#don’t forego the things that make life rich just because you’re not
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Soulmate AU, part 1
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Huge thanks to the Maribat Fandom tumblr chat, without whom I wouldn’t have made this blog or posted this piece (or probably written this at all given that it’s a maribat fanfic)! @the-fusionist and @rebecarojas07 specifically for encouraging me!
*****
“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”
Damian is a week shy of fourteen the day the names appear inked on people’s skin, when he wakes up to ink that doesn’t wash off and the news reports that all around the world people have woken up to find the same phenomenon.
The world accepts it readily enough.
Soulmates.
There are tales of it happening before, every mythology and history and folklore delved into and the proof brought forward, but no one actually can say what triggered it, or why now.
In Paris, Marinette wakes up the day after she becomes Ladybug, a dark inked name of her own blooming vivid across her skin.
“It’s because you’re a true holder, Marinette,” Tikki says almost bouncing in midair. “People can use the Miraculous without being as in tune with them, but when we land in the hands of someone who is not just attuned, but truly meant for us- interesting things happen! Especially with the Ladybug Miraculous! These markings reveal who your Soulmate is!”
Her eyes still skim over the writing, and she has to hold in her almost immediate disappointment when she doesn’t see the two swirling A’s she wanted.
“Damian Wayne.”
*****
Marinette doesn’t let it get to her most days, the fact that the name across the front of her shoulder and the name of the boy she feels she’s lost her heart to aren’t the same.
Adrien, for his part, says nothing about what name he has, and it isn’t visible for anyone to find out.
Marinette keeps her designs modest in the neckline, always layers with her favorite jacket and does not say hers either.
The world divides into those who show them proudly, who build forums and websites and apps where people try desperately to connect with their soulmate, and those who decide that to seek it out would ruin the- destiny of it all.
Marinette doesn’t even google him.
She doesn’t want to think about destiny any more than she has to.
*****
Damian keeps it hidden from his family. Grayson has Kori’s name running down his neck, and though they don’t show them off, he’s aware that Todd and Drake have their own as well. Father’s got “Selina Kyle” trailing from his wrist down to the side of his left thumb.
Grayson asks him, once. He shuts it down immediately, and he doesn’t get asked again.
*****
Lila claims her soulmate is someone rich, reclusive, and far away. She doesn’t give details about who they are, but she can tell you millions of stories about how they met as children, grew up knowing each other, how he’d begged for her to stay by his side but she had sighed and told him she must be free to live her own life! And how he waited for her even now to return once she’d graduated and they could marry and be fabulously wealthy and beautiful and happy together.
The class fawns over it. Each time the elusive soulmate is mentioned, Marinette locks eyes with Adrien and Chloé, unable to voice her annoyance but perfectly able to share it with them.
Alya sneers under her breath sometimes, when Lila is being particularly mouthy with her lies, that Marinette has always refused to show or even talk about her mark. That perhaps she doesn’t have one at all.
Marinette doesn’t ever respond.
Adrien tried his hardest to shut them down when they start moving in towards her or Chloé like sharks. She’d lost her crush on him when he’d told her to let Lila lie, that she wasn’t hurting anyone. And then Chloé had knocked on her door one day and- apologized.
Marinette had accepted.
And then when Chloé found out that Adrien not only knew but had actually allowed Lila to continue spinning her lies, she’d taken the boy to task and explained very clearly that Lila could not be treated the same way as his Father, where staying quiet and giving in was the only way to weather his unsavory bad moods. And while his Father demanded he still associate with Lila and keep her placated, that shouldn’t stop him from standing up and doing something when she started actively going after people the way she’d gone for Marinette.
He’d very quickly apologized to Marinette and started, if not scolding Lila when she targeted Marinette, at least trying to guide her and the rest of the class away from any interactions they might have initiated because of Lila’s words.
And now, even if the hours spent at Francois DuPont were chilly and quietly isolated for the three of them, they could meet up at the bakery for lunch, and more often than not now, they would spend evenings hanging out in either Chloé’s room or Marinette’s and it almost made up for it.
*****
Damian has been dead before.
He watches a girl in his class start screaming as the name splayed across her palm withers, it almost looks like it dissolved into her veins, the ink shrinking and bleeding into normal, unmarked skin.
He goes home and he looks at the long curling script that circles the right side of his chest, sweeping across his ribs. Marinette Dupain-Cheng exists somewhere and he wonders if dying once is enough that his name never showed up on her.
He searches the last names. He finds a small but well known and very well loved bakery in Paris, France, with mentions of the owners, Tom and Sabine, and one daughter.
He closes it out.
*****
Marinette turns 16.
It’s not momentous, as she once thought it would be. It’s another day facing the cold sneers of her classmates, catching Adrien and Chloé’s eyes and waiting until the end of the day when she can go home where her parents will have a cake waiting for her, Chloé, Adrien, Kagami, and Luka over, visits from Nadja and Manon, and hopefully some calls from her great uncle Wang and her pseudo uncle Jagged with Penny. Birthdays in this class used to be extravagant, and they still are- for everyone who Lila allowed it.
But Marinette’s birthday will be a quiet affair, at home with her family and her truest friends, her team, and she can’t help but prefer that.
*****
Damian turns 17. Dick marries Kori. Father and Catwoman continue their game of cat and mouse (who is what in this scenario?) and Todd keeps leaving and coming back, and Drake says nothing but acts as if he still knows everything. Damian is, in almost all ways, more capable than most of the old men that do business with Wayne Enterprises and he still has to sit through school and act like birthday parties matter or mean anything to him.
(They do. They do. He can count on one hand how many birthdays he’s ever actually celebrated.)
He’d like to know why he feels so unsatisfied.
*****
Ms. Bustier calls her aside when they break for lunch.
“Marinette,” she begins, and Marinette sighs internally, bracing for another round of upbeat admonishments.
“As class representative, I need you to start staying after class with me for the next few weeks at least- perhaps we can start tomorrow. The submission you made to the Wayne Enterprises Community Awareness and Support Program won, and we have to start planning for the trip in July.”
Marinette stops short. “Wait, trip?”
Mme. Bustier straightens her papers and selects one, handing it to Marinette. On it is a very formal letter from representatives of Wayne Enterprises, congratulating her and her class on their community outreach and outlining the award money they have been offered to plan their trip to visit Wayne Enterprises in person.
Marinette struggles not to sit there with her jaw dropped to the floor. “I didn’t realize there was any actual- reward. I thought it was just an award or recognition?”
Mme. Bustier gives her the smile she used to give her on a daily basis, back when Marinette had cared about making her teacher that happy with every success their class had. “Well, then it’s just as happy a surprise for you as for the rest of the class! I’ll send a note home with you tonight explaining why you’ll be staying after school for the foreseeable future. I won’t ever keep you longer than an hour.”
Marinette knew that would not be true, but it wasn’t as if she couldn’t make up an excuse to leave when necessary. “Yes. We’ll want the trip to be planned perfectly, especially if we’re going to Gotham. Thank you, Mme. Bustier!”
She skips out to lunch, runs across the street to the bakery to meet her friends and tells them the news.
*****
Damian thinks about her often, even if he doesn’t want to. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the baker’s daughter somewhere in Paris, presumably, who may or may not have his name somewhere scrawled on her body.
He doesn’t search anything about her again. Even that single search that led him to her parents’ patisserie was risky.
Jon can tell him everything he wants to about the happiness between himself and his soulmate. His siblings can tiptoe around the subject, happy themselves and never bringing it up to him again. He watches people at school, wondering which of the couples are bound by the words inked into their skin and which are the ones who decided to forego fate. It takes him a very long time to figure out that despite himself, despite his brothers and his allies and his few friends, he is lonely.
*****
Seven weeks before the trip to Gotham, Marinette’s mother finds the Miracle Box.
Marinette hasn’t had Master Fu to guide her in a very long time. She is, in name and deed, the true Guardian of the Miraculous now.
Marinette breaks down on her mother’s shoulder for the first time in four years, since Hawkmoth started terrorizing Paris. Sabine, terrified and proud and angry, soothes her daughter, holds her and runs her hand over her hair, and asks her daughter what she can do.
Marinette has an idea.
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The Simplest Thing in the World
Title: The Simplest Thing in the World
Pairing: Dio Brando x Jonathan Joestar
Rating: G
Tags: Modern AU, Reincarnation AU, Established Relationship, Sickfic, Fluff
Summary: When Jonathan comes down with a fever, Dio takes up the task of caring for him. The only problem is he isn’t exactly sure how.
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The rain had been drizzling down since morning, turning the day a murky grey. Even with the furnace turned up, that autumn rain left a chill throughout the house. Horrendous weather. Not the kind that Dio would have stepped foot in, let alone stayed out all day digging around in — which is why Jojo should have listened to his advice and not gone out on his scheduled dig off in the countryside. Instead, he had carried on about the logistics of postponing the survey, how desperately excited he was to uncover whatever knick-knack he was hunting for this time, until Dio had given him a cold shoulder to rival the weather outside.
Not to be swayed when he’d set his mind to something, Dio could do nothing but begrudgingly accept Jojo’s kiss on the cheek as he walked out the door.
And so, while he should have been relaxing on his day off, Dio had sat restlessly by the fireplace all day, distractedly thumbing through novels and case files. He tried not to think about the weather or the memories it brought up, and especially not about how much he wished Jojo were next to him right now.
It’s not as if the two were bound to each other, after all — except by the threads of fate, perhaps. Dio didn’t feel the need any more to keep Jonathan under his constant surveillance. After they’d settled the initial problems between them, the loose threads and things left unsaid from their past life together, they managed to have a comparatively less fraught relationship. It was easier to be honest, with the gift of hindsight. To do things right this time. They’d even gotten married three years past.
Dio didn’t need Jojo by his side, he reminded himself. It was only that he didn’t like his correct advice being ignored.
And so he certainly didn’t perk up in excitement when he heard the lock turn on the front door.
That not-excitement quickly faded when the door swung open and he saw the figure standing there. Jojo was soaked through from his hat down to his boots, hardly recognizable from how sodden he was.
“Bloody hell Jojo, what happened to you?” Dio said, setting his book down and making his way over. He stayed decidedly back from the splash zone as Jonathan unburdened himself, setting his gear bag down and hanging his coat to drip over the mud tray next to the door.
Jonathan let out a groan. “Umbrella broke halfway from the station. I hadn’t expected it could rain this hard!” He gave a laugh, but there was no mirth in it.
“Didn’t I warn you of the forecast just this morning?” Dio huffed, although he was already on his way to the kitchen for a towel. He rejoined Jojo shortly, continuing to reprimand him even while drying his hair. “I told you to forego the dig, and now look at what a sorry state you’re in. If you had listened to me, Dio, instead of traipsing off like a fool, this never would have occurred.”
Dio paused, waiting for some sort of retort or excuse from Jojo, but the man just stood there letting himself be ruffled and dabbed at with the towel. Through the folds of fabric Dio could see Jonathan’s face, an abject picture of misery. It was like a puppy who’d been thrown into the streets and kicked a few times for good measure.
Dio didn’t have any sympathy for such mutts, but Jojo was his. He couldn’t allow a look like that to tarnish his husband’s features. He slowed his ministrations with a sigh, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “Gods Jojo, you’re like ice. Go get changed and have a seat by the fire before you catch your death. I’ll make you some cocoa, hm?”
“Really?” The eyes peeking out from beneath the towel and damp tendrils of hair had already begun to regain some of their sparkle, and his lips were curled up in a barely restrained smile. Decidedly undoglike already. Yes, this was the way Dio preferred Jojo to look.
With a nod, he gave the towel one last ruffle and headed back to the kitchen. He tried not to think about how much Jojo would drip on the floor on his way to their bedroom.
When he came back to the living room, Jojo had put on his warmest flannel pajamas and was bundled by the fire in the tartan blanket Dio had been wrapped in just moments ago. His eyes were half-closed, and he seemed about ready to doze off in the comfortable warmth. It brought a smile to Dio’s own face as he settled down on the couch next to him.
“Here you are.” He said, handing the mug over. He was certain the rich cocoa — complete with the tiny marshmallows Jojo loved — would have him forgetting about his miserable walk from the station in no time. Then Dio could go back to saying “I told you so”.
Jonathan sipped at the cocoa, mug gripped in two hands for the warmth.
Dio leaned into him. “There, does that make you feel better?” he asked, knowing it would.
Jonathan gave no reply, only slurping the beverage quietly.
Dio furrowed his brow. The least he could do was say a word of thanks! But when he glanced up at Jojo’s face, his eyes widened.
Jonathan’s eyes had fallen closed, and he leaned slightly to the side as if he had drifted to sleep, but something about it wasn’t quite right. Dio pressed the back of his hand against his husband’s forehead, finding it burned in a way that could not be explained by his proximity to the fire.
“Jojo?” He inquired, which was met only with the fluttering of eyelashes. “Alright then,” Dio said, taking back the mug — which at least got a whine in response.
“Diooo….” Jonathan mumbled quietly.
“Shh, now’s not the time to worry over your chocolate. I believe you’ve caught a fever.” The man only listed more to the side, clearly not having as much concern for his own health as Dio did.
Then this would be up to him alone, after all. Jonathan was lucky to have such a caring lover as he! Carefully, he slung Jojo’s arms over his shoulders and eased him from the couch. Any other would have had a difficult time lifting the man, but Dio had no such problem supporting the barely-conscious Joestar as they crossed to the bedroom. He didn’t even complain when he felt the disgusting sensation of stepping upon one of Jojo’s wet footprints in his stockinged feet. But oh, there would be a time for that.
Once he had Jonathan properly tucked into bed, he didn’t waste a moment to gaze upon the pitiful image before heading to the kitchen for a damp cloth, retrieving the cocoa on his way back to the bedroom.
“Come on, Jojo.” Patting his cheek briskly, which succeeded in getting him to open his eyes, bleary though they were. “Good boy.” He placed a kiss on Jonathan’s feverish head before applying the cool, wet cloth. “Don’t fret, your cocoa is right here on the side table. You are ill. Stay here and don’t move, I’m running out to the chemist for some medicine.”
Jojo only made a light mumbling noise, reaching his hand to cover Dio’s as it lay upon the cloth.
But there was no time for sentimentality. “I won’t be long. Don’t you dare get out of this bed.” Dio gave his hand a quick squeeze. He only paused to turn on the soft bedside lamp before heading out into the dreadful weather with his own, functional, umbrella.
Though the umbrella had kept him dry, the weather had him feeling quite cross by the time he returned. To think this was all happening because Jojo had defied him this morning! Mad though he was, he wasn’t about to let the man die for his mistakes, so he took out his anger by slamming the kitchen cupboards in his wake as he gathered what he needed. He set out the bottle of medicine on a tray, filling a glass with water as well as a bowl to refresh the cloth on Jonathan’s head. By the time he was finished that, the anger had ebbed and his energy had refocused onto the task at hand.
Thankfully, the man was still in bed, and stirred just a little when Dio entered. When Dio set the tray down on the side table, he was relieved to see the cocoa had been finished — always a good sign. If Jojo had been sick enough to refuse chocolate, now that would have been a great cause for concern.
Dio pulled out the stopper on the medicine bottle. Before he let the dose drop into the glass of water, he paused, a jagged chill of caution shooting up his spine. He found himself glancing at Jonathan — who was not paying attention — out of some centuries-old reflex. Slowly, he took a breath and came back into himself — his current self. It mattered not if Jonathan saw him adding the drops, for this was only medicine, and prescribed to the man after all. Understandable that his reflexes would kick in, for he believed this was the first time in two lifetimes that he, Dio, was administering a drug with the intent to heal. The realization didn’t sit well with him, and neither did the dawning fact that he had never nursed another before. For only a moment, a sickening feeling of helplessness rolled in. Never had he been so out of his depth. But he’d be damned if he let Jojo be privy to that fact! How hard could it be for one such as himself to care for a single ill buffoon? In fact, it was very likely that now given the chance, Dio would excel in this feat like he did at everything else.
He let the medicine drop into the glass, watching as it dispersed through the water. Then, he turned to the sleeping man — and nearly jumped to find Jojo’s slivered eyes trained on him. There’s nothing to worry about he reminded himself.
“Jojo… my love, sit up and drink this.” It was hard for him to casually speak in such endearing terms, but he saw the energy — however slight — that the words awakened in the other man.
Jonathan had cared for him on the one or two occasions he’d gotten too sick to do it himself, and although he enjoyed having Jojo’s full attention he hated the feeling of vulnerability it left him with. Now he was realizing there was plenty of vulnerability on the other side of that exchange as well. Abhorrent. But if it was necessary, then Dio would suck it up for the sake of doing this right.
Once Jonathan had been propped up against the pillows, he set the glass upon his lips, holding it in place rather than trusting Jojo’s weak grasp at the moment. “Slowly,” he cautioned, although Jonathan still managed to gulp the cool liquid down as fast as Dio would allow.
He let out a great gasp when he had finished, unsurprising since he hadn’t paused even to take a breath. At least the medicine was in him now and could begin its work.
“Thank you, Dio.” Jonathan said softly.
“Don’t mention it.” Even after all these years, the trust with which Jojo had accepted the medicine nearly made his hands shake, and Dio had to will them still before he continued his work. He lifted the cloth, letting his hand rest on Jonathan’s forehead momentarily before dipping the cloth in the bowl of cool water and wringing it out. The temperature hadn’t gone down at all.
“For going out there to get the medicine, and everything…” Jojo continued as Dio replaced the cloth. “I’m sure… I’ll be fine now, so you can just…” His eyes were fighting to keep themselves open, and his voice was weak.
“Now Jojo, I think we’ve had enough foolishness for today. Lay back.” Dio helped him to do so and tucked the blankets up to his chin. What more could he do?
He tried to think back to the times Jojo had nursed him, but the memories were foggy due to his own delirious state at the time. Still, with all the books he had read, he’d picked up a few common practices for a situation like this.
“I will make you soup,” he said, matter-of-factly. He blinked down at Jojo, who stared at him foggily — had the man just been speaking? No, surely not.
“Erm, but I—”
“No need to worry, it won’t take but a moment. Call for me if you need anything.” He cupped Jonathan’s cheeks and placed a kiss to the crown of his head. Then, he was out of the room with haste, on a mission.
Of course, there was no time to go shopping for premium ingredients, so the boxed chicken broth they had in the pantry would have to do. Still, he made sure to add in fresh chicken, celery, carrot, and plenty of herbs and spices. While it simmered, he popped back into the bedroom, cooling Jojo’s forehead as he slept.
By the time he was done he was certain the soup could heal even the worst afflictions, not to mention could rival that of any four-star chef.
When he eased quietly through the bedroom door, Jojo seemed more alert to his presence than before, and his colouring had improved. Dio smiled as he approached the bed, setting the soup bowl on the bedside tray. He brought over a chair and sat down. “My Jojo.” He stroked his husband’s cheek, “Do you think you could eat some soup?”
The glimmer in those dark blue eyes was reward enough for the sentimentality. “If you made it, of course Dio.” Jojo’s voice was still soft, though it seemed like he’d regained some strength by now. A little seed of pride sprouted in Dio’s chest as he helped Jonathan to sit up (not that he had ever been short of such a thing).
Jonathan reached for the bowl but Dio gently swatted his hands away. “Allow me,” he said, making it clear obedience was not optional. So Jonathan sat back against the pillows let Dio lift the spoon to his mouth.
Dio listened to the slurping sounds without complaint, although they grated on him. He supposed Jojo did not have much control over his manners in a situation like this. “It’s not too hot, is it?” he asked.
Jonathan shook his head. “No, it’s delicious.”
“Of course it is. Have some more.” Dio refilled the spoon. Soon they had settled into a rhythm, and Dio found himself relaxing, watching the man eat the soup that he was sure would make him feel better.
But soon the bowl was empty, and Dio turned back to fretting. So much so that he hardly paid attention to the soft look Jojo was giving him.
“I’m so thankful to have you as my caretaker, Dio…”
What could he do next? He’d given the man medicine, let him sleep, and even fed him homemade soup. Maybe the cloth needed refreshing, or perhaps he could get him more water? Yes, something to drink would be good.
“I know you always strive to be the best, but you needn’t do so mu—”
“I’ll go put the kettle on for tea!” Dio said, leaping from his seat and heading to do just that.
A pressure on his wrist stopped his swirling mind in a moment, and he turned back to see Jonathan gripping weakly onto the cuff of his shirt. Dio took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then took Jonathan’s warm palm into his. “What is it that you want, Jojo? What can I do for you?” Of course. If he wanted to know what he should do, he need only have asked the man himself. At this moment he may well have done anything for him.
“Would you…” came Jonathan’s hesitant reply, “Just stay by my side? I feel so much better when you’re near.”
Dio’s features softened and his heart fluttered in his chest. “Of… of course, Jojo.”
When he had turned down the covers and slipped into bed, Jojo wasted no time cuddling up to him. In truth, it was sweltering, but now was not the time to complain. At the very least, the chill that had plagued Dio since morning had finally been chased off.
So stay by his side he did. Dio lay with Jonathan, stroking his hair idly as the time ticked by. Reading to him when he was awake, and humming to him softly while he slept. It was a tune he seemed to remember from long ago, though he couldn’t recall quite where he’d picked it up. Perhaps a memory from the distant past, a comfort from when he’d once been ill a lifetime before. Jojo’s features were soft in his sleep, and when Dio leaned his cheek against the man’s forehead, it felt almost cool.
After a time, Dio drifted off to sleep, still holding Jojo close.
When they awoke, it was morning. The sun was shining and birds chirped outside the window. Dio took a moment to blink in the light before gazing down into those sleepy blue eyes. They were considerably sharper than the night before.
“Feeling better, Jojo?”
“Mhm, much better. All thanks to you!”
“Now Jojo, if only you had postponed your dig until today…” Dio mumbled more to himself than anything else, not really putting any fight into it.
Jonathan snuggled closer. “Oh but Dio, if I had, I wouldn’t be waking up so lazily next to my beautiful husband like this.”
“Mm… when you put it that way, I suppose I can concede.”
“Nor would I have received all that loving attention yesterday.” Jonathan let out a contented sigh. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been so well cared for in my life.”
His voice was still somewhat weak but Dio could feel a smile in it, and so he let himself smile too.
“Naturally, I, Dio, would provide the utmost care for the only man deserving of my affections,” he said, running his fingers through Jonathan’s curls.
“Then I truly am lucky to have you. Maybe I should try to get sick more often…”
“Jojo…” Dio’s voice was filled with reproach, which got a weak chuckle from Jojo, more felt than heard.
“I am kidding! But I do enjoy this doting side of yours, Dio. I would love to see more of it.”
“Hmm…” Though he loved Jojo more than anything, he’d often thought that kindness was simply not in his nature. Perhaps it was the lingering traces of who he’d been in the past, when he’d grown up in a harsher life. It was only now that he realized just how good it felt to heal Jonathan with his own two hands. To feel that seed of pride blossom when he saw adoration in those blue eyes, not merely because Dio deserved to be adored (which he did), but because of the care he’d given. When Dio considered it, perhaps he enjoyed it too.
He couldn’t let Jojo get too spoiled of course, but if his mere attention could make the man feel better he couldn’t argue. With Jojo cuddled warm against his side, it’s not as if he didn’t understand the feeling.
He stroked his husband’s cheek before kissing him gently.
“Dearest Jojo, if you wish for it, you need only ask.”
As if it was the simplest thing in the world.
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We got some katsuyami angst a request of @asianlychallengedasian for the exchange hosted by @protobnhaweek. It’s bit later then I was hoping due to an unforeseen power outage, though here it is at last!
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27950525
~
UA’s doors were huge, the whole building was. It was surreal, to see it in person like this. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, wearing the UA uniform, a backpack was thrown over his shoulder.
“We did it. I told you we would!” The blond stood tall, a glint in his red eyes as he studied the building.
A shorter boy stood beside him, shoulders hunched, messy, dark purple hair with bangs that fell over one of his eyes and freckles that dotted his checks, “yeah, Kacchan, you were right.”
“Aren’t I always? Come on! Stand up straight for fucks sake, we’re students of UA now. We’ll be heroes Yami.” The sharp grin could scare away anyone it was aimed towards, that was if they didn’t already know how harmless the humanized kitten was.
The other straightened up, “alright Kacchan. If you’re so sure... let’s go before we’re late!”
The pale blond snorted, “I got us here early so we wouldn’t be late, only an idiot would manage that.”
And with Katsuki’s smartass comments, there went the contagious, cheery spark that he latched onto a second ago. Yes, they made it into UA, against all odds - well, for Mikumo. Katsuki was pretty much fated to be a hero. They both passed the exam, he passed the exam quirkless. And yes, they were both in the hero course, in the same class together. But looking at the oblivious blond beside him, looking back on his own life, socially, they were screwed.
He couldn’t keep his nerves at bay as they walked down the hallways, already creating scenarios in his head of how their first introduction to their classmates will go. Throughout elementary and middle school he didn’t really have friends, for obvious reasons. He was quirkless, no one wanted to be friends with someone who was quirkless. And frankly, Mikumo didn’t want to be friends with them either. He wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, preferring to keep to himself when possible and avoid others. Maybe that’s because most of the ‘others’ would have rather made fun of him than actually hang out with him. Still, it left him with a lot of free time, most of which was put to good use towards the end of middle school when he got serious about becoming a hero, without a quirk. To prove them wrong, that a quirkless person could be a hero.
Where did Katsuki play a part in this? They were childhood friends. Katsuki was there for him when he wanted. Though they did grow distant going into middle school, different interests and such. They didn’t stop talking completely. It wasn’t until the blond had caught him tinkering with a support item that they reunited.
Katsuki was smart. A child genius. Consumed knowledge as if it were his last meal. And if Mikumo was being honest, he likely wouldn’t have made it this far without the blond’s helpful comments, or moderately helpful to the “I know you meant well but that only made things worse” encouragement the blond tended to give off. With the help of the other, he was able to design a few inconspicuous items that make it almost appear as if he had a quirk. That and Katsuki had started pulling him into his workout routine. Getting up at a stupidly early time and jogging for a stupidly long time. And he had annoyed the curly-haired teen into purchasing a few weights.
Mikumo would be lying if he said the sudden workout regiment didn’t do anything. It was amazing to see the results. He had never thought of himself as unfit per se- sure he wasn’t god-level fit but it’s not like he got winded walking up a few flights of stairs or anything like that. Still, he never realized how much room there was for improvement. Katsuki appeared smug when he admitted such, claiming how that’s what he’s been trying to tell Yami.
It was a good improvement. It paid off in the end. He was here, UA, with his best friend- in the same class as his best friend.
“Yami, here, this is the classroom. You’re always so slow!” The dark-haired teen hated to see how the rest of the class was going to react to them. It was impossible for Katsuki to keep his voice at a moderate volume. Even more impossible for him to forego sharing his honest opinion.
It didn’t help that he had no mind when those opinions became insulting. Yamikumo didn’t mind it for the most part, he knew the blond didn’t mean anything bad by his words. Actually, he usually meant the opposite, to encourage others. Still, no one else knew that. They didn’t have years of experience in understanding the odd character’s way with words. They would likely take offence, but as long as he didn’t get like that right off the bat, maybe they’d have a chance of fitting in. Well, Katsuki would. Yamikumo was pretty well screwed either way, not only was he inexperienced when it came to the whole social thing- he was quirkless and a quirkless teen in a hero class was bound to stand out. They were bound to figure out he didn’t have any quirk. After all, “what’s your quirk?” was as common a question as “the weather, huh?”.
And Kacchan was good at making the fact that he was quirkless a big deal - yeah, he meant well, he meant it as a way to brag about Mikumo’s success, but still, the dark-haired teen preferred not to be the center of attention.
Long story short, they were screwed. Their high school life was screwed. Though, it was a hero school. He could only hope his peers would be kind, kinder than those in middle school.
Turns out they took plus ultra quite seriously. His classmates were beyond Kumo’s expectations. There was the brown-haired girl, he had helped her in the entrance exam. The first friend he’s made since Katsuki. Then came the others, the class president of whom he was originally quite reluctant of - the first person Katsuki had managed to criticize to the point of offence - “why the hell don’t you wear contacts, four-eyes?”- soon followed with a- “Soumei… a rich family then, I guess you could afford glasses every time they fall off your fucking face”.
Then there was Endeavour’s son, son of the number two hero. As a result, Katsuki appeared to be quite eager to beat the guy. Though Mikumo honestly didn’t care all that much. He didn’t care as much for the mainstream heroes. Well, honestly, he was yet to find a hero he cared much for. After getting rejected by the number one hero, that kind of shit put a bad taste in your mouth.
Speaking of the number one, he was teaching here. Talk about awkwardness. It would have been fine if Katsuki didn’t stick his nose into things, he’s sure All Might hadn’t recognized him, not until the blond started talking. Once he heard from Yami on what happened between the two of them, the blond wasn’t afraid to tell All Might what he thought.
Katsuki was something. He could be exhausting, but he was still the freckled student’s best friend.
But maybe they needed a break.
“It’s a miracle we’re both here, Yami.” The realization came after their recent argument, Mikumo had snapped. He’s snapped at the blond before, whenever he went too far.
“What do you mean?” But this time was different, he hadn’t a clue on what the other was going on about.
He tended to get lost in his own thoughts as he let the other go off, talking about whatever self-improvements he could make, before going on to review Yami’s day.
“Well, you are quirkless. There’s never been a hero like that before-” Ah, something like this again. It’s been about a month since they’ve started at UA. Katsuki was still going on about how impressive it was.
“That doesn’t mean I couldn’t make it…” the green eyes squinted at the grinning blond, “you know me better than that.”
“Well yeah of course I do, why’d you think I called it a miracle?” Seriously, how could someone be so bad with words? He clenched his jaw, Yamikumo knew Katsuki meant it as a compliment, knew the blond meant nothing bad by it.
Still, he couldn’t help but snap, “and you wonder why I’m your only friend Kacchan.”
Maybe Bakugou went too far this time as well. And usually Katsuki caught on. Sometimes he’d have to be more direct about it, but he usually could tell when he went too far, when he actually pissed the purple-haired teen off.
“Huh?” The red eyes blinked at him, despite how long they’ve known each other, the purple-haired teen never knew when the other was joking or not. But looking into the confused red eyes, he could tell Katsuki was serious. He had no idea why Yamikumo was on the last straw with him, no idea what Yami was upset about.
It was crazy to think that the guy just didn’t get it, but he didn’t. No matter how often Yamikumo tried to explain it to him, their classmates were still trying to get used to it. But maybe, maybe they’ve been taking the wrong approach, trying to get used to it as they wait for the blond to figure it out himself.
He was never going to. It’s been years.
And this fight was somehow different. This time Mikumo wasn’t going to stand for it.
“Fine Kacchan. Come find me when you finally get it.”
He’d have to get it at some point.
And maybe it was because UA was treating him well, he had actual friends for once- either then the blond beside him. He couldn’t wait around, re-explaining it to the blond for another ten years. It’s gone on too long, it’s been adding up to this.
Maybe it’ll be the push Katsuki needs.
So Yamikumo walked away.
Bakuogu Katsuki felt lonely, felt alone. He’s never had something like this happen to him, not with Yamikumo at least. Sure, he knew he tended to piss people off. Sometimes he knew why, but usually it was a mystery. He didn’t intentionally want to make people feel like shit, especially the purple-haired teen. Yamikumo was his best friend, one of the few people he was close with. He wasn’t supposed to leave. That wasn’t part of the plan. They were supposed to become heroes together . The two of them against the world - of course, that saying was bullshit and made no sense but Katsuki was certain it could be applied to this situation. They were in this together, always had been.
Bakugou didn’t factor in their future classmates. That was likely his problem. Yamikumo now had friends. He was popular in the class and Katsuki, well, was not. It only made sense for the other to drop him. Katsuki didn’t have a good way with words, even worse understanding of their effect on others. He was good at math, good at biology, excelled in chemistry. Language had always been his weak area. And consequently, that meant socialization. Not that he cared to socialize with most people anyway. Everyone in their middle school was a moron. Even in elementary school, he rose above everyone else. No one could compare with him. It made no sense to stay friends with people who didn’t actually try, yet remained envious of the blond’s accomplishments.
That and he tended to piss people off. Sometimes the truth was too harsh for people to understand, and sometimes Katsuki had a hard time understanding how he pissed someone off to begin with. The case was no different at UA. Sure, he wouldn’t mind getting along with many of his classmates, they seemed like good people for the most part. And they couldn’t be that stupid, they were in one of the top schools, being taught by heroes to become heroes. It was fucking amazing. Everyone here was a part of a small group of the students who had applied to be in this position. Many of which stood a fighting chance, or at least had enough confidence in themselves to believe that. So yes, if Katsuki were to believe in miracles, this would be one. Hence what he told Yamikumo. After all, that was one of those things people said, or so the blond had thought.
He didn’t understand why the other got so upset over it. Did Katsuki really mess up that badly this time? He’s said some shitty stuff in the past, the other had never been afraid to call the blond out for it, why was it different this time around?
Because of others, that’s why it was different. Yamikumo didn’t need Katsuki anymore. He had other friends, other people he could go to. Yaoyorozu was the smartest in the class, she has a creation quirk. Yami could go to her for anything he needed. And he could brainstorm with anyone in the class. He got along with them all, and everyone liked him.
Katsuki didn’t try to get along with anyone else. He didn’t think he needed to. He had the freckled teen as a study partner, or talk over ideas with. He didn’t need anyone else. Maybe now it was time to rethink that.
The first person Katuski had actually started to get along with in the class was the redhead, Kirishima. Which was strange, because the blond hadn’t been very quiet about his distaste for the painfully fake coloured, unnaturally spiked abomination atop his head. It was practically a warning signal for villains; yes, I am here, the hero with the shitty-hair who turns their body to stone. Though, the blond had to admit his quirk would work well as a defence against Katsuki’s own explosions.
Still, he hadn’t outright told that to the other- he didn’t need anyone knowing his weakness. So that made it all the stranger when the redhead with the shark teeth laughed off Katsuki’s brutal honesty. No one had done that before, most people got offended. And outright pissed when the blond refused to apologize. Katsuki hadn’t bothered paying any mind to Kirishima. Other than his quirk, he wasn’t all that impressive. And Katsuki had Yamikumo. But now, well, the redhead was increasingly more difficult to ignore when the blond had no one else to turn to. No one to eat lunch with, or choose as a sparring partner. But Kirishima practically volunteered himself to work with Katsuki.
That was a first.
It didn’t feel bad. Katuski wondered if this was the beginning of a new friendship. Though it felt different from his relationship with the purple-haired teen. Something was missing. He missed the other. It had always been them, Yamikumo had always been special to him. Katsuki didn’t want that to change.
It was the end of the week, they had finished off training when Katsuki had finally found Yamikumo alone. When he was finally able to talk to the other, to confront him. The other had been waiting outside the changing room. The blond had been the last in there, he wondered if the purple-haired teen had the same idea to confront Katsuki. If he realized how hopeless the blond was at communicating. This time, he wouldn’t let the other start. He wouldn’t have the other fishing for apologies.
“I’m sorry okay! I- fuck, I’m bad at this, you know that, but it’s no excuse… I don’t-” Truly, the one thing Katsuki was bad at, what was he supposed to say? He still didn’t know but he couldn’t stay quiet, he had to be the one to start this conversation, “are you fucking crying?”
That wasn’t what he expected the result to be. He apologized, he thought that’s what the other wanted. He didn’t think he said anything wrong yet, he thought this was likely one of the few times he was aware of what he was saying, of the meaning behind what he was trying to say.
“Kacchan, I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have just ignored you like that! It was horrible of me. I just- ” Nor did he expect the other to apologize, after all, he did have the right to get upset at the blond, “I got so frustrated.”
“I know - I’m trying to understand.” It was difficult, more difficult than it should be, “I don’t see things the way you do - fuck, I don’t see things the way most of you do. When I say something, it’s not supposed to hurt anyone, but it does. I don’t understand, but I’m trying to.”
“Kat…” He had that determined look upon his face, the same one he had when deciding to become a quirkless hero, “I’ve missed you.”
The blond’s face broke out into a grin that could mirror the sun, “me too, Yami.”
This, this was how they were supposed to be. Together, no matter what was going to happen. Working things out, teaching each other, learning from mistakes. Not ignoring each other.
“And I didn’t mean it,” Katuski’s eyebrow creased, “about the no friends thing. You belong here, with us, with them - your friends. They love you.”
The teen looked almost reluctant, as if he were giving Katsuki away, saying goodbye or some shit like that.
Katsuki stared at the other, red eyes hardened, “I want to be with you.”
“What do you mean by that?!” The other's face flushed- an unusual feat for Yamikumo.
“We’ll be heroes together, promise me?” The face-value meaning of the words made Katsuki feel stupid, but he knew that Kumo would understand what the blond was trying to convey, the insecurity he didn’t want to admit to, the hope that they’d remain by each other’s side no matter what.
With a genuine smile, the other replied, “of course Kacchan, together.”
#proto bnha#protobnhaexchange#katsuyami#katsuki bakugou#yamikumo#midoriya izuku#bnha#mha#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#bakudeku
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pattonella part 9: virgil sweetheart PLEASE learn how to read the room i’m begging you
cw: mentions of injury, mentions of death, nightmare, anxiety attack, mild angst
part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // read it on ao3!!
“can i please be cleared to read books on my own now?” logan says. “because i love the sound of virgil’s voice, but i’m sure he has better things to be doing than sitting here reading to me at all hours.”
“shut up, there’s nowhere i’d rather be,” virgil says. he flushes immediately, but logan just smiles and reaches for his hand. remy rolls his eyes and peers into logan’s eye.
“you were nearly killed by a horse, prince logan, i think you can afford to relax just a little.” logan huffs, sounding very much like a small child, and virgil smiles. “still, it’s been about a week . . . i suppose i can clear you. but no strenuous activity, and the second you start feeling any pain or discomfort or anything out of the ordinary you come and tell me, you understand?”
“crystal clear,” logan says, sitting up a little too fast and wincing. remy glares suspiciously at him, but doesn’t offer any additional commentary. “i am looking forward to the ability to walk around without you two constantly hovering over me as though i am made of spun glass.”
“maybe if you would stop running into danger,” remy mutters. he reaches out and ruffles logan’s hair softly, and the prince doesn’t immediately bat his hand away. “i’m still sending healing potions with your meals, and you will drink them all.”
“yes, mother,” logan huffs playfully. remy rolls his eyes again and flounces out of the room. virgil has never seen a real human flounce before, but there truly is no other word to describe what remy is doing.
“i bet you’re happy to be off bed rest,” virgil says.
“ecstatic,” logan sighs. virgil stifles a yawn behind his fist, but logan immediately picks up on it. “what was that?”
“uh . . . a yawn?”
“why are you yawning? has your sleep not been optimal?”
“not really . . .”
“why has it been -” logan’s eyes widen in recognition, and he frowns. “oh . . . i - i apologize, virgil.”
“why?”
“you have been awake because you were taking care of me. you have been foregoing sleep and tending to your own health because you have been so concerned for mine. i am so sorry, virgil, i did not mean to make you think that you had to -”
“shut up,” virgil interrupts. “you honestly think i would have been doing that shit if i didn’t care about you? if i didn’t give a fuck i would have fucked off and let someone else do it. i lo - i - um - i care about you a lot.”
logan looks at him, hair adorably ruffled, eyes wide and pretty, face flushed pink from being buried under mountains of thick, warm blankets in the sunshine, and virgil immediately shoves a pillow into logan’s face to cover his massive blush. “shut up!”
logan laughs softly, putting the pillow on the floor, and reaches out to take virgil’s hand. virgil huffs irritably, but he lets logan take it. “come and lay down, virgil. you are clearly exhausted. you must rest. you have dedicated your entire life this past week or so to caring for me, and that cannot be easy.”
“it’s not work,” virgil says, remembering an old sappy book he’d read once. “not to me. not if it is you.”
“i know,” logan says softly, “but you are tired. sleep, my dear. please? for me?”
logan gently tugs on virgil’s hand, virtually no force behind it, and virgil topples onto the bed. he shuffles around, keeping his face pushed into the duvet, and manages to settle laying on his side, staring into logan’s eyes. this close, he can see all the freckles that cluster around logan’s nose and eyes.
“you have stars on your ceiling,” virgil says, “and they’re on your face, too.” logan’s face turns a little pinker, and he smiles, reaching up to tuck a curl behind virgil’s ear.
“you’re not sleeping,” he says.
“how can i sleep when i’m looking at you?” virgil says. he bites his lip immediately, he can’t believe he said something so sappy and gay to the prince, but logan smiles and gently drags his thumb across virgil’s mouth.
“don’t bite your lips,” he murmurs. “they’re so soft. i love to kiss them.” he leans forward and gently pushes his mouth against virgil’s, and virgil closes his eyes and exhales into the kiss.
“here,” logan hums, carding his hand through virgil’s hair. virgil snuggles up to his chest, draping an arm over logan’s hips as he slots his legs in between his. “when i was small, before -” his chest hitches slightly under virgil’s ear. “- before my mother died, she would sing to me, and thomas used to sing it for roman and i. perhaps it will help you. i can put no magic in my voice, but i can sing.”
“whatever you want,” virgil murmurs. “i’m sure your voice is beautiful.”
logan takes a few deep breaths, inhales, and begins to sing. “A naeoidhean bhig, cluinn mo ghuth Mise rid' thaobh, O mhaighdean bhan . . .”
virgil is so taken with the beauty of logan’s rich voice that he isn’t sure how he manages to fall asleep at all.
*~*~*~*~*
everything is black, and suddenly remy appears, shining a small light into logan’s eyes to assess the severity of his concussion. past.
everything is black, and suddenly logan appears, stroking his hand through virgil’s hair, mouth open, eyes half-shut as he sings. present.
everything is black, and suddenly roman appears, sword raised in front of his chest, blocking one, two, three blows before an arrow pierces his shoulder, his chest, his stomach, his neck.
future.
*~*~*~*~*
logan is half-asleep when virgil bolts upright, eyes flaring purple, screaming. “virgil -”
“something is wrong, something is wrong with roman!” virgil shrieks, voice warped and distorted and strange. logan feels his heart turn to ice and drop into his stomach.
“what is wrong with my brother?”
“i had a vision, he was fighting, he got pierced by arrows and he went down and something is going W R O N G logan!”
before logan can stop him, virgil is on his feet, scrambling out of bed so fast he almost faceplants onto the ground. he’s out the door before logan can stop him, but he’s on his feet almost immediately to chase him.
*~*~*~*~*
“are you sure this is a good idea?” claire says. her hands are clasped behind her back as she studies the map roman has spread out on the table. it’s covered in red x’s and dotted lines, surrounded with candles, with a dagger sticking out of a particular clump of trees.
“we know that’s where they’re hiding,” roman says. “they won’t attack this village as long as we’re here, they’ll wait until we decide to ‘abandon’ these people and then they’ll raze it to the ground. we have to strike at the root of this issue, and that means attacking their hideout. we ride at dawn.”
“prince roman,” claire says, “you know that i am your most loyal advisor. i would request permission to speak freely.”
“granted, claire, always granted.”
“prince roman, i think this is foolish. they let us find that base easily, too easily. i suspect it is a trap.”
“they’re probably setting one,” roman sighs, pushing a hand through his sweaty hair. “but what do you want me to do? not attack? we know that they’re there, we know that they’re planning something!”
“wait a day or two,” claire says. “take some time to plan a strategy. send a scout to see if there are any obvious traps that we can plan for. we have to play this smart so that we don’t end up losing soldiers.”
“so we don’t end up losing me, you mean.”
“you are the prince of our kingdom, prince roman. you have two brothers waiting for you at home, not to mention the newly-discovered lord sanders. we cannot risk bringing you home as a corpse.”
“you don’t have to coddle me, claire, i’m not made of glass!”
“i never suggested as much, prince roman,” claire says coolly. “i am merely reiterating that you should remember that you cannot throw yourself recklessly into danger with no consideration of those waiting for you at home. i will leave you to your thoughts. should you choose to march in the morning, we will of course support you, but i suggest you reconsider this plan.”
she ducks out of the tent, and roman sighs, running his fingers over the depiction of the sanders manor in the corner of the map. “patton . . . i want to come home to you . . . but i have to free these people. how do i balance this?”
he pulls the dagger out of the map and twirls it around in his hands. he has a lot of thinking to do.
*~*~*~*~*
“i’m not sure this is okay for me to do,” thomas says, looking hesitantly at the dais. the king’s throne stands tall and regal, with the queen’s throne smaller but no less regal beside it.
“you are the crown prince,” joan, the advisor beside him, says. “it is your right.” they hold out a small velvet pillow with the circlet of the crown prince resting on it, opal gleaming rainbow in the morning sunlight.
“i’m not the crown prince,” thomas protests. “roman and logan aren’t married yet, i can’t legally be named the crown prince, and i’m not allowed to wear that or - or sit on the throne, or do any of this!”
joan sets the crown on the dais and reaches out to gently take his hand. “prince thomas . . .”
“dad is still alive,” thomas says, eyes watering. “he’s weak, and he’s sick, but he’s not dead yet, i’m not - i don’t have to replace him yet . . .”
“i’m sorry, prince thomas,” joan murmurs. “i didn’t realize that it would affect you like that, i -”
“it’s not your fault,” thomas sniffles, wiping at his eyes. “i know you guys don’t think about it like that, but - but it’s my dad, you know? i know the kingdom is going to lose its leader soon, but - but i’m gonna lose my dad, you know?”
joan nods, squeezing his hand and offering a handkerchief from their pocket. thomas takes it, dabbing at his face. “thank you, joan.”
“of course, prince thomas. you can stand on the dais if you want, since you still have to receive -”
the door to the throne room slams open, wood ringing against stone, and thomas whirls around. before he can even reach for the hidden dagger he carries on his person always, before joan can step in front of him, virgil is speeding across the room. there are two guards behind him, trying to catch him, but virgil is outpacing them rapidly.
“virgil?”
once he gets closer, thomas gasps, taking in details. his hair is unkempt, his clothes are askew, and his eyes are glowing solid purple. “crown prince thomas,” he says, and thomas winces at the distortion of his voice. “i have had a vision that must be brought to your attention immediately.”
“you can see the future?” joan gasps.
“what did you see?” thomas asks.
“prince roman is in danger,” virgil says. “there will be an attack, and he will be killed by arrows. we must aid him immediately.”
there’s a watery noise from behind virgil, and he spins around to see patton standing behind him pressing his hands over his mouth. “roman - roman is going to die?”
the purple in his eyes flickers away. “wh - patty?”
“roman is going to die?” patton repeats, hurrying forward and grabbing virgil’s hands.
“not necessarily,” virgil says, putting a hand to his head and beginning to sag forward against patton. “i - the vision showed him dying, but it also showed that giant horse killing logan a week or so ago, and he’s still alive.”
“we have a chance to stop it?” thomas says. virgil turns to look at him.
“i - yes, your highness, i think there is a chance to save him.”
thomas nods. “are you sufficiently prepared to travel?”
“i can be in an hour at the least.”
“good. take a party of guards and go after roman.”
“i’m coming too,” logan says, striding through the doors. “remy cleared me from my concussion earlier, i’m going.”
“me too!” patton says. “i’m going with you, if roman is in trouble i have to help!”
“i can’t risk you both,” thomas starts, but logan glares at him.
“are you telling me that if father was well and running the kingdom, you wouldn’t be grabbing a sword and riding after him?” thomas winces, and logan lifts his chin victoriously. “exactly. i am going with virgil, and so is patton. roman is worth the risk.”
thomas exhales. “go and pack, then. meet me here in an hour with a plan.” logan nods, whirls around, and hurries out of the room with virgil and patton on his heels. thomas hums, turning to joan. “i need you to bring me a specific volume of the history of the kingdom from the library.”
“of course, your highness. may i ask what for?”
“i think i just found logan’s loophole.”
#starshinewrites#pattonella!au#analogical#royality#virgil sanders#logan sanders#thomas sanders#roman sanders#patton sanders
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So I watched Happiest Season (livewatch with @beeexx my fave penguin enthusiast 🐧🐧🐧)
Overall I enjoyed it ? But it's not the light-hearted romcom it's been promoted as.
Spoilers !
The positive:
- Kristen Stewart, het icon of my teen years, is just glowing in this, like she is so happy to be finally playing gay lmao. This is really her story. Her character, Abby, is by turn charming, adorable, funny, and relatably awkward. Also, her glam butch style is just A++. And she has good chemistry with her co-star - they feel and behave like a believable couple (which has been a problem with actresses playing wlw in the past where you could really see they weren’t fully into it.) They were super cute together. This still feels cathartic somehow, like Bella Swan decided to go see a therapist instead of going off the deep end and finally figured herself out.
- I loved that this isn't the "token gays in a sea of straightness" trope. Abby's BFF is gay and really funny - and this particular trope feels a lot less annoying when the gay BFF is there for another gay person so it's more like queer solidarity instead of him being a prop for a straight person's development. Him trying to play straight was just hilarious. Aubrey Plaza plays Harper's (the other part of the main couple) ex and she is just great, seems a bit shady at first but her helping Abby out was just...so compassionate. Also she is probably the hottest character in this movie let's be real. And I loved the bit where she takes her to a drag bar (the straight bar where Harper goes to seems so drab in comparison fjfj)
- There were some funny, classic rom-com shenanigans moments - the sneaking around, getting stuck in the closet, etc...the creepy twins were quite funny too, if infuriating. My favorite was definitely Jane, the overlooked kooky sister, who "has been writing a fantasy book for the past ten years" (I can relate) and whose overachiever family has pretty much given up on her (I can also relate).
-Ngl the whole ‘rich people being fake and neurotic and making everything x100 times more difficult than it has to be’ bit felt very realistic. Like, I’ve met those people, and they are just as annoying in this movie as they are in real life. Also a very realistic rep of having to fake who you are in a town full of fake people pleasers and over achievers (even if it was stressful to watch lmao) and how Christmas can bring out the worst in people.
- Even though it has issues, the ending was very heartfelt and I definitely cried. This movie is just really raw and sad in some parts, but in a way that felt genuine and you can tell that a lot of queer people were involved in making it. It really touches on this deep seated anguish of possibly being rejected, of not knowing whether your family is going to accept you or not, on desperately trying to pass because you’re afraid of change...I think a lot of that comes to the actors being really good, like all of them, and really acting their heart out. And the moment where the dad decides to forego a big donor/supporter because he doesn’t want to force his daugther to hide really touched me. I also really liked the part where the BFF talks about how everybody’s coming out journey can be different and it’s important to remember that, especially if you have the chance to come from a very tolerant background.
The Less Positive
- The movie has been criticized for being weirdly apolitical (for instance the dad is a mayor but we never learn anything about his actual political opinions) but tbh this is supposed to be a Hallmark-like holidays movie I think that’s kind of part of the genre to be in this sort of happy slightly tone-deaf bubble and I don’t think straight movies of this type get this sort of criticism so yknow i’m fine with that bit i guess not all queer movies should have to be deeply political (even tho yeah it’s still very homonormative and ‘all about family values’ etc etc)
- Most of the issues I have with this movie center around Harper, Abby’s love interest and the one who lies to her family about their relationship. Now, I think Mackenzie Davis is a really good actress. And I do feel sympathetic for the character. The movie really makes you understand all the pressure she’s under, how her parent’s love is conditional, all the public scrutiny, and why she behaves the way she does. And her finally pulling through made me cheer for her. However, there were a lot of moments in the movie where I was genuinely unsure if I should be rooting for Abby and her to stay together. She does a lot of things that are definitely deeply unhealthy and questionable and had me going ‘Abby pls run away while you still can’. I feel a lot of compassion for her. But I simply don’t think the movie gives us enough happy time with Abby and Harper for me to really want them to be together as a couple -they spend a big part of the movie being mad at each other. They should have given us more scenes with them at the start to really get a feel of who they are as characters and as a couple, so when it gets rough, we actually root for them to pull through. This is an issue a lot of mediocre romances have - they assume we will root for the characters just because they’re said to be in love. For me, that doesn’t really work. And even though the ending made me quite emotional (again, great acting) - as a romance, it doesn’t really work for me.
- I really liked the bit where the family realized they had been putting this pressure on each other to be perfect and as they shared all these secrets they finally came together as a family. But...honestly, the family started out as just so profoundly neurotic it felt a bit unbelievable (and their social circles felt like a nightmare). A bit like Abby and Harper’s relationship being all ok after Harper’s big change of heart. The whole ‘mom’s secret desire to do karate but it’s unlady-like’ being put on the same level as her daughter’s coming out had me rolling my eyes. And there is a forced coming out scene which I really really hate.
- I think what I am really tired of, is queer movies who center coming out so much, the anxiety of being accepted or not, etc. And who present coming out as this revolutionary process that is going to change everything immediately. In my experience, at least, it’s often a process of small inches, towards self acceptance, towards your family coming to terms and learning to be less unconsciously bigoted, sometimes good intentions, sometimes microagressions or being erased, etc etc. I also just really want queer stories and queer romances who are not centered on coming out, on ‘what will others/my family think’, who have shenanigans and tension based on other things, with characters who might struggle with self acceptance sometimes (or not) but who have other things going on as well and who are fuller characters. It’s about damn time. Until then, the movies we have will end up feeling a lot like a PSA for straight people.
Overall
I still think this is a pretty quality movie. Good acting, believable and often funny dialogue, good chemistry, etc. (And let’s be honest, the bar for wlw movies is uhhhh not very high.) I really enjoyed watching Kristen Steward play gay and have chemistry with pretty ladies. There was room for holiday gay movies (even tho I want to see more, with more diverse characters).
It feels like wish-fullfillment for a certain type of queer person - (upper) middle class, with parents who are...ambiguously accepting. It does transcribe well this tension of not really being to predict their reaction - and illustrates the importance of being very obviously accepting with your children - like tell them it’s okay for them to be gay from the start, even if they turn out to be straight - otherwise they will be left wondering if they’re not. It’s this fantasy that everything will turn out all-right after you come out, you will fit in your family better than before, your mistakes will be forgiven if you are earnest enough, and life can go on as usual but better. And it is sweet, and cathartic, in a way, even if not revolutionary.
But yeah, as a romance, I wasn’t entirely sold on it. And I think it was promoted as a lot more uplifting than it really was.
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Rowaelin AU! chapter three
AU! where the valg wars never happened, but Rowan and Aelin still stumble upon each other anyway
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Ao3 Masterlist
***
“I’m going to murder him.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’ll wait until training is over; he’ll be at his most exhausted and he’ll never see it coming.”
“He will see it coming. Not that it matters, we don’t murder our friends.”
“Elide! He is not my friend!”
“He’s mine, I actually quite like him.”
“That’s because he hasn’t been kicking your ass every day for the last week.”
“Well get good enough that you can kick his ass back, problem solved.”
____
Lorcan hadn’t explored much of the castle. He mostly kept to himself, a habit long engrained in him since childhood. Besides, he didn’t really feel like interacting with pointy nosed courtesans and their offspring. He walked around at night, but mostly to wayward taverns with wayward women, Rowan sulking at his side. The male was as annoying as ever, if not more so. Aelin always left him in a grump, and it was near insufferable. Oh no! How hard it must be on the poor baby to want one of the most powerful women to ever have lived! And for her to lust after him so badly any fae with have a brain cell could smell it! They were lucky Gavriel wasn’t here, or he’d have Rowan removed from court.
And where Rowan went, unfortunately Lorcan followed.
Lorcan took a rare moment to himself in the library. It was late at night, the clicking of cicadas a lullaby as he listened to them from the window. He had been eavesdropping on the princess and Gavriel’s son, but they were woefully boring. He had decided to stay once they left, kicking off his shoes and settling in next to a window so high and grand that all of Orynth was on display – much like the palaces you’d find in Doranelle. He didn’t want to read, he just wanted a break.
He was tired. So, so tired.
The sound of light footsteps interrupted him, and he stood up, readying himself to dodge them if need be. His ears pricked, and he walked until he could follow the sound, and the person, as they walked between aisles. He was as quiet as a shadow and peeked in the gap in the shelves to spy on his intruder.
It was a fair woman, probably in her mid-twenties, dark hair tied up messily on her head. She was wearing a red silk robe, half undone as she flurried through the shelves, a navy nightgown peeking through. He had on fur slippers, and she was scanning the shelves and picking up indiscernible titles. Lorcan had never seen her before, but she matched the description Rowan gave for the princess’s closet friend – Elide. This mightn’t be her, but it sure seemed like it.
Lorcan did know one thing as he watched her.
His heart, the moment he set eyes on her, started to beat erratically, and his soul begged to be near her. It was if a God had picked the string of his essence, and wrapped it around this woman, tying him to her. It was a feeling he’d never had before, and wouldn’t ever have again.
Lorcan knew that this woman, whoever she was, was his mate.
___
Elide balked at the man in front of her, stunned by his proposition. There she had been, minding her own damn business, when out of nowhere some sentry had begged her to take him to bed with her. She was sure he meant to be seductive, but she was a bloody lady and would be treated as such.
She shooed him and his hair that was way too blonde away, watching him flee into the morning sun as she continued her walk to the market. Usually she did this every morning with Aelin, but her friend had been too preoccupied lately to come. Elide wasn’t mad, she understood that Aelin’s training was the priority, she was just lonely. She had Ren and Aedion, but both were so busy that she barely saw them either. She just had be content on her lonesome.
She wove through the streets until she made it to the market, where she started moseying along. Baffled by the interaction with the sentry, she let herself be distracted by things she wouldn’t normally be. The flowers particularly caught her eye, but she had to regrettably leave them where they were. She had little personal funds, using most of her money to travel the continent, and she had to live frugally if she were to see as much of this world as she wanted to. All she bought were the small list of items given to her by various palace stuff – herbs, fresh bread, candles, and so on. Nothing for herself, not even the lovely orchids she wanted.
The market smelt like sugar and fresh bread, loose stones jutting into her feet even with her shoes on. She felt odd the more she walked; the back of her neck tingled, and she found herself reaching for it to see if a bug was trying to make a home there. There was nothing, and when she turned all she saw were people milling around as she was. Maybe she was getting sick, she did have a restless night’s sleep – not even her walk to the library and enthusiastic browsing was enough to wear her out. There was something in her blood though that sang, a message saying no physical ailment was what was making her feel this way.
She quickened her pace, but the feeling didn’t subside. Deciding she could forego the rest of her items until she had company, she decided to walk in the direction of the castle. She went a round-about way, suddenly paranoid that she was being followed. But that was ludicrous, surely.
She was in such a rush, that she slammed her basket into a building as she rounded its corner. Saying a word that would make her mother balk, she leant down to pick everything up when a hand joined hers. Her body jolted and she flinched back, looking into dark eyes that were level with her own.
It was a man; his hair, brown and shoulder length, was tucked behind gently curved ears. His face showed the hint of scars, but all were faded with time. His hand, which has just grazed her own, was somehow both rough and incredibly soft. He was dressed in rich silks, and if Elide was to guess, she’d say he wasn’t from Terrasen.
“You dropped this,” he said, gently placing her items into her basket.
“Um, yes, I did.” She noted his beauty, thinking that he couldn’t possibly be real. Maybe she’d also bumped her head and was hallucinating.
“Are you alright? You look dazed, my lady.”
My lady. Be still her beating heart.
“I’m fine, just-” she looked around her, there were a few vendors that had seen her tumble and were snickering, but otherwise no sign of anything nefarious. “Just frazzled.”
“Ah, well we can’t have a frazzled woman exerting herself.” He picked up the basket for her and offered his arm to help her stand. She squeaked as realised his height. He towered over her, his figure not looming but instead like a sea wall – sturdy in an age of constant thrashing.
She gladly took his arm, thrilled by the new turn of events.
“May I escort you somewhere?”
She swallowed, trying not to seem to eager or to burst out you may escort me to your bedroom please and thank you. “The castle, if you’d like. And my name is Elide. Elide Lochan. Elide Lochan of Perranth.”
He tilted his head, his lips hinting at a smile. “I’m actually staying there myself, Elide Lochan of Perranth, what are the chances that we’ve never met?”
She clicked her tongue. “You are? Why?”
“Yes, I’m the, uh, advisor to Prince Rowan Whitethorn.”
“Oh, you must be Lorcan! I’m Aelin’s handmaiden, I can’t believe we’ve never ran into each other.” Elide tightened her hands around his forearm as he guided them to the castle, her heavy basket being effortlessly held in his other. When Aelin had described Lorcan, she had envisioned a brute of man. Rather, she had never seen one so courteous in her life. “Advising Rowan, what does that entail?” she asked, curious as to how she hadn’t seen him at dinner or with Rowan when she’d accompanied Aelin to her training.
“Rowan’s life can be fraught in his profession; my job is to help wade him through any rough waters he might encounter. I’ve been doing it for decades.”
“Did you meet as children?”
“No,” he said, his voice making her spine shiver. “I’m a couple hundred years older than Rowan. We met when he was about forty.”
If Rowan was around the three hundred Aelin claimed him to be, that would make Lorcan, what? Five hundred?
A fae of that age…
Would have lots of experience, know exactly where everything with the female body was.
“Are you also royal?”
Lorcan looked down at her, his head casting a shadow over her face. “I – Yes, I am.”
“Is that how you met Rowan, you ran in the same circles?”
Lorcan paused, looking tentative. “Yes, of course I did. My mother was… my mother was Rowan’s tutor. She was a prestigious scholar.”
Elide noticed his change in tense. “Was?”
“She faded with my father. She was nearly a thousand years old and had me towards the end of her life.”
Elide tilted her head. “But if Rowan is two hundred years younger than you, and she had you at the end of her life, how could she have been his tutor?”
Lorcan coughed. “Well… when you’re fae with such a long life, the last two hundred really is the end. Like a human in their eighties.”
Elide conceded, that made sense.
They chatted idly as they walked, Elide hanging onto his every word as he escorted her back to her chambers. They drew eyes as they walked through the halls of the castle, but Elide barely spared them a thought as she engaged with Lorcan. His well-spoken-ness impressed her as much as his biceps, and she found herself doing what she did whenever a nice, attractive male made eye contact with her.
She made very inappropriate and convoluted fantasies up about them in her mind.
He walked with her throughout the castle, the pricky feeling from the market fully disappeared. She dropped off all the items she had bought, and somehow managed to not jump Lorcan’s bones. They only stopped as the bells rang noon, and Lorcan regretfully had to excuse himself to join Rowan.
“I wish I could stay longer, but Rowan is testy at the best of times.” He glanced away anxiously, biting his lip.
Oh Gods, she also wanted to bite his lip.
“That’s fine, I’m sure I can manage the rest of the day without you.” Her faux confidence was spurred by trying to give him the impression that she was a strong, independent woman. Which she was, she just needed him to definitely know that.
He bowed to her slightly, his smile returning. “Until I see you again, Lady Elide.”
He turned and walked away. He was nearly out of hearing distance when Elide yelled, “I leave for the market at eight!” She had no idea if he’d even garner that she was inviting him to join her, but either way, she knew she’d see him again.
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Evening Tea
For much of his life, Erwin had never been all that fond of tea. He had a vague memory of a member of his family joking that he had moved straight from the breast and onto the coffee bean. For a moment he tried to chase the face, perhaps it was an uncle, but try as he might, he couldn’t recall who’d said it. It wasn’t important anymore. There was no one left now.
It didn’t say much about Erwin’s memory that he couldn’t remember his first coffee, only that it was an ever present drink growing up. There was something about the deep aroma, rich and heavy and a kick to the senses, its refreshing bitterness as it washed over his tongue. Tea was a drink that simply seemed to pale in comparison, but for years now he’d drunk it every afternoon, even sometimes choosing to forego his morning coffee, though that was a rare occurrence. Erwin couldn’t remember his first cup of tea either, but he remembered in surprising detail the first tea he’d ever drunk and enjoyed.
It had been an evening not too unlike this one, with rain streaming steadily down the windows and a coolness to the air that settled upon his skin. There had been an awful week to prelude it, a disastrous mission and displeased investors looming over him, but a lovely cup of tea had washed that all away. But then again, was it really the tea that had had such an effect on him?
There was a knock on the door, summoning Erwin from his thoughts. Two sharp taps. Erwin shot a quick glance at the clock sat atop the fireplace. Just on time, as like every day not even a minute past eight.
“Good evening, Levi,” Erwin said, even before the door was pushed open.
His Captain walked in, a tray in hand balancing a teapot and two teacups. He didn’t respond, but he never would. Levi wasn’t one for pleasantries. When he spoke it was with purpose, though a bit of drink had the power of loosening his tongue. Erwin could count on only one hand how many times he’d been lucky enough to see that.
Considering Levi’s constant punctuality, Erwin should have been in the habit of clearing his desk before the clock struck eight, but as usual he had to rush to gather up his papers and twist tight the ink pot’s lid. Levi waited without a word, though Erwin might have caught him roll his eyes as he placed the tray down on the freshly cleared desk.
The sound of hot tea falling against the porcelain, dancing with whispers of steam and a floral scent relaxed Erwin, as if he had been conditioned to it.
“Do you remember the first tea we shared together, Levi?”
“Why would I remember something like that?” He responded with a click of his tongue.
Erwin watched as Levi picked up the saucer, lifting it up from the tray with such care, and placed it on the desk at Erwin’s right side with a caution he’d rarely see from the man outside of this moment. Levi was always so careful with the teacups. Erwin knew they were of his own collection, that the dirty mugs from the canteen weren’t good enough for the fine tea Levi would bring for them both was something Erwin had been reminded of many times before. Often he wondered if it were more than their price that had Levi taking such care. Some sentimental value perhaps.
“You were of great help to me, and you really helped me put things in perspective.”
“It’s what anyone would’ve done. Was a shit week.”
“So, you do remember.”
Levi didn’t reply to that, simply cast his eyes down and took a sip from his tea though it must have been far too hot still.
“I only made you tea.”
“And we spoke.”
“Not much.”
“But enough.”
Erwin caught sight of his reflection as he went to take a sip of his own tea. Only slightly surprised to see a smile pulling at his lips.
“You’re fucking weird, Erwin.”
“I’ve been told so before. Many times by you.”
With a shrug of his shoulders Levi acknowledged the fact. He would never try to deny it. Levi had never said something he didn’t mean, and would never take it back. While a problematic trait when dealing with potential investors, nobles and the sort, it was a trait of Levi’s that Erwin would never change. He was one of the few people, if not the only person, in whom Erwin could place unconditional trust. There was nothing like a bit of blunt truth to shine a light on things; words doused in perfume and wrapped in fine silk would never get them anywhere.
“I only asked if you remembered because it really has done me the world of good, taking some time away to have tea with you. I don’t know what chaos my mental state would be in today were it not for this.”
Levi nodded. Something like relief on his face. “Don’t mention it.”
Silence settles amongst them, its presence readily accepted as if it were an old friend. Every now and then it would bow down to the wind sighing against the old window panes and the clinking of the tea cups against their matching saucers, and when the tea was all drank and the ceramic long turned cold, it gave its farewell as Erwin started to speak.
“I have to meet with an investor in Sheena two weeks from today.”
“Thought we didn’t talk about work during teatime.” Levi said with a scowl. “We’ve still five minutes. It’s the only damn break you allow yourself, don’t spoil it.”
“Don’t worry, it’s mostly unrelated to work.”
Erwin waited for Levi’s approval, which he received in form of a barely-there nod.
“I won’t be too far from that teashop in Ehrmich that you’ve told me about, the one off Roethe Street. I’ll have some time to spare after the meeting, so I was wondering if you had any requests.”
At first Levi didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything. He simply sat there as if waiting for Erwin to continue. Erwin wondered if Levi was still unused to gestures of goodwill, acts of kindness with no strings attached. He wished he could gift Levi a thousand times over. Spoil him until he was used to it, perhaps even until he got sick of it.
Eventually, Levi stood up and grabbed himself a piece of paper and a pencil from the table. His face was full of thought as he returned to his seat, and Erwin didn’t dare disturb him, simply sat and watched him as he scribbled down a list.
“This is quite a collection,” Erwin said as Levi handed it over.
Levi scoffed. “You can afford it.”
“Ah, is it to be a gift?”
“I think I deserve that much. I’ve been making you tea every day for how long now?”
Erwin chuckled, and a warmth lit up in his chest. Levi certainly deserved this tea as a gift, and he thought Levi deserved so much more.
“What’re you looking at?”
“Thank you, Levi.”
It wasn’t what Erwin wanted to say, not really. What he wanted to say sprang to the tip of his tongue every time his eyes met Levi’s, but he’d keep it back, sometimes needing to clench his teeth to restrain the words.
He saw Levi awkwardly shuffle in his seat as he turned his head away and refused to meet Erwin’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Levi had locked away some words of his own.
“I’m gonna clean these up,” Levi announced, standing up rather abruptly.
“Same time tomorrow?”
Levi clicked his tongue. “Of course.”
Erwin watched Levi walk out of the door, tray balanced in his hand once more. For a man so strong he was graceful as he moved, and Erwin didn’t hear a single clink of ceramic as Levi opened and closed the door behind him. As always, he was already looking forward to their meeting the following day.
Looking again at the list, he realised that he didn’t recognise half of what was on there and found himself amazed at Levi’s extensive knowledge. Though he shouldn’t have been surprised; Levi certainly wasn't a man to do things by halves.
For safekeeping, Erwin folded the list in half, and then half again, and put it into his breast pocket. He smiled to himself and wondered how Levi would react if he were to get them gift wrapped.
#I'm baaaaackkkkkk#Though this is cheating 'cause I actually finished this months ago and forgot about it#t_t#I'm the worst#eruri#Erwin Smith#Levi Ackerman#I hate my new job#I have no time#And I don't enjoy it#life has become miserable#but I found this and read it and really really liked it#which like#NEVER happens#so I'm letting you all have it
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Pluralistic: 13 Mar 2020 (The third Little Brother book, Where I write, stream global news, AT&T's CEO gets millions for his failures, Chelsea Manning freed, Katie Porter vs CDC, Trump's scientific nihilism, Covid-malware co-evolution, Siennese solidarity)
Today's links
Announcing the third Little Brother book, Attack Surface: And a new Little Brother/Homeland reissue, with an intro by Ed Snowden!
Where I Write: A column for the CBC that's really about how I write.
Stream 200+ global news channels: Each hand-picked, no registration required.
AT&T's CEO fired 23,000 workers and gave himself a 10% raise: Life on the easiest setting.
Chelsea Manning is free: But she's been fined $256K for refusing to testify to the Grand Jury.
Rep Katie Porter forces CDC boss to commit to free testing: Literally the most effective questioner in Congress.
Trump's unfitness in a plague: It's not because he's an ignoramus, it's because he's a nihilist.
Malware that hides behind a realtime Covid-19 map: Peter Watts' prophecy comes true.
Locked-down Siennese sing their city's hymn: A cause for hope in the dark.
This day in history: 2015, 2019
Colophon: Recent publications, current writing projects, upcoming appearances, current reading
Announcing the third Little Brother book, Attack Surface (permalink)
Attack Surface is the third Little Brother book, coming out next October.
It's told from the point of view of Masha, the young woman who is Marcus Yallow's frenemy who works first for the DHS and then for a private spook outfit. It's a book about how good people talk themselves into doing bad things, and how they redeem themselves. It ranges from Iraq to the color revolutions of the former USSR, to Oakland and the Movement for Black Lives.
The story turns on cutting-edge surveillance and counter-surveillance: self-driving cars, over-the-air baseband radio malware, IMSI catchers, CV dazzle and adversarial examples, binary transparency and warrant canaries.
This week, I did a wide-ranging and deep interview with Andrew Liptak for Polygon about the book, the Little Brother series, the techlash, the tech workers' uprising (and #TechWontBuildIt), and the future of technological self-determination.
We also revealed the cover for Attack Surface, which was designed by the incomparable Will Staehle (who is eligible for a Best Artist Hugo – nominations close today!).
https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531
Not only that, but Staehle has also designed a cover for a new omnibus edition of Little Brother and Homeland that comes out this July, and as you can see from that cover, the book has an all-new introduction by none other than Ed Snowden!
https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250774583
(In 2017, Staehle also designed all-new covers for my adult backlist)
https://www.tor.com/2017/10/18/cory-doctorow-will-staehle-covers/
The Little Brother books are neither optimistic nor pessimistic about technology: instead, they are hopeful. Hope is the belief that you can materially improve your life if you take action. A belief in human agency and the power of self-determination.
The message of Little Brother is neither "Things will all be fine" nor "We are all doomed."
It's: "This will be so great…if we don't screw it up."
Where I Write (permalink)
I learned to be a writer while my life was in total chaos. Decades later, I have a beautiful office to work in, but I still do my best writing typing hurriedly on subway trains, in taxi-cabs, and airport lounges.
https://www.cbc.ca/arts/finding-comfort-in-the-chaos-how-cory-doctorow-learned-to-write-from-literally-anywhere-1.5489363
My CBC column on where I write is really a primer on how I write: what it takes to be able to write when you're sad, or anxious, or wracked with self-doubt.
Unquestionably the most important skill I've acquired as a writer.
"Even though there were days when the writing felt unbearably awful, and some when it felt like I was mainlining some kind of powdered genius and sweating it out through my fingertips, there was no relation between the way I felt about the words I was writing and their objective quality, assessed in the cold light of day at a safe distance from the day I wrote them. The biggest predictor of how I felt about my writing was how I felt about me. If I was stressed, underslept, insecure, sad, hungry or hungover, my writing felt terrible. If I was brimming over with joy, the writing felt brilliant."
Stream 200+ global news channels (permalink)
TV News is an Android app that pulls like Youtube streams from 200+ global news channels in 50 languages, each manually selected by the app's creator, Steven Clift, whose work I've previously admired.
http://tvnewsapp.com/
You can filter the feeds by country and language and watch them as floating windows that let you continue to use your device while you watch. No registration required, either.
They're shooting for 1000+ channels soon.
AT&T's CEO fired 23,000 workers and gave himself a 10% raise (permalink)
Randall Stephenson is CEO of AT&T. Ajit Pai killed Net Neutrality so that Stephenson could legally slow down the services we requested to extort bribes from us. Then, Trump gave his company a $20B tax cut.
https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/nepxeg/atandt-preps-for-new-layoffs-despite-billions-in-tax-breaks-and-regulatory-favors
Stephenson used that money to raise exec pay, buy back his company's stock to juice its price and to pay off debts from earlier, disastrous mergers. He cut 23,000 jobs and slashed capital spending (America has the worst broadband of any rich country).
https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2019/05/att-promised-7000-new-jobs-to-get-tax-break-it-cut-23000-jobs-instead/
After all that, Stephenson congratulated himself on a job well done by giving himself a 10% raise in 2019, bringing his total compensation up to 32 million dollars.
https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2020/03/att-ceo-pay-rose-to-32-million-in-2019-while-he-cut-20000-jobs/
I mean the guy earned it. He blew billions of dollars buying Warner and Directv, and then lost billions more on the failed aftermath. If that doesn't warrant a raise, what does?
https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2019/10/att-loses-another-1-3-million-tv-customers-as-directv-freefall-continues/
Chelsea Manning is free (permalink)
A judge has ordered that Chelsea Manning be released from jail, a day after her latest suicide attempt. She was jailed last March for refusing to testify before a grand jury, held in solitary for two months, then jailed again a few days later, in May, She's been inside ever since.
The judge ordered her release because the Grand Jury had finished its work.
https://www.courtlistener.com/recap/gov.uscourts.vaed.412520/gov.uscourts.vaed.412520.41.0.pdf
It's fantastic to that Manning got her freedom back, but she has been fined $256,000 for her noncompliance. I just donated to her fund:
https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-chelsea-pay-her-court-fines
(Image: Tim Travers Hawkins, CC BY-SA)
Rep Katie Porter forces CDC boss to commit to free testing (permalink)
I am a huge fan of Rep Katie Porter. Her outstanding questioning techniques and unwillingness to countenance bullshit from the people she questions are such a delight to watch.
Here she is demolishing billionaire finance criminal Jamie Dimon:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2WLuuCM6Ej0
Oh, Ben Carson, you never stood a chance:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVWy3q2kmNM
Steve Mnuchin always looks like a colossal asshole, but rarely this comprehensively:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=78zpa0hQ1aw
I almost feel sorry for this Trumpkin from the Consumer Finance Protection Board as she faces Porter's withering fire.
Almost.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBaCc5VUHS8
Porter – an Elizabeth Warren protege – doesn't do this to grandstand. Like AOC, she uses her spectacular skills to elicit admissions and get them on the record, and to hold Congressional witnesses to account.
Today, Porter attained a new peak in a short, illustrious career. That's because today was the day she questioned CDC assistant secretary for preparedness and response Robert Kadlec, asking him to clarify Trump's televised lie last night that insurers would pay for Covid-19 testing.
https://twitter.com/RepKatiePorter/status/1238147835859779584
Porter doggedly held Kadlec to account, forcing him to acknowledge that the cost of a Covid-19 test – $1,331 – was so high that many would forego it, and then to admit that these Americans could go on to transmit the disease to others, making it a matter of public concern.
Then she forced CDC Director Robert Redfield to admit – as she had informed him in writing the week before – that the CDC had the authority to simply pay those fees, universally, for any American seeking testing, under 42 CFR 71.30:
https://www.govinfo.gov/content/pkg/CFR-2019-title42-vol1/xml/CFR-2019-title42-vol1-part71.xml#seqnum71.30
Having laid this factual record, Porter insisted that Redfield commit to using that authority. Not to consider it, study it, or consult on it. To use it to help save the country. Whenever Redfield waffled, she reclaimed her time and forced him back on point.
KP: Dr. Redfield, will you commit to the CDC, right now, using that existing authority to pay for diagnostic testing, free to every American, regardless of insurance?
RR: Well, I can say that we're going to do everything to make sure everybody can get the care they need –"
KP: Nope, not good enough. Yes or no?
RR: What I'm going to say is, I'm going to review it in detail with CDC and the department —
KP: No, reclaiming my time [repeats the question]
RR: What I was trying to say is that CDC is working with HHS now to see how we operationalize that
KP: Dr. Redfield, I hope that that answer weighs heavily on you, because it is going to weigh very heavily on me and on every American family
RR: Our intent is to make sure that every American family gets the care and treatment they need at this time in this major epidemic and I am currently working with HHS to see how to best operationalize it.
KP: Excellent! Everybody in America hear that — you are eligible to go get tested for coronavirus and have that covered, regardless of insurance
[Curtain]
Trump's unfitness in a plague (permalink)
In this editorial, Science editor-in-chief H Holden Thorp makes a compelling case that Trump is not capable of leading the American response to Covid-19.
https://science.sciencemag.org/content/367/6483/1169
Trump has spent years denigrating and ignoring science before taking office, and it's only gotten worse, since.
As Thorp writes, "You can't insult science when you don't like it and then suddenly insist on something that science can't give on demand."
His policy track-record is even worse: "deep cuts to science, including cuts to funding for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the NIH…nearly 4 years of harming and ignoring science."
This reminds me of an argument I often have with digital rights activists who attribute bad technology policy to the inability of clueless lawmakers to understand the technical nuance. I think that's wrong. The fact that we're not all dead of cholera, even though there are no microbiologists in Congress proves that you don't need to be a domain expert to make good policy.
Good policy comes from truth-seeking exercises in which experts with different views present their best evidence to neutral adjudicators who make determinations in public, showing their work in explicit, written, public reasoning. These processes are made legitimate – and hence robust and reliable – by procedural rules. The adjudicators – regulators, staffers, etc – are not allowed to have conflicts of interest. Their conclusions are subject to the rule of law, with mandatory transparency and a process for appeal.
It has to be this way: there's no way that – say – a president could be an expert on all the different issues that might arise during their tenure.
This, then, is the problem with inequality and market concentration: it merges the referees with the players. When an industry only has a handful of players, they all end up with common lobbying positions – a common position on what is truth. That's because the C-suites of these five companies are filled with people who've worked at two, three or four of the competitors, and are married to others who've worked at the remainder. They're godparents to one anothers' kids, executors of each others' wills.
There's no way for there NOT to be collusion in these circumstances.
And when an industry is that concentrated, the only people who understand it well enough are those same execs, so inevitably the regulators are drawn from the industry.
That's why Obama's "good" FCC Chair, Tom Wheeler, was a former Comcast lobbyist, and why Ajit Pai, Trump's "bad" FCC chair, is a former Verizon lawyer. Apart from Susan Crawford, there's not really anyone who's not from the top ranks of Big Telco qualified to regulate them.
So many of us saw the photo of Trump meeting with all the tech leaders and were dismayed that they were throwing their lot in with him.
But we should also be aghast that all the leaders of the industry fit around one modest board-room table.
https://techcrunch.com/2016/12/14/donald-trump-meets-with-tech-leaders/
The problem with Trump's Covid-19 response is that he does not believe in a legitimate process with neutral referees. The refereeship, in trumpland, is an open-field auction, a transactional process that works best when it enriches Trump and his party.
The problem of Trump taking charge of the epidemiological crisis of Covid-19 isn't that he doesn't understand science: it's that he doesn't believe in evidence-based policy.
He is part of the cult of "Public Choice Theory," the belief that there is no one who can serve as referee without eventually colluding with the players for their mutual enrichment, a cynical, nihilistic philosophy that holds that there's no point in seeking to govern well. These people project their own moral vacuum onto all of humanity, a kind of cartoon Homo Economicus who is incapable of anything except maximizing personal utility.
For these people, the existence of bridges that don't fall down and water that doesn't give you cholera are lucky accidents, not results of sound policy and careful truth-seeking. They reason that since they would take bribes to poison the water of Flint, so would everyone.
Trump isn't just a non-expert, he's an ignoranamus, but that's not the problem. The problem is that he is a nihilist, someone who doesn't believe that truth-seeking is even possible.
Malware that hides behind a realtime Covid-19 map (permalink)
Hackers have developed a malware-as-a-service that packages up realtime Covid-19 maps with malware droppers that infect people who load them.
https://krebsonsecurity.com/2020/03/live-coronavirus-map-used-to-spread-malware/
This reminds me intensely of Peter Watts's 2002 novel Maelstrom, in which Watts uses his background as an evolutionary biologist to posit an eerily plausible and devilishly clever way that a digital and a human virus could co-evolve.
https://rifters.com/real/MAELSTROM.htm
This has stuck with me! In May 2018, I wrote about it in Locus Magazine:
http://locusmag.com/2018/05/cory-doctorow-the-engagement-maximization-presidency/
Maelstrom is concerned with a pandemic that is started by its protagonist, Lenie Clark, who returns from a deep ocean rift bearing an ancient, devastating pathogen that burns its way through the human race, felling people by the millions.
As Clark walks across the world on a mission of her own, her presence in a message or news story becomes a signal of the utmost urgency. The filters are firewalls that give priority to some packets and suppress others as potentially malicious are programmed to give highest priority to any news that might pertain to Lenie Clark, as the authorities try to stop her from bringing death wherever she goes.
Here's where Watt's evolutionary biology shines: he posits a piece of self-modifying malicious software – something that really exists in the world today – that automatically generates variations on its tactics to find computers to run on and reproduce itself. The more computers it colonizes, the more strategies it can try and the more computational power it can devote to analyzing these experiments and directing its randomwalk through the space of all possible messages to find the strategies that penetrate more firewalls and give it more computational power to devote to its task.
Through the kind of blind evolution that produces predator-fooling false eyes on the tails of tropical fish, the virus begins to pretend that it is Lenie Clark, sending messages of increasing convincingness as it learns to impersonate patient zero. The better it gets at this, the more welcoming it finds the firewalls and the more computers it infects.
At the same time, the actual pathogen that Lenie Clark brought up from the deeps is finding more and more hospitable hosts to reproduce in: thanks to the computer virus, which is directing public health authorities to take countermeasures in all the wrong places. The more effective the computer virus is at neutralizing public health authorities, the more the biological virus spreads. The more the biological virus spreads, the more anxious the public health authorities become for news of its progress, and the more computers there are trying to suck in any intelligence that seems to emanate from Lenie Clark, supercharging the computer virus.
Together, this computer virus and biological virus co-evolve, symbiotes who cooperate without ever intending to, like the predator that kills the prey that feeds the scavenging pathogen that weakens other prey to make it easier for predators to catch them.
Locked-down Siennese sing their city's hymn (permalink)
In times of crisis, we typically pull together, but elite panic's pervasive mythology holds that these moments are when the poors reveal their inner beast and attack their social betters. That libel on humanity is disproved regularly by our everyday experience. As common as these incidents of solidarity are, they still warrant our notice.
The Song of the Verbena is the hymn of the Italian city of Sienna, currently on lockdown.
https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canto_della_Verbena
This video of Siennese people singing their hymn from the windows of their houses, into their empty street, is one of the most beautiful, hopeful things I've seen this week.
Truly, it is a tonic.
https://twitter.com/valemercurii/status/1238234518508777473
This day in history (permalink)
#5yrsago NYPD caught wikiwashing Wikipedia entries on police brutality https://web.archive.org/web/20150313150951/http://www.capitalnewyork.com/article/city-hall/2015/03/8563947/edits-wikipedia-pages-bell-garner-diallo-traced-1-police-plaza
#1yrago Gimlet staff announce unionization plan following Spotify acquisition https://www.theverge.com/2019/3/13/18263957/gimlet-media-union-spotify-recognition-podcasts
#1yrago With days to go until the #CopyrightDirective vote, #Article13's father admits it requires filters and says he's OK with killing Youtube https://www.golem.de/news/uploadfilter-voss-stellt-existenz-von-youtube-infrage-1903-139992.html
#1yrago Spotify's antitrust complaint against Apple is a neat parable about Big Tech's monopoly https://www.wired.com/story/spotify-apple-complaint-warren-antitrust-issue/
#1yrago A critical flaw in Switzerland's e-voting system is a microcosm of everything wrong with e-voting, security practice, and auditing firms https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/zmakk3/researchers-find-critical-backdoor-in-swiss-online-voting-system
#1yrago McMansion Hell tours the homes of the "meritocratic" one-percenters who allegedly bought their thickwitted kids' way into top universities in the college admissions scandal https://mcmansionhell.com/post/183417051691/in-honor-of-the-college-admissions-scandal
Colophon (permalink)
Today's top sources: Empty Wheel (https://www.emptywheel.net/), CNN (https://cnn.com), Memex 1.1 (https://memex.naughtons.org/), Slashdot (https://slashdot.org).
Hugo nominators! My story "Unauthorized Bread" is eligible in the Novella category and you can read it free on Ars Technica: https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/
Currently writing: I've just finished rewrites on a short story, "The Canadian Miracle," for MIT Tech Review. It's a story set in the world of my next novel, "The Lost Cause," a post-GND novel about truth and reconciliation. I've also just completed "Baby Twitter," a piece of design fiction also set in The Lost Cause's prehistory, for a British think-tank. I'm getting geared up to start work on the novel next.
Currently reading: Just started Lauren Beukes's forthcoming Afterland: it's Y the Last Man plus plus, and two chapters in, it's amazeballs. Last month, I finished Andrea Bernstein's "American Oligarchs"; it's a magnificent history of the Kushner and Trump families, showing how they cheated, stole and lied their way into power. I'm getting really into Anna Weiner's memoir about tech, "Uncanny Valley." I just loaded Matt Stoller's "Goliath" onto my underwater MP3 player and I'm listening to it as I swim laps.
Latest podcast: A Lever Without a Fulcrum Is Just a Stick https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_330/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_330_-_A_Lever_Without_a_Fulcrum_Is_Just_a_Stick.mp3
Upcoming books: "Poesy the Monster Slayer" (Jul 2020), a picture book about monsters, bedtime, gender, and kicking ass. Pre-order here: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781626723627?utm_source=socialmedia&utm_medium=socialpost&utm_term=na-poesycorypreorder&utm_content=na-preorder-buynow&utm_campaign=9781626723627
(we're having a launch for it in Burbank on July 11 at Dark Delicacies and you can get me AND Poesy to sign it and Dark Del will ship it to the monster kids in your life in time for the release date).
"Attack Surface": The third Little Brother book, Oct 20, 2020. https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531
"Little Brother/Homeland": A reissue omnibus edition with a new introduction by Edward Snowden: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250774583
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An excerpt from pt.4 of my Rooted in Friendship series.
Thank you @ms31x129 for the beautiful cover and @monikafilefan and @kyouryokusenshi for all your support!
This chapter takes place post IWTB, but before The Revival. A little smut, angst, and fluff - in other words, TXF.
After failing miserably at their training, they were sent back with some homework...
Later that day in the backyard of the unremarkable house...
“Mulder, we’ve got too many things working against us, between leg length and stride, and domineering personalities…By the end of the day we may wind up in separate houses.”
Scully tripped and stumbled and Mulder bent to catch her before they both hit the ground. “I’m not giving up,” he replied.
Somehow she knew he was going to say that. They had been running around their backyard for what seemed like hours and it sure didn’t seem like they were getting anywhere.
When they concentrated it wasn’t so bad, but as soon as they went to their natural tendencies, they found themselves way off the mark.
“Maybe we should at least attempt to follow Shira’s instructions,” Mulder suggested. Manipulating their bands, they sat facing one another remaining tied at the wrist and ankle. Mulder took her hands and she rested her palms against his. “Shira said we should start by telling each other something we don’t know about the other. Something from childhood maybe?”
Scully studied his eyes and contemplated what she was about to say. “I’m considering a new position in the hospital.”
Mulder’s eyebrows raised in surprise. When was she going to tell him? “Doing..”
“Assisting surgeons. Giving kids what their biology neglected… using the limits of human only DNA.”
Mulder nodded. “Making the world’s children your own,” he added arrogantly.
Scully’s eyes turned to fire, angry that he would even make that connection. Whether he did it knowingly or not, he had just stirred a hurricane. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. If that’s what you need to do.”
It was a harsh loaded statement and Pandora’s box flew open causing Scully’s voice to rise above their sacred bond. Blood was about to be spilled. Like a cornered soldier, she threw out the grenades, “You think this is about William again. Not everything I do is about William just like not every decision you make is about Samantha..”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to..” Scully snapped. “because you resent me for giving up our son..” Her words slicing through the dry air. Mulder sat silent and stunned. “Untie me..” she demanded pulling against the bands, her face as crimson as her hair.
“No.” Mulder stood bitterly as his fury rose to a boil. Scully struggled against the ties that bound them as Mulder’s free hand covered her shoulder to hold her steady forcing her to look him in the eye. “You’re not walking away. Not this time.”
“I don’t walk away. That’s more your department. Sure you don’t want to lock yourself in the study for a couple weeks?” Scully looked indignantly into his eyes staring him down. Daring him to spar with her, but Mulder didn’t have it in him. There were so many other things they could be doing with this day.
“Is that what you think of me?” he asked. Hurt that she took any of his time alone as a personal affront. Scully didn’t answer the question. Instead they sat in silence and the longer the quiet grew the worse Mulder felt inside. If she blamed him for all of it, that he could bear, but her believing that he would ever think she did the wrong thing by putting William up for adoption...
“Scully.. not for one second did I ever question your decision.. Not ever…If I’ve ever made you feel otherwise… It’s not true.”
Scully’s eyes softened and he saw all the self-doubt she kept inside. “Mulder, what if it was the wrong decision?”
Mulder shook his head and brought his hand to her cheek. “It was the only decision, Scully.”
“Mulder, how do you know?”
“There was no defeating those super soldiers. At least by placing him in hiding he stood a fighting chance. Even if I was around, there was nothing either of us could have done. They would have gotten to him.”
“Then why are you trying so desperately to contact him that you’re risking your health?”
With his free hand, Mulder ran his hand through his hair and dropped his head. “I was doing it for you. You want to know that he is safe. That’s what I was trying to find out.”
Scully reached for the hand that was tied to hers and gave it a squeeze. Once again they sat in silence until Mulder saw the question rise from Scully’s chest. She bit her bottom lip right before letting the thought free. “Mulder, if the aliens are gone and smoking man is dead, why couldn’t we go look for him?”
Mulder let out a deep breath. “We don’t know for sure that the aliens are gone. We don’t know how successful the rebels or Jeffrey’s team was. We don’t know why the replacements left the FBI. What about the Tunisia funding Jeffrey was receiving? That’s enough evidence to question whether or not all the Syndicate members were turned into BBQ. I don’t believe they were all there that day.”
“So you don’t believe it’s safe yet.” Scully’s whole face dropped.
“We can throw out some feelers to see how dangerous it really is, but before then, do you want to take that chance?”
“No. No, you’re right.” She knew he was right, but that didn’t make the decision any easier. Her eyes welled. “He’s eight Mulder. Eight years gone that we’ll never get back.”
“I know, but our sacrifice is so he can have a life.” He squeezed her hand to hold back his own tears.
Scully let her hand drop and squeezed his knee desperate to lighten the mood. “So Mulder, it’s your turn, what is it that I don’t know about you?”
Mulder thought for a while. Gave the appearance as if he had something to say, but each time he simply shook his head. After a few minutes, Scully’s face soured. “Well, you’re obviously holding back something… or several things.. Is it that hard of a choice? I didn’t realize you were such a mystery man.”
Mulder peeled his eyes, his brows slanting upward towards the vertical line appearing between them. “Why don’t you have a ring on your finger?”
Scully shook her head. “Mulder, what are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. We’re back out in the world, nothing holding us back, yet we are both lacking some considerable bling.”
Scully frowned. “The idea of this exercise is for you to reveal something about yourself.”
“Maybe my big reveal is that I think it’s time to move forward. We’ve finally stopped running. And we’re both working, we have a home.. Scully, it’s time to stop holding on to what might be, what could be, that other road, other track, running parallel to this one that every now and then you consider jumping onto… The one that comes with the worry that you could be wasting your life right now…Scully, we’re going to wake up one day and be old, with our whole life behind us, and you’ll still be wondering about that other track.”
The fire returned to her eyes and Scully broke their contact. “Mulder, you’re being ridiculous. You are not the one who gets to accuse people of wasting their life. Your crusade for Samantha was your whole life for too many years. You can’t say there was room for me.”
Mulder’s voice grew as soft as his eyes, “I always had room for you Scully, but I, I understand.”
“Mulder, you need so badly to chase after the truth, you will forego your life for it.”
The crease returned to Mulder’s forehead. He thought what she was implying was quite rich. His words coming out louder than he intended. He rose from his chair. “You’re blaming me? I’ve spent more time waiting for you to come around… to be comfortable with a situation…”
“Mulder, how many times could something have happened between us and you failed to make a move?”
“That’s not what we’re talking about Scully, but if there’s a lack of commitment, it’s not because of me...maybe if you look inside you’ll see that you want more...something else..you think there is some brass ring called the normal life...well, who has the normal life Scully?” Scully rose to meet his gaze and Mulder started walking. Scully followed unknowingly, the bands forgotten. They were walking in a synchronized gait. “What it all comes down to is I’m not good enough for you.” Mulder stopped. “Maybe a life with me isn’t good enough for you. Maybe I agree, but I can’t cut myself, my pride, my personality, into any more pieces.”
Scully swung around to face him, steam rising from every pore. She stepped forward as he moved back. ”You think you’ve let go, you’re chopped up in pieces? Is this letting it go? Is this change?” She asked lifting up their bands. “You gave up your career? I gave up my life.. my career, my family..for what? A man clipping newspapers and scanning the internet looking for signs of the apocalypse..”
It didn’t matter how much she railed against him. Nothing was going to change his mind. He changed the tempo of her tango and now she was the one taking the steps backwards as he walked towards her. All the while they didn’t stumble, didn’t trip. “And you won’t commit��I can’t change who I am Scully..” He wanted to scoop her up into his arms, to rekindle their connection, but he needed her to make a move.
“And who am I Mulder?” Scully asked stopping their dance.
“Who are you Scully? Who are you? Are you a doctor or a FBI agent? A religious person who puts her faith in God or one of only logic and science? Do you believe in apparitions or are they figments of our imagination? There is a constant battle within your personality and you know why? Because maybe you really do believe there is only one true path. Maybe now you doubt all your decisions and you don’t know what the truth is for yourself, so you keep holding on to the notion that you can still jump into another life. Scully, if this is the wrong path, if I’m the wrong path, you’re running out of time… and if I am the right one, you’re still running out of time….”
He paused to catch his breath and then looked back into her eyes. “I’ve been in love with you my whole life Scully.”
Scully sighed back. “You haven’t known me your whole life Mulder.”
“My entire life, I had an image of the perfect woman. A person I could trust, that was the smartest person I know, someone that believed in me. Someone to walk to the ends of the earth with and find the truths that lay beyond. In the back of my mind I had this picture of what I thought was the perfect one for me and I didn’t even come close.. you are all of that and more. Anyone that has ever gotten close to me, I wanted from them what I have in you.”
Scully ran her tongue along her top lip and nodded. “That’s just like you Mulder. As soon as you think you might lose me.. That I might stray too far..Suddenly your emotions come pouring out.”
Mulder felt his last bit of self control snap. He exploded in unrestrained fury. “If we waited for your emotions to pour out we’d both be dead.”
They stared each other down. It was not fun to fight with someone that knew you better than anyone in the world. Someone whose thoughts and opinions you held dearer to you than your own heart. Mulder forced himself to calm down and swallow his hurt. His voice dropped to barely a whisper, “Scully, I’m here. Say something.”
Scully spoke in the same reverent tones, “Untie me.”
He bent down to untie her ankles and then rose to free her wrists. She looked deep into his eyes and then walked back into the house. When he made his way inside, he heard the engine of her rental and peered through the drapes to watch her disappear down the drive. She was gone and there was nothing he could do but wait for her return.
Mulder was in the study when he heard Scully come home. It was nearly 10:30 at night. Weighing his options he headed for the couch and the television rather than face her in the bedroom. Sometime in the early morning Mulder finally fell asleep and was awakened a couple hours later by the sound of the front door closing and the car pulling away as Scully left for work. With the house now to himself, he crept upstairs to take his own shower. At the sink he found a small familiar box sitting next to the soap dish.
When Scully arrived home that evening she found Mulder sitting on the porch. “I cleaned the house.” he bragged as she walked up the steps. “Scrubbed until the place shined like the top of the Chrysler building.”
Scully nodded and leaned against the railing in front of him, the band on her left hand glittering gold in the sun. He held out his left hand to her and she threaded her hand in his, using her middle finger to toggle the ring on his own finger. They walked hand in hand, following no clear direction. Mulder began his ramble, “There’s nothing new in the news. The stock market is in the toilet, the housing market burst its bubble…Even with all that, it’s like a calm before the storm.”
“You think so..”
“Yeah,”
“Mulder?” Scully asked as they turned towards the backyard, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Now who did all that?” Mulder asked.
A table was set-up outside filled with what looked to be a four course meal, but it was what sat behind the table that caught her eye. “Mulder, whose car is that?”
Mulder put his arm around her, rubbing her shoulder, and pressed his lips just above her temple. “That would be ours.”
“Mulder, you can’t afford..”
“Yeah, actually I can. I got a good deal on it and I thought you would look better behind the wheel of an SUV rather than another beat up old sedan.”
Scully looked up at him. “Mulder, I..”
He shook his head and smiled. “Consider it a late Valentine’s Day gift and an early birthday present. I’m not bringing it back, so you’re stuck with it.” Walking over to the car, he opened the door, opened the windows and turned on the radio. He offered his hand out bowing his head. Scully took his hand without a word and they danced together in their own backyard out under the setting sun and swaying trees, rocking back and forth. She smiled into his eyes, his soulful glow filling her heart. He sent her out for a spin and she twirled back into his arms as he dipped her. They laughed and she laid a hand on his chest. He lowered his hands to her back and they slowed their sway. Their lips gently coming together. Mulder pulled back and smiled, “I hope you’re hungry because I cooked a feast.”
*************
Scully’s phone buzzed in her pocket as she sat behind her office computer. It was about time for her to take a break anyway. She looked at it and answered. “Mulder, I was wondering when I would get to hear from you today.”
“Unfortunately this isn’t a ‘hey honey how you doing’ call. I was wondering if you had time to head on over to the medical examiner’s office in town. I’ve got a body over here you’re going to want to check out.”
“Mulder, what did we agree on?”
“I know, you’re a doctor and a surgeon’s assistant. Got it, but this man has died from a virus of unknown origin. Just come over here and tell me if I’m crazy.”
“You’re crazy. See, no need to hike across town for that.” Scully looked at her watch. “I should be finished within the hour. I’ll meet you there.”
“That’ll work. Oh and Scully?”
“Yes Mulder.”
“Love you.”
Scully blushed. “Love you too.” she said as she rubbed the ring resting on her finger with her thumb. She shook her head as she ended the call and smiled to herself.
*****Medical Examiner’s Office 6:05PM*****
“So, what’s your medical opinion?”
“It was definitely the virus that was the cause of death.” Scully concluded as she studied the slides through the microscope with Mulder literally breathing down her neck causing the tiny hairs there to stand on end. “Have you had any luck identifying it?” Scully asked addressing her question to the pathologist.
“It’s possibly a new strain of tuberculosis. What’s puzzling is this man has not been out of the country and there’s evidence that this virus has been lying dormant in his system for some time. Like it was woven into him waiting for a catalyst to set it off,” the pathologist explained. He excused himself to check on some other specimens.
As soon as he left the room, Scully addressed Mulder. “Strange,” Scully stated, “But not paranormal.”
“No,” Mulder agreed, “But this is.” He set down a tube with an oblong metal object inside.
“Did you have it analyzed?”
Mulder nodded, “Manufactured by our good ol’ buddies in Japan. I should also mention that he castrated himself.”
Scully frowned. “That’s odd. I don’t remember anything in the files about any alien abductees castrating themselves, cult or otherwise.”
“No, and it is possible this was unrelated and his abductions could have occurred long ago, he may have been some of the few experiments that were never destroyed. Or..”
“Or this may be evidence of a rise of a new syndicate.” Scully finished.
“Either way, I’m going to stay on the case, but I think this is enough investigating for now. Tonight I have other plans.” Mulder concluded. “Meet you at home in about two hours?”
Scully nodded. “I’ve got to stop at the store, then I’m headed back.”
************************
Mulder, as promised, was home a little after eight with flowers and a shy smile. After dinner he rolled out his plan across the coffee table. “This is the map I made of the house. Shira suggested we go through every possible attack from each entryway. She said the only way to get this down to a science is to role play at least once a month. We can try each scenario and decide on who will do what, where, and when.”
“You believe they're going to come for that object.”
Mulder nodded. “Tomorrow I'll work on securing firearms.”
Scully patted his inner thigh. “I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up too late.”
Mulder stopped her at the third step on the stairs so they were at equal height, his breath heavy at her ear, “We didn’t discuss your day. Save any lives today Dr. Scully?”
She leaned back into him and he wrapped his arms around her kissing her ear, “I’ll be assisting my first surgery in two days on a young girl. I’m prepared, but you always feel a little nervous as things can go wrong.”
He nuzzled her ear and kissed it again. “I know you, and you’ll do great. You’re still the strongest person I’ve ever met.” She proceeded up the stairs and Mulder again met her at the bathroom doorway, this time wearing nothing more than his boxers, watching her as she washed her face. His head leaned against the molding as he played with the door frame. “What’s wrong Mulder?” she asked staring into the mirror.
“I was noticing how beautiful you are..”
Scully cast him a doubting look and continued flossing. Rather than try to convince her he was being sincere, Mulder changed the subject. “You should be really proud of yourself and everything you’re accomplishing at work, but know, I miss my partner. I think about you all day. It’s like even though you’re not there, you’re still speaking to me in my head.”
Scully grabbed her toothbrush and applied some toothpaste, “Voices in your head, huh? Sounds like some early warning signs Mulder.”
With one last gargle she finished off with some mouthwash and turned to face him. “It’s not always easy for me either. I question myself sometimes and you’re not there to push me out of my comfort zone.”
“You’re not there to tell me when I’m doing something wrong and to tend to my wounds when I do,” Mulder concurred.
“I have to stop myself from reaching out to you from time to time,” Scully admitted her heart feeling the conversation taking a turn.
“All day I walk around like something’s missing.” His eyes and his voice slowed and dropped half an octave, “I need you Scully.”
Their eyes locked and they stared at each other. Scully felt his heart reaching for hers. Mulder gulped and his lips parted, breathing from his mouth. That was when she realized that she was doing the same, their chests rising and falling at the same pace, their eyes dilated as they read the others thoughts, She took a half step towards him and he lunged for her. Their lips crashed together and he tore at her clothes lifting them off of her as she braced against the tile wall, his mouth dipped to her abdomen, sucking the skin at her ribs, her chest, finding her lips again. She felt her knees go weak and as she slid, he followed her, both of them tumbling to the floor. The cold hard floor tile of the bathroom scorched her bare back as his warm skin covered her, his hands in her hair, on her breasts, down her back, grabbing her ass, lifting her up towards him. She was grabbing at whatever part of him her hands could reach, his chest, his biceps, She wrapped her legs around his waist and arms around his neck pulling up, lifting herself completely off the floor and he drug them out of the bathroom as they ravaged the others mouth, landing them on the hardwood of the bedroom. They rolled together, Mulder clearing a path pushing things out of the way with his arms and legs. Books, tapes, towers of papers came crashing down. Scully’s blood felt like liquid fire, that she might be burnt to a crisp before they hit the bed. She gasped as he drew her earlobe in his mouth, his tongue dancing along the flesh beneath it. “Mulder, Oh God... Mulder, why are we on the floor?”
“I don’t know” He moaned back. His voice rough and breathless, “Just.. don’t… Oh, don’t stop touching me..”
And Scully didn’t. Their were back rolling again, at each other’s mouths, plunging their tongues into the others. Scully rolled on top of him and her hips pushed against his sliding along his length and she held onto his shoulders for dear life as a streak of pleasure shot through her so fast it made her entire body go rigid. Want and need went coursing through her as they rolled and he once again pinned her to the floor. She couldn’t comprehend how any one man could look that attractive or recall when she had realized he had gotten that way. His body, near perfect, his face, his eyes, his cheeks, she couldn’t get enough, never wanted to get enough. Mulder’s hands were on her chest tracing the line down her abs, his fingers slid inside her and her hips tilted forward, all finesse went out the window as soon as he had attacked her against the tile wall. They hadn’t been this desperate for each other since before he had been taken. Mulder lifted them up into a seated position and she reached for his lips and his cock, wrapping her fingers around it, moaning from the intensity of the thought of the pleasure it was about to bring her. Mulder pressed his forehead to hers, his chest was heaving as he panted. He smiled and shook his head slowly against hers in disbelief of how great it was to be with her even now.
He lifted her up and she landed on the bed, he hovered over her and she turned her body around so she could put her mouth on him and he rolled her onto her back, his hands running down her body as she sucked on him, finding her hips and he lifted her up off the bed to his mouth. He was standing, she was suspended, her body against his, upside down, her hands grasping his hips, while his tongue danced inside her folds. He flexed his abs and she licked and sucked every last muscle. She couldn’t help it. Her mouth found his cock again and she groaned her approval. He lifted her into his own mouth and she moaned uncontrollably. He slid her body down his so she could take him into her mouth again, then seconds later lifted her back into his mouth to reclaim what he missed only to slide her back again. Fuck, Scully didn’t even know if she was breathing or if the laws of physics still applied. Her body was screaming to her to be filled, while he devoured her, her muscles demanding their own release as her knees rested near his ears and her hands retained the firm grip at his hips while his own hands supported her weight. Mulder’s cock was so hard, his head incredibly swollen, the length, pulsing, and she knew what that meant. It was going to be a long night. He released her enough for her to crawl back on the bed, and just as he had her on all fours, he held her hips again. She waited as he teased her. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, what was taking him so long? She could feel the throbbing between her legs in her ears. This man had too much will power.
“Do you want me Scully?” he asked and she could feel him at her entrance, tracing it with the head of his cock. Her entire body contracted. She had lost her mind and her patience, “Mulder, I want you more than I want to breathe.”
He was inside her so fast it lunged her forward when his hips smacked against her ass. He was savage and merciless and within a couple minutes she was coming, but she was far from satisfied. She rotated her body around, flipping her legs around him so she could face him. He climbed onto the bed and they were at it again, his mouth covering her lips, deprived from being without, their bodies moving matching the same pace. His hands were buried in her hair, cradling her head, her hands through his hair, her hips twisting upward into his motion, lifting off the bed, riding him from underneath. He lifted himself up and fell back on his heels still inside her, pulling her up with him. How did he pull off that move so well? He pulled them back, so he could brace his feet on the floor. He knew that position would put added pressure on her clit and did it ever. Her hands fisted in his hair and their tongues rolled around the others. He started thrusting up, stabbing into her, pushing her hips down hard as he thrusted. Hard, deep, wet, and she threw her head back and moaned louder, the severe lightning bolts of pleasure shooting up through the already intense pulsing. Their moans were now loud screams, Mulder pulled her back into him roughly, throwing them back into a kiss and at the touch of his lips she was contracting all around his cock, her legs sliding wet against his thighs, her arms around his neck, her body stiff, her insides clenching him with all her might. Mulder let out a deep cry against her mouth, with his eyes shut tight, holding her securely against him, engulfed in her pleasure.
Mulder let her slowly slide down his body onto the mattress. He knelt back on the bed and she could see his cock was drenched from her body and a need deep inside her resurfaced. She needed to make him come. She needed to give him everything he gave her. She wanted to drive him insane with pleasure. He entered inside her again and Scully lifted her hips grinding hard into him feeling his entire length inside her, her legs still trembling from a moment ago. She reached for him and smoothed her palms over his chest and down his abs. Her eyes were filled with wonder as they followed her hands’ path. His eyes were following his own fingers as they skimmed across her collarbone, down between her breasts, and over that valley he loved before coming to rest at her waist. Her insides clenched around him. He smiled and bent down to lean his body into hers and kissed her, she moaned into the kiss long and deep, she had no self-control left, her entire body was trembling. Now their movements were slow, their bodies moving to the motion of their kiss, their hearts adoring each other, but soon they got caught up in the sensations, picking up speed, reaching a tumultuous pace and Mulder froze, letting out a high pitched wail into Scully's neck and pumped into her with a furiousness that instantly brought her to another peak, her body jolting and arching up into him as they held one another riding out their feelings.
Mulder rested on her chest while she caressed his head. They were both drained and exhausted. After some minutes he finally stirred and got off the bed holding out his hand. “Come, we need a shower and to change the sheets.”
“Mulder, I’ve got nothing left,” Scully confided. She wasn’t even sure she could walk.
He laughed. “No, honestly, just a shower.”
Once out of the shower Mulder watched from the bed in his charcoal boxers as Scully dried her hair. She went to put one of her silk night shirts on and Mulder stopped her, “Please don’t. I want to sleep with you the way you are right now.”
They got into bed and she wrapped herself up in his arms. “Scully you are so beyond beautiful,” he whispered to her. As he said it, he laced the fingers of their left hands so their rings clinked together. It made him happy. He was very proud of those rings.
He raised her chin so he could look into her eyes to say what he had always failed to in the past, “Thank you Scully.” He saw the question in the movement of her eyebrows and expounded, “For everything you’ve ever done. For trusting in me and honoring the trust I have in you. For our son. For our incredible friendship. I know I hardly say it, maybe never, but I feel it. I feel it every minute of every day.”
Scully touched his face and kissed him. After a few minutes, she left his lips and turned around. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her right up against himself. Mulder pressed his lips to her shoulder and settled his face in her hair. And even though Mulder didn’t think he was tired, that was just how they stayed until they both fell asleep.
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128.2 “Seriously did you dye your hair blue for winter?” kasinara 🤣💙
dear god he WOULD ily
i’ve went ahead and combined it with the aos advent prompt ‘decorate’
and as that prompt makes clear already, it’s crack city lmaooo
on ao3 or under the cut
Kasius had an utter obsession with decorating. Sinara was painfully aware of that fact.
There were always blankets she wasn’t actually supposed to use, or plants that served no purpose, or a fireplace they really didn’t need with the perfectly functional electric heating system, or pillows that looked good but were so scratchy you wouldn’t believe someone rich owned them, or that bowl with the mix of dried plants that had smelled nice but had tasted absolutely dreadful.
(Kasius had yet to let her live down the fact that it apparently wasn’t supposed to be eaten while Sinara maintained that things that weren’t snacks had no business sitting in a bowl on a table.)
So Sinara had resigned herself to a life of vaguely nodding while Kasius excitedly showed her knick-knacks no one needed long ago, and had stopped making comments pointing out the fact that it was all at best unneeded and at worst impractical.
But this. This she couldn’t forego commenting on, not if she didn’t want to give herself an aneurysm with the sheer effort of staying quiet.
“Your hair’s blue,”she said, hearing the incredulity in her own voice, but it was as neutral as she had managed.
“It is.” Kasius touched his own hair a little uncertainly. It was the same shade as the new throw pillows he had set out yesterday, saying it was the colour of the season, or something like that.“Don’t you like it?”
Sinara stared at him silently for a few seconds. She had yet to process that his hair matched their decor; she had not progressed to how it looked, objectively.“Seriously, did you dye your hair blue for winter?”
“I did,”he said, beaming at her now, apparently deciding to take it as approval that she’d caught on to why he had done this.
“But why?”Sinara asked, and his smile disappeared.
“You hate it,”he said. He looked so ridiculously crestfallen at that, she almost felt guilty.
“I didn’t say that,”she corrected, and sighed when it did nothing to change the look on his face.“Just give me a moment to actually look at it, alright?”
It wasn’t terrible, really. Just because it was a completely ludicrous thing to do in the first place didn’t mean the result was bad.
“I really brings out your eyes,”she said eventually.
“Doesn’t it?” Kasius was smiling again now.“It really makes them pop. So you do like it, then?”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes.“Yes, Kasius. It looks nice.”
“Thank you,”he said, and then gasped.“I have some colour left over! It won’t be enough to completely dye it, but we could put highlights in your hair!”
“No!” It came out a little more forcefully than intended, and Sinara quickly backtracked before he could decide that she secretly did hate his hair.“It doesn’t make sense for me. I don’t have blue eyes.”
“That’s true,”Kasius said.“How about gold, then? I think that would work on you.”
Sinara dug through her memory for anything helpful in all of Kasius’ ranting, finally settling on,“Isn’t that more of an autumn colour?”
“Oh, you’re right.” He sighed, then brightened up again.“I’ll just get you aquamarine jewelry. A little eyecatcher, you know?”
“Sounds perfect,”Sinara said. As long as it didn’t involve dying her hair, she could handle matching is winter theme, if it made him shut up about it.
And maybe, just a little, because it made him smile like that.
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Irresistible Danger - Part 45
Synopsis: After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)
Masterlist link is at the top of my blog :)
Characters: Negan x female reader
Words: 3,241
Warnings: nsfw, swearing
Author’s Note: I am SO excited and nervous about this chapter, because I wasn’t at all expecting it to end up where it did. However, “you” and Negan kinda took over, and I let them do as they wanted, so this is the result.
P.S. I know this isn’t a Negan gif, but I wanted a gif of him in black and looking more date-esque and adorable, to go along with the tone of this chapter.
The Date
You stood frozen for a long moment, drinking in the situation, before stepping forward to the offered seat. The table and chairs were a dark wood, like mahogany, and looked expensive. The chair had a soft, emerald green cushion that matched the rug and was incredibly comfortable as you sat down on it, allowing Negan to push you in close to the table.
You could feel his body heat enveloping you, as he leaned down so that the scruff on his chin brushed your cheek. Fighting back a shiver, you felt a gentle tug on a lock of your hair, at the same moment that he whispered in your ear.
“I sure do like it when you let your hair down, doll.”
You tried to ignore the chilly feeling of loss when he unwrapped his fingers from your hair and moved away to walk back to his own chair. Making a mental note to give Ben an extra serving of tomorrow night’s dessert, as thanks for his suggestion, you tucked away this snippet of intel for the future. It was exhilarating to know that such a simple change in appearance was noticeable and appreciated by the handsome man in front of you.
You watched as Negan unfurled his silverware with long fingers and delicately folded the napkin in his lap. It wasn’t until he looked up, cocking an eyebrow in question, that you realized you had just been sitting there staring at him. Ducking your head, you reached for your own silverware and mirrored his movements. He was already twirling some of the alfredo pasta onto his fork, so you followed suit, the two of you munching in companionable silence for a few minutes.
You noticed that while the sun was still bright, it wasn’t beating down as hard as earlier, and that within the hour it would start its slow descent, turning the world to night. The thought of being up on this roof with Negan when it got dark caused a strange twisting in your gut. There was something forbidden about being up here, alone with him, that was both terrifying and exciting.
Unwilling to let your mind go in that direction quite yet, you took a drink of water and broke the silence.
“This is really nice.”
You immediately wanted to smack yourself. Nice? It’s nice? Good job, way to look like an intelligent human being. Your brain slapped a palm over its face in embarrassment.
Rather than give a sarcastic response, Negan stopped chewing and looked at you, as if trying to assess if you were being truthful or sarcastic. He swallowed the bite of pasta and cleared his throat.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be the type of woman who appreciated a rooftop dinner.”
You almost choked on the mushroom in your mouth at his hesitant words and the way his shoulders visibly relaxed, as he realized that your comment had been sincere. He then gave a lopsided grin that was so genuine it made your heart want to burst, and you realized something very important in that moment.
He was nervous.
Negan, the powerful, undefeated leader of the Sanctuary, was nervous. And not because of any life-threatening danger or decision, but simply because he hadn’t been sure if you’d appreciate his date idea or not.
Well, that made two of you, then, because you’d been nervous since the second you stepped out onto the roof. It was nice to know that both of you were currently out of your comfort zone with this situation. Especially since it meant that he didn’t show such intimate gestures often, if ever.
“Can’t say I’ve ever had someone do this for me before, so I wasn’t sure if I’d be that type of woman, either. Turns out that I am.”
“Sounds like you were hanging around the wrong fucking douchebags,” he commented.
“Does that mean you’re the right douchebag?” you threw back with a grin.
His eyes twinkled, and just like that, the nervous energy dissipated, as you both fell back into the banter that had always come so easily between the two of you.
“Wait until the night is over, and then you can let me know,” came his retort.
“Oh, I plan on giving you a full Yelp review, when we’re done. Can’t have anyone else making the mistake of taking the Negan Rooftop Experience if it only warrants a 2-star rating.”
He gave a chuckle, and the two of you continued to make small talk while finishing the remaining bites of pasta. Finally, unable to curtail your curiosity any longer, you asked a question that had been on your mind since the start of the meal.
“So-,” you waved your pasta-filled fork in an arc to encompass the table, “-what made you decide to go with this, rather than dinner in your room?”
Putting down his own fork and wiping his mouth on the napkin, he took his time in responding. The flicker of the candle reflected in his hazel eyes, his gaze boring into your own as he slowly drawled, “I figured it was more...private.”
Heat twisted in your gut. Trying to play it off, you joked, “Well, I definitely don’t think anyone will think to come up here looking for us, so brownie points for creativity.”
As if to make a liar out of you, at that very moment you heard a voice from behind you say, “Dessert is served!”
Jumping like a startled cat, you dropped your fork on the plate and whipped your head around to see Simon approaching the table with a tray in his hand. So much for private and no interruptions, you thought with a glare at the tall, ever-smiling man who approached the table. He set two plates down on the table, appearing completely oblivious to your less-than-positive reaction to his presence as he swept your pasta plates onto his tray and refilled the water glasses. Then, with a toothy grin and a small bow, he was gone.
Looking down, you gave a slight gasp of delight at the sight of what was on the plate in front of you. It was a piece of chocolate cake, and it looked delicious.
“How did...who made this?” you asked, taking in Negan’s pleased grin at your reaction. There hadn’t been any dessert on tonight’s dinner menu, and there definitely hadn’t been chocolate cake on any of the dinner menus for this month. You never had enough cocoa and eggs to make cakes for the entire compound, despite secretly wishing for such a sweet treat on more than one occasion.
“I have my ways,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes, watching as you picked up your fork and took a bite. The twinkle darkened when you let out a small, involuntary moan as the fluffy, rich chocolate hit your tongue.
Embarrassed by your reaction, you swallowed and affirmed, “This is really good. Better than good. It’s delicious.”
You slammed another forkful of cake into your mouth before you rambled even more and made a complete fool out of yourself. Thankfully, Negan let it go, and took a bite of his own slice, nodding in approval as he experienced the decadent taste for himself.
All too soon, the dessert was gone, and it was all you could do not to forego proper manners and scoop up the remaining crumbs with your finger. You noticed that the sun had started setting, the candle flickering brightly in the orange and deep red light that had started to fall over the sanctuary. On cue with your thoughts, Negan stood up from his chair without a word and came around to your side of the table, pulling the chair back so that you could stand, as well. Taking your hand in his large, warm one, he led you over to the edge of the roof.
No words were needed, as it was obvious what his intent had been. The view from this height was breathtaking. You could see the sun had already started to dip below the tree line, casting a beautiful, pink-tinged frosting over the top of the forest. It was so quiet and peaceful, the sight untainted by walkers or humans. There was just the beautiful backdrop of mother nature, as far as the eye could see. It served as a reminder that there were things so much larger in existence than you or Negan or even the apocalypse. That no matter what happened, no matter where the future led, the sun would continue to rise and set. Would continue to try and cleanse the earth with its dying rays each evening, before offering a fresh start and rebirth in the morning, building in intensity until its brightness lit up the world once more.
Giving a contented sigh, you both stood there staring off at the sunset together, his left arm around your waist protectively, while you trailed your right hand up over his broad back and strong shoulders. Stroking the nape of his neck, you felt that his hair was slightly damp with sweat from the humidity of the evening air. Turning, he looked down at you, his face shadowed in the dimming light, making him look more mysterious and almost...dangerous.
Your toes curled, to see so much handsome focused in your direction, to know that you had his full attention in this moment. Unable to resist, you stood up on your toes and placed a soft kiss on his lips.
He smiled against your mouth, then huskily whispered, “I never pegged you to kiss on the first date, doll.”
Giving a small huff of a laugh, you curled your hand around the back of his neck, fingers trailing up through the thick, dark hair and pulling his mouth down more firmly against your own. He turned his body into it, the arm around your waist tightening as he pulled you in closer, so that you were pressed along the length of him. You felt sparks of electricity at every point of contact, and wondered if it felt like this for him, as well. Did he feel this undeniable chemistry, the way the air thickened around the two of you? The sense that you couldn’t get close enough to him, could never taste him long enough or deep enough? The sharp prick along your arm that signified...wait...sharp prick? What the-
Jerking back from him, you brought your right hand down from his neck and slapped it viciously over your left forearm, squinting in the dark to see if you had gotten the little bastard.
“The hell are you doin’?” Negan asked in confusion.
“I think a mosquito bit me,” you replied, still scowling down at your arm for a moment before turning back to the man in front of you. “Sorry, where were we?”
Instead of pulling you closer, Negan stepped back, then took your left hand in his and started leading you away from the edge of the roof.
“What…?”
You watched as his shadowed figure blew out the candle on the table, before he started gently tugging you across the roof, obviously meaning to go back inside. You felt a small flare of panic. You weren’t ready for the date to end, weren’t ready to go back to reality. You internally cursed, hoping that, if you hadn’t already killed the mosquito, it would meet a gruesome demise for effectively ruining the romantic moment.
“We don’t have to leave, ya know. It was just a mosquito, not a walker,” you tried to reason with him.
“I don’t care. Nothing is allowed to fucking bite you except me,” he said, causing you to almost stumble. How the hell was he able to growl out what should be a fairly simple sentence, yet make it so that the words literally dripped seduction and sex?
Knowing that there was no sense in arguing once his mind was made up, you allowed him to lead you into the metal staircase and down to the fourth floor, back to his rooms. He unlocked the door with a key from his back pocket, and the two of you walked inside. He lifted up your hand, his eyes scanning over your arm, obviously looking for any signs of the bite. His concern was touching, although you were glad that there wasn’t currently any visible bump or red mark, otherwise he’d probably be over reacting and calling for Dr. Carson.
Satisfied, he released your hand, and the two of you looked at each other in silence. The nervous energy that you thought had been left behind on the roof suddenly returned, as you both seemed unsure what to do or say next.
“If you’re tired, I can escort you back to your room,” he offered.
In the past, you’d have thought this was a hint that he wanted rid of you, but now, you knew that wasn’t the case. He was offering you an out, an opportunity to leave before things got too cozy or too intimate. The Negan of a month ago probably would’ve tried to take advantage of this situation by attempting to get in your pants. Hell, the Negan of a month ago wouldn’t have given a flying fuck if a dozen mosquitos were biting you, if it meant he had you pressed against him and willing to be seduced.
But the current Negan did give a fuck. More than that, he had set up this entire date without any expectations about where the night would end. In fact, he seemed entirely convinced that nothing more than that rooftop kiss was going to happen, and was willing to let you decide whether or not the date was over.
The fact that he wasn’t trying to make the situation into more, wasn’t trying to cross any of your boundaries, actually made you want to stay here with him. You almost snorted at the thought. It was a good thing he didn’t realize that the way to make you desire him even more was, apparently, for him to stop pushing so hard and not showcase how much he wanted to sleep with you.
“I’m not tired, yet,” you responded with a small smile. “Besides, I never did get to borrow another book.”
His dimples appeared as he caught his tongue between his sharp, white teeth. “I thought gifting you with your own books was supposed to keep your grubby little hands off of mine.”
You laughed and shook your head. “Nope. When it comes to your books, I’m never satisfied.”
You knew exactly what you were saying, and meant for it to come off as flirtatious, although you turned your attention to a nearby bookcase, feigning innocence. As you scanned the titles on the shelf, you noticed the chessboard, which was still propped up on the floor against the side of the bookshelf. It didn’t appear to have been moved since the last time you and Negan had played. Looking at the polished wooden board folded in half brought back memories of that afternoon, and of the words he had spoken during the game.
Knowing that he was watching you, all you gave was a slight nod in the direction of the board, before saying, “I can’t help but wonder about something.”
“What’s that, doll?” came the deep rumble behind you.
“It was something you said during our chess game, about the king.” You hesitated, both worried that he wouldn’t remember the metaphor, and also worried that he would remember and get scared off. Turning around to face him, you watched his expression and continued. “You told me that the reason why the king is the most important piece, is because you have to be skilled enough to capture him, in order to win the game.”
His eyes didn’t give even a glimmer of his thoughts, as if he were carefully shielding his emotions until he knew where you were going with this.
“I was just wondering...how’s the queen faring in that task? Is she making any progress, or does she still have most of the board to clear? How many more opponents does she have to take out, before she gets the king all to herself?”
Negan stepped forward, until your bodies were almost touching. Reaching up, he stroked the back of one finger down your cheek, his gaze turning soft and warm, as he replied.
“I’d say all other opponents have been dealt with, doll.”
Letting out the nervous breath that you had been holding, you looked up at him hopefully, and asked, “What about the king’s queens?”
You purposely made the word plural, in a reference to his wives, and could tell by the flare in his eyes that he instantly understood the metaphor.
“You’re mistaken,” he said.
Feeling your heart drop, you broke his gaze and looked down, prepared for him to make a comment about how those queens wouldn’t go away, how they weren’t to be compared in this metaphor. You had obviously crossed a line, and should know ‘til now that you would never truly have him all to yourself. You started pulling your emotional walls back up, in a vain effort to protect yourself from his next words.
“They’re not queens...they never were.”
Confused, you looked back up at him, and echoed, “They’re not?”
The corners of his lips lifted into a soft smile, as he curled a lock of your hair around his index finger, concentrating on the silky strands rather than looking you in the eye. He inhaled deeply, bracing himself, and you waited patiently, sensing that this admission wasn’t an easy one for him.
“You’re the only queen that’s ever been on the board, doll,” he breathed.
His eyes flickered onto your own, as if unsure what he would find there. Even now, after all his admissions and displays of affection, he was still hesitant. You realized that there was a part of him that fully expected you to turn him away, to take this delicate information and use it against him. He might be one of the most intimidating and powerful men that you had ever met, but in this moment, he was allowing himself to be vulnerable. And, suddenly, you wanted to showcase your own vulnerability, to take that step with him.
This hadn’t been at all what you were expecting or planning to happen tonight, but much as you tried to control and analyze everything, sometimes you just had to go with instinct. Since you didn’t currently have the words to express what you were feeling, you wanted to show him, instead. And, despite all your previous misgivings, in this moment…right here and right now…it felt right.
Decision made, you reached out and gently took his hand. This time, it was you who led the way, walking across his office and towards the open doorway. You felt a slight resistance as you reached the threshold to the bedroom, and looked back to see his brows furrowed in confusion.
“Where are we goin’, doll?”
You gave a seductive smile, and simply replied, “I think it’s time we finally broke in that big bed of yours.”
And, with that, you moved forward again, both of you crossing silently into the darkened bedroom. Your brain hung a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door, giving you and Negan total privacy, as both it and your subconscious walked away with twin smiles and a joyous high five.
~Tag List~
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#irresistible danger#negan#negan's thirst squad#NTS#negan x you#negan x reader#negan x female reader#negan x oc#negan x ofc#negan slow burn#negan imagine#negan fanfic#negan fic#negan smut#reader insert#twd#twd smut#twd fic#the walking dead#the walking dead fic#the walking dead fanfic#wd#walking dead#jdm#jeffrey dean morgan#ash writes#negan fanfics#negan fanfiction
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Does God Speak Through Anime? Or, What Madoka Taught Me About God & the Trees
On 22 April 2011, Kaname Madoka used the most powerful of wishes to save all magical girls. About eight years later, I watched her do it, and it taught me something about the savior of the real world and his plan for humanity.
I am of course talking about Puella Magi Madoka Magica, which celebrates its tenth anniversary this season. It was the fifth anime series I ever watched, and the one that led me on the path that now has me writing with the crew here on Beneath the Tangles. Madoka showed me that Proverbs 25:2 applies to anime, too (“It is the glory of God to conceal a matter, and the glory of kings to search it out”), and it’s our joy here at BtT to search him out in this particularly rich field!
Madoka makes her wish…
What I learned from Madoka was not what you might expect. True, the Messianic parallels are pretty strong in episode 12, but so too are the Buddhist threads, and I think I was equally struck by all that is not Christlike with that episode—by which I mean not so much Madoka’s wish itself, which is full of grace, but the way it transforms her into a transcendent concept, distant from the world and forgotten by it (I’ll explore the controversial implications of this, as played out in the sequel movie, Rebellion, in my post tomorrow).
No, instead what gave me pause was Madoka’s conversation with Sayaka, when she explains why she did not simply wish for a cosmic Control+Z and undo the entire magical-girl-wish-to-witch-curse cycle. Madoka wants to preserve Sayaka’s wish and “all the hard work you did for it,” she explains, because it is “precious.” Something good came of the magical girls’ wishes, and so instead of dismantling the system, Madoka seeks to inject it with grace by bearing the burden of the curses personally. The magical girls still pay with their lives, but they die in peace, their legacies untarnished.
This conversation helped me to see the fall of humanity in a completely different way.
But before I explain, let me walk it back for a moment: How exactly does God speak through anime? There are of course loads of different ways that he helps us to understand something about him, ourselves, and living out our faith through the stories brought to life in anime. Sometimes, it’s a line of dialogue that is exactly what you needed to hear in that moment, maybe an encouragement, a challenge, or a pearl of wisdom. Or maybe something that you disagree with so strongly that it causes a situation in your own life to come into sharp focus, and you suddenly know what not to do. Sometimes, it’s a plot arc or character development that parallels a challenge you have faced yourself. Seeing it play out on the screen—and maybe in an alternate world!—can give you the perspective you need to see your own situation with fresh eyes; or maybe it just helps to smooth away the anxiety, knowing you’re not the only person ever to face such things. Anime is rich in allegory and metaphor—which I kind of think are the original language of the Bible!—and sometimes its symbolism and parables can have a personal meaning for us that speaks volumes that may not have been intended by the studio, but were woven into the fabric of the show by the greatest Author (and Editor) of all. Sometimes, it’s the tenderness and beauty conveyed in a show’s artistry that speak comfort, love, and hope when you need it most (Violet Evergarden, Non Non Biyori, Laid-Back Camp, I’m looking at you). There are even a few anime that feature Christian characters (and not all are villainous) and quite a few more that quote or paraphrase scripture, sometimes even helpfully (PsychoPass, Le Chevalier d’Eon, ViVid Strike). These are all powerful ways that the Holy Spirit can use this beautiful medium to touch our hearts and strengthen our souls, as he speaks a language that we know and love—the language of anime.
In conversation with Sayaka…
There’s another way too, that anime can draw us closer to our God, and that’s through prompting us to ask him questions. So often, we are reluctant to question God because we’re afraid that it is a marker of unbelief, but that’s not the case at all. He welcomes genuine questioning (e.g. Isaiah 1:18). After all, questions are how we get to know someone, and often they’re how we lead up to pouring out our own hearts. We ask questions because we want to hear the answers, but also because we want to be heard ourselves. Questions are core to building relationship and growing in intimate friendship.
Madoka’s conversation with Sayaka made me ask God some questions.
It made me wonder why God didn’t simply reset everything at the very beginning, in the Garden after the fall. I mean, he did to some extent in Noah’s day, but it wasn’t a hard reset; more of a reboot. The implications of that illicit feast of fruit persisted. But why didn’t he scrap Humanity 1.0? I began to wonder if God had a reason like Madoka’s.
Madoka confronts Walpurgis with grace. (Note the cross that seems to emanate from Madoka…)
When I did, I realized that I’ve misunderstood the purpose of the trees in the Garden. You know, the Tree of Eternal Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil (the forbidden fruit tree!). I’ve always taken for granted that they were there to be a temptation, a test. After all, “love isn’t love unless there’s a choice,” right? With the trees and God’s command not to eat their fruit setting up the choice for humanity—the chance to choose to love and trust God. Don’t get me wrong, I think there’s truth in that, but it’s only part of the story—one I’d never bothered to ask God about for myself. As a result, I saw the trees only in terms of the potential for their misuse, their abuse. I saw them as sin waiting to happen.
But God does not create for that purpose. How could something that had only destructive, devastating potential—that is, to sever the relationship between humanity and its creator—be considered “good” by God, as indeed it was? (Genesis 1:12) No, there must have been some purpose to these trees in the Garden that I had overlooked.
Redemption in action.
As I thought about God’s nature as a creator of only good things, I realized that the trees and their fruit of knowledge and eternal life were originally intended as a blessing for humanity. But that there was a particular timing attached to that blessing—they weren’t for straight away, at the beginning of humanity’s journey and relationship with God. Instead, the blessing of the trees was meant to come in time, at God’s invitation, and in a context of deep friendship with him. I think that is in part what God was doing when he came to walk with Adam and Eve in the cool of the evening: He was preparing humanity, building a bedrock of trust that could one day support the weight of his glory, the glory of godly knowledge and understanding, without separating us from the source of that knowledge, namely, himself. Because separated out and isolated from him, knowledge can kill. It can lead to all kinds of arrogance, but also to fear and shame. It can be used as a weapon to harm others or protect yourself in ways that leave you alone and cynical. It can split the atom and design a way to weaponize that discovery.
But knowledge is also a thing of beauty. It’s one of the characteristics of God himself! And in Ephesians 1:8-9, Paul explains that God’s grace is at work to release in us all forms of wisdom and practical understanding, and that in Christ, God’s plan from the beginning is revealed, with all its secrets and mystery. There are hints about it, too, along the way in the Old Testament, with Solomon and his encouragement in Proverbs that we seek wisdom and knowledge. And Bezalel, the first person in the bible to receive the Holy Spirit—for the sole purpose of gaining the knowledge to craft beautiful things.
Homura hearing the gospel of Madoka in the heavenly realms…
But God’s plan for the trees is revealed most succinctly in John 3:16 and 17:3, which tell us that his intent for us is eternal life—the fruit of the tree of life—and that eternal life is knowing him and Jesus whom he sent—the fruit of the tree of knowledge. The two trees were there all along, in the center of God’s plan for blessing us.
By telling Adam and Eve to forego the fruit, God wasn’t trying to keep humanity in ignorance, but rather to determine the right timing and conditions under which knowledge, discernment and wisdom, and eternal life were released to humanity. It was supposed to happen in the context of personal relationship with God, by his initiative, for those whom he’d prepared to be able to handle it well. It wasn’t a test at all—those trees were a promise.
But Adam and Eve rushed the plan.
As a kid, I used to think I would have done a much better job in the Garden. That maybe humanity wouldn’t even have fallen. I had no desire to usurp God—who would want the responsibility? Well, I may have been a pretty obedient child, but I was also impatient. I was born breach and prematurely, and used to joke that I kicked my way out because I was fed up of waiting. And it was, in part, that kind of impatience that led to the fall. The serpent tempted Adam and Eve—yes, to disobey God, to mistrust him, but also to take matters into their own hands and act out of impatience, rather than to trust God with their “destiny and its timing” (Psalm 16:5 TPT). Maybe I wouldn’t have saved humanity after all.
Gaining the knowledge of good and evil happened out of season for humanity, which is what rendered it harmful—a lot like how the magical girls’ wishes, though well-intentioned and objectively good, fed into curses and ultimately transformed them into witches: they were impatient to fix things according to their own judgement. In their case, it was the interference of an alien race that turned their wilful acts into destructive curses. Kyuubey and the Incubators are very much the serpents in the garden of these young women’s lives. But Madoka, like God, chose to pay a personal price to redeem rather than reset. She rewrites the laws of the universe to make redemption possible, in an attempt to overwrite the rule of balance (curses for wishes; destruction for miracles) with the reckless imbalance of grace. She seeks to throw off the tyranny of karma—a yoke that our savior, too, lifts away from us. In so doing, she transforms the legacy of the magical girls, preventing it from becoming bitter and destructive.
Jesus did the same with the legacy of the trees and the fruit that shouldn’t have been eaten when or how it was. In him, we have the ability to receive knowledge, understanding, wisdom, and a mind and spirit strong enough to handle them without it turning into a curse—the mind of Christ himself (1 Corinthians 2:16). In him, we have eternal life. He redeems the trees and that original mistake, just as Madoka redeems the magical girls’ wishes. Because they were all actually intended for good.
I’ll always be grateful to Madoka for teaching me this—for prompting me to ask my God a question and discover a piece of his heart that I never suspected was there.
And so my journey with God through anime began. Little did I know what an adventure I was in for! And it’s been made all the richer for having learnt to ask this all-important question every time I start a new series: “God, will you watch this one with me?”
=====
Puella Magi Madoka Magica can be streamed on Netflix, Funimation, and Crunchyroll. And I really recommend that you do it.
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Riverdale: A High School Musical. Chapter 1: Start of Something New.
Hey babes!
So what has been promised has come to pass. Was it wise to start another multi-chapter while I still have Roses and Tiaras? Probably not, but it’s happening.
I had a lot of help with this fic. So thank you lovely beta @wherearethecloudsnow (I usually forego betas, because I’m an impatient asshole, but she was incredible.)
Thank you to the amazing @stark for helping me with the ideas for this fic. And without her, this fic would be very different. Thanks, babe.
And, of course, without @livelovebughead this fic might not exist. Because she was the one to suggest HSM to me.
So, obviously, it’s on AO3 here, if you prefer: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13510944/chapters/30987957
And I hope you like it. :)
People often say that opposites attract, but who’s ever seen it in practice? Who knows if this adage is true everywhere, but it’s definitely true in Riverdale. After all, where else could you see such a band of opposites coming together to make the greatest winter musical?
~~~
Cheryl Blossom, perfect in every way. Perfect to all but her parents. That honor was saved for her twin brother, Jason. He was always the golden boy, never made a mistake in their parents' eyes. Now they were left with a failure.
That summer Jason had died in a tragic drowning accident while taking Cheryl on an early morning boat ride. Cheryl missed her brother more than anything, and there was nothing she wouldn’t give to have him back.
The Blossom twins couldn’t have been closer if they were attached at the hip. They shared everything together, and she was plagued by unending guilt. She threw herself into her academics, to try to take the pain away for a minute, a second, as long as it would stay away. But everything changed when her red convertible rolled right into Riverdale High School.
~~~
Betty Cooper was the perfect girl next door. Editor of the school paper, cheerleading team member, top of her classes. However, despite all of this, Betty hates the word perfect and hates the fact that it’s what she aspires to be all the time. As is the case with a lot of families they never see eye to eye.
What Betty wants to be in her life makes no difference to her mother, Alice Cooper. Studying hard, looking good for college, being so damn spotless is all that matters to her. That, and having control over Betty.
For as long as Betty could remember her mother has been telling her who to be, what to do, and how to do it. It didn’t matter that what if Betty didn’t want to be a journalist, or what if she didn’t want to be at the top of all her classes. Maybe all she wanted to do was dance, for now, but it didn’t matter.
All thoughts like that had been banished from Betty’s mind long ago, along with her toe, tap, and jazz shoes. All Betty had left that was truly her own idea was cheerleading, and, God, did she hold onto that fiercely.
She’s always volunteering for everything you could imagine, which is why she was tasked with showing Cheryl Blossom around the school.
~~~
Veronica Lodge, spoiled little rich girl. Used to always having her way, never cared about anyone but herself. Everything has to be perfect in her eyes, otherwise, don’t get caught in the crossfire.
Veronica is the “It” girl in Riverdale, always has been. She thought no one would ever take her place at the school, at least until Cheryl Blossom with her perfect red hair and gorgeous lips rolled into town.
~~~
“Welcome to Riverdale High, Cheryl Blossom. I’m Betty Cooper,” she said with the perfect smile.
“I don’t care, can I just have my class schedule? I’ve seen stables bigger than your puny high school,” Cheryl said with a bored expression and crossed arms.
“Of course, I took the liberty of compiling your list of classes, and a separate sheet of paper of all the extracurriculars our lovely school has to offer,” Betty said, the smile still etched on her face.
“Thank you, I suppose. I doubt I’ll join any clubs, I want to spend all my time studying,” Cheryl said.
“Well, Riverdale High has several academic clubs, if you’re interested,” Betty replied.
“All I’m interested in is you hicks leaving me alone with solitude,” Cheryl said.
“Of course,” Betty said, her smile faltering for only a moment, “I hope you find what you’re looking for here in Riverdale.”
Betty started to walk away.
“Hold up. Would you just get that fucking smile off your face and help me find my homeroom?” Cheryl said, her face turning the shade of her hair.
“Yes,” Betty chuckles with a genuine smile on her face.
~~~
Jughead Jones, a person no one truly knows. A writer, an observer, and, most surprisingly, Veronica Lodge’s faithful puppy.
When Jughead was seven and his sister was only one, their mother ran off. FP Jones, having no steady job and a steady flow of alcohol, asked his only living relative, Hiram Lodge, to care for his two children. Veronica saw this as an opportunity for fun.
~~~
“Jughead, chop, chop. We must get to planning the winter musical,” Veronica said, walking ahead of him.
“Veronica, there’s almost two months until then, why are we starting now?” Jughead asked.
“Because Lodges always need perfection, and we won’t be involved in anything that isn’t perfect,” Veronica said, giving her sleek black hair a toss.
“Right, whatever,” Jughead said, sticking his headphones in his ears.
Jughead honestly didn’t know why he was still even listening to the crap that fell from Veronica’s lips. Mostly just because he felt like he owed her something, he supposed. Even though, ever since he arrived at the Lodge doorstep, Veronica hadn’t done anything to warrant a loyalty from him. Except the fact that she treated Jellybean like her own little sister, and protected her as such. That was the only reason he hadn’t just run off to someplace besides Riverdale. And, at least, the Lodges were kind to him. They always made him feel welcome in their home, they celebrated his birthday, and gave him an allowance. Like a real family.
If only he didn’t have the lingering memory in the back of his mind of his real family. He still remembered, vividly, the screaming, and occasionally even the breaking of things during their fights. Jughead really didn’t know what they were fighting about really, hell, he wasn’t even sure that they knew. All he really knew, for sure, was that he woke up on some Tuesday morning to the sound of his father sobbing, and he never saw his mother again.
Occasionally, he saw his father, every two months or so, and it’s a miracle when he’s sober.
Maybe that was why he still listened to Veronica, to feel accepted, to feel wanted, to be noticed.
~~~
Cheryl and Betty became fast friends that day. Maybe what drew them to the other was that they both had a hole that needed filling, they had both lost someone. Sure, Betty still had Archie Andrews in her life, but he was always so busy with practice and training. And he didn’t understand the emptiness inside her, and even when they first met, Betty felt that Cheryl did.
~~~
Now there was a story, Archie Andrews. For all intents and purposes, Archie was perfect. Maybe he wasn’t the greatest student in the world, but, boy, this guy could play football. He was basically the king of the school, everybody loved him, but even he felt something missing in his life. And he knew what that thing was.
Music.
Over the summer he spontaneously decided to learn how to read music and play the guitar. And not only did he do that, he fell in love. With playing, with singing, with writing. But what would everybody think if he suddenly dropped football, and started playing music? They’d all think he was crazy for giving up the many opportunities that playing football gave him.
So he gave it up, and now it felt like he was missing an arm.
~~~
Kevin Keller. The complete opposite of Archie, he’s completely out of his love for music, but there’s something that he isn’t out about.
He’s gay.
Kevin’s known this about himself for a long time, but he’s been afraid to come out. How will this change how people view him? Will they still allow him to write all the songs for the school’s shows? It’s reasons like these that keep him in the closet, he hasn’t even told his father.
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