supply chains hold up six months or a year from now? How do you see all this happening and not start looking for an exit? I’m willing to admit that I’m weak or entitled. People around the world deal with this all the time. I don’t think I have it in me. How do I find some strength and hope?

Feeling Weak

Dear Feeling Weak,

On any day of your life, a million terrible things could happen. Every morning, you have to force all of the awful possibilities out of your mind. You do this because there is no alternative.

I’ve always been a very fearful person. I’ve always been sensitive to the fragility of the human body and the myriad ways lives can be ripped apart. My dad died when I was 25 years old, and it made me even more fearful. Then I had a baby.

Imagining all of the bad things that could happen to the baby almost sent me over the edge. I felt like someone had removed my liver and now I had to hand my liver over to other people, and ask them not to drop it or neglect it.

One day I came home, and my husband was holding my liver in one hand while stirring a boiling pot with his other hand, all the while talking to my stepson in an animated, cheerful fashion.

I freaked out. “You are going to kill me,” I said. “Calm down,” he said. “Stop being so overdramatic.”

My heart started racing even more (Pro tip: The words “calm down” are never calming!), but I washed my hands and then took the baby away from my husband. And then through gritted teeth, I said something like this: “You are going to listen to me very closely. Don’t talk. Just listen. I am in a very, very particular, unfamiliar, fragile place. I have never felt this way before. I’m going to have to describe it to you. You are going to have to listen. You do not have to understand or believe that I am remotely sane. You can continue to believe that I am irrational. But if you do not listen closely and respect and honor my needs around this fragile feeling, this marriage will end. Period. This is not negotiable.”

I wasn’t someone who threatened to end my marriage, ever, just to be clear about that. I needed to communicate clearly that we were on perilous terrain.

We retreated to the bedroom and talked for a long time. I told him what I needed in order to raise a baby with him. He told me the reasons he thought I was nuts. I told him that I was fine with him thinking I was nuts. He could continue to do that. Of course my views were not utterly rational. Rational was not the point. Calming down was not the point. He needed to understand how high the stakes were for me. Even if there was a .0001 chance that my baby would drop into the boiling water, the stakes were too high for me to endure those odds. He didn’t have to understand my feelings, he just had to operate as if he had the same feelings, for my sake.

It took a lot of persuasive talk, and tears, to get my husband on my side. It was exhausting. But by the end of our talk, my husband got it. He agreed to behave in ways that were guided by high stakes and my irrational feelings and to never say the words “Calm down” to a woman whose liver you’re holding. And if ALL OF THAT sounds nuts to you, that’s okay. These were the conditions I knew I required in order to raise a baby with someone who was more careless than I was in every way. These were the things I needed in order to share a house with this man and trust him to raise a family with me.

After that, I felt better. And my husband never told me to calm down when I described the toddlers who get left in the car or run over by a clueless grandparent backing out of the driveway. He took on the low-odds possibilities until he was worrying about them himself. I turned him into a slightly neurotic, hyperaware parent. I formed him into a seismograph, in my image. Call it twisted, I don’t give a fuck. It worked. We were aligned. We fought less. We kept our kids relatively safe from harm. Maybe we became obnoxious. Maybe we were paranoid. I still don’t care. I didn’t feel alienated and alone in my marriage, because I dared to get very, very specific about my needs.

And once I knew I had someone on my side, I started to calm the fuck down. I made a resolution to keep all of the looming threats in mind without INTERNALIZING and VISUALIZING and LOSING SLEEP OVER the millions of ways a baby could die or become injured. Any time I went from safeguarding my kids to picturing something awful happening to them, I learned to stop myself.

Doing your best to avoid disaster is practical. Repeatedly imagining disaster, on the other hand, is wildly impractical. Once I realized how jittery and anxious I was feeling, I steadfastly refused to indulge my imagination when it came to my baby. I resolved not to become a pile of nerves quivering on the floor. I wanted to breathe and feel happiness and survive parenting without being transformed into a shadow of my former self. I wanted my kids to be aware of danger but not paralyzed by fear at all times.

Mistakes have been made, that goes without saying. But the decision to never fixate on terrifying outcomes when it came to my kids was very important. I could still fixate on bad outcomes FOR ME. But that was (and is) a world apart from doing it about my kids. Eventually I didn’t have to try anymore. The second I pictured something terrible, it was just: NO. CAN’T.

Everyone is different. Everyone experiences different conditions as threatening or scary or paralyzingly awful. We all have to respect these differences while relentlessly standing up for our own needs and asking for exactly what we want from the people who are closest to us. That means becoming a tiny bit shameless, I should add. It took a shameless amount of assertiveness and belief in my own particular sensitivities as a seismograph to ask my husband to behave as if he, too, were a seismograph. I had to get very specific. I also had to let go of the need to be right and seem rational. I had to own my role as the Chicken Little of the family.

“Pretend the sky is falling with me,” I told my husband, and he did. It was an act of love and solidarity. I was so grateful for it. It kept us glued together at a vulnerable time, when we could’ve fallen apart for good. I didn’t have to hate myself for being a chickenshit or a seismograph. I could relax because someone was on my side.

That story probably feels pretty divorced from your circumstances, but it’s not. For you to feel comfortable safeguarding yourself while also refusing to fixate on the millions of horrible outcomes that could befall you specifically and all of us generally, you need to stand up for the particulars of your mental health. You need to look closely at your specific emotional challenges as a human being, and you need to say: This is how it feels for me. I feel like I want to find an exit. I feel like I can’t survive this. I feel like I am not strong enough.

Here’s the suicide hotline for anyone who’s been feeling that way: 1-800-273-8255. Commit to reaching out to someone when you’re feeling bad. Everyone is struggling right now. We’re all in the same boat at some level. It’s important to understand that moments of extreme darkness will come and go, and things could get a million times worse and still be survivable. Put your faith in human connection: It makes all the difference.

If you have close friends or a partner or a family member who can listen to you describe your very specific Chicken Little–flavored needs and desires and align themselves with you, and show solidarity for your (sometimes irrational!) experiences of what this moment means, then call that person or those people. Open up to them, and explain your needs, and get them to understand.

But let’s be clear: Finding people who will join you where you are is very, very hard. It’s hard for all of us, always. If it feels impossible? Guess what? You’re not alone. Try your best. And if/when that fails, I want you to write everything down for you, until you clearly comprehend who you are and where you are and how you’re feeling right now.

This is not about descending into darkness in any permanent way, mind you. This is simply about painting a picture that someone else might understand, a persuasive portrait of how you’re experiencing this moment. This is you saying to yourself: YOU ARE HOLDING MY LIVER OVER A BOILING POT OF WATER. This is you crying and telling yourself: I DON’T KNOW IF I CAN DO THIS. DO YOU FUCKING GET THAT?

This is you making your needs crystal clear. This is you standing up for who you are, without shame. Does that really matter, all alone in your apartment as the world crumbles around you? YES, IT DOES.

This is you saying: I deserve to have my needs met. Think about all of the times you were treated like your needs were irrational, like you needed to calm down and shut the fuck up, like you needed to stop being so in the way, so inconvenient, so absurd, so laughable, such a wreck. I’ll bet you can think of a lot of examples.

Use this moment to get your own back. Take this opportunity to say to yourself: I don’t fucking care if I’m fragile and irrational. I’m going to honor my needs without shame.

Don’t skip this step, even if it seems beside the point. Honor your needs, without shame. That’s number one.

Number two is: Protect yourself. Take very good care of yourself. Feed yourself well, exercise, get plenty of rest. Stay aware of the threats so you can do your best to avoid those threats. Put energy into making yourself feel as healthy and resilient as possible.

Number three is: Resolve not to fixate on the millions of terrifying possibilities you cannot control. You can make this choice now because your peculiar needs matter. Remember? You’re honoring your needs without shame now. One of your needs is this: Avoiding the terror here. You said it to me for a reason: You aren’t strong enough to hold these terrors inside your head for 18 months. So don’t do it.

Are you strong enough to survive for 18 months in isolation? Yes, you are. You’re strong enough as long as you’re honoring even your most irrational needs without shame, being very safe and careful in areas that are within your control, and letting go of all of the circumstances beyond your control, as in banishing them from your fucking head permanently.

Cormac McCarthy’s The Road (Read it if bleakness makes you feel stronger. If not? DO NOT READ.) is about a man who’s struggling to survive in a post-apocalyptic world. As the man and his son travel south toward the ocean, looking for food and shelter, the man tries hard to avoid big questions and unknowns that might threaten his ability to survive. Because he has a boy to take care of, he becomes extremely practical. He protects his boy and he keeps moving forward, no matter what. There’s a sense of calm beauty underneath the horror of every word McCarthy writes. Showing up for whatever comes next is beautiful. You don’t have to be a hero. You just keep moving.

I probably wouldn’t have sat my husband down and insisted that my irrational view was going to need to be honored, back when we first had a baby together, if I weren’t convinced that our ability to raise a baby and stay together depended on it. It took something bigger than myself to force me to finally stand up for my very specific needs and persuade another, very skeptical human being to hear me out and get my back.

Today, you’ve been faced with a challenge that’s much bigger than any challenge you’ve faced before. The stakes are high. This enormous calamity dwarfs you and exists outside your thoughts and feelings completely. You have to treat yourself with extreme care under these conditions. This is an opportunity for you to finally stand up for what you need at every level, in a very concentrated and intense way that is fully justifiable and concrete. This is a chance for you to design a map that you can use to navigate this disaster and every other disaster to follow this one, guided by your very irrational, specific desires. This is your time to learn to blot out the parts of the world that are just too gigantic and out of your control for you to metabolize, and focus on what you can actually control and have influence over instead. You have to avoid big questions and keep moving forward. You’re about to achieve a sense of mastery over your life and your understanding of yourself, while letting go of what you can’t control in a permanent way. These high stakes are a blessing disguised as a curse. Take this blessing.

What sustains you? What can you create, every day, to bring you life, to build up your strength? What beauty is lurking underneath these terrors? As Ranier Maria Rilke wrote, “No feeling is final.”

The path before you is simple. You wake up in the morning and you put Chopin: Nocturnes in your headphones and you look for joy. You embrace every tiny glint of beauty and every scrap of hope hiding in this small, enclosed life. You surrender to the reality of this “borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it,” as Cormac McCarthy put it. You eat this divine silence, this dark longing, this lonely sweetness, this solitary dread. You sit in your quiet garden and welcome the weather, good or bad. No feeling is final. You are strong enough.

Polly

#ask polly #heather havrilesky #advice #mental health #self care #personal essays #corona virus #coronavirus #covid-19 #isolation #sars-cov-2 #pandemic #this is deep y'all