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ofmythsandmadness · 4 years

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i need a favour - two.

PART TWO - don’t call me baby. or, klaus always knows how to make things a little bit more tense, even without meaning to (but no one can ever hate him for it)

WORD COUNT: 3000 or so. PREVIOUS PART(s): part one

A/N: i was surprised at honestly the good response? i wasn’t considering anyone liking it, but i’m glad. i’ve got a little series tag list going on for those who requested to be updated on this - if you want to be added, just ask and I can do that :) I’m updating this at three in the morning, because I didn’t have much inspo for finishing it til now? if it’s badly written and honestly, i feel that with the ending, i’m super sorry. but on another note, there’ll be more parts if I can get my shit together, at least a couple more chapters because i want to have a proper growth session (yee haw, buckle up i guess). I’m still getting used to writing x reader things, I don’t normally even read them, but this is pretty fun and it’s something I can do. and i’m happy people enjoy reading it. (sorry for the super long a/n.)

FOR MOST, IT WOULD BE STRANGE TO SEE a teacher smiling as they went through a stack of to-be papers. Frowns, or grumblings were more common, only covered by a constant reaching for more coffee to keep them alert. But for Y/N and her creative writing class, it was nothing unusual. She largely favoured the course to teaching AP English, and most of the time enjoyed reading what the students came up with. The prompts were fun and the followup even better - no matter the spelling and grammar mistakes, the students were not without creativity. If she was being honest, it might just be the greatest opportunity a young teacher in her position could get. And she was not without appreciation for that.

The prompt that week perhaps made her marking job even more entertaining. She asked them to tell her about their childhood hero, and a large portion of the class had chosen to write about the infamous ‘Umbrella Academy’. Even if they were on the younger age and only saw the group in the later years, more than half of her students still fawned and gushed about the super-beings. The one in hand just then particularly favoured a certain Number Two - citing him as their first childhood crush, someone that their small self quite adored.

She snorted at their shy confession. If only they knew Diego like she did - maybe the mask and knives would not be so attractive.

Just before she could turn to the next page, her phone lit up and she had to place the red pen down. The number was not recognised by her phone, but she hardly spared a thought on that, sighing before bringing the device to her ear. “Hello, Y/N Y/L/N here.”

“Well, don’t you sound professional.”

Speak of the devil. She fought back a smile. “You really have to get your own phone, you know.”

“Why, so you can get even more excited it’s me?”

“No. So I know not to answer.”

“Ouch. You’d say that to the love of your life?”

Y/N transferred the phone to her other ear, pressing it into her next and jaw as she fixed her piles. “Okay, hold on. Thought you were my fake boyfriend, not ‘the love of my life’. Did I miss that in our agreement?”

“Ain’t that the same thing?”

“No,” she shot back. There was no point elaborating, she knew he was joking - and yet for some reason, the casual question did sting a little. She quickly brushed the thought away, though, and continued. “Why are you calling me? I’m working.”

“I’m calling on your break, aren’t I?”

“Sure, but you’re interrupting my paper-grading.”

She could practically see the teasing smirk on his face, imagining him leaning against the telephone booth with the device pressed up to his ear. Trying to be stupidly suave. What she wouldn’t give to trip him up. “Sorry to interrupt that, I didn’t know you were having such a great time.”

“Well, I’ll have you know I-” she cut herself short as the door swung open. Her frown quickly shifted to a polite smile and Y/N gestured for the student to come in, motioning silently to her phone. She turned back with a lower voice and new sense of urgency. “Do you need something, Diego, or are you just calling to tease me?”

“C’mon, don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m about three seconds from hanging up-”

“-okay, sure. I do have a question.”

She shifted in her seat, sparing another glance to the waiting student just to make sure she was still there. The girl stood patiently - well, in the sense of trying her very best to pick up on just what the conversation was without being obvious. Y/N smiled a little at that.

“What is it, then?”

“They’re moving dinner to Sunday. Can you make that?”

Y/N did not have to rack her brain to know her answer. “Yeah, probably. I’ll have to bump all my plans around, but I guess I can make it work.”

“Oh, right. Cause you have so much going on.”

“Screw off, Diego, ‘else I might just be too busy to show up to dinner.”

He sobered up then, though he did force an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Thanks.”

“Uh-huh. We can talk later about details but-” she shot another glance the girl’s way, gesturing she would just be one more minute, “-I have to actually go. Okay?”

He laughed softly into the phone. “Sure. See you, sweetheart.”

“Bye, loser - and don’t call me that!”

He hung up with nothing more as a response, leaving Y/N to sigh and slam the phone back down to her desk. She smiled apologetically at the teen. “Sorry about that, Trish.”

“Oh, no worries,” the girl grinned. The smile was sly - a look only a curious high schooler knew best. “Everything all good?”

“Oh, n...yes, yeah.” Guess she had to go along with the teasing remark - not that Trisha had been sent as a spy by the Hargreeves siblings, trying to test the validity of their very not real relationship. But it did not hurt to push the narrative. “Yeah, that’s just my...uh...boyfriend. Confirming plans, no big deal.”

Trish’s smile grew larger. “Sounds cute.”

How someone could sound cute, especially when she had not even heard him actually speak, Y/N could not say. But she just laughed it off, played the part she had dealt herself. “Yeah, he’s...great. But anyways, how can I help you?”

AT THE FIRST KNOCK, Y/N was throwing the door open, rubbing at her eyes so she could take in the situation properly. Her eyes flitted down Diego, scanning frantically for any wounds or issues that would need serious work, or just any sign in his face of what could be an urgent matter. There was no bloody giveaways on his clothes this time, though, and his face was warped into strangely, a stiff grin, instead of a look of pain.

“Well, at least you used the door this time,” she sighed, opening it wider so he could come in. She stiffened, though, as he moved closer than normally, brushing her into a one-armed hug before pulling away. Y/N’s mouth fell open to question the embrace, but fortunately her eyes fell on the answer before she could be made a fool. “Oh. Oh. Hi, Klaus...?”

“Long story,” Diego mumbled into her ear, disguising the whisper with a kiss to her temple. She tried to focus only on the word and not how the strange shiver shot down her back at his touch, no matter how she felt. “Picked him up, he wouldn’t leave me alone and I really didn’t want him wasted up somewhere bad.”

She only nodded in response and turned her arms to Klaus, wrapping him up in a hug. He felt warmer than he had the last time they hung out - a bit more meat seemed to be on his bones, too, though he was still a willowy, langly man. A somewhat sober nature did suit him.

“My darling Y/N - congratulations!”

“Congr-”

“-you managed to do the impossible - and oh! How happy I am to welcome you to our crazy family!”

Oh, right. That.

“I always had a feeling that there was something between the two of you, but I never knew that the day would come where you’d actually admit it..” Klaus’ arms slung easily around both Diego and Y/N, drawing them close to him with a ferocity neither expected. Their heads very nearly knocked together, before Diego could wriggle out of the hold. “My dear little Y/N, tying down this grumpy asshole.”

She laughed semi-nervously. “Guess that’s me, yeah.”

“You two always looked good together, so adorable,” he continued, letting them go without a second thought. Luckily, he missed her glare to her supposed boyfriend, as well as the mouthed apology, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. “And between all the pining looks and - well, I don’t think anyone should be surprised you two finally decided to bump uglies!”

If there was any water in her mouth, Y/N would have done a classic spit take right then and there. As it were, she could just choke on air and attempt to keep her exposure in the face of a bold-face lie.

Fortunately, Diego was there to swoop in - somewhat. “I did not pick you up so you could badger Y/N about our sex life, Klaus. Say your shit or get out.” He sank into her couch and Y/N did not miss the flash of pain across his face - there was something wrong. She could already feel the frown of concern forming.

“You’re the one who forced me into your car.”

“Yeah, well,” he shot back through gritted teeth, “you were gonna get yourself killed, dumbass.”

“So now I can’t go anywhere without a babysitter, simply because of a slight issue in the past?”

“You are a recovering add-”

“-the details don’t matter, Diego,” Klaus muttered, only flinching the slightest bit under Diego’s withering stare. “And it’s not my fault everyone’s now so busy with their lives. I mean, you do really show up at the worst of times, just to bust me and not to catch up on all that quality ‘bro’ time we missed out on!”

Y/N gently pushed him forward and into a seat before moving onto Diego. She fished out the little aid kit kept under the kitchen sink and sank into the couch beside him. “Show me what’s wrong. And Klaus, what about Luther? Allison?”

“Both too far,” he whined back.

“Okay...stop squirming Di...uh, don’t you have Five?”

“Five can’t legally do anything except for like, drive. And even then, is he even old enough to have a license yet?” He paused for dramatics, only to sigh when neither gave much response. “I just worry for that boy, I can’t be the only one questioning this.”

“Vanya, then.”

Klaus shook his head once more. “I love the girl, but sometimes, a bit too dry for me. We don’t have the same tastes, and I’m afraid I might be tone-deaf. Severely so. Incurably so, darling.”

“Aw, Klaus.” She poked at Diego’s side, sticking her tongue out when he tried to push her away. “Shirt up, let me see how bad it is.”

He rolled his eyes. “S’barely a scratch. Let it be.”

“C’mon, I don’t want it getting infected, let me see!” She poked again, forcing him to lift the shirt up and reveal the nasty scratch. He still fought her hands away, even when she was obviously going to win the fight. She swatted his calloused fingers off, however, and inspected the wound despite his protests.

Diego was just about to shoot another insult her way, eyes a-flashing in that sly, tired way that only came out in the wee hours, when they were both cut off.

“Oh, don’t tell me I’m going to be interrupting a moment here?”

Immediately Y/N felt herself stiffen and everything feel a little bit colder. She could not lift her gaze from his wound, too anxious to look and see how Diego was reacting to the comment.

“I can leave, if that’s wanted? I understand the whole new couple thing, believe me. Been there, done that, and I’m always ready to try and start that over again tonight!”

She bit back a groan.

In all the fuss of getting them in and dealing with Diego, she had hardly spared a thought to the night ahead. Sure, she had realised it was going to be awkward every time a Hargreeve mentioned their ‘relationship’, but not like this - not where she would be left stammering, trying to defend herself to one of her closest friends. Not even defend, but...well, she was not sure what she was supposed to be trying to do. Aside from not combust from all the hot blood rushing straight to her face.

And all she had wanted was to sleep.

But there was no way she would kick either or both of them out, not in their states. Diego would end up staying anyways just like he always did, grumbling as she fussed over him - and she would not just kick Klaus out like that. She adored the both of them and had made a promise.

So, Y/N sucked in a breath and forced a gentle smile. “You’re not interrupting anything, hush.”

“Oh, I don’t mi-”

“-you wanna stay a while, Klaus? I have a feeling Diego’s not gonna be moving, and I don’t want you wand’ring the streets alone in your state.”

Diego’s eyes immediately shot to her, but she ignored the pointed stare.

“Oh, I’d hate to intrude on your relaxation session. Truly, I’ll just go!”

Gross, Klaus, she mused to herself - the guy was injured, for hell’s sake. “Seriously, you’re not. Please, just stay. There’s plenty a’room and I had nothing going on, anyways.” Aside from sleep - but that had been thrown out the window the second the pair had shown up, anyways.

A smile broke out on Klaus’ face and he shot up, moving to awkwardly hug Diego’s shoulder - much to the man’s chagrin. “I don’t know how you managed to convince her to like a prick like you. She’s an angel - you’re an angel, Y/N really.”

“You’re too sweet, but seriously, I don’t mind the company,” she grinned, swatting Klaus’ hands away. Hers were pressed against Diego’s torso, trying to wipe away the blood already drying around the wound. It, luckily, was not too bad- though serious enough to need serious attention. “Make yourself comfortable, just please don’t touch the booze!”

As his brother’s laugh floated away, Diego groaned. “Can’t we kick him out?”

“The more the merrier,” she sang back, ignoring the glare shot her way. “C’mon, I promise I’ll make it up to you later, baby.”

Diego did not bother to even try and hide him flipping her off. If anything, he brandished the action proudly. She just grinned back, trying to fight back her beating heart and flushed cheeks. She just had to deal with this - it was what she agreed to and it was just them. She hung out with the two of them for years and years. The only difference now was that she and Diego were supposed to be ‘bumping uglies’, but she could deal with Klaus’ comments.

Right?

“YOU COULD TRY AND BE A LITTLE NICER,” she said, swatting at him with a towel. “He is your brother.”

Diego rolled his eyes. “He’s an asshole, is what he is.”

“Why, he interrupted our quote-on-quote ‘alone time’?”

“No,” he grumbled, “but I didn’t really come here to put on a show.”

Y/N wanted desperately to then ask, ‘well why did you come’, but the words just would not come out. Instead, she just shook her head and played along with ignoring the implication. “C’mon, dummy. Would you rather we kicked him out and left him to do...well, whatever Klaus does? That wouldn’t be good.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Y/N watched as he absent-mindedly stroked the silvery scar carved into his head, a motion she thought probably was not even intentional. “I know. I know. S’why I brought him here.”

“So…”

“...all I’m saying is, I didn’t expect to have ‘im here all night.”

She shot him a teasing smile before twisting away, reaching up towards her top cupboards. Her fingers grazed the wood but could not quite reach the glasses pushed to the far back. How had she reached them before?

“If you wanted to just hang out with me, Diego, you could’a just said. I mean, I get it. I am irresistible and adorable in every which way.”

“I agree. You are super irritating and annoying.”

“Oh, wow, those are some big words!” Y/N gritted her teeth, stretching as far as she could forward to grab the glass - but ended up just sinking back to her toes with a sigh. “You been reading that dictionary I bought you?”

“You really just carry that teacher voice around wherever you go, don’t you,” he grinned. With ease, he reached up and brought down the glass she had been reaching for, earning a muttered ‘thanks’. “And for your information, I don’t even know where that thing is.”

“Liar.”

“Not kidding.”

“You lost my heartfelt gift to you?”

“Nah, I probably used it as target practice.”

She rolled her eyes, even if he could not see her face when focused on her hands. She poured a little more than halfway, pausing before shrugging and bringing it up to her lips. Still turned away, she swallowed. “You’re maybe the most insufferable boyfriend I’ve ever had, you know.”

“Oh, come on. That can’t be true.”

“No, I mean that. I don’t normally date people who bicker with me and lose my hard thought-out gifts like that. Assholes like you.”

“Yeah? What about Ty?”

“What about him?”

“He was an asshole.”

Y/N shrugged and focused her gaze on the cupboards opposite her. Better that than his face, right then. “Sure he was. But I think he took care and kept the presents I gave him. I mean, ‘til shit hit the fan, but still. They were appreciated.”

“You’re really comparing me to one of the biggest dicks because I didn’t value your joke gift?”

At that, she chuckled and finally looked his way. One glass of wine down and her sense of smart humour was already fleeing fast. “Can’t compare what I don’t know, can I? Though, he, he was packing, I will tell you that.”

That did not even make much sense, but her messily dirty joke still took a jab his way. Immediately, Diego’s face fell into a look of disgust - though, funnily enough, his cheeks shone red in the dim kitchen light - and Y/N could not keep her laughter in.

“Sorry, that didn’t even make any sense...”

“You’re gross,” he grinned back, shaking his head in fake disgust. “Don’t know what I see in you.”

She giggled mercilessly at him, ignoring his mumbles to keep quiet, caught up in the adorable face he made.

Wait, she interrupted, not adorable. Not in the adorable nature as - well, it was cute, but like in a little kid sort of way. Yeah. Was that a better way to look at it? She was not sure, but it still left her sobering up pretty quickly.

Her eyes fell down to the counter, tracing the swirls of wood before lifting once more. A low hum left her lips. “Nah, you’re right. He sucked. And you do too, don’t get me wrong, but not as much as Ty, or Todd. Or - pretty much all of them.”

“Well, I’m flattered.”

She grinned, but it was softer, weaker as she sipped her second glass. “Sure. Not like it’s much of a competition - I don’t think I have very good taste, sadly.”

“Sure you do,” Diego shot back, bending to pick out a bottle from the fridge. He leaned against the counter across from her, eyes slightly squinted as he took her in. “I mean, you’re dating me.”

“Ha, ha. This - this is a business arrangement, darling, not a relationship. And I didn’t even choose to be in this!”

“Well shit, tell me how you really feel, Y/L/N!”

“I mean nothin’ against you, ‘course,” she hummed. Why was she feeling awkward, all of a sudden? “It’s just not the same as actually having someone who genuinely cares about me - in the like, romantic sense.”

Diego nodded somewhat solemnly at that. “Mm. Sorry, I think?”

“Eh, don’t be. I agreed to this. And I still appreciate you, even if you aren’t interested in me past what benefits you.”

Her words were supposed to come out teasingly, a joke in the most bitter, light-hearted sense, but that was not the case. Instead, they came out all wobbly and unsure, like she had been biting them back but could not hold onto the feeling any longer. Which, was not really the case, she was not desperate for a hand to hold and certainly not from him - but she could not change the words said.

His eyes averted and hers softened, half from embarrassment and half unconsciously at the face he had pulled. She pulled away from the counter. “You still hungry? I can get you something.”

“Nah, I should - get him home.”

Y/N glanced back at Klaus’ silhouette, sound asleep and slightly snoring on the couch. “I think he’s okay, Diego.”

“Yeah, but it’s late. You’ve got work tomorrow and I got shit to get to.”

“Do you have to get to it?”

His smile was tired, like he was barely holding back a sad secret behind the pretty grin. Honestly, with a look like that? He was already half out the door and there was no point to arguing. “Who else is gonna keep this city from burnin’ down?”

She did not bother to argue with him - there was no point to giving him logical points, because he just deflected them all. Diego Hargreeves was a lot of things, but reasonable, he rarely could claim. At least not when it came to his own wellbeing.

Instead, Y/N just leant back and watched as Diego moved to his brother and in surprising tenderness, woke him up. It was rare to see him so gentle, but also a sign that made her smile - no matter what the man said, he truly loved his siblings. Especially Klaus.

“Hey, Diego?”

The man stopped, holding a half-asleep Klaus carefully upright in her doorway. She fought back the urge to smile at his lolling head. “Yeah?”

“Be safe.”

“Sure-”

“-no, I mean that,” she interrupted, “truly. You’re too reckless sometimes and it’s gonna get you killed.”

Diego grinned. “Aww. You gettin’ soft on me, Y/N?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, trying to will her face to not heat up at the accusation. “I’d just rather not have to pretend to cry at your funeral and play the grieving girlfriend role.”

“Ha. Love you too, baby.”

Y/N did not bother to throw any comeback after his retreating figure. She was too shaken by the way those four words had left his lips - sure, they were sarcastic, but they still sat heavy on her tongue as she silent repeated them. They made her feel weird, tingly in a sense she could not quite understand.

The door slammed shut, and she let her forehead fall after it, resting on the cool wind with fists at her side and questions swirling in her mind. Maybe she could do with another glass and miss out on attempting to sleep - not like she ever could after nights like this.

She sighed and made a mental note, one she knew she was going to forget in minutes, to yell at him about calling her baby again.

TAGLIST: @rangotangomango @fandomsandmore394 @thatkidofwarandpeace @antoouu (let me know if i missed you/you wanna be added)

#i need a favour series #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader #BABY #diego hargreeves oneshot #diego hargreeves imagine #fake dating au #tua x reader #tua imagine #the umbrella academy #back at my three am bullshit

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ead13 · 4 years

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Happy Trails, Old Friend

I don’t know why I got the urge to write about Branwen dying (of old age and very happy, I can assure you!), but here it is. Also, Arthur has a soft spot for Kieran and you can’t convince me otherwise.

“Papa! Papa! Something’s wrong with Branny!”

Kieran could feel a knot of dread form in the pit of his stomach. This news shouldn’t surprise him; he’d noticed how Branwen was faltering, and when he really thought about it (which he rarely had time to do now that he was juggling five kids and counting), his longtime companion was old. Actually, very old. Considering Branwen had been middle-aged, probably in his teens when he was assigned to him in the army, that meant he had lived a damn good, long life for a horse.

Knowing that didn’t make the thought of saying goodbye any easier. No doubt Becky was the bearer of bad news.

“Let me have a look at ‘im,” he answered quickly, dropping the curry comb he had been using to brush one of his charges. Still, he did his best to remain calm for his daughter’s sake as he closed the door to the stall. No need to start the little girl crying. Before he could take her hand, she was running on ahead to the pasture where Branwen spent his golden years grazing in peace. Even from a distance, he could see the flaxen roan horse was lying on the ground. He could hear the sound of weak braying carrying across the field. No, this wasn’t good at all.

By now, Leah had heard the commotion and come running from across the yard where she had been feeding the chickens. “Papa, what’s wrong?”

Kieran stopped and waited for his second-eldest to join them, but it wasn’t long before Becky was tugging on his arm. Linked together, they finally arrived at Branwen’s side. The old boy’s breathing was labored, more of a shudder than anything. It didn’t take more than a second to understand the situation. “Girls, you oughtta say yer goodbyes to ol’ Branwen.”

“You mean he’s gonna die?” Becky looked at him with wide-eyed horror.

He reached up and rubbed his beard, trying to pass off his anxious energy so they wouldn’t catch it. “Horses don’t live as long as people do, sweetie. As far as horses go, Branwen is a real old man. Most of ‘em don’t even live to be this old. He’s had a good life, a very happy one here with us.”

“We can’t help him?” Leah wondered sadly, reaching out to pet the quivering animal gently. Becky followed suit.

Kieran just shook his head, gritting his teeth to keep his emotions in check. “That’s just how it is. But he’s lucky that in the end he’s safe and loved and taken care of. Not every horse gets that.” He was trying to encourage himself just as much as his daughters at this point. The only thing making this easier was the heart-warming way they hugged the ailing creature, burying their faces into his well-groomed coat. They had grown up with Branwen, riding the gentle horse when they were still small enough for him to carry their weight. Yes, so much love. All the love he deserved.

“You two take yer time sayin’ goodbye. I’m gonna go find yer ma and let her know.” More than that, though, he was going to see if he could convince Mary-Beth to take the kids to Uncle Arthur’s farm for a visit so he could put his dear friend out of his misery without having to worry about traumatizing his kids. Also, so he could cry about it in private.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

He thought he’d have to work harder to convince her, but Mary-Beth was a saint. Even juggling five children under the age of 10 and half-way towards their sixth, she quickly agreed to give him the space he needed. Emma went to say her goodbyes too before being packed up in the wagon, but Rachel and Kieran were too young to comprehend the situation. Mary-Beth would have visited the old horse too, but she had her hands more than full. Instead, she pulled him into a long embrace. “I’m so sorry, dear. I know Branwen means the world to you. When I get back and the kids get settled, we can talk.”

“Thanks, darlin’, for everything,” he murmured, squeezing her tight. “I think I’m gonna need it. That and a bottle o’ whiskey…”

When she released him, she found Becky and Leah at her skirts. “Papa, are you okay?”

He kneeled down to pull both of his girls into a big hug. “This is gonna be very hard for me. I love Branwen very much. But he’s sufferin’, and it wouldn’t be fair to make ‘im keep sufferin’. Sometimes when ya love somethin’ you gotta let it go.” Damn, his eyes were getting misty!

“Should I stay with you?” Becky wondered, looking up at him and no doubt seeing every hint of distress in his face.

He gave a small smile. “No, sweetie. Sometimes ya hafta have some space away from other people. But when you both get back, I’m gonna need another hug, okay?”

“Okay.”

Finally, everyone was packed up and the wagon was heading down the road. That just left Kieran wrapped in an abnormal silence. He went to go pull out his shotgun. This had to be a clean kill, but as he reached for the firearm, he realized his hands were shaking badly. They continued to do so as he checked the ammunition and gunpowder. How the hell was he supposed to be able to do this?

In the end he decided that he’d just sit with Branwen until sunset, maybe braid his mane one last time, see if he’d eat an apple. He’d wait until his friend was asleep before ending it.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

There were many tears in those precious hours, and he felt bad for it, as if it would upset Branwen even more. His breathing wasn’t much better, but at least his braying stopped as his favorite human settled down next to him. Kieran had suspected long ago that Branwen couldn’t really see anymore, having watched him bump into things. He always reacted to his voice, though, and that brought him some level of peace. He couldn’t eat the apple, just didn’t have the energy even though it was his favorite. This really was the end…

Kieran was so in the moment that he nearly missed the sound of hoof beats. Who in the world would be coming now? It was too late in the day for any customer to return for their horse, and the kids surely couldn’t be back this early. He didn’t really have the energy to get up and look. Once he got up, he’d have to pull the trigger.

“Kieran, I figured you’d be draggin’ yer heels.”

The familiar voice caused him to startle. “A-Arthur?”

He looked up to find the imposing figure of Arthur Morgan towering over him as robust as ever despite the onset of some graying hairs. “Heard ‘bout ol’ Branwen when yer brood showed up at my place. Puttin’ a horse to rest ain’t no one-man job, so I thought I’d come over and assist. I’m assumin’…” he gestured to the wide expanse of land their ranch covered, “there’ll need to be a proper burial.”

“Huh, yer right. Guess I didn’t think of that,” Kieran admitted, looking downcast. He turned his gaze to the sinking sun. “I ain’t got any more time left, do I? Not if I hafta get this done before they get back.”

“I reckon not. I also reckon…” he paused, scratching his head awkwardly. “I mean, if ya want, I could be the one to pull the trigger.”

It wasn’t the idea of the finality of a trigger pull; it was all the idea that Arthur was kind enough to offer. He lost it. “I’m sorry, I thought I was done with this!” he tried to explain, wiping the tears now streaming from his eyes as he stumbled to his feet. He didn’t want his emotions to disturb Branwen, who had fallen asleep. “It ain’t like I’m losin’ my wife or my kids, I got no reason to be actin’ like this…”

Arthur put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Kieran, look at me.” The man struggled to obey, but Arthur refused to continue until he did. “I still remember how hard it was to lose Boadicea. I’d had that horse for a long time. But you and Branwen, even I know that was something more. You’d been down some pretty dark roads, all on yer own ‘cept for that horse. I know there were times he was all you had.”

Now Kieran was crying uncontrollably in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to yet, all desires to handle this like a man crumbling away. “I used to say that all I knew ‘bout life was that people kept dyin’ and I loved horses. I thought Branwen and I would die too, alone. I don’t think I would have even bothered to keep livin’ if I didn’t have him to take care of. We finally got lucky though, him an’ me. You fellers took us in, got me on my feet, and now I’ve got Mary-Beth and five beautiful children and a home, and…and…” Finally, he let himself fall weakly against Arthur’s shoulder. “He got me through it all, but now his time is done, and I have other things to be livin’ for. Just gonna be an awfully big hole. It’s gonna feel so wrong after all these years.”

It still was uncomfortable for Arthur, gruff as he was, to wrap his thick arms around the man, even for a few seconds of comfort. Still, he sucked it up for Kieran, because there was something touching about the idea that he trusted him like this with his vulnerabilities. Their relationship had always been one of mentor and mentee, perhaps the only one in Kieran’s entire life, and even after ten years and plenty of aging from both of them, that hadn’t changed. “That’s why I came, so you wouldn’t hafta do this alone. I’ll be the one to end it, so you don’t hafta.”

“B-but, Branwen is my horse, my responsibility,” Kieran protested weakly, pulling away.

“You have taken damn good care of that horse. There is no shame in lettin’ me do this,” Arthur insisted sternly. “Ain’t nobody gonna think less of ya for it, especially not when I’m offerin’.”

It wasn’t worth a fight, not when he really didn’t want to do it. “Fine. Gun’s over there,” he gestured before wiping his eyes roughly.

“Anything else you’ve gotta say to ‘im?”

“Naw. It’s been said. And he’s sleepin’. I don’t wanna wake ‘im.”

“All right. You go find some shovels and don’t come back ‘til you hear the shot.”

He did as requested, flinching at the harsh sound of the gun and squeezing his eyes shut from his position in the shed. It was over. When all was said and done, they had a hole dug and Branwen buried, mane braided and apple given for his road to whatever afterlife there was for horses. Kieran desperately wanted to believe they’d go to heaven same as people so they might be reunited again one day. The dirt was barely filled in when the wagon bearing his family came rolling on in.

Becky and Leah both jumped off as soon as it was stopped and came barreling towards their father, ignoring their Uncle Arthur completely. “Papa, we’re back!” They latched onto him immediately.

“Girls, I’m so happy to see ya.” Kieran wrapped his arms around them, then cast a glance at the rest of his family. His other children were squirming impatiently to be lifted down, but Mary-Beth took the time to meet his gaze. The concern in her eyes touched his heart. She may be busy being a mother, but he knew without a doubt that she was the best wife a man could ask for. Then, he looked to Arthur, who seemed amused by his nieces’ open affection. When he saw him looking, he nodded and grabbed the shovels, heading to the shed to put them away.

Good Lord, Branwen was gone, but look at everything he had now, things he could only dream of when they’d first met. It would be hard, but he could survive this loss now.

#kieran duffy #branwen #rdr2 #arthur morgan #happy ending au

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purpleillusn · 5 years

Text

Returning After the Reveal

Phic Phight attack 3

Prompt: “A post Phantom-Planet (or post reveal, if you hate PP that much) fic in which Danny is getting used to his new fame and recognition as a superhero. His teachers, classmates, and even former bullies are all suddenly treating him differently, and Danny’s not quite sure what to do with that.” - @love-ly-ish

Words: 7143

Danny pushed his crutches down again, supporting his weight as he made his way over to the X-Ray room. He was pretty sure that he could have walked, but doctor’s orders said he couldn’t, hence the crutches.

Whispers erupted as he traversed the labyrinth of corridors. Onlookers either appeared to be in awe, admirers and fans of his Phantom persona, while others scowled, moving out the way, many fearful of the teen in front of them, or rather his powers. He supposed he hadn’t been expecting anything different, the world probably hadn’t been ready for the existence of halfas, but had been introduced to them anyway.

A mother pulled her child away and close to her chest just as he’d tried to go up to Danny, attempting to shield the boy from him. Danny sighed and his mom placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

They entered the room, and Danny lay on the table as per the previous X-Ray, while Maddie joined the radiologist further away. If there was one thing Danny was grateful for in this great big mess of a situation, it was his parents’ unwavering support. Without them kicking up a fuss it would have been entirely possible for the GIW to cart him off to their labs, labelled as an ecto-based threat, while he was unconscious and wounded. Danny suppressed a shudder at that idea.

“Danny, you can come over here now,” called the doctor, a kindly old man who looked somewhat like a walrus.

On the computer screen was Danny’s leg, his tibia and fibula completely intact, just as expected. “Jeez you heal fast, kid. Most people would take months to recover from that,” commented the doctor, clicking into the image to zoom in. “Not even a hairline fracture anymore.”

Danny cringed - he’d had one hell of a compound fracture. On top of that apparently they had to pick fragments of bone out of his leg. Nope, he was not going to imagine that. The surgeons had been slightly freaked out even after he came around post-surgery, his healing factor having caused problems with treating his injuries.

“Does this mean I don’t need crutches now?” Danny asked hopefully, lightly kicking the leg in its brace.

“Yes, you’re free to go. Just don’t go breaking more bones on us,” the doctor chuckled, his belly shaking as he did so.

“No promises,” Danny responded, flashing him a smile before sitting down to phase the cast off his leg. “Uh, so, what do I do with this?” He waved it in the air. This was nice, being able to use his powers around others without having to fear exposure.

Maddie took the cast from him and placed it in the appropriate bin as they left the hospital. “Well, that went well,” she said, trying to maintain an optimistic mood despite the countless pairs of eyes on them, passing their own individual judgement.

Danny muttered something under his breath and Maddie asked him to speak up.

“I’d have preferred for none of this to happen in the first place,” he said barely loud enough for her to hear properly. “I should’ve handled the attack better.”

Maddie sighed. “You can’t be perfect, Danny. I wish you hadn’t got hurt like that, but it’s all we can do to move on from it now. You saved a lot of lives that day, and anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar.”

“So I’ve heard,” Danny said spitefully, immediately resenting himself for taking that tone with his mom. “Sorry, I just-” He trailed off.

“It’s been a stressful few days, hasn’t it?” she said, unlocking the car and opening the door.

Danny mirrored her in opening the door on the passenger side, slipping into his seat. “Yeah.”

They backed out of the parking lot, the sound of tacky pop music coming from the radio while Danny picked at the fabric of his jeans. “Mom? Do you ever have times when you feel you could have done better?”

“Of course I do. Regrets are part of life, and no matter what you do, there’ll always be that nagging voice in your head,” Maddie said as she turned onto the highway.

“How do you deal with it?” Danny enquired.

Maddie glanced at Danny, then cast her eyes back to the road. “I remind myself that my mistakes are in the past, and I can’t change them. Plus focusing on the positives helps, like people you helped and ways you can do better in the future.”

Danny contemplated her words for a few seconds. “Thanks, mom.”

They were now approaching Amity Park, which did not have its own hospital due to the risk of ghost attacks. Craters, Danny-shaped and otherwise, marred the landscape and they passed a sign reading ‘Amity Park: A nice place to-’ The rest of the sign having been destroyed by ectoblasts, leaving it illegible.

Maddie cleared her throat. “But even I have regrets I can’t forgive myself for.”

“Oh,” Danny said, knowing full well where this conversation was heading. They’d had this conversation once already, in which Danny adamantly defended them, though admittedly he had been pretty drugged up then, so he couldn’t blame her for talking about it again. “I still don’t blame you for anything. I chose to lie to you- I shouldn’t have, and there was no way you could’ve guessed that your living son was a ghost.” He breathed before continuing. “You can’t change the past.”

Maddie conceded and continued the drive without bringing it up again, instead choosing to talk about space and recent developments in astronomy and astrophysics.

They stopped in the driveway of the Fenton house, now with a metal fence to fend off rabid reporters, fans and those who despised Danny and his entire family. They’d probably have to upgrade the security system at some point soon, but for now it would do.

The house was a lot cleaner than the night of the ghost attack, but was still somewhat disheveled, albeit without fragments of glass around the place now. “Good to see you Danny-boy!” Jack engulfed Danny in a one armed hug, his left arm being covered in bandages. “Can’t keep you down, eh?”

Danny chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Speaking of which, Danny, we’ll need to do a check up on your core,” Maddie interjected, catching Danny off guard with how naturally the words came from her mouth. They seemed to be adjusting about as well as one could to the revelation that their son’s half ghost, going so far as to lock up their most powerful weapons and program all of the inventions they could to ignore Danny’s ectosignature, including the ghost gabber, much to Danny’s delight. Sam and Tucker had managed to convince the Fenton parents that separating Danny’s ghost and human halves would be a terrible idea by explaining the Fenton ghost catcher incident, that and it didn’t take a scientist to know that ripping away part of someone’s body wasn’t good for them. If Danny was healthy and happy, that’s all that mattered to them.

The core check-up went similarly to an X-Ray, just in the lab, and with a different machine.

Danny pulled his t-shirt over his head, ignoring the fact that his hair was now even more messy than usual, and walked over to the computer screen displaying the scan.

A look at the display wouldn't mean much to someone without knowledge of ectobiology, but both the Fenton parents and Danny could see that it had thousands of tiny marks of damage, like the tears that form in a muscle after excess exertion.

“It looks like it’s healing. See? Snowfang was right,” said Danny.

Snowfang, the head doctor in the Far Frozen, had assured them that it would heal with time, as long as Danny did not overexert himself again.. Naturally the Fenton parents had still been worried, and coming up with ways to aid healing.

His dad grinned at him, while his mom had an unreadable expression of thought.

“You’ll still have to drink ectoplasm until you’re better,” she ordered, before quickly adding, “but maybe don’t bring it to school tomorrow.”

Crud. School. Danny cringed at the thought of his phan club following him around. “I’m not sure if I want to go back there. I mean, what if people…”

Maddie crouched slightly to be eye to eye with Danny. “It’ll be fine, just give it a try, okay? And if it’s too much for you, or you get bullied, we can always look into home education.”

Danny nodded, eyes downcast.

The ring of the doorbell pierced through the quiet and momentarily drowned out the whir of machines from every angle of the basement.

Jack was the first to reach the door, opening it only to remember that there was also a tall metal fence and gate between the street and the living room. “Jazzypants! Elle!” he bellowed as he opened the gate, letting two girls in. Elle gave him as much of a hug as her short arms could manage, channelling some ghost powers to jump up. Jack patted Danielle’s back and closed the gate. Danny’s face lit up at the sight of his adoptive sister, now dubbed ‘Elle’ both to avoid confusion and due to her sense of individuality, still clinging onto their dad as he came back into the house. The adoption would be going through quickly after they’d ‘convinced’ Vlad that it was best to let them adopt her and for him to leave her alone. It hardly seemed like she’d only lived with them for less than a week, yet that was undeniably the truth.

Elle, grinning broadly, dropped to the floor. “Hey, Danny, you’re all better?”

Danny made a more or less gesture with his hand. “Pretty much.”

Jazz announced her presence by dumping a large bag of books on the floor with a thud. “Well, that’s book shopping done.”

Danny glanced at the bag, stunned. “Did you buy the entire bookstore?”

“Ha, ha,” Jazz deadpanned. “Elle’s starting Middle School in September, that’s only five months away, so she’ll need to catch up on any material she missed out on by then.”

Elle was less excited by the idea of school, and instead pulled out a book titled ‘How much poo does an elephant do?’. “I got to choose some books I wanted too.”

• • •

Sweat poured from Danny’s brow as he tried his best to hold up the beams of a near-collapsed building while the last inhabitants ran for safety. After the last person escaped, guided away by Maddie and Jack Fenton, he intangibly passed through the building, letting it collapse through him, and turned his attention to the gruesome ghost currently being shot at while trying to chase down the Red Huntress. She looked worse for wear, her suit not repairing the scratches in it like it typically did. The fight had been drawn out for too long, and everyone knew it, but the ghost just didn’t seem to have a weak spot, all shots ricocheting off its armored skin. And worst of all it had a fire core, leaving the pavement melted under it with each step it made.

“Oi! Ugly!” Danny shrieked, a lot more shrilly than he than he originally intended. The taunt had the exact effect Danny wanted, all of the dozen or so eyes of the beast turning towards him and narrowing. Its nostrils flared, and it made a beeline for Danny, stomping down anything that stood in its way.

Calling on the power of his own core, Danny sent out a blast of ice, which encased the ghost for mere seconds before melting under the extreme heat of its flaming breath. Danny created an energy shield, doing his best to block the attack, his palms burning as the fire was redirected around him and into the building, exciting the embers floating in the air and on the ground.

The flames stopped abruptly as yet another fighter flew into the fray, blasting the beast in the side. “Leave my cousin alone!” Elle yelled, unleashing another energy ball, which knocked the creature back.

It was then that Danny saw something, a weakness, an opening. The ghost opened its mouth and Danny took this opportunity to shoot a beam on ice into it, giving the ghost the worst possible case of brain freeze experienced by any being. Without hesitation, Danny tackled the ghost to the ground, glancing up at Valerie who was pulling out her thermos.

Unfortunately, Danny really should have kept his attention on the ghost, as it grabbed him by the leg in its vice-like grip and hurled him into the rubble of the building he’d been trying to hold up just a minute earlier. A sickening crunch of bone shattering could be heard as Danny’s body crashed against the hot concrete and brick. He tried to climb to his feet, only to realise that one of his legs was practically snapped in two, and instead hovering weakly. Elle flew over to him like a rocket, putting an arm under his shoulder to support him, seeing his exhaustion.

Danny evaluated the situation, noting that the ghost appeared to be much more sluggish, cracks showing in its skin, revealing what looked to be swirling magma underneath.

“Cover your ears! Now!” he shouted and unleashed an unearthly wail, rippling through the air, peeling through the armor of the ghost with each wave that came its way.

Danny collapsed, ears ringing, desperately fighting back white rings while Elle held him just above the ground.

A blue light engulfed the magma ghost in front of them, and the Red Huntress landed, hoverboard retracting into the soles of her shoes, now-full thermos in her hand. “Phantom? I just wanted to say thank you, both of you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Danny offered her a tired smile before falling into the black, a ring of light passing over his head as he dropped like a rock.

Danny awoke with a start, glancing at the time on his alarm clock: 6:45 am. Could be worse. Of course he’d just had to have that dream, that memory again the night before school. The universe was simply unkind to halfas - not even permitting them to sleep until their alarm would have gone off.

He dropped out of bed and headed to the bathroom, figuring that if he was going to face his possible doom today, he might as well be presentable while doing so. The cold shower was nice - just another reminder that he was weird. Jazz always complained that he’d left it on the cold temperature when she went to shower.

Speaking of Jazz, she was already downstairs when Danny entered the kitchen. “Ready to go back to school, little brother?”

“No, not really” Danny sighed as he poured a bowl of cereal for himself, reminding him of the day when he’d almost told his parents his secret early on after being picked up by the ghost detector.

“I’ll be with you when we go there,” Jazz comforted. “Take deep breaths and try to focus on what could go well today.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “I know, I know. Thanks.”

The Fenton parents came into the kitchen soon after, one from downstairs, and the other with a very grumpy looking Elle - apparently she was not a morning person. Maddie guided the sleep deprived halfa to the table, and she immediately brightened up at the prospect of breakfast, inhaling a bowl of Cookie Crisp.

“Remember your ectoplasm,” Maddie said to the half ghosts, placing a glass of the glowing green liquid in front of each of them, much to Danny’s chagrin. It wasn’t that it tasted bad, it was just weird, like sweet tasting batteries that prickled his tongue with its energy.

Elle seemed not to have inherited Danny’s dislike of the sensation, and downed her glass like orange juice. This was just one of the many differences between them that she had embraced, along with her love of toast.

Danny sipped his ectoplasm, reminding himself that it was just filtered from the atmosphere of the zone.

“What does it taste like?” Jack asked, like a curious puppy. He knew better than to try and drink some himself - ectoplasm was decidedly not suitable for human consumption. The only reason halfas could drink it was because their biology was different to a human’s on the molecular level.

“Kinda like honey charged with electricity,” Danny answered before taking another gulp of it.

“It’s nice,” Elle chimed in. “Danny’s just not used to it - that’s why he’s scared of drinking it.”

Danny shot her a playful glare and glugged the rest of the glass, which she cackled at.

The energy rippled through his core, like a concentrated energy drink, which wasn’t actually far off the mark as a description of it.

Jack hummed, and began tinkering with an invention he’d been working on on the side for the time Danny had been hospitalised. It was a small plastic wristband, with a glowing green light and small amounts of exposed circuitry where he’d unscrewed a panel on it. It was slightly rough looking, but for something thrown together over just a few days, it was impressive.

The band was a failsafe, in case the school had concerns about him harming other students that could not be remedied by their word - it suppressed Danny’s powers, namely his ectoblasts. It wasn’t great, but if worst came to worst it at least wouldn’t hurt Danny.

Pocketing the band, Jack and the rest of his family, including Elle, who was still worried that Vlad might come for her, clambered into the Fenton family RV (Maddie was driving as it was decided that property damage would not make a good impression).

They reached the school too early for Danny’s liking, and he wiped his clammy palms on his jeans before exiting the vehicle.

Mr Lancer was waiting outside, visibly surprised that nothing had been destroyed while parking until he noticed that Maddie had been driving. He shook the Fenton parents’ hands, and guided the family into the building.

Danny noticed the news van was parked in the road by the school, evidently not allowed onto school property, but figured it was best to ignore it - he’d honestly expected far more people following him around, but apparently he’d passed out of the news with the next big thing.

The early students gawked as the group passed them through the corridors on their way to Mr Lancer’s office, but Danny once again did his best to ignore it.

The office door was agape, and Principal Ishiyama was sat in a small plastic chair next to Mr Lancer’s desk. Mr Lancer closed the door after the group, sitting down in his worn padded chair and indicating to the plastic chairs arranged by the entrance. He surveyed the odd group as they lowered themselves to their chairs, eyes lingering momentarily on Elle, taking in the unfamiliar, yet familiar face.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, there has been protesting against Daniel returning to school,” Mr Lancer began, voice steady and calm, as if talking about any other issue at school, “however, we, as a school, and as people, will not discriminate against an individual based on their, biology. I am glad to see you healthy Daniel, and would like to make it very clear that you are welcome at this school.

“Your teachers, myself included are prepared to give you leeway and accommodate your ghost hunting. We do expect that you work hard to keep up with class work, and attend extra sessions if necessary, but you will not be punished for leaving lessons to deal with ghost attacks. I’m well aware that you are capable of doing well, and all you need to do if ask for help whenever you feel that you’re falling behind.”

Danny was ectatic. This was too good to be true! “Thank you Mr Lancer! I will.”

Ishiyama took this moment to interject. “But, we do have some restrictions we would like you to follow.”

Of course. There was always a catch.

“You are not allowed to abuse your privileges, and if it is found that you have been skipping class without a good reason there will be appropriate punishment. Additionally, you are not allowed to use your abilities to cheat or harm others. We do not take this lightly, and doing this could get you expelled from the school.”

Danny flinched imperceptibly at the mention of cheating.

“We will not stop you from using your powers altogether though. You may use what non-destructive or harmful powers you have as you feel comfortable with, we trust that you can use your judgement as to what is appropriate.”

“That sounds reasonable,” said Danny, relaxing slightly. “I promise I won’t hurt others, and I definitely won’t cheat.”

This seemed to satisfy the Principle, who smiled at the family. “Well then, enjoy your day. I believe lessons will be starting in fifteen minutes. Please ask myself or Mister Lancer if you have any questions.”

And with that Ishiyama pardoned herself from the room, leaving the family with just Mr Lancer, who shuffled a small stack of papers.

“One last thing, Daniel,” Mr Lancer called out to Danny as he went to stand up from his chair. “My door is always open if you need to talk about anything.”

“Thanks Mr Lancer!” Danny smiled up at his teacher, and left the office with the rest of his family.

“That went well,” commented Maddie, and Jack nodded enthusiastically. “We should really go home now. See you later, you two. I know you both find kisses embarrassing, so have a good day.”

“Bye,” both Danny and Jazz chorused.

“Enjoy your day of hell!” Elle shouted after them, a grin splitting her face from ear to ear.

“Same to you!” Danny yelled back as she rounded the corner and out of view.

Jazz and Danny said their goodbyes and went off to their respective lessons early. Waiting outside the science lab, Danny couldn’t help but keep an eye on every face that passed in the mass of students getting to class. His face lit up when he saw Sam and Tucker approach him through the crowd, their faces brightening an equal amount at the sight of their friend healthy and happy.

“Yo, how are you?” Tucker greeted, giving Danny a high five.

“Good. I’m all healed, and the school seems to be okay with me being here,“Danny replied. “What about you?”

“Pretty good. How’re your folks taking the reveal?”

“Great. They’re happy I’m going into ghost hunting, and they seem to have accepted my ghost half. They even adopted Elle!” Danny was practically bursting with joy, and it warmed the others through.

“Oh yeah, we saw her with your parents on the way in. She looks really happy - I guess she’s settling in well,” said Sam, smiling far too brightly for her goth aesthetic.

“Excuse me,” a small voice came from the right, and the trio turned to see Mikey, a small red haired boy, standing there timidly, with his nerdy friends behind him. “I, uh, I wanted to say thank you - for all the times you’ve saved us.”

Danny was dumbfounded. People knowing his not-so-secret identity was going to take some getting used to. “Um, no problem. I just did what anyone would do.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“So, how do your ghost powers work?” Mikey asked rapidly. “Are you a ghost? Does this mean you’re dead? You’re not dead, right?” He looked slightly horrified.

“Of course he’s not dead!” Sam said abruptly, the guilt of the accident gnawing at the back of her mind. The nerds flinched.

“What Sam said, I’m not dead, or at least I don’t think I am,” Danny spoke. “I’m not entirely sure how my powers work, we think I’m half ghost - um, when I got my powers, I think ectoplasm got bonded to my DNA or something.” Danny didn’t want to go into specifics of how he got his ghost powers. The memory was slightly traumatic, and he really didn’t want to risk others attempting to repeat it - that was dangerous, and painful.

“Woah, that’s so cool! Is it like a comic book origin story?”

“That’s enough.” Sam cut Mikey off, and he shrunk back.

The teacher soon emerged from the classroom to shepard the students to their seats. Mrs Bray, the strict, rule-abiding chemistry teacher, with a glare that could melt concrete, sat in her chair, back straight as the pole that was probably stuck up her butt. She read out the register, each student replying with a ‘yes miss’, until she reached Danny’s name and mutters broke out among the students. Her eye twitched, but she continued the register after Danny confirmed his presence

Once the register was over, she stood before the board, and took a breath before her lecture.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Mr Fenton has been revealed to be somewhat of a celebrity, however, I would like you to respect his privacy, and there will be no discussion of him or anything of the sort in my classroom. I expect you to focus on your work, and nothing else while you’re here. Am I understood?”

“Yes miss,” came the drone of thirty or so students brought an odd sense of relief to Danny. In her own way, his teacher was showing her support, preventing others from pestering him during class. Unfortunately, she could not stop the glances that were sent his way throughout the lesson. Dash in particular seemed to be staring the most, a guilty expression on his face. Oh, Danny was probably going to have an awkward conversation after class, unless he turned invisible to escape, but that would probably just draw more attention to him.

Valerie, on the other hand, appeared to have a swirl on emotions passing behind her eyes as she occasionally glanced at Danny, as though wanting to talk to him, which she of course did. Okay, so that was going to be two awkward conversations after the lesson.

As the teacher told people to pack up, Danny psyched himself up for what awaited him out of Mrs Bray’s classroom. Valerie was aggressively stuffing her bag, and Danny feared what she’d do once they were out of the classroom. Scenarios passed through his head, each of them involving a way in which Danny’s life, or rather the next few minutes of his life, could go wrong.

The instant they were out the classroom a hand grabbed Danny’s arm and dragged him to the janitor’s closet. Valerie stood there, somehow seeming sad, worried and majorly pissed off, all the while managing not to scream. Sam and Tucker burst in, quickly tailing after the ghost boy. “Hey, Valerie, don’t do anything rash,” Sam implored, “wait, are you crying?”

Pearlescent tears were trailing down from Valerie’s eyes, and she wiped them away with her arm. “Tell anyone I’ve cried and you’re dead!” Valerie snapped.

“I wouldn’t think of it,” placated Sam. “Do you want us to leave so you can talk to Danny?”

Valerie shook her head. “No, stay, please.” She almost pleaded towards the end, the emotional strain from the past week bubbling to the surface.

“I’m sorry. For everything. For hunting you, for blaming you for everything that went wrong in my life,” Valerie cried quietly.

“It’s fine, Val I’m sorry for lying to you for all this time.” She looked up to see Danny putting a hand on her shoulder, ice blue eyes radiating comfort. Valerie shook her head again, a lot more violently than she intended to.

“I didn’t exactly give you much choice, did I?”

Danny just shrugged. The bell telling them lessons were starting chose that moment to go off, and panic quickly spread through the group before they conceded themselves to their fate of being late to English.

“Y’know, now would be a great time for a ghost attack we can blame for us being late to class.” Danny tried to lighten the mood, but quickly regretted it when his ghost sense went off - his face falling as the blue mist swirled into the air in front of him at the same time as Valerie’s ghost detector going off. “Okay, I was kidding, but I should probably take care of this.” He suddenly looked nervous. “Want to team up on this one, Val?”

Valerie looked taken aback. “What? You trust me just like that?”

“Well, yeah. You are my friend - our friend.” Danny corrected himself seeing Sam and Tucker opening their mouths to correct him on that point. “Danny’s right,” Tucker said, leaning against the closet door to listen out for the ghost attack.

Sam continued, “as much as I may have been reluctant to admit it, you have become a friend over this time. And by the way, we’ve known about your ghost hunting since the beginning - at the park. You might want to consider getting something to mask your voice if you want to keep a secret identity.”

Valerie felt a blush flush into the cheeks. “You got it,” she said, checking the radar on her ghost detector as she did so. “It’s by the sports hall. I’m new to this teamwork stuff, what do you three do about ghost attacks?”

“Uh, do you two want to handle this one?” Tucker’s hand clasped the door handle. “We can go tell Mr Lancer why you’re late.”

“I’m guessing you want us to keep your ghost hunting a secret Valerie,” Sam asked rhetorically. “We can just tell Mr Lancer that you’re helping Danny out or something and leave it at that.”

“Sounds good to me,” Valerie said, activating her suit, covering her face last. Tucker gave a low whistle at the show of electronics, and glanced to Danny, who seemed unfazed by her suit. Of course he was, this kid had seen it all before.

Seeing that Valerie was comfortable enough in his presence to activate her suit, Danny went ghost, rings of blinding white travelling across his body. Valerie’s mouth was practically on the floor - this much was evident even with her mask. Danny Phantom floated opposite her, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

“Ta-da,” he quipped, and Valerie collected herself enough to notice that Sam and Tucker were snickering at her reaction. They quickly scampered off to Mr Lancer’s lesson, and Danny extended his hand to Valerie.

“Wanna try navigating like a ghost?” he asked, eyes twinkling like stars.

She took his gloved hand, and screamed as she was whisked along through the wall. A feeling like being submerged in icy water sent a shiver down Valerie’s spine. Noticing her reaction, Danny landed on the other side of the wall in an empty classroom. “Sorry, I really should have warned you about that.”

“No, it’s fine - just felt cold,” Valerie tried to quell the expression of guilt that had wormed its way into Danny’s face. It was still weird seeing Phantom as Danny, even if his reveal had been caught on camera and broadcast on live TV. There was something innately wrong about seeing your friend as a ghost, and the odd glow he had to his skin didn’t help make him look like the human Danny Fenton she’d known., illuminating his features oddly and making him appear almost as a completely different person.

“Oh, yeah.” Danny fiddled with the hair on the back of his neck. “I kinda forgot - Sam and Tucker are both used to it, and I don’t normally make others intangible.”

“Really, it’s fine. Let’s go find that ghost before it hurts someone,” Valerie insisted.

Danny nodded with renewed determination, and took her hand again tentatively before turning them intangible again and speeding off towards the gym.”

This was certainly different to flying on a hoverboard, Valerie thought to herself. A hoverboard at least somewhat obeyed gravity - ghost flight, not at all. She could somehow feel the movement while at the same time not feeling anything at all, but it was fun nonetheless.

They arrived at the gym’s storage room in a matter of seconds, and another plume of blue mist emerged from Danny’s mouth, indicating that the ghost was near.

“BEWARE!”

The Box Ghost was levitating a crate full of footballs in the air, features alight with menacing glee. He hurled the contents of the crate at the pair of ghost hunters, not realising that Danny had yet to drop his intangibility. Valerie flinched, Danny grinned, and the balls flew right through them. “Want to do the favors?” Danny indicated to the chubby ghost in front of them, now lifting a box of rackets.

“With pleasure.” Valerie activated a moderately sized gun that materialised in her hand, hitting the Box Ghost square in the butt.

He yowled and spun around just in time to be caught in the beam of the Fenton Thermos. He looked like a fat spider being sucked down the plughole, and the onlookers were torn between pity and entertainment at the sight.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,”Danny stated, landing firmly next to Valerie on the floor of the storage room, avoiding the balls scattered across it. “Should we tidy up the mess?”

Valerie looked surprised, recalling the copious amounts of property damage and mess both of them had created in the past.

Reading her expression, Danny explained. “I’ve been wanting to test out a new power, and this is a small enough scale that it should be fine.”

“You have a tidying-up power?” Valerie asked, eyebrow cocked, not that Danny could see it all that easily with her visor.

Danny chuckled, picking up on the heavy sarcasm laced in her tone, and his aura seemed to spark, every one of the balls in the vicinity gaining a bright green aura of their own and lifting into the air. He concentrated, eyebrows knitting together as the footballs drifted into the crate, all but one landing neatly inside it, which then lifted up as well and placed itself in its usual spot on the floor.

“Woah,” Valerie stood next to him stunned while he panted. “Was that telekinesis?”

Danny’s breathing went back to a more normal pace, still considerably deeper than usual. “Yeah. It’s something that most ghosts can do, but I only learnt it recently. As you can see…” He picked up the remaining football with his hand. “I need more practice, but it could be really useful.”

Valerie hummed. “You could use it to get people out of the way of debris, or stop the debris in midair.”

“That’s exactly why I want to perfect this skill.”

Valerie’s mind flashed back to Danny supporting the collapsing building, and she understood fully how important learning this new power was to him.

The two entered the classroom after a somewhat leisurely flight in the direction of the classroom and a stop in a closet to change out of their suit, and into their human form respectively. Mr Lancer stopped his lecture as the door opened, and every head in the room swiveled round to face the late duo.

“Mr Foley and Miss Manson already explained,” Mr Lancer said. “You can speak to me after class if there’s anything you need to catch up on that you missed in your absence.”

“Thanks Mr Lancer.” Danny kept his head down as he made his way over to his seat, which of course had to be practically in the middle of the classroom. He could feel almost every eye in the room boring into his head as he settled down and brought out his books and pencil case. Chatter erupted amongst the students, and Mr Lancer sighed in defeat, knowing that having a ghost hunting ghost as a classmate had not lost its novelty with all the news coverage.

“How’d it go?” Sam asked, leaning over from her seat, taking advantage of the sudden stop to the lesson.

“Fine, it was just the Box Ghost,” Danny dismissed.

“And Valerie was fine?” she hissed, barely over a whisper.

“Yeah, she seems fine with the whole Phantom thing,” Danny replied in a very slightly louder voice, if only so Sam could hear him (she didn’t have the luxury of super-hearing). “She was kinda shocked by the feeling of intangibility, but it’s not a big deal.”

Sam shivered involuntarily. “I can understand that,” she said, still wary of the ghost hunting girl but willing to put aside her hostility and protectiveness for now.

The lesson continued as per usual after Mr Lancer managed to get control of the class again with a cry of “The Adventures of Huck Finn” and continued with his lecture. They didn’t actually finish all the work from that lesson before lunch, but it was good going considering the circumstances.

Lunch was a whole other challenge for Team Phantom, and the trio chose to bag lunch it outside out of fear of being mobbed.

“Dead Teacher 2 is still the best,” Danny said, leaning against the tree they were sat under, mouth half full.

Sam quickly chastised him for talking with his mouth full, before arguing to the contrary, saying that the 1st movie was the best without a doubt.

“I’m with Danny,” Tucker contributed to the conversation, “the second movie was really where they perfected it. Oh, hey Valerie!”

“Hi,” greeted Valerie, walking towards the group, lunch bag clasped close to her body. “Is it okay if I sit with you?”

Sam and Tucker shuffled around to allow her into their circle, and she seated herself on the grass. “So, uh, what’re you guys talking about?”

“Which Dead Teacher movie’s the best,” Sam supplied. “These two think that the second’s the best, even though the first’s obviously better.”

“I haven’t watched the latest ones, but the first one is definitely better than the second.” Valerie opened her bag and fished out a sandwich.

“Betrayal!” Tucker exclaimed, mock fainting with his arm to his forehead.

Sam punched him lightly on his lowered arm, which prompted a cry from the boy. He rubbed his arm and shot her a playful glare, which she returned, complete with a grin.

Valerie observed their antics, somehow feeling like there was more of a sense of unity between her and the trio now that their secrets were out in the open.

“Oh, yeah, Val,” Danny said, sitting up straight. “How’d you like to join Team Phantom?”

“That’s your team name?” She raised an eyebrow and Danny just shrugged. “Sure, but that’ll take some explaining as to why I’m working with you.”

Danny waved off her concerns. “It’ll be fine. We can just say we talked if anyone asks.”

Valerie shook her head mockingly. “How the hell did you keep your secret for as long as you did?”

“We’re pretty sure it was just dumb luck,” interjected Tucker, “emphasis on dumb.”

“What was dumb luck?” an obnoxiously loud voice came from the direction of the school building, and Dash Baxter and his cronies approached them.

The trio tensed, ready for a confrontation, only for Dash to raise his hands in a sign of peace. He suddenly looked a lot smaller, nerves showing through his veneer of toughness.

“I’m sorry, for everything I’ve done to you. If I’d known I was bullying my hero…” Dash’s eyes remained fixed on the ground, inspecting the blades of grass with a pitiful expression, like they’d personally killed his family, which in Amity Park wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’d happened.

“We’re all sorry, dude. We couldn’t’ve known that you were-” one of the cronies was cut off by Danny.

“I forgive you, but you should bully anyone in the first place.” Danny folded his arms, looking at each of them in turn with a forced hard expression. It really looked odd on his baby face, but Dash and co seemed intimidated nonetheless.

They muttered between each other, before turning to face Danny again with guilty expressions. “We’ll try not to,” Dash said, and Danny unfolded his arms.

“Can you leave us alone?” Valerie demanded, not even trying to hide her hostility.

The bully gang exchanged glances before returning to the main building.

“I can’t believe you’d forgive them just like that. You know they only apologised because you’re Phantom, right?” Val scolded, and Danny looked like a wounded puppy at her words.

“I know, but I don’t want to be a douche,” Danny shrunk back from her.

Sam snorted. “What he’s trying to say is that he doesn’t hold grudges, even when he should, and forgives far to easily, like he’d trying to be some sort of paragon.” Danny scowled.

The rest of the day passed largely uneventfully, if you ignored the frequent whispers, nervous faces and admirers coming to apologise to Danny, thank him, or ask how he got superpowers - something that he declined to answer fully, leading to word quickly spreading that people should stop asking about that because it was rude to ask how a ghost died, which wasn’t entirely wrong, just not the whole reason for why it was a touchy subject for Danny.

All in all, it wasn’t half as bad as Danny had been expecting. It was actually somewhat anticlimactic in his opinion.

He sent a brief text, saying that he was going to talk to Mr Lancer because he missed some of the lesson, to his parents and knocked on the classroom door.

Mr Lancer answered the door, smiling at the halfa. “Daniel. Can I help you?”

Danny shuffled his feet. “Uh, I kinda wanted to catch up on the stuff I missed at the start of your lesson. Why did Arthur Conan Doyle have a recap at the start of the chapter?”

His teacher smiled, and invited him into the classroom, where Danny seated himself at the front of the empty classroom. “The Sherlock Holmes stories were initially serialized in magazines, each chapter in a different magazine, before they were compiled into complete books, so he would frequently recap the story for the sake of readers who may have forgotten the events of the previous chapters.”

Danny nodded, and took notes in his workbook.

“Is there anything else you wanted to ask?” Mr Lancer continued as Danny put his book back in his bag.

“No thanks,” Danny said, zipping up his bag. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all, Danny,” Mr Lancer replied. “How was your first day back at school?”

“A lot better than I expected. I think I’ll be fine here.”

“That’s certainly good to hear.”

Danny made for the door, only to stop when Lancer called out to him. “And remember, my door’s always open if you need to talk.”

“Thanks Mr Lancer.” Danny radiated a cool warmth from his beaming features. “Bye, see you tomorrow.”

#phic phight #phic phight 19 #danny phantom #my writing #i'm planning to do at least 1 more short fic and 1 really long one before the end of the phight

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peepingtoad · 5 years

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S O F U ! for the v day questions meme c:

( * VALENTINE’S DAY ALPHABET ! // @sageheir

S : SWEETHEART. did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

Ahahaha. So I’m gonna be predictable as hell here and say the Sannin just are childhood sweethearts.

Although he pretended it wasn’t the case until his teens, he was smitten with Tsunade on sight, always trying to impress her or get her attention in any way–even if it was negative attention in the end. It’s always questionable whether or not she reciprocated any feelings, but he definitely sees her as his childhood sweetheart either way… whether or not it’s technically the case? Who knows. But he does have this feeling that she was always attracted to him in a way, but that something else was just holding her back from acting on it.

As for Orochimaru, they were always spending time together after their initial rivalry turned more friendly. Jiraiya just… wasn’t aware of the significance, because Orochimaru’s a boy! He’s my best friend! But in reality, he was very protective of him after his parents passed, and had very little tolerance for their peers ostracising or looking at him unkindly because of his appearance. The fact he’s also loved Orochimaru all along doesn’t occur to him fully until much later, and even then there’s the problem of not knowing whether it was ever reciprocated.

Tragic Sannin nonsense aside, there’s a headcanon I have that when he was around 11, there was a civilian girl he started innocently dating, the daughter of a book shop owner. They were sweet on each other for a year or so, and more so for the fact her father absolutely forbade her from seeing ‘that troublemaker’ once he found out they’d been meeting up on the sly for ages. The tragedy and injustice of it made him pine for quite some time :’) and that was probably still a lot healthier than his confusing feelings about his teammates tbh.

O : ODE. does your muse have a way with words?

He definitely has a good way with words… but whether or not the effect is always favourable, is another thing. In more intense situations he can sometimes cut right to the bone on personal subjects without much forethought, which can land him in trouble (or just add further discomfort to an already personal conversation). He’s also pretty adept at finding out what gets people riled up and will say it with the full intent of provoking them in some way. If he wasn’t a nice person deep down, he could be pretty manipulative now that I think about it :’)

Having said that, for the most part he has an easy and casual manner of speaking that is always non-judgemental, and shows how open minded and relaxed he is. If he finds himself making a faux pas in some way, he’s pretty good at talking his way out of it. When it comes to flirtation and compliments… well, he’s just as flowery and over-the-top in speech as he is in writing.

Even so, when he’s very emotionally compromised, he can definitely find himself lost for words. That’s when he’s more of a speak-with-actions kinda guy.

F : FLIRT. is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

That… would probably depend on the recipient more than anything else, because he’s not very subtle or shy about it. There are a few routes he can take:

One: he shamelessly approaches and tells them they’re sexy or beautiful, and asks if he can get them a drink or take them out. Pretty straightforward; not often always appreciated, and he’s honestly not too bothered by the potential rejection anyway.

Two: he’ll find himself engaged in a long conversation with a person, and slip in some flirtatious quips the deeper it gets. He’s very much the type to ask lots of questions about the other person the more he’s sweetening up to them, and he’ll throw in subtle compliments as he does so. This is probably when he’s most successful tbh, thanks to the whole ‘way with words’ thing above.

Three: the knowledge that he writes That Romance Series will sometimes turn the conversation towards himself, so it’s at this point that he’ll wax poetic about his passion for writing, or tell many stories to make them laugh/make him appear as worldly and appealing as possible. Depending on the level of fangirl/boy he’s dealing with, sometimes he doesn’t have to try very hard.

Four: he’ll flash his cash and gravitate naturally towards the prettiest hostess :’) 100% success!

Of course, this applies more to potential one night stands. If he’s flirting with somebody he already knows and sees regularly… then things change, because he’s acting on more than just his dick. He’s still not likely to come across as shy exactly, but there’ll be more subtle gestures like him coming to see them at work or giving small gifts, being openly protective and throwing compliments about both their looks and their character. More than likely, he’ll ask outright if he’s barking up the wrong tree when it comes to confessing his romantic intent.

U : UNREQUITED. has your muse had their heart broken?

Yes–I’m not sure how many times, but I can guarantee it’s related to his teammates on almost every account.

The first time he really, truly confessed his love to Tsunade and was rejected was the first time he experienced real heartbreak. I headcanon that he was probably about sixteen at the time? Of course, he put on a cheerful face regardless, and would still casually flirt with her anyway because he really didn’t know how to give up as a younger man… but he was definitely hurting inside because he’d tried so hard to be serious about it, but while each rejection hurts he does believe himself to be a stronger and better person for it.

When it comes to Tsunade, I think he experienced it again strongly when he saw the sparks fly between her and Dan–I wrote about that exact thing {here} a long time ago! And I think after Dan came into the picture, that was when he switched off his advances towards Tsunade almost entirely–after his death, too, because there’s no way he would disrespect him or her like that. In any case, he wouldn’t make the first move with Tsunade ever again from that point… but he’d still feel heartbroken again when she left the Leaf for good.

So, onto Orochimaru. Jiraiya didn’t realise he could feel heartbroken about him, firstly because neither of them ever let themselves get that close, but also because he was always weird and mean. But Jiraiya accepted, and actually appreciated, him for all his oddities. The time Tsunade had to protect him from Orochimaru in the collapsing cave didn’t break him, even if it did hurt, because the situation was so high-pressure and he could understand the reasoning. But after the fight they had when Orochimaru defected, he was very much heartbroken by the intent to kill he saw in his friend–and he was particularly affected afterwards by the regret of never having shown how he really felt, to even know if he what he harboured was unrequited.

With Orochimaru especially, the situation is a constant heartbreak really, because their friendship ended on such bad terms.

#this got long-winded #because he's kinda difficult to describe romantically ugh #he has so many 'modes' :')#and so much fucking beef with THOSE TWO BITCHES #{memoirs(headcanons)}#{fanmail}#{long post}#sageheir #{pursuits | romance}#{headcanons | all things sannin}

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fordanoia · 6 years

Text

The Grunk Who Stole Summerween

Words: 1,700~ || CW: He’s a mean one || Merry Easter. Here’s my completely serious and all-inclusive Grinch AU primarily featuring Stan and Mabel.

In regards to THIS post from @a-million-chromatic-dreams pointing out the severe lack of a Grinch AU.

Every Townsperson Down in Gravity-Fallsville Liked Summerween a lot... But the Grunk, Who lived just north of Gravity-Fallsville, Did NOT! The Grunk hated Summerween! The whole Summerween season! Now, please don't ask why. I don’t want to come up with the reason.

Whatever the reason, he stood there on Summerween Eve, hating the townspeople.

“Listen to ‘em Gompers,” he said to his pet goat. “Carving their weird watermelons into jack-o-lanterns.” He gestured down to the town. “I can’t see it, but who even does that?!”

“Ba-a-a-a.” Gompers bleated in reply, chewing on a tin can.

“Right?!” Stan said back, vindicated. “It’s not even a squash. What’s next? Halloween in the Fall with Apple-o-lanterns? Ya can’t just make anything into a- oh, are ya kiddin’ me?” He said, spotting the young townspeople from afar scrambling up the mountainside to the makeshift shack. “I didn’t move this far away for visitors!”

He paused then. “Then again...” he said, “what better reason to punch a teenager in a face than them trespassing!” Stan realized. “I mean, it’s even completely legal! Probably!” With that, he turned inside to his house.

As the teenagers reached the door of his house, an extremely oversized boxing glove punched through the door, knocking the teens off of his step and down the hill.

The Grunk laughed, poking his head out the door. “See ya later, suckers!” He grinned. “Okay, you know what, Gompers - they wanna come bother me it’s only fair I go bother them. Let’s go.”

Meanwhile... down in the town was a little girl with her parents shopping, just so happened to be asking about the Grunkle atop the hill for her brother had decided to attempt going up there with the fellow teens without her parents’ knowledge.

“But why doesn’t he celebrate Summerween?” She asked, gesturing out. “It’s Halloween the Sequel! It’s great!!”

“Oh, sweetie,” her father said, “old people are just grumps like that sometimes.”

“But Old Man McGucket celebrates.” She pointed out.

Her parents only shrugged though, not giving much more reason to it.

Mabel frowned, thinking to herself as they went back out into the street. If an old man like Old Man McGucket could enjoy Summerween then why not the Grunk!

“It looks like someone needs a strong dose of Mabel to finally get into the Summerween spirit!” She proclaimed to herself, as her brother Dipper and the teens slowly rolled in a large snowball off behind her out of sight, a muffled group of screams in the distance.

With that Mabel set off.

It was at the market she spotted a figure near the watermelons in the back with a goat near him, and went in to investigate.

“Uh, are you writing ‘Happy Easter’ on those watermelons...?” She asked hesitantly.

The man jumped at the sound of her voice and turned, hastily pulling down a mask as he did so. “Uh... no. Pretty sure you just can’t read, kid.”

She began to point to different ones. “No, there’s one that says Happy Easter. That one says April Fools. Oh, cute!” She hopped up onto her tippy toes to grab one. “You drew a bunny on this one!”

“Those were like that when I got here.” The man said, crossing his arms, hiding the marker in his hand.

Mabel paused suspiciously. “Oh, huh. You forgot to give the bunny ears.” She said almost thoughtfully.

“Wait, what.” The man lifted the mask off his face to squint at the watermelon, revealing his face.

“I knew it!” Mabel shouted, pointing to him. “Old person face! You’re the Grunk!”

“Okay, okay.” The Grunk set the marker down and put his hands up placatingly. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions just y- Gompers, attack!!” He pointed to her suddenly.

The goat, bleated, charging to Mabel grabbing a mouthful of her sweater.

“Hey!” She tried to shake the goat off as it started tearing at the sweater. “You can’t eat this sweat-aH!” As she tried to shake the goat off, she upended herself into the large carton of melons, getting stuck.

“Hah!” The Grunk said, patting the goat on the head. “That’ll do goat, that’ll do.”

Mabel kicked her legs, twisting and trying to upend herself back out of the cart to no success.

“Now for me to walk away, completely without any consequences whatsoe-”

“Hey, you two there! What are you doing by the watermelons!” A shop employee far off yelled to them.

The Grunk looked over and gasped dramatically, pointing over the man’s shoulder. “The question is what are they doing to the boxes of cereal!”

The shop employee looked back over his shoulder, and The Grunk laughed, picking up Gompers and beginning to run while the man was distracted.

The goat jumped back out and bleated as it headbutted the crate where Mabel was trapped. If he left her behind she’d get in trouble. “Not my problem.” He said to Gompers, “come o- okay! Fine! Fine!” He pushed down on Gomper’s head as he made to ram at his knees.

“Come on, kid!” He said, pulling her out of the crate, “Time to scram!”

“Wait, really-” Mabel started, only to be interrupted.

“Wait a second!” The employee shouted, realizing he’d been tricked. “Stop right there!”

“Try and catch me, Jack!” Stan yelled back, before he ran off, carrying Mabel as Gompers ran off beside them. Once he’d gone out of the shop and down a street, he finally stopped, letting her down. “Ugh, my back.”

Mabel hopped up. “Wow, I didn’t think the Grunk could run like that.”

“You really are mouthy you know that.” He said. “And my name’s Stan, kid.”

“I’m Mabel.” She told him. “Hey! So, have you ever tried making a jack-o-melon with glitter? It’s pretty great.” Mabel encouraged, nudging his arm. “There’s no way you could get bored from a jack-o-melon like that!”

The Grunk grunted. “Oh, yeah, sure. Sounds real... great. I got a real busy schedule here though, so...” Then he flipped her hair over into her face.

Mabel sputtered as it got into her mouth, and pushed her hair away and back until she could see again. When she did though, the Grunke was already off like a shot.

“Hey!” She huffed, before chasing after him, but at the turn of the corner she couldn’t see him anymore.

Everyone always said the Grunk was a grump that didn’t care for the season or anybody, but... if that was the case then why’d he save her from the store employee. She bet he just needed a chance to really enjoy Summerween.

Mabel was going to give the Grunk the best Summerween of his life!

“Ah, a great day of ruining Summerween.” The Grunk sighed to himself, as he walked from the trash pile to his home with Gompers behind him. They’d ruined the watermelons, sabotaged all the Summerween signs, and even gotten stores to play Christmas music instead of the spooky classics!

“Now, it’s time to lay down and-”

“Hi!”

“Ahh!” The Grunk jumped, as he opened the door to a cheery and familiar little face. “Kid! What are you doing here?! Don’t you know not to break into other people’s houses?!”

“Yeah, I thought about that, but I asked my brother if this was technically a house or not and he said it wasn’t! I also didn’t have to break anything to get inside.” She pointed out.

“Look, kid-”

“It’s Mabel.”

He sighed. “Look,” he said, “I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m not buying your girl scout cookies or nothing.”

“You saved me from the grocery store law though, and I’m gonna make it up to you.” She said determinately. “By showing you how great Summerween is!!”

“No thanks. It’s a stupid holiday. We already have Halloween! What’s the point of Summerween?”

“Because it’s fun!”

The Grunk groaned. “I’ve had plenty of Summerween, I’m tired of it.” He made a face. “What? One time of year for free candy wasn’t enough for anyone?”

“You just haven’t had a good Summerween yet!” She pressed a flyer into his hands. “Bwop!”

He looked down to the flyer, which was already getting glitter on his hands, for a Summerween party. He scoffed. “A party, really?”

Mabel smiled, nodding her head. “It’s tomorrow night after trick or treating! Come down, and if I can’t show you how great Summerween is then I promise I’ll make sure nobody comes up to your shack for trick or treating again!”

He hesitated, with a crooked frown.

“There’ll be free food.” Mabel said sweetly, pleadingly looking to him.

“Ugh, okay fine. Fine, if it’ll get ya to leave me alone.”

“Yay! You won’t regret it, I promise!” She assured him before bouncing out the door. “And if you don’t come by I’ll just come up here and make sure you don’t miss the party!” She continued as she went further out the door.

Stan was already regretting this.

It wasn’t enough that everyone looked at him like it was such a big deal for him to show up, and there was all mutterings about The Grunk at the party. He bit out a “What are you looking at?” to a particular couple that were staring at him, causing most of the eyes to go off of him.

However, though, now this Mabel girl was dragging him to all sorts of things. Between making his own jack-o-melon and horror movies and candy.

She was incessant about showing him everything there was to the party, and getting him to even try some god-awful punch that was made from some Pitt cola and whole chunks of watermelon. He didn’t think it even qualified as punch.

Plus her cheesy jokes and how she kept smiling up at him so genuinely and- oh no, he was actually starting to like the kid now.

“Stan! Stan!” Mabel held up a few different movies to him, waving them in front of his face with a wide grin. “Pick a movie.” She started waving them to his face. “They’ve all got teenagers running away screaming in them.”

He had to smile at that. “They do, huh? Okay, fine - just one movie then. That one with the zombies, pumpkin.” He said, pointing at one of the covers.

“When I run out of candy though, I’m out of here, ya hear?” The Grunk told her, a whole mountain of candy still present on the table.

#no regrets #my fics #my own #4 #5 #crack #c: Stan #c: Mabel #long post

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tenroseforeverandever · 6 years

Text

Dear Father Christmas... Chapter 1: December 24, 2016

Cover art by the wonderful @rose--nebula!

MASTERPOST

Characters: Tentoo; Rose Tyler; Jackie Tyler; Pete Tyler; Tony Tyler; OC Hope Tyler-Noble; OC Charlotte Tyler-Noble; OC Wilfred Tyler-Noble

Rated: Teen

Tags: Family!Fic; Kid!Fic; Pete’s World; Letters to Santa; Christmas Fic; Family; Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Angst; Romance; Love

Summary: When Rose Tyler was little, she always wrote a Christmas wish list to Father Christmas. As she grew older, the wish list became more of a letter to someone she could confide in once a year, but she fell out of the habit somewhere along the way. Now, as a new mum, celebrating her daughter’s first Christmas, Rose takes up writing her Christmas letter to Father Christmas once again.

Rose’s Christmas letters are excerpts from her life with her beloved Tentoo and their children in Pete’s World, written once a year, for each of 31 years.

Notes:

Part of my These Two Hearts series

Written for prompts provided by @doctorroseprompts over on Tumblr for their 31 Days of Ficmas celebration. I’ve played with the order of the prompts a bit, but I intend to use them all.

This will be a huge challenge for me. For those of you who know me well, you’ll know I am not a fast writer. To post one of these every day for 31 days will be pushing me well and truly to my limits. They may not all get posted on time, but they will get posted. Promise.

My eternal thanks to my brilliant betas @rose--nebula and mrsbertucci for picking up on the things I miss and for chivvying me along. ((((hugs))))

The first prompt is Hope. Please enjoy.

Also read at: AO3; FF.net; Teaspoon

December 24th, 2016

Dear Father Christmas,

Blimey! It’s been a while. I don’t think I’ve written to you since… well since Jimmy. That bloody wanker sucked the magic out of everything. He sucked the magic right out of my life. But that’s all right. The Doctor gave me back the magic and then some.

Oh my God! I just realized! Maybe you don’t even know who I am. Is Father Christmas even the same bloke in all universes? Are you a transdimensional entity? I reckon not, or else transdimensional travel would be possible, and we know for a fact it’s not, not any more.

I know I’m just being stupid. Transdimensional capabilities or not, you’re obviously just a fictional character, a product of children’s imaginations and a bloated, economy-driven society. Still, I bet the Doctor would disagree. He’d probably tell me Santa is an actual being from some planet with an unpronounceable name. Complete with elves too! I wager he’d say “lots of planets have a North Pole”. But most of his knowledge is based on the Prime Universe… for now. So even if you are real there, you may not be the same in this universe, or you may not exist at all.

Don’t suppose it matters anyway, yeah? It was just always nice to chat with you like this every year, so I guess I’ll start again. I missed this. Back in the Prime Universe, Mum got me started writing to you every Christmas Eve, even when I was just a baby. Those first notes were just a few pencil scratches. Complete rubbish. She loved them, anyway. She kept them safe for years, would bring them out every Christmas and show them around along with the naked baby photos, (especially if I had been a cow to her or we’d had a row.) But she had to leave them all behind in the Prime Universe with so much else from our lives. Embarrassing as they were, it would’ve been nice to be able to, well… Enough of that!

By the time I was four, I knew all my letters. I was so determined to do it myself, write my own Christmas wish list. Mostly it was just all the things I wanted for Christmas. But I always minded my manners. I said please and thank-you. I always asked after Mrs. Claus and the reindeer. And, I hope I was never greedy. Sorry if I was, even if you aren’t actually the right Father Christmas to apologize to.

As I got older, I realized you weren’t real (sorry!) and my letters to you became more of a diary. You know… private stuff I’d write every year, yeah. It was nice to be able to say things, to tell someone things I couldn’t say to anyone else. Course, I stopped for a while, because Jimmy… I’d never want him to find those letters and have that to hold over me. Anyway, it’s not like I’d ever had the chance to write them, working two, sometimes three jobs, just to keep that knob in fags and drink. And after a while, I just got out of the habit, and life took some good turns… and some bad turns. Then some really bad turns.

But now, life is completely brilliant! I have my Doctor by my side... forever! I have my own baby girl. (Hope’s her name and she’ll be writing you a note too this year!) And, to top it off, I’m actually dictating these letters now. Voice recognition software! The Doctor jiggery-pokeried it so when it’s printed it uses my handwriting as the font.

I’m rambling, aren’t I? Guess I’m just a bit nervous (and excited) about doing this again and getting Hope started too.

I think you’ll like Hope. But I’m warning you, I don’t think she’s quite like other babies. Well, I know she isn’t. She’s her father’s daughter, that’s for sure. Nine months old, and she’s already talking up a storm. Full sentences! Just watch, she’ll be able to use this voice recognition software… Course, I don’t know what her handwriting font will look like, ‘cause she’s pretty much like a normal baby in her gross and fine motor development, so no handwriting just yet. Her verbal and cognitive development, though… the doctors at Torchwood say it’s off the charts.

It scares me if I’m being honest. I don’t know how I can ever be a mum to her… a proper mum. Thank God I have the Doctor by my side to keep her entertained, because she takes in absolutely everything and it’s never enough. But he “gets” her. He knows how to keep her happy. We take her on adventures (safe ones, don’t worry!) all through space and time. And we explore. Oh, we explore so much!

But it’s so different from the way I explored as a kid, ya know? Here’s an example. We go to a beach, yeah, with rock pools and lovely sand too, and the water is so warm and wavy. Now me, as a kid, I’d splash in the waves and muck about in the sand with my pail and spade. And at the rock pool, I’d poke at a few beasties and squeal about them. It was all just in fun. But with Hope, everything is so intense. She investigates everything, and her Daddy is right there with her, coaxing her to connect the dots herself, filling in the bits she’s missed. The starfish (sorry, sea star − I must use proper terminology!) was carefully examined, all its little bits explored and then thoroughly researched back at the TARDIS, and not just the names of the bits, but the hows and whys of them too.

And then the Doctor reads to her… not baby books, but Harry Potter and Narnia and Oliver Twist. She’s even sounding out some parts herself. He’ll break out the sciencey stuff, the physics and chemistry and biology, and the maths too, when it has something to do with what happened on our adventure that day. And she hangs on every word. I don’t know if she understands everything he reads her, but she sure understands a lot of it.

She’s just so tiny, just an infant, but her mind is so big. Definitely bigger on the inside, our child is! I love her like I never thought I could love anyone, but I’m so frightened that… that… well, that she won’t love me, a stupid ape. How can I be a proper mum to her when she already knows more about bloody sea stars than I ever will?

Then there are those times when I hold her in my arms and feed her at my breast, when I snuggle her to sleep, and I breathe in her sweet baby smell. It’s almost normal. Sometimes I can even get her giggling, completely out of control, over the most simple things, like peek-a-boo. And when she bumps her head, her arms immediately come up for me to hold her and kiss it better. Me! That makes me feel like a proper mum.

You should have seen her when we were putting up the Christmas tree this afternoon. Her fat little fingers were grabbing for all those bright shiny baubles, and her eyes were so wide and she didn’t know where to look first because it was all so pretty. And then Daddy came prancing down the stairs from the console room wearing a big red light-up nose and huge felt antlers on his head, and we were all in hysterics. I really felt like part of the family, and I kind of realized I don’t always feel that way.

It’s made me think, though, going forward, I really need to make a place for her in my life as she grows. I always used to love to paint and draw. Once upon a time, I was even going to go for my A-levels in art. Before Jimmy. I’d like to take that up again, and I could teach her too, eventually, when she can actually hold a brush. Maybe we could do that together. And singing and dancing, not to mention gymnastics when she’s old enough.

Blimey! This has been one weird Christmas letter, yeah? And I haven’t even asked for any presents. I honestly just want my family to be healthy and happy, and I want to be able to be a proper mum to Hope. Not really stuff you can just hide under the tree.

Oh! Here comes Hopie now, in her Daddy’s arms, all fresh from her bath. Hey there, baby girl! Are you ready to write your letter to Father Christmas? C’mere, sit on Mummy’s lap and maybe Daddy will make us a cuppa. (Thanks, love!) And, my darling girl, as soon as you’re finished with your letter, we better head right over to see Gran and Grandad and Uncle Tony. There’ll be hell to pay if we’re late! (I hear you moaning, Doctor!)

Okay, Father Christmas, here’s me, signing off for this year. Lots of love to Mrs. Claus and all the reindeer and elves too! Thanks for listening to me whinge. It really helped to get it off my chest. I know, I know! I need to tell the Doctor how I’ve been feeling, but I don’t want him going and feeling guilty just because he’s being a bloody amazing dad. But I’ll talk to him; I promise.

Happy Christmas!

love, Rose

#doctorroseprompts #31 days of ficmas 2017 #kid fic #family fic #tentoo x rose #ficandchips #pete's world #letters to santa #christmas fic #fluff #angst #love #hurt/comfort #tenroseforeverandever's fic

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shimmershae · 7 years

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Enough. Rated M. (a Walking Dead One Shot, Caryl. With some hints of Andrea/Michonne and unrequited Milton/Andrea).

I don't even know with this, lol. Apparently, my brain works in mysterious ways when it's all sleep deprived and hyped up on dark chocolate.

This is quite possibly the weirdest and smuttiest thing I've ever posted, hahaha. I hope you enjoy.

Post Season 3/Early Season 4 AU/Canon Divergence. What if Merle's ambush of the Governor had worked and he killed him? With Michonne's help? How would that have changed life at the Prison and the Woodbury community?

Shae's attempt at course correction.

Andrea lives and things get even more complicated. Milton pines. Merle takes the grudging respect he's earned and ingratiates himself within the Prison community. And Carol and Daryl? They're growing into feelings that have been there all along.

“Just want you, Sweetheart. Anything else, well. Don’t need it. It’s a fucked up world we livin’ in. Got enough right here."

Family, Humor, Dixon Potty Mouth, a touch of Angst, and some (hopefully sweet and sexy) Smut.

“Better have a good reason for wakin’ me up at the ass-crack of dawn,” Daryl muttered tiredly, not even bothering to crack an eye open when he heard the heavy fall of boots pause just outside of his cell. He was bone tired, drug down and weary, and he hadn’t even bothered to shuck his vest when he’d stumbled up the stairs the night before. He’d just let his crossbow slide from his battered shoulder and collapsed face first into the pitiful excuse for a mattress, not even caring in the slightest that the stench of pig shit still clung stubbornly to the threadbare rags he called clothes. He fucking hated pigs, the distant promise of bacon or not, and he and Rick were overdue a little talk. It wasn’t the former cop’s shadow darkening his door, though. The man’s sanity might have taken a lasting hit with the loss of his wife, but even he had enough sense not to disturb Daryl’s hard-earned rest unless it was an emergency, and they hadn’t had all that many of those since that one-eyed Woodbury bastard’s bloody demise. No. There were two people left in this sideways world brave enough to risk threatened dismemberment when he was this dead beat and ornery, and he was reasonably sure it wasn’t Carol—there’d been more than one reason she’d earned the nickname Mouse from his brother. His dumbass, horn dog, dick of a brother who chose that moment to rattle his blade across the bars of Daryl’s cell and whistle at him through his crooked, nicotine-stained teeth, ending his chances of drifting back to any semblance of sleep. “Dammit, Merle. I’m tellin’ ya…”

“Rise and shine, Baby Brother,” Merle cut him off. “Someone’s at the door.”

~*~

“Whatsa matter, Miltie?” Merle asked as he pulled up a chair and straddled it, peering into the other man’s ashen, sweaty face while running the tip of his blade beneath his frayed sleeve. “Thought you had lots of experience with this sort of thing, bein’ a scientist and all. Hell. Didn’t they used to be a show on that Discovery Channel ‘bout birthin’ babies? Didn’t look all that complicated to me.”

“Cut it out, Merle,” Daryl warned with a scowl, his steps still a little sluggish as he paced the perimeter of the reclaimed Prison library. He’d hoped the quiet solitude of the place and its relative distance from the infirmary where Maggie and Carol had hurriedly ushered Andrea would calm the man’s obvious nerves, but in the usual manner of things, his brother had butted in where he wasn’t invited, and well. Mamet looked like he was up to his ass in alligators. Or maybe facing execution at the clawing hands and snapping jaws of a hungry army of dead fucks. Neither proposition was appealing and Daryl went against his natural inclination. “Know she’ll be alright, right? S’got Maggie and Carol. Hershel and Bob with her.”

The pale man snapped out of his worried stupor long enough to frown. “Who’s Bob?”

~*~

Beth sought them out mid-afternoon, Judith bouncing in her skinny arms. Her blue eyes were earnest when she updated them on how Andrea was doing. “Daddy says she’s in the final stages of it now. Shouldn’t be too much longer ‘til the baby’s here.”

An obnoxious, shit-eating grin stretched Merle’s blunt features wide and he slapped both hands against the table in front of him. “Hear that, Bill Nye?”

Mamet merely nodded and took a deep breath.

He looked less like a concerned friend and confidante in that moment and even more like a scared-shitless expectant daddy-to-be, and Daryl suppressed a groan because he was observant and he weren’t no fool, having spent the last several months growing into a friendship with Michonne. In this new world, labels didn’t mean shit—not that he figured ‘Chonne had come up with one that reflected all that their ball-bustin’ former companion meant to her. And that was before Andrea fucked around with that sociopathic sonuvabitch and thrown her for a loop, created a rift between them that they still hadn’t breached completely. “S’good,” he finally said, pulling a hand down over his face. His nostrils flared and he grimaced, remembering belatedly to thank the shy teen for her shared news. “Appreciate it, Beth.”

“Welcome,” she smiled, hitching Judith higher on her hip and turning heel. “And Daryl,” she called, her blond ponytail bobbing as she peeked back around the door. “Zach said he’d cover your watch shift. Said he don’t mind at all.”

Daryl nodded. “Owe him one.”

~*~

Bored with blowing smoke up Mamet’s ass, Merle had finally wandered off and left the two of them alone. Probably he was going to pester some of the kids that’d joined their growing ranks in the last several months. Hopefully, he was going to steer well enough away from Glenn, tentative truce or not since his and Michonne’s impulsive but ultimately successful ambush of the Governor.

On the one hand, Daryl was relieved. But on the other, he weren’t much for conversation, least not anymore and not with virtual strangers. Former association with the Governor aside, though, the scientist seemed like decent people, and Daryl supposed he should make the effort. “Why?”

Mamet appeared taken aback by the simple question, his only immediate response a frown.

“Why come here?” Daryl elaborated. “Had a nurse in Woodbury. A real doctor even.”

“She needed her family,” the man answered simply. “It’s been difficult for her. The pregnancy. Assuming the mantle of leadership. She needed her family and who am I to deny her that?”

Daryl took a moment to digest the given information and stood back up, his fingers fidgeting for a cigarette that wasn’t there. “You’re a good friend.”

“Yeah,” Mamet sighed in resignation, standing up and starting to pace himself. “A good friend.” A few trips up and down the library’s aisles and he stopped dead in his tracks, his brow furrowed with concern. “Shouldn’t we have heard something by now?”

“How’s ‘bout we go find out for ourselves?” Daryl offered.

~*~

Andrea’s son was born with the setting of the sun. He was loud and had a lot to say about the matter and damn near everybody behind the Prison’s walls knew about it, too.

“Kid’s got Blondie’s mouth,” Merle drawled, not without a little bit of fondness. Producing a flask from his pocket, he held it out to the man sitting across from him. “Careful,” he warned. “Want to drink it down fast. Stuff there’ll singe the hair off a wild boar’s balls.”

Mamet gulped it down fast, coughing and sputtering right on cue and looking a little green.

“The hell, Merle. Man ain’t eat a bite all day,” Daryl barked, confiscating the flask from the overwhelmed man’s hands before he could down another shot of the stuff. Taking an experimental sniff, he swore. “Fuck is that?”

“Home brew, Baby Brother.” Merle grinned. “Ole Merle’s secret recipe. Mouse likes it. Makes ‘er all giggly.”

Daryl’s eyebrows disappeared in his shaggy hairline before he recovered his wits about him and the glare on his face was murderous as he growled out a single word in warning. “Merle.” Thankfully, reason intervened in the form of Maggie and he backed down, his anger deflated.

“Mr. Mamet? She’s asking for you.”

~*~

Staring down at the red-faced newborn ‘Chonne held in the cradle of her arms, Daryl was hit with a revelation that wasn’t such a revelation at all: DNA wasn’t worth a hill of beans. Yeah, maybe if he squinted a little he could see the Governor’s chin and dark peach fuzz covered the kid’s funny shaped head. But he snuggled all soft and innocent into the kisses gifted to him from the old man’s girls and he held on tight to Carl’s little finger, and shit. This family of choice and circumstance was going to be the difference. Of course, his brother chose that moment to interject his own two cents.

“Hate to break it to you, Sugar Tits,” Merle announced loudly from where he lurked in the open doorway, “but he don’t look nothin’ like the Nubian Queen.”

‘Chonne just rolled her eyes but Andrea did something surprising. She laughed softly and invited him inside. Looking over at the quiet man that stood by her side, she grabbed his hand and gave it a tired squeeze, teased, “What do you think, Milton? Does he have your eyes?”

“No,” Milton pronounced seriously. “He’s got yours.”

~*~

The showers were deserted by the time Daryl finally made it to them, lit only by the high moon’s light. Resting his bundle of clean clothes on a nearby bench, he stripped bare, peeling the layers of the last couple days away and stepping into the curtained stall. Lukewarm water sputtered from the wide spout, but after all those long winter months on the road, it still felt like a luxury and he dipped his head beneath the stream, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the day. He didn’t even open his eyes when he heard the soft pad of footsteps or felt her slender arms wrap around his waist from behind.

“Mmm.” Carol removed her lips from his damp shoulder to wrinkle her nose. “You smell.”

He grunted out a laugh and tugged her arms tight around him again, relishing the soft press of her breasts against his skin. “Really? No shit.”

Lifting on tiptoe, she nipped playfully at the tendons in his neck in retaliation, her fingertips skating around his navel before dropping below his narrow waist. She smirked when she held the silky steel length of him in her hand and he shuddered in response.

A guttural groan tumbled from his open mouth as she started to work him over with slow, steady strokes, and he braced his weight against the shower stall, widening his stance unconsciously. “Careful, Sweetheart.”

“Hmm?” she murmured, swiping her thumb across the sensitive head of his cock and dropping one kiss, then two and a third to the base of his neck.

“Got a hair trigger tonight,” he warned as her slippery skin pressed even more firmly into his own.

“Just tonight, Pookie?” she teased with another kiss, this one to the round of his shoulder.

“Stop,” he grumbled.

“If you really want me to,” she said and her grip loosened until he sighed and covered her hand with his own.

“Gonna make it up to ya,” he vowed.

Her lips tickling over his spine, she smiled. “I’m counting on it.”

~*~

Squeezed in tight together in her bunk, beneath the blankets and the cover of a midnight sky, between the cradle of her warm thighs, Daryl rose above her. Over and over, he surged forward and pressed deep, deeper and deeper until her blue eyes melted into black and fire licked at the freckles on her collarbone.

Carol’s mouth parted on silent moan after silent moan, mindful of the sleepy murmurs of night and the Prison all around them. Her nails scored his back and her heels dug into the clenched muscles of his ass. She couldn’t help but let out a whimper when he dropped his forehead to her own briefly before finding her throat and sucking the tender skin into his mouth. She shuddered when his whisper reached her ear.

“Gonna have to be quiet, Sweetheart.” He nipped at her chin with his teeth before swallowing her soft cries with his kiss, just as slow and sweet and intent as his thrusts were, and when she started to whine and sweep her restless hands through his damp hair, he gathered her close and sat up, loving the way she felt in his lap. She was wet and warm and a little bit wild from how worked up he’d gotten her, her hips rolling restlessly and her hard little nipples dragging across his chest with every movement.

“Can’t.” Her breath caught and released in a helpless gasp as he pushed up into her, one hand bracing himself against her thin mattress and the other gliding low over the small of her sweaty back. “Daryl, I can’t.”

“Shh,” he murmured into her open mouth. “You can. Know you can.” He nuzzled her brow, feathered his lips over the softness of her silver hair as he felt his own whine start to build in the back of his throat. She was so tight, so goddamn tight, and fuck. He saw the pinprick shine of stars as she squeezed around his dick and took him deeper, her legs starting to shake as her knees dug into the mattress. A string of quiet, desperate curses tore from his throat. “Tell me what you need, Woman. Fuck, Carol. Tell me.” His hand slid over her ass, his thumb teasing briefly at the puckered skin between her cheeks, before she grabbed it in her own and guided it to that sweet spot between her legs and she was like a live wire in his arms when he slicked his fingers with her wetness and drug them deliberately across her little bud. Then she was coming all around him in a flood of pulsating, milking warmth, her mouth pressed against the curve of his neck in a silent scream and her heart beating violently against his chest and he followed right behind her, collapsing to the mattress below when his arm wouldn’t support their weight any longer. Gasping and panting for breath, he cupped her head in his shaky hand and pulled her into him for a sloppy, heartfelt kiss. “Fuckin’ love ya.”

When it was over, she looked down at him with glittering, tearful eyes, her pretty bruised mouth parted and ready to respond to him when a familiar voice tiredly but gleefully rang out in the night.

“Daryl loves Carol!” Then, a little quieter, “Not like we didn’t know that already, Man.”

“Glenn,” Maggie could be heard hissing at her husband. She followed up with an apology. “Sorry. He’s sorry, Carol.”

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Brother.”

Rick’s voice held a note of wry embarrassment, and Daryl felt steam start to waft from his fiery cheeks. Of course, Merle couldn’t resist joining the peanut gallery.

“That’s my fuckin’ Baby Brother,” he crowed proudly. “Boy’s all Dixon.”

“Not that I don’t think congratulations are in order,” Hershel’s wizened, molasses-drenched voice intoned, “but could we please keep in mind that there are children present?”

“Yeah.”

Carl sounded disgusted, and Carol hid her own burning cheeks in the juncture of his neck.

“I’m so happy for you, Carol,” Beth sweetly conveyed her congratulations.

Finally, exhausted and embarrassed beyond all measure, Daryl had had enough. “For the love of…this ain’t the fuckin’ Waltons!” Carol shook against him with helpless laughter that the others echoed, and he dragged lazy fingers across her tailbone in retaliation. “Woman,” he warned. He promptly hushed, though, when she lay two fingers across his scowling mouth and gazed down at him with blue eyes that were all soft and shiny.

“I loved you first,” she smiled.

“Pfft,” he scoffed. “So sure ‘bout that?”

“I know you.”

~*~

The next morning, Daryl watched her from the infirmary doorway as she finished pinning the baby’s diaper and scooped the little boy up, snuggling him close. She peppered his pudgy pink cheeks with kisses as she hummed and swayed in place, and the sweet sight had his throat closing up and his heart beating a bruising rhythm against his ribs. “Look good. Holdin’ him.” The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back, and he felt warmth creep up his neck when she whirled around to face him, a careful smile on her face.

“Do you want to…” She trailed off meaningfully, her feet carrying her to where he stood. She didn’t give him time enough to answer her unasked question, just stepped in close, toe to toe with him until the newborn was a warm, sighing weight pressed between them.

His arms curled around the little body of their own accord, and a pair of unfocused blue eyes blinked up at him before drifting shut again. An unconscious smile tugged at his lips when the boy’s small rosebud mouth opened in a yawn, and he looked up when he felt her eyes on him. “What?”

Carol ducked her head and shook it, her fingers fiddling nervously with the fuzzy green socks that swallowed up the baby’s wiggling feet. “Nothing.”

Daryl knew better and his rough hand was gentle on her elbow, then on her wavering chin. “Hey. Know it’s something.” Her protests were soft, but it didn’t take her long to open up about what was bothering her, and he kissed her hair when she wrapped her arms around him and Andrea’s infant son.

“You look good. Holding him. I can’t help wondering…” Changing track, she apologized to him in strangled whispers, her tears soaking into the worn fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry. I just…I don’t know what’s come over me. It’s just…”

“He reminds you how much you miss ‘Phia,” Daryl finished for her.

“That,” Carol admitted with a nod. “It’s not just him. It’s Judith, too. Daryl, don’t you…” Breaking off again, she forced the rest of her thoughts and fears to the surface. “I want that for you. A baby of your own. And I don’t even know if I could…I don’t even know if I would want to after what happened. But I want you to have the chance, if you want it.”

“Just want you, Sweetheart. Anything else, well. Don’t need it. It’s a fucked up world we livin’ in. Got enough right here,” he told her. It was the absolute truth. Still. Dropping another kiss to her hair, he leaned back and looked into her eyes. “Be a lie to say I hate the idea, but you? You’re all I need. Love’s what makes a family. Bein’ there.”

“Daryl Dixon, you softie.”

“Stop.”

“You really think so?”

“Know it. Now what you say we get this little man back to his mama?” He transferred the little boy back into her arms and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.

She paused in tucking the blanket around the baby’s tiny shoulders and narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he shrugged. “Fine,” he relented when her gaze remained fixed. “Don’t mean we can’t steal him sometimes.”

Carol’s lips twitched with the makings of a smile of her own. “He is pretty cute, but I think you’re going to have to go through Michonne and Mr. Mamet first.”

“’Chonne’s easy. Milton, well. Feel sorry for the poor bastard.”

“Daryl!”

“What? Do.”

#The Walking Dead #Caryl fanfiction #Caryl smut #Carol x Daryl #hints of Michonne/Andrea #unrequited Milton/Andrea #Prison fic #stuff that I write #things that make me smile and cry #and want to hide beneath the nearest rock #what even is this?#LOL

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meditationsinausterity · 6 years

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Self Care on a Shoestring: Hair

Let's talk hair. It is no secret to those who know me, or hell, even just follow me on Instagram, that my hair is essentially my pride and joy. I am at my happiest when washing and brushing my hair; I find the ritual of it relaxing and when I'm at my most low, sometimes even doing this can be enough to change my mindset and make me feel more motivated and like getting on with things and being part of the real world.

I grew up absolutely hating the naturally curly texture of my hair; I flat ironed the crap out of it from the age of about fifteen to, ooh, about 20. I cut it into a blunt fringed lego bob, and I dyed it black for almost all of my teens. Blame the goth phase, followed by the electroclash/bloghouse phase. Think all black lace slowly morphing into metallic American Apparel spandex and charity shop handbags. I should cringe at my younger wardrobe, but actually I looked pretty on point, especially as the Big Girl in my group of mates. The only thing I cringe about is the hour of my life I lost on the regular GHDing my way to split ends and a fringe that never quite lay flat, not to mention the endless tenners spent on box dye with stupid names, and the endless damage to perfectly innocent bath towels. Don't even get me started on the roots. The absolute state of the roots.

I did also go through a redheaded phase after my masters, when I found grey hairs and panicked that my life of village pub employment and being in a serious relationship with a primary school teacher were making me boring, so I reached for the box dye. I moved to London a redhead, and stayed that way until my late twenties, but by that point I'd embraced my natural curl and texture. The redhead phase meant I commanded attention immediately, which naturally I loved, and my natural pallor meant I pulled it off. I took it so light I almost touched blonde at one point. But again: age, laziness, and self acceptance kicked in, and I started growing it out around about the time I could get away with it looking like an intentional ombre job. The last vestiges of the red disappeared when I worked at the Blues Kitchen in Camden; our Halloween fancy dress theme was the 27 club, and I bandaged my tits with the top of a pair of nude tights, lopped my hair off at the shoulder, and shirtlessly bartended as Jim Morrison. Great night for tips, that one.

Since then I've done nothing to my hair, dye, or styling wise. I have some greys, but I let it airdry into its natural curl, and let the colour change with the sunlight. I don't need the alert of that flash of red anymore, being confident enough to command whatever attention I need by myself, and I decided a long time ago that my time could be better spent than swearing at a mirror and burning my ears while attempting to defy nature. I think the initial decision was made to extend drinking time, now I just want more time in bed or to cook./ In some respects, My hair regime is incredibly low maintenance as a result, but in the washing, and inevitable wet brushing that comes with my hair type, there is a certain element of ritual and technique, that is both beneficial and incredibly relaxing. And specialist curly hair products can be pricey, so I thought I'd delineate how I manage to keep my hair in good nick while spending basically fuck all. Let's do this:

(My hair in it's full natural textured glory at the beach - I do let it get maybe a little too long in the summer but this is proof if it be needed that there's no need to mess with nature)

Cut

I have had some amazing hairdressers in the past. My favourite was Rosie, at Brooks and Brooks in Holborn, who used to cut my hair, ostensibly as a freebie (I tipped majorly though, I value skill, and think it should be rewarded) and do a bang up job of getting the bounce into my curls. Sadly, I no longer live in London, nor do I earn London bank these days. Also sadly, I do not trust most hairdressers with my curls, because most of them do not know enough about the hair type to do anything beyond butcher it. So I cut my own hair. I wear it long, in long, loose layers, and the curly wavy texture means a less-than-perfect line is pretty well forgiven when all's said and done. I have a pair of hair scissors I've owned for about five years, bought from Sally's Beauty Supply, sharpened regularly on a steel I use for kitchen knives, and used for Nothing Else, Ever.

My cutting technique is ridiculously simple. I wash and brush my hair, then turn my head upside down and brush my hair straight. all I do is cut along the bottom in a straight line, then hold the scissors vertically and chop a little bit into the line to thin out the ends (probably about a half centimetre). I always cut at least an inch less than I need to, because I know as my hair dries the curls will bounce up, unlike a lot of hairdressers I have had in my life. I aim to do this about every six weeks, but I'll confess in summer I get lax, because I want long mermaid hair, and always regret it come about September, when I have to cut off 2 1/2 inches or so in order to get rid of the sun-damaged, ratty ends due to my neglect and love of sunbathing. I will learn, next year, I promise (every year).

My hair thus stays as tame and breakage free as it's going to get. I'm fortunate in that I'm happy with the natural texture of my hair and therefore don't need a complicated cut. I do follow fashion, and am interested in style, but I don't slave to trends, and my long hair has become something of a calling card,but I'd recommend this as an easy money-saving maintenance trick for pretty much anyone who has any natural texture to their hair. It looks better, at any rate, than wispy, crazy lady ends.

(They can't all be winners - if I don't use enough oil on my hair in summer the humidity makes it go pretty major)

Wash

You wouldn't think washing your hair would be anything other than simple, would you? I'll lend you mine for a week and we'll see how you go with that attitude, eh?

I can only brush my hair when it's wet or I literally ruin all my definition and look like Hermione Granger. But I can't wash it every day because it dries out so quickly. So I operate on an every other day basis, sometimes skipping a day if my schedule is a bit much, but if I leave it any longer than that, the brushing is a task in itself, so I try not to.

I don't choose my shampoo amazingly carefully. Basically whatever is on 3 for 2 and says 'dry', 'damaged', 'curly', that kind of thing. I'm currently using L'oreal extraordinary oil, and it's just fine. Most shampoos basically do the same job anyway. The key with shampooing is all in the technique. I only ever apply it to my scalp, as you eliminate overwashing and breakages that way. I do however lather for at least ten minutes; the reasons for this are manifold: one being that I read somewhere as a teenager that actually shampooing for an extended amount of time will actually allow the active ingredients in your shampoo to work, which just makes sense, no? The other reason is that it stimulates circulation to the scalp, keeping it healthy and promoting growth. Not to mention, it is really relaxing, and as somebody who is not good at mindfulness for it's own sake, really concentrating on using the pads of my fingers and thumbs on my scalp and breathing in the scent of my shampoo allows me some time in my day to just be. A more direct plus point to this is that it relieves the tension I very much carry in my temples from constantly grinding my jaw. I really wish I could learn my way out of that, but until then I'll compensate for it in my beauty regime.

A further note, is it's worth mentioning clarifying shampoo. I do love a clarifying shampoo, used at least once a month, to remove build up and restore bounce. Sadly it's only the pricier brands that seem to make them, so I mostly hack one by adding a couple of tablespoons of baking soda to my shampoo and massaging as usual. It does create a pleasant tingling sensation, and really removes any buildup from the roots of the hair, but can be drying, so is best used sparingly.

(I do actually literally zen out after my hair is freshly washed. It's not even fully dry in this picture.)

Condition

Conditioner, to the thick-haired, is the holy, holy,hail mary mother-of-holy grail of products. If somebody told me I could only have one beauty product for the rest of my life, I'd be clinging to my conditioner bottle before they'd even finished their sentence. My hair would structurally be NOTHING without it. I go through a bottle at three times the rate I do shampoo. This is where the exploitation of the great 3 for 2 comes in handy; you can stockpile products you know you are going to pace through. Almost every time I buy hair products there'll be at least two bottles of conditioner in my basket.

The technique is essentially the opposite of shampooing. Almost totally ignore the roots, concentrating on the ends and shafts. In my case, particularly the point at my crown that inevitably snarls due to my work topknot being a near-permanent fixture. Leave on for at least ten minutes, usually longer in my case as I crack on with leg shaving, exfoliating, and so on. The wash-out process should involve only gentle combing motions to remove tangled hair, of which, if your hair is only able to be brushed when wet, there will be a lot, as you naturally shed what you would when brushing. I probably don't rinse my conditioner out that thoroughly, because my hair is basically the equivalent of aubergine, in that it will soak up any oil you throw at it, indefinitely.

I'm an advocate of the cold-water rinse. Freezing cold, to seal the cuticles. You can tell me it's a myth if you like, but I have a friend called Joe who has the glossiest long hair I've ever seen in my life, and he swears by it, so I'm going with what I can see. I notice the difference in shine when I may be feeling delicate on a December morning and skip it. It's a good way to jolt yourself awake, especially if you've zenned yourself out with a head massage, and in that department I need literally every helping hand I can get. It costs literally fuck-all but the difference is noticeable.

(The ever-present work top-knot. It does actually cause almost all my tangle problems, but it's the only way I can keep it out of the way of everything for hygiene reasons at work)

Brush/Style

This is the mastery section. I have absolutely nailed brushing curly hair over the past thirty years. To the point where when I was staying with my friends at the beginning of this year, their little girl would seek me out to brush her incredibly cute curly blonde locks because I applied the Kirsty method, and used my magic products. And this was a girl who previously threw a hurricane-force tantrum at the sight of a hairbrush. No judgement from me; my earliest childhood memory is fighting back the tears at the futility of my mother snapping at me to keep my head still while she yanked at clumpy knots with a paddle brush.

You do need the right kit for this. I'll improvise with a hospital comb if needs be, but i'll suffer for it, and so will my hair, and let's not even talk about how fucking long it takes. I had a Tangle Teezer for ages, but lost it somewhere along my path in life. I would, previously, have sworn by it, and proffered no alternatives, but that was because I hadn't tried anything comparable , and it worked so well. I'd still say that for a tenner it's relatively good shout for curl maintenance when you break it down to cost-per-use, but I also have a mini WetBrush that I carry in my bag for dirty stopouts, and despite being smaller than my hand, it works a treat. Not to mention I recently replaced my Tangle Teezer with a clone from WIlkinson, that cost me under two quid and works just as well, is just as washable, and let me re-state, COST ME JUST UNDER TWO QUID.

Why all this faff over a brush? well, because tearing your hair is going to damage it and cause breakages. It's also going to cause a world of pain, and given how much of a meditative state I put myself into in the shower, the swearing, eye-watering, slap in the face that is attempting to tackle clumpy tangles with a rigid-bristle brush is entirely counterproductive. They do say you're supposed to use a wide toothed comb, but in my case, that would be like trying to rake Hyde Park with a fork. I rarely have that kind of time. I NEVER have that kind of patience.

Let's also take a minute to sing the praises of spray conditioner. I do tend to favour the Aussie hair care one, a pioneer in it's genre, and therefore readily available (much like the early craft brewers' wares these days), but I will use whatever's to hand, and cheap. I section my hair, starting to brush at the ends and working my way up. If I encounter a particularly large knot i'll gently brush it from the bottom and work up, too. Starting at the root and dragging it through the knot will be painful, rip out a load of hair, and probably not actually be any faster. It does take time, but I usually use it as an opportunity to put on music that's been in my head over a few days and sing along while I work. Because I'm cool. Once all the tangles have been worked out, a good brush from root to tip all over is pretty fundamental to catch any missed bits, and work over the scalp once again.

To finish, I apply a cream product. Anything that says for curly, dry, or damaged hair will do. I'm currently using L'oreal's Extraordinary Oil-In-Cream, but I've previously had success with a lot of other brands, Frizz ease and Schwarzkopf,and Toni and Guy are some relatively affordable 3-for-2 stalwarts that spring to mind. Just look for something that doesn't specify it's for heat styling, and prioritise looking for curly hair products. I section my hair and apply it from maybe just above the ears downwards, then use the leftover product on my palms and hands to gloss over the surface from the roots down.

I also always apply an oil product to the ends of my hair, to stop splits, and again, I'm not brand loyal, currently using L'oreal extraordinary oil, but I've used everything, from Argan oil from the 99p shop, to a bulk bottle of jojoba oil, to my beloved coconut oil. As the driest part of my hair, especially in not weather, the ends tend to benefit from a little extra TLC. Not to mention that this kind of treatment prolongs the lifespan between cuts. I section my hair into roughly four parts then apply to the ends, from about three/four inches up.

Then let it air dry. Simple.

(I literally do take pictures if I have a good hair day. I have literally always been about gratitude for the little things in this life)

Additional notes

The multiple uses of hair oil

So I've mentioned hair oil in passing. it is the most versatile product ever. I use it to massage my scalp before a shower sometimes if I'm feeling particularly tense, or if my scalp is dry. I chuck a shot into my conditioner occasionally if my hair is feeling particularly dull and rough. I apply it to my dry hair to minimize frizz. I used to use all manner of serums and whatnot, but when one product does so much, I cease to see the point of buying so many single-purpose products. If you're using a natural oil like jojoba or coconut, you can also use it on your skin, and your cuticles and lips as well, so for versatility, oil really does cut it.

Masks

I do love a hair mask, and I am not massively brand-loyal. At the moment the one I'm really digging is for Afro-Carribean hair, and is by Free Your Mane. It's a curl enhancer, and I use it maybe every two weeks. I tend to either use masks that I'm given as samples, have snagged as part of a 3-for-2, or bought on the cheap at Sally's. I wouldn't say Masks are a vital part of proceedings, but my hair will literally take any oil thrown at it, so the extra moisture shot is amazing, and taking the time to do one makes me feel like i'm looking after myself, so if I have one in the cupboard it counts as a freebie.

Finally, a little slutty trick

Spray a bit of your perfume on the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck. This place naturally gets warm so the fragrance will rise everytime you move, plus if you play with your hair as much as I do, the scent will naturally release when you're flirting. Thank me later.

#meditations in austerity #haircare #self care #self care on a shoestring #budget haircare #curly hair #curly hair maintenance #beauty #beauty realtalks #personal blog

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mightbedamian · 7 years

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#TMIishTuesday #49 - Am I gay because of...

Hey, Announcement before we start: I've posted dozens of #TMIishTuesday's already - as you can tell by the number above. And I realised, pretty much all of them fall into two categories: - LGBTQ+ and - society/language. And I also think that these two topics are actually targeted at quite a different audience. So I thought, I'd try to organise this blog a little better so you know when to get here for your favorite topic. Here's how: This week, and every second Tuesday of the month from now on, I'll post on LGBTQ+ related topics. So, if you don't want to miss them, mark 14 March, 11 April, and 9 May in your agenda already. However, if you're here for language and society topics: Mark each last Tuesday of the month: 28 February, 28 March, and 25 April are what you should be looking for. The other two or three Tuesdays there'll be topics related to other things. However, if I just posted on languages and next day the Trumpet's government announces it was to prohibit the use of the English language anywhere in world but the U. S., I might slide in an extra language post as the next one. :D I hope this way you know what to expect a little better and know when it's really worth checking this page, if you're only interested in one topic. And now… Enjoy this month's LGBTQ+ related post: "Am I gay because of…?"

Hey there mighty people of the internet! And welcome to issue #49 of #TMIishTuesday - my weekly Tumblr post about what goes through my weird mind and what you guys want to know more about. It can be something very personal, it can be something political, it can be completely pointless - but in 99.9 % of the cases, it involves opinions. And mine as well. // Last week I told you about my favorite album at the moment: Troye Sivan's Blue Neighbourhood which was actually released more than a year ago. Here's why I find it so cool all of a sudden. // Following the rooster I mentioned in the foreword, this post is regarded as "LGBTQ+", but it certainly touches on other topics as well: Society, language, and more. And to be quite honest, I probably would have put it into the "society and language" category, if it wasn't that most LGBTQ+ topics in my list are based around sources on the internet, like articles of newspapers or magazines. But I have a spare hour at my parents at the moment - and their telephone and internet provider fails to execute its most crucial option: Provide telephone and internet. :D So… I'm tugging this topic in. This topic was actually inspired by questions asked on a German forum called "gutefrage.net" where you can get advice by other users on virtually any topic: Computer stuff, visa stuff, school problems, sexuality questions, and I'm convinced there'll be a section for make-up as well. If you google a question in German, chances are that one of the first hits will be a user of gutefrage.net asking your exact question, or a very similar one. That's also how I initially found the forum. And after I had read up on cooking skills - or whatever it was - I just clicked around a little more. And I came across the "gay" tag where people ask questions about their sexuality. And I was like: Maybe I could help some of those people. So I made an account - and every now and then, I'll browse the "gay" tag trying to help the people on there. As I expected, most of them are teens. And since I'm browsing the "gay" tag, most are male as well. And I found that some questions are quite amusing actually. Obviously there are those really deep-cutting problems with teens struggling with either their sexuality or coming out - who I happily help. But some… Man! People's minds can get so creative! I see SO many questions along the lines of: “I'm shy/dressing slightly different than others/young/old/have a smaller dick than others - does that make me gay?" I mean, I kinda get those people who ask questions like "I accidently touched a friend's dick. I think I'm gay now?". On the one hand, if you think about it, it's quite irrational. But on the other hand: If - like in most of Germany - students don't learn about the different sexualities at school until they are 14, 15 (if at all!), it's only natural that our internet-exposed 12- or 13-year-olds ask such questions. They just don't know. (And thanks to society and the use of "gay" as an insult, they are scared of being gay.) But let's get back to the totally strange questions that I find every other day on the forum. These just don't make any sense! Examples? Here you go:

1) "Is it gay when guys listen to Beyoncé songs?" Yeah, totally! Right? Music totally defines your sexuality! Right? If you're a guy and like a song that features a female singer, you're gay! The same goes for a girl who likes songs sung by guys! Oh, and if you like a duet featuring a guy and a girl, you're bi! Right? I don't have to elaborate on this one, do I?

2) "Am I gay just because I have a diamond tattoo behind my ear?" Yeah, totally! If you get a diamond tattooed that's so gay! You should have gotten a gold ingot instead! And why did you pick a spot behind your ear!? You should have gotten it on your back! Like a man! Excuse me? Get whatever tattoo you like on whatever part of your body you like. Okay, maybe don't go all the way IN. That's just dangerous. But for the rest - why not get a diamond behind your ear or a tiny pink bird on your forearm?

3) "Is it gay to dye your hair?" Yeah, totally! Only homosexual people dye their hair! See, I've been debating doing it for years now. And I might talk to my hair dresser about it this upcoming weekend actually. Oh, and my Mum dyes her hair as well to prevent the grey from showing. Oh, wait. My mum still lives with my father. Almost 26 years after having me. And she has been dyeing her hair for a good 5 years now. Why hasn't she turned lesbian, yet? Erm… I'm afraid our oh-so-promising hypothesis didn't pass the practice test again. Shit! Why is that!? Okay, and to finish this off, let me show you two more examples off the same site. The first one is a very bad troll who didn't even bother to get creative creating multiple accounts.

Mr. "Am I gay please help me maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan?" And he says: "I m/15 think that I am gay cause I accidently touched ONE friend's dick. Please help me!" I mean, poor guy! It's so easy to change your sexuality by just a slip of your hand. Damn, THAT must suck! But I didn't even have to intervene in the original post cause this happened. Note the usernames:

Let’s start with the post 25 mins ago: "I mean just because you touched his dick doesn't mean you're gay, but you grabbed it and I have to say you're doing a good job :3" 1. The start looks quite good tbh. It only gets bad after the comma. 2. The username 3. In the question it doesn't say he grabbed it. And then he replied again: "Yeah, man, you're gay …But that's okay , I'll suck you for 5 euros :)" Erm… Total troll!? :P To finish this off, let's have a laugh at a guy who totally nailed his answer to a guy who asked: "Which optical indications are there that you are gay?"

That guy replied: "At your wrist are clearly visible lines that cross diagonally to your arm (only those count that go from left to right). Their number tells you which kind of person you are dealing with: Homosexuals have two lines; if you are a pedophile, there's one; and there are three, when you're intellectual gifted. If you have a few interrupted ones, you can tell by their amount, distance, and length how often the person had sex." This guy is bloody brilliant!! …and I think that's a good one to finish off this post. Before I go, though, let me know what you thought of this post. What's the most stupid question you ever asked? Place a comment, tweet me, dm me, or do anything else you can think of to get to me. Talking about brilliant stuff: Today’s TMIish Queer Shoutout (let's get rid of the TMIish. That's just too long of a title!) is a film again. Moonlight, an American drama from last year. I don't watch films to easily, but after Ash Hardell talked about it in one of her videos, the plot just got to me and I had to watch it. It tells the story of Chiron, a shy kid who is picked on during school and whose single mother barely devotes time to him. He gets to know Juan, a drug dealer in his 40s or 50s. I won't spoil too much here cause the story is really well thought-through. Only that much: Chiron has to face some more challenges growing up and he eventually struggles with all the problems that arise in the typical ghetto-kind of neighbourhood - and gets to know his sexuality which will play a role later in the film as well. The film is split into three spans of Chiron's life: The small school kid Chiron, the high school kid Chiron (who is still bullied), and the grown-up Chiron who has moved out and lives his own life. As you can tell the gay theme only plays a minor part in this movie, so I can recommend this film to anyone without hesitation. So, if you have a spare two hours this week, find it online somewhere, go ahead and watch it! (Or, if you live in Germany: Wait until 9 March. It's supposed to hit the cinemas then. Might even watch it again then.) As always: Next #TMIishTuesday next Tuesday. If you have any questions in the meantime, just ask away. Whatever you’re curious about - I don’t bite. :) Until then: Stay mighty! Linkage: - gutefrage.net: www.gutefrage.net - Ash Hardell: www.youtube.com/HeyThere005

Oh, and here’s some self-promo: - Last #TMIishTuesday: http://mightbedamian.tumblr.com/post/156942157402/tmiishtuesday-48-troye-sivans-blue - More #TMIishTuesdays: mightbedamian.tumblr.com/tagged/tmi - More #TMIishTuesdays on LGBTQ+ issues: mightbedamian.tumblr.com/tagged/lgbtqplus - More very cool stuff: www.twitter.com/mightbedamian - Even more very cool stuff: mightbedamian.tumblr.com

#tmi #lgbtqplus

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