#(he doesn’t have the best track record for knowing whether he has sons or not)

[crimsonblackrose]

Okay here’s all my thoughts and questions part 1 How did Chozen get weapons through security? And why does everyone keep calling him an assassin? Has he...actually killed someone? Because really the one time we saw him fight to the death he failed and got his nose honked. Or did Chozen arrive in LA and immediately go buy weapons? Miguel seeing his dad with another kid handling it better than Robby but at the same time it’s a little kid and not someone his age. Also saving the kid but being a creeper who followed them around? Kind of here for everyone telling Johnny the stuff he does is illegal. Graffiti karma and kidnapping a minor even if it’s his own son. I kind of get why Carmen didn’t go and rescue Miguel because that guy is scary but at the same time....I hate that she stayed home. Who knew fake FBI shirts could cause so much trouble and rip so easily? Time to add another Johnny chokehold to the gifs of every time someone’s gone for the poor guys neck.

Moon sometimes gives me Miyagi vibes.

Daniel why the hell didn’t you google Barnes? You looked up enough to stalk him from his home to his work...but you didn’t...google his job? Like see that he works in furniture. Opposite of you Johnny at least is googling stuff. You’re supposed to be the smart one and it makes me cringe so much when he...jumps in head first without thinking. Like at least look around the front to see the place or like read the newspaper articles or coverage that Barnes is now in furniture. I just can’t think of how on earth he could’ve gotten Barnes’s address and not seen that he was a furniture king.

Okay so Daniel can meet with Barnes and actually stop Barnes and Chozen from fighting and explain the who big misunderstanding and yet...gestures at the entire series. There’s more in that. Esp with Johnny. Because 9 times out of 10 the two misunderstand each other and nearly come to blows. I don’t know whether he’s gotten better at it because of Johnny or whether together the two are just more stubborn and everyone else is easier.

Omg Daniel do not call and leave a message for that sketchy attorney. That person could still be working for Silver. I don’t get why Daniel doesn’t trust Silver at all and yet will trust anyone and everyone else to listen to reason and pick him. Do you not remember talking to the police when Barnes originally bothered you and then they laughed it off. I just...seriously? Daniel why aren’t you googling or researching anything. That’s going to bite you....and it did...in a steam room.

I get why Barnes left the country. Sketchy red flags for insurance but uh...Silver yeah I get that.

Did Johnny just admit to doing sex work after school? Is...that how he and Shannon met...no she didn’t seem to know but also didn’t bat an eye. (Also Lawrence isn’t his mom’s maiden name? But....it’s not Sid’s last name...did she marry his dad???????? So many questions)

My main concern is that Miyagi’s house, the dojo, all those vintage cars are going to be set on fire and Miguel’s necklace for Sam will be there and somehow it will be his fault or Johnny’s. You know what, I appreciate Johnny saying thank you. Demetri deserves some kindness and I think it’s probably the best thing for Demetri to be Johnny’s tech person because Miguel views him as a dad and already had all the cringe nightmare stuff. Time to pass that responsibility to someone else who kind of knows Johnny is a mess but most likely won’t be scarred by the exact type of mess he is.

Johnny’s gig life is embarrassing and gross to watch and I would not have blamed those girls for cancelling their ride and being like nah no thanks sir. Johnny is still kind of a messy creep and he already has a bad track record. How is it that teens with pools care this much about a water park? Like Sam’s not even swimming, why is she even there? Just sit at the pool at home....oh...is she banned from the pool at home because of Chozen? Like Chozen’s habits are kind of interesting but the fact there’s teens and preteens in the household I get why Amanda freaked out. And I guess now I get why they’re at a water park and not at home. But doesn’t Moon or like any of these other rich kids have a pool? Isn’t like Eli rich? Why can’t they go to one of these pools and for the Cobra Kai kids...uhhhh Kyler probably has a pool right? The item Daniel brought for the auction is going to be destroyed isn’t it? I like that the pawn shop guy just knows how to handle Johnny now. And it’s kind of fun that he has 3 kids that he swears Johnny will never meet and 3 pawn shops. I half thought he’d hire Johnny to work one of them.

Everyone is being kind of nice to Johnny. I’m kind of shocked.

How the hell do you race in a slide? Daniel oh honey no. And there we go bonsai got destroyed. Darn and Daniel didn’t even give them a second glance. Remember when he used to freak out over bonsai? Sorry Mr. Miyagi. Stingray? Oh his poor sad face. Like I get that he’s...an odd character but I feel bad for him. And the flinch when Silver touches him. “I feel like a kept woman.” omg. He gets Lawrence’s car? Does that mean Silver has Johnny’s phone? Oh the mess he could make with that. Robby and Miguel got parent trapped at olive garden “When you’re here you’re family” omg that’s so on purpose that it’s hilarious. Also uhhhh they picked Italian which is kind of funny because I doubt Daniel will be there, but he’s there...in spirit. I wonder, since this is clearly an advertisement for Olive Garden if they’re doing any Cobra Kai specials. 😂

Omg this is such an advertisement. “Breadsticks aren’t going to fix this.” I agree. 😂

Daniel was from here? This was where scruffy Daniel came from? How long has he been alone without Amanda?

Daniel...you gotta communicate. Like it’s not just Silver, this whole journey you hide stuff from your family. All the way back to Lucille and hiding your black eye from her. Talk hon, talk and not just to guys from Okinawa.

I’ve heard one line from Amanda’s mom and I already love her.

 Omg omg omg omg omg omg No! Hold up! How the hell does this work? So Amanda doesn’t know Jess and Daniel’s time with Silver and Barnes and LA? WTF? Like at least they must’ve seen each other at the wedding right? Jess has to know everything. And does that mean Amanda’s family is the pottery store across the street from Miyagi’s little trees? Aunt JO! Johnny you made art out of your beer cans? Bud. How bored are you? Omg he made a salon. Sir. You little weird artist you.

Did some internetting. Johnny did you get them a “this is our get along shirt?” Our theme is the Lincoln County War. Johnny. What are you doing? I love this but I also am so confused. Is this....are you healing Johnny? Does this mean you’re finally growing? And thus can learn stuff again? Oh...it’s from a movie. LOL. I thought. I love that abuela is in on it. OMG Johnny can understand some Spanish? Of course it’s the I screwed up....T_T 💔

Oh wow. Daniel going too far? Chozen, you...I’m glad you’re with Daniel because he is a mess.

I’m sorry Amanda is a video game nerd and yet hasn’t bonded with Anthony over that? Omg Elizabeth Anne Rooney? Are we in Ohio? WTH?

Damn Daniel and also Johnny that’s some growth. 😂 How Johnny knows something is up with Daniel is his shirt isn’t tucked in. 😂😂😂😂

Sibling chat! Sibling chat! FINALLY! Wait so Anthony was in time out and talked to no one but Johnny during that family dinner and no one decided to tell Sam that her baby bro bullied some kid and ....damn everyone is so self focused they don’t see beyond themselves.

Listen I appreciate the quick re-run of the past. But you’re missing some facts that Jessica knows. That Barnes and co tried to actually murder them in that pit. That both of them nearly died. And there’s a lot of stuff neither of them are aware of.

BAR FIGHT! GET REVENGE AGAINST ELIZABETH ANNE ROONEY JESSICA!!!! GET HER! These two are never allowed near stairwells ever again. I don’t care that ended up okay. Banned. Absolutely banned. 😂 White Castle advertisement. The taste you crave after getting into a bar fight (Jessica freaking out over a club fight where she was being attacked but ready to throw down at a bar when she’s older is fascinating) You know what I’m so ready for? Robby getting some care from the Diaz’s. Let him smoke some weed with Abuela and get some kindness from Carmen. Don’t do it Daniel. Don’t go in because the doors open. Don’t fall for Silver. Don’t do anything. Walk away. No. Run away. Oh god what happened to Stingray. I do not like this parallel to when Johnny went by himself and got his ass kicked by Silver. I do not like this. Daniel you shouldn’t have gone by yourself. T_T Babe you’re in a horror movie. Stop going places by yourself. It’s not safe. Ayyeee knew Tory would go to Kreese. Knew she didn’t fully trust everything. Chozen stayed. T_T I’m glad. And now Johnny is finally here. I was so worried that like stingray was beaten up in a corner and Silver was going to call the cops on him.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Kevin Morby Album Review: This Is a Photograph

(Dead Oceans)

BY JORDAN MAINZER

The last few years have given us a sense of perspective, perhaps even urgency when faced with the prospect of our own mortality. Yeah, it happens when you’re surrounded, whether in person or even just on the news, with so much death. For Kevin Morby, the illumination happened before the pandemic. His father collapsed at the dinner table and had to be rushed to the hospital in early 2020. Though his dad ended up okay, that night, in order to distract himself from worrying, he flipped through old family photos. He found a picture of his father, carefree and shirtless, sitting in the front yard. But it wasn’t just a photograph: It was a moment, captured, a document of hopes, moods, dreams, and fears at a point in time. Morby decided to travel to Memphis and chase some more ghosts. What resulted from that decision is This Is a Photograph, his best album yet.

Of course, traveling through the city and sitting in his room at night at the Peabody Hotel, guitar, microphone, and recording equipment in tow, were just the seeds of Morby’s latest creation. As much as the album is Morby’s most lyrically reflective, it’s also instrumentally lush and compositionally varied, the opposite of an insular singer-songwriter record, one that combines ruminations on American life with distinctly American sounds. With his field recordings, along with everything from banjo, harp, and organ to saxophone, flute, and melodica, it sports an uncanny sense of time and place while always transporting you elsewhere. And it doesn’t take long to go from setting the scene to blowing your mind. Morby drops the matter-of-fact statement that gives the album and title track its name in an anything-but-straightforward matter. Reflective, yet unmistakably groovy, he deadpans details of that picture of his shirtless father, appreciating the small things but knowing that they’ll one day go away. Around a bendy guitar line and shaky percussion, Morby increases in volume and urgency as he repeats his final declaration: “This is what I’ll miss about being alive.” By the time background vocalists from the Stax Music Academy start singing harmonies, “This Is a Photograph” is already Morby’s most thrilling moment since you first heard “I Have Been to the Mountain”.

Throughout the rest of the record, Morby defines for himself what “being alive” means, and it’s the process of looking at what came before while appreciating what’s right in front of you. “If you’re not appearing, then you’re disappearing,” he wisely declares on “Disappearing”, almost Cartesian in his thinking. Over hazy tremolo guitar melodica and producer Sam Cohen’s steady drums, Morby literally breaks down the statement, stopping on a dime after certain syllables the same way Bill Callahan builds up “If you could only stop your heart beat” on “Too Many Birds”. “Disappearing” has the album’s first reference to Jeff Buckley, who drowned in Wolf River in Memphis in 1997; appropriately, as Cohen’s organ and Alecia Chakour’s gospel-like vocals come in, the song turns into a funeral service. The album’s slow lurching centerpiece “A Coat Of Butterflies” continues from “Disappearing”, segueing with a recording of rushing water, with more references to Buckley but singing about tragedy in the context of America itself. “Number two in England, and they say you’re your daddy’s son / But Jeff if you’re anything like me, you only care about America,” Morby sings. Accompanied by gorgeous saxophone from Cochemea Gastelum and none other than contemporary jazz luminaries Brandee Younger on harp and Makaya McCraven on drums, Morby delivers an American epic, likening the river that swallowed Buckley to our country itself. “She’s violent and she’s stubborn and she’s ugly but I love her, goddman,” Morby states, Tweedy-esque in his multitudes.

It’s Morby’s songs dedicated to two lovers past and present that perhaps best encompass the artistic growth that This Is a Photograph represents. There’s piano ballad “Five Easy Pieces”, sung to a former flame called Bobby, one part Prine, two parts Nilsson, a tad David Berman in Morby’s ability to, well, say the word “cum” in a way that’s somehow emotionally resonant. He connects these memories of someone who “fuck[s] like a monster, but...still drive[s] me wild” with the album’s overall concept. As the song crescendos, Morby asks, “How do you make a bad time last? Get a camera, put it in a photograph!” Morby is enraptured by the power of images, but also of associations in general, stimuli that can make you viscerally reexperience something beautiful (the tufted titmouse credited on “It’s Over”) or, in this case, something tumultuous. But then there’s “Stop Before I Cry”, Morby’s dedication to his partner Katie Crutchfield of Waxahatchee. The title is taken from Morby’s plea to Crutchfield after recognizing the emotional power she has over him when singing. Amazingly, he pays tribute to her ability to connect with a wider set of folks: “From stage you would take flight, and whistle like a songbird / While swaying in a blue dress, you’d turn the crowd into a big mess.”

Overall, This Is a Photograph is an album steeped in the philosophy of everyone from great thinkers to country singers, and it enters your frame of mind just as much as Morby’s percipience shaped it. “The living took forever but the dying went quick,” Morby sings on waltz “Bittersweet, TN”. It’s a guarantee. In the end, when all that’s left is photographs, let ‘em know you lived.

[perlukafarinn]

(ao3)

The day starts out pretty unremarkable. Dean wakes up at the crack of dawn to Cas slipping out of bed for his morning jog. He pulls him down for a good-morning kiss that turns into a make-out session that turns into them trading lazy handjobs and then falling asleep in each other’s arms again. 

Their actual start to the day is around ten AM, when Cas finally gets up for his jog and Dean gets up for his cereal and a scroll through the morning news. He’s on the look for hunts, mostly out of habit since there’s been very little monster activity since Chuck went and fucked off for good. He doesn’t find anything this morning but that’s hardly a surprise. It’s been a couple of weeks since they’ve been out on a hunt and that inactivity, weirdly enough, is starting to bother him less and less. 

Cas comes back from his jog about an hour before noon and with the mildest of prodding convinces Dean to join him in the shower. Afterwards, they throw together a lunch made from yesterday’s leftovers, taking their time eating and playing footsie under the table, because that’s apparently the kind of couple they are.

Usually by this time of day, Cas would be off in the Men of Letters’ library working on translations or cataloging and Dean would be on the phone helping Garth help out young, out-of-their depth hunters or in the garage, working on one of the beautiful but sadly neglected vehicles left behind there decades ago. 

Today, both of them are seemingly feeling kind of lazy and so hardly any work gets done. It’s not until late in the afternoon that Dean feels the urge to do something productive and suggests they go out for groceries, which Cas readily agrees to. 

The ride into town is quiet. Cas plays his mixtape - the damn thing should be worn out by now and Dean should  long since be sick of it but for reasons too sappy to mention he isn’t - and they sit and listen in comfortable silence. It’s not until they pass the town hall on their way to the supermarket that Cas gets a contemplative look on his face.

“Should we get married?”

Only years of experience behind the wheel prevent Dean’s hands from twitching wildly and veering them into oncoming traffic.

“What.”

Cas looks over, frowning. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Is there any reason for us not to get married? We’re already planning on staying together for the rest of our lives.”

“Is there any reason-” Dean wheezes. “What the fuck, Cas? Is this your idea of a proposal?”

“Are you saying no?” Cas asks, mildly curious, as if they’re talking about the fucking weather and not getting married. “Because we don’t have to.”

Dean stares ahead, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Are you actually asking?”

“I suppose I am.”

“You ‘suppose’,” Dean mocks. “Gee, Cas, that’s real romantic.”

“Will you marry me?”

Dean pulls over. It’s far too sudden, probably leaving tire tracks in the concrete, and the driver behind them honks his horn loudly as he passes. Dean ignores him, taking a deep breath as he finally turns to face Cas. 

“Are you sure?”

He doesn’t really have to ask - Cas wouldn’t have brought it up if he wasn’t sure - but he needs to hear it. 

Thankfully, Cas seems to get that. “I want to marry you, Dean. Do you want to marry me?”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathes. “I mean - yes. Yeah, I do.”

Cas nods decisively. “Alright then. Now?”

“Now?”

It’s not exactly how Dean imagined this scenario would go (not that he - shut up) but it’s somehow the most romantic fucking thing that’s ever happened to him since Cas first told him he loved him. And hey, this time no one had to die!

They turn around, since there’s no point in going in without (forged) birth certificates. Once they get to the town hall, shortly before closing, they find out that it’s a three-day mandatory waiting period between applying for a marriage license and them actually being allowed to get married.

Cas suggests they use the interim time to pick up wedding rings. They wind up spending the next day driving to Topeka, where they find a couple of silver rings in a pawn shop. They’re tarnished but otherwise in good condition and once they get home, Dean spends the rest of the evening cleaning them while trying very hard not to think about just what they’re for.

The second day, Cas spends out back tending to his garden while Dean almost dials Sam’s number repeatedly before hanging up, torn between wanting to let his brother know that he’s getting married and not wanting to jinx it.

The third day, they head back into town. They arrive at the town hall just after it opens and it’s not until they’re standing in front of the clerk that Dean realizes they don’t have any witnesses. The clerk assures him that they don’t need one for civil ceremonies and the next ten minutes pass in a blur until Dean is being prompted to place the ring on Cas’ finger.

He does so with shaking hands, stilled only once Cas places one of his own on top and gives Dean a patient smile. He’s this calm for a reason, Dean finally realizes.

This doesn’t change anything.

Married or not, they’ve already promised themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. Til death do them part doesn’t even begin to describe it, and in sickness and in health is almost laughable at this point.

This really doesn’t change anything.

Dean’s own hand is still as Cas takes his turn, sliding the silver ring upon Dean’s finger. They say their “I do”s when prompted by the clerk, exchange a short, firm kiss, and just like that it’s over.

They’re married. 

*

When Jody invites them to dinner about a week later, they still haven’t told anyone. Sam and Eileen will be there as well as Jack and the girls - it’s a regular family reunion and the perfect chance to announce the big news to everyone.

Dean has a better idea.

“Let’s not tell anyone,” he says. “At least, not before dessert. Let’s see if they notice first.”

They’re in the Impala, about half an hour away from Jody’s place. 

Cas shoots him an amused look. “Is this because Sam claimed he always knew we’d get together when we first told him we were involved?”

“No,” Dean lies. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, seeing Cas still giving him that look from the corner of his eye. “Fine, yes. But he didn’t know, for the record. He just likes to pretend he’s always on top of this shit.”

“He doesn’t like to admit when you’ve surprised him,” Cas agrees.

The conversation ends there but Dean’s plan is apparently agreed upon since once they arrive at Jody’s, Cas doesn’t say a word about their recent relationship upgrade. Jody doesn’t seem to notice anything different, but then Dean didn’t expect her to. She’s not the one they spend most of their time around. Neither do Donna, Alex, Claire or Kaia, none of them surprises. Patience, Dean is less sure about, but she at least doesn’t say anything. Her eyes do linger unusually long but that could mean anything.

Damn psychics.

Sam and Eileen arrive half an hour after Dean and Cas, Jack in tow. This is the real test; Sam and Dean may not spend as much time together in the past few months as they did in the years before but he’s still the person who knows Dean best and would be the most likely to notice a difference.

And yet, nothing.

Dean tries not to feel too smug.

They go through dinner without anyone mentioning it. Dean makes a point of reaching across the table as many times as he can, showing off the ring glinting on his finger. Cas must notice him doing it, judging by the fond exasperation on his face, but he’s the only one.

It isn’t until dessert that Patience breaks, patience (hah) clearly run out:

“Is no one going to mention that Dean and Castiel are wearing wedding rings?”

And all hell breaks loose.

Sam is wounded - mostly over Dean and Cas not telling him before they got married, though Dean can tell some part of it is his pride at not seeing this coming - but he’s over it soon enough, once they explain that it wasn’t a big deal, not some proper ceremony, just a quick affirmation of what they already knew.

“See if I make you Best Man at my wedding after this, jerk,” Sam tells Dean.

“Your wedding?” Eileen asks pointedly. 

Jody and Donna offer their congratulations before the conversation can get awkward, and Kaia, Alex, and Patience chime in with theirs as well. Jack looks confused at the whole proceeding, finally asking whether this means there won’t be any bouquet to catch, which only means Dean has gravely failed him in his pop culture education (oh, who’s he kidding, as if half the romcoms Jack has watched didn’t come directly from the recommended tab on Dean’s Netflix account). 

Finally, with a pointed elbow from Kaia and a hangdog expression from Cas, Claire mumbles that she’s happy for them. While Dean doesn’t doubt that’s true he also knows that this is more complicated for her than the rest of them, and for the first time he kind of feels guilty about springing this news on everyone. 

It doesn’t last long, not after Donna cheerfully raises her glass and proposes a toast to the happy couple and everyone else follows suit. They chant for them to kiss and, blushing outrageously, Dean complies, leaning over to press a quick kiss against Cas’ lips. 

“So, who proposed?” Sam asks once the hooting and hollering has calmed.

“Cas did,” Dean says, slinging an arm around his husband’s - his husband’s - shoulders. “And it was the least romantic proposal of all time, you should’ve heard him.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “If I had left it up to you, we never would have gotten married.”

“He didn’t even give me time to pick out flowers,” Dean informs Sam gravely. 

“There’s always the vow renewal,” Cas says, the casual statement managing to sound like a threat, and Dean shuts up. 

The conversation moves on, the mood noticeably cheerier. As Jack and Sam launch into a story of their most recent hunt, Dean leans against Cas.

“We could have flowers, if you want,” he mutters. 

Cas smiles at him, so bright and easy that it makes Dean’s heart stutter. He takes Dean’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the cool silver of Dean’s ring.

“That’s not necessary,” he says. “I’ve got everything I want right here.”

[engie-ivy]

For the request: "I was wondering if you could write one where Harry reveals that Sirius has a crush on Remus or vice versa? He could either be a toddler or big already but Lily and James are both alive cause screw canon!" from @tugabooos! So happy I got a request, hope you'll like it!😁

Five-year-old Harry overhears his uncle Pads say mean things about his uncle Moony, and he's gutted.

To Harry’s surprise, uncle Pads hides his face in his hands and lets out a groan. “Stupid Moony with his stupid smile! ‘You’re such a good friend, Pads.’ I don’t want to be his bloody friend!”

Such a good friend

Quietly, five-year-old Harry slips into the room.

He’s quite finished with playing outside, and wants to see what his uncle Pads is up to.

His parents are visiting aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon, but Harry had begged if he could go play at uncle Pads’ instead. Last time they visited, his cousin Dudley had tried to push Harry in a mud pool. Harry isn’t sure what happened, but somehow, Dudley had ended up with his head buried in the mud. Aunt Petunia had screamed and called him a freak, and uncle Vernon had looked like his head was going to explode. His dad had been incredibly proud of his magic already showing so strong at only five years old, and had hugged him excitedly, which did nothing to ease aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon’s temper.

Needless to say, his parents were all in favour of him going to uncle Pads’ instead.

Harry can hear voices coming from the kitchen and realises uncle Moony is still here. Uncle Moony came to say goodbye to Harry because he had to leave like half an hour ago, but mum always says that when uncle Pads and uncle Moony get to talking, they completely lose track of time and can go on forever.

Curious what his uncles could be talking about, Harry crouches down in front on the kitchen door and spies through the crack.

Uncle Moony is standing with his coat on, and uncle Pads is leaning against the kitchen counter, looking at him with a smile.

“... check it out next time we’re in the area!” Uncle Moony just finishes his sentence.

“Yeah,” uncle Pads replies. “Definitely. That sounds great.”

“Oh, Merlin,” uncle Moony says. “Is that really the time? How have we been standing here for forty-five minutes already?”

“Story of our life, eh?”

Uncle Moony chuckles and moves to disapparate, but then turns back around again. “Oh, before I forget! Fabian’s birthday is coming up, and I wanted to buy him a record or something. You have somewhat the same taste in music, mind helping me pick out something?”

“Oh,” uncle Pads says, staring at his feet. “Everything okay between you and Fabian, then?”

Uncle Moony shrugs. “I guess? I’ve kind of decided I should worry less about whether I feel like he could be ‘the one’, and just take it day by day. I mean, we’re still young, as long as we’re having fun, right?”

“Right.”

“So will you help me?” Uncle Moony urges. “Please, Pads? I need you! You know I’m pants at buying gifts,” he adds with a sheepish smile.

“That you are,” uncle Pads agrees with a tight smile. “Yeah, of course I help you, Moons. Anything for you.”

Uncle Moony beams at him. “Thanks, Pads! You’re the best! You’re such a good friend, I’d be lost without you.”

Uncle Moony disapparates with a loud crack, and uncle Pads drops down in the kitchen chair.

To Harry’s surprise, he hides his face in his hands and lets out a groan. “Stupid Moony with his stupid smile! ‘You’re such a good friend, Pads.’ I don’t want to be his bloody friend!”

Shocked, Harry steps away from the door. Half in panic, he flees back into the backyard. He can’t believe his uncle Pads would say such mean things about uncle Moony! He loves his uncle Pads to bits, and really looks up to him, but he also loves his uncle Moony! And now uncle Pads doesn’t want to be friends with uncle Moony anymore?

Harry has to bite his lip not to cry.

Of course his parents have to invite both uncle Pads and uncle Moony over for dinner that very evening.

Harry just sadly stares at his plate, picking at his food. His mum gives him a concerned look from time to time. “Harry, love, are you feeling okay?” She eventually asks.

Harry’s bottom lip starts to wobble, and now everyone is looking at him in concern.

“Hey, little man, what’s wrong?”

“Prongslet, you know you can tell us everything!”

“Oh Harry, what’s bothering you?”

“It’s...” Harry sniffs. “Uncle Pads...”

All eyes shift to uncle Pads, who’s eyes widen in surprise. “Harry if I did anything to upset you, please tell me. You know I’d never purposely make you sad!”

“You said uncle Moony was stupid!” Harry blurts out.

Everyone blinks at him in surprise.

“Harry,” his mum says carefully. “That’s not something you can just say. I’m sure uncle Pads would never-”

“Mum, I’m not telling lies!” Harry’s eyes widen in shock.

His mum looks doubtfully, but then uncle Pads scrapes his throat. “Ah, Lils, I think I can explain. Harry must’ve overheard me say something, and misunderstood.”

Uncle Moony raises an eyebrow. “Do explain, Padfoot. How did such a misunderstanding come to be?”

A blush creeps over Padfoot’s cheeks and he rubs the back of his neck. “Well, ehm, you see... You asked me for a favour and when I see that smile of yours you know I can’t deny you anything.” He laughs awkwardly. “So I think said something like ‘Moony and his stupid smile’... In a joking manner!”

“Oh.” uncle Moony blushes as well.

“See, Harry?” His dad ruffles Harry’s hair. “Uncle Pads and uncle Moony have been friends for ages, and they’ll always like each other!”

Harry shakes his head. “But uncle Pads said he doesn’t want to be uncle Moony’s friend!”

“I’m sure he also has a good explanation for that?” His dad says, looking at uncle Pads pointedly.

“Yes,” his mum adds. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to teach our son those are the kind of jokes you should make about your friends?”

“And if he really doesn’t want to be my friend anymore,” Remus says in a rather cold voice. “Then I’m sure he can say it to my face?”

“Well, Padfoot?”

“Padfoot, care to explain?”

“Let’s hear it, Padfoot.”

“I meant I didn’t want to be just friends!” uncle Pads bursts out. “‘Such a good friend’, while sodding Fabian... Never mind. The point is, I don’t dislike Moony, of course I don’t. I like him so bloody much, I wish I could be something more than a friend!”

There’s a silence.

Uncle Padfoot’s face is bright red and he hides behind his hands. “Oh, Merlin.”

Uncle Moony looks flushed as well, staring disbelievingly at uncle Pads, his mouth opening and closing. Harry’s mum and dad’s eyes have widened. Harry looks from one person to the other, not really understanding what’s going on. Uncle Pads still likes uncle Moony, so that’s a good thing, right?

“Ehm, Harry,” his dad eventually says. “You see? There’s nothing to worry about,” but he sounds worried nonetheless. “Why don’t we go upstairs together with mum to read a story, eh? And give your uncles a moment to talk.”

Quietly, fourteen -year-old Harry slips into the room.

Uncle Pads looks up from where he’s standing in front of the dress mirror, trying to decide whether he should leave another button open or not. “Harry! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Harry grins as he lifts himself on top of the table next to the mirror, and starts swinging his legs back and forth. “Just hiding from dad. He’s gone full-on-crazy best man-mode.”

Uncle Pads chuckles. “Why do you think I sent him away? I hope he’s not bothering Moony, though?”

“Nah, last I saw him, he was yelling at uncle Wormy for wearing a red tie while the theme is silver and gold.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“Oh, Merlin.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “He has already sent aunt Marls home to change, as she was wearing a white dress. ‘For Godric’s sake, Marlene, you can’t wear white to a wedding!’” Harry gives a perfect imitation of his father. “Her protest that none of the grooms is very likely to be wearing a white dress to no avail.”

Uncle Pads shakes his head fondly. “Oh, Prongsie.”

Harry shrugs. “Mum says to be patient with him, as this is his big day, that he’s been dreaming of ever since he was a boy.”

“That’s true,” uncle Pads agrees.

“So we know my father is completely losing it as best man, but what about you?” Harry nudges uncle Pads with his foot. “Are you nervous?”

Uncle Pads thinks about it for a while. “No. I’m marrying my best friend, what’s there to be nervous about?”

Harry gasps in pretend-shock. “And I thought you didn’t want to be uncle Moony’s friend!”

“Watch out, you little rascal!” Uncle Pads laughs. “I haven’t forgotten what you put me through!”

Harry huffs. “I shall hope not! Thanks to me you finally confessed your feelings. I’m expecting a thank you in all speeches of today.”

“We’ll see, Prongslet,” uncle Pads says with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “We’ll see.”

“But siriusly,” Harry says in a more sincere tone of voice. “I’m really happy for you, uncle Pads. And for uncle Moony too.”

Uncle Pads smiles, and then wipes at his eyes. “Merlin, Harry, what are you doing to me? I thought I’d at least keep it dry until I saw Moony walk down the aisle.”

Suddenly, Harry’s dad’s voice sounds in the hall. “Harry! Where are you? I need somebody to sort through the rose petals, to make sure none of them have any brown spots!”

Harry’s eyes widen in horror. “I was never here,” he whispers, before slipping out of the room.

[extasiswings]

Get in, clowns.  We’re going to the circus.  On ao3.

Eddie’s palms are sweaty.

It’s warm outside, the sun beating down on the park bench where he’s sitting, but it’s the nerves that have his hands clammy as he turns his water bottle over between them.  

When Buck had walked in the house earlier, he’d taken one look at Eddie and rolled his eyes before shoving him back into his bedroom.

“You can’t wear that,” Buck said, rifling through Eddie’s dresser.  He emerged with Eddie’s tightest pair of jeans and shoved them at his chest before turning to the drawers with shirts.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Eddie asked, baffled as he looked down at himself and then, skeptically, at the jeans.

“You look like a dad.”  Buck’s voice went muffled for a moment before he made a noise of victory and pulled out a deep red, long-sleeved shirt that Eddie’s pretty sure is at least a size too small. 

“Kind of hard not to.  Since I am one and all.  That’s not exactly a secret.”

“Yeah, but you can look like a hot dad who is making an effort instead of a regular dad going to the grocery store or something.  You’ll thank me later.”  

After Eddie had changed and walked out of the bathroom, Buck’s face shifted—Eddie could have sworn his eyes darkened, that his voice was rougher as he pronounced Eddie much better.

So Eddie knows he looks good.

But his palms are still sweaty.  He uncaps the water bottle and takes a sip more to have something to do than because he needs it.  And then he starts drumming his fingers against his thigh, needing something to occupy them, some way to move.  

He’s tempted to pull out his phone, to reread the latest texts from Bobby or even the shameless teasing in the group text that Buck started with his sisters—and boy, was that a mistake, putting the three of them in touch, because Eddie never in a million years would have told them he was going on a date if he hadn’t done it by accident because Buck’s direct messages happened to be right below the group—

He’s still not sure he should be, is the thing.  Dating.  He still feels like he can’t quite breathe right when he thinks too hard about it.  Can still play that last dinner with Shannon over on loop, from her asking for a divorce to the implication that really being with him again would be so terrible she would have to run for the hills and leave their child behind.

He didn’t exactly have great self-esteem to begin with.

Eddie wipes his palms on his jeans—he’s in the middle of debating whether it’s bad parenting to make up an emergency involving your kid to get out of a date, when—

“Eddie!  Hi,” Ana greets, walking up the path.  

The anxiety in his chest twists tighter as he gets up from the bench and waves.

“Hey.  You, uh—you look really nice,” he says, because it’s true and also the easiest thing he can remember from the last time he did this.  

Ana smiles.  “So do you.”

There’s a pause that lingers a little too long and then they both start trying to speak at once, cutting off abruptly when they realize.  Eddie rubs self-consciously at the back of his neck.

“Should we walk?” Ana offers, nodding down the path where it leads into the trees.

“Sure, yeah,” Eddie agrees.  

It’s actually not...bad.  She asks him about work and that’s a safe enough topic that he’s comfortable spending a few minutes telling her stories from the station.  She shares a little about the challenges of virtual teaching.  And then she asks about Chris, and, well, that’s an easy subject—Eddie could talk about Chris all day.  

He just finishes the story about the actual building of Christopher’s skateboard—which involved no small amount of comical trial and error on the part of two decidedly not Chris-sized grown men—when Ana gets a thoughtful look on her face and glances sideways at him.

“Can I ask you something personal?”  She asks.

Eddie rocks back on his heels and hooks his thumbs in his pockets.  “Sure.”

“How long has it been for you?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up.  “Since...the last time I dated?”

Ana nods.

“Well…” He wets his lips to stall.  “The last person I dated was my wife.  And I’m not sure it was really dating in the same way after we were married so...I guess...eleven years give or take?”

He laughs and he can hear the edge of self-deprecation.  “That obvious I’m out of practice?”

“No,” Ana says.  “No, that wasn’t—it’s really not actually. Although it does explain some things.”

“Things?”

She bites her lip.  “Nothing bad,” she insists.  “Just—”

“Have you ever been on a date where the other person talked about their ex the whole time and it was kind of obvious they still had feelings for them and you couldn’t help wondering why they weren’t with the ex when they clearly wanted to be?”  She asks.

Eddie blinks, scrolling back through their conversation trying to think—he’s pretty sure he hasn’t mentioned Shannon except for the once.  And he’s not still—

“In high school, maybe?” He answers.  “But I’m not sure—”

“I was trying to figure out if you and Buck ever dated,” she clarifies, and Eddie stops in his tracks, his mind shorting out as he takes that in.

“I—what?”

They’re back at the parking lot anyway, and although they could take another loop around the park, Ana stops by the closest bench and smiles as she leans against it.

“Look, I like you, Eddie,” she says.  “And if I’m totally off base and you want to see me again, I will definitely pick up the phone.  But if I’m not?  I couldn’t not say something.”

“Buck’s my best friend,” Eddie replies.  His head is swimming but it surprisingly doesn’t feel bad.  More like he’s been handed the clue card for a puzzle he was trying to solve and while the pieces haven’t quite come together fully, they’re getting there.

“You talk about him like he’s your partner.  Like the three of you are a family.  And when you talk about him you look like…”  Ana shakes her head and laughs, but it’s not unkind.  Just soft and maybe a little longing.  “I would love for someone to look like that when they’re talking about me.  Thinking about me.  So, I thought you should know.  Just in case you didn’t.”

Another puzzle piece falls into place and Eddie sucks in a breath.

“I do like you,” he says.

“Yeah...but you’re in love with him.  Right?”  Eddie’s quiet and Ana nods.

“I’m gonna go,” she decides.  “This was nice, for the record.  Maybe we can do it again.  As friends next time.”

“Ana—” Eddie calls after her.  When she looks back over her shoulder though, he’s not sure what to say except, “...thank you.”

“Let me know how it works out?” She asks.  “I’m a little invested now.”

Eddie laughs and runs a hand through his hair.  “Yeah...sure.”  

He drives home in a daze, so much of the past two years—maybe even longer—suddenly thrown into new light.  Everything he’s been afraid of, everything that’s been holding him back—all of the baggage and insecurities that Shannon left behind, that have made him feel like he’s not good enough, like he can’t be a partner to anyone—

He never stopped and looked too hard at what he already had.  What he was already doing.

What he has.  What he is doing.   

With Buck.

In the stark glare of hindsight, it’s easy to see—he was still married when they met, was worn down and bruised and not looking for anything.  He needed a friend and Buck slipped in to fill that void and Eddie...put him in a box.  Put them in a box.  Carefully compartmentalizing every aspect of his life because it was easier that way, because it allowed him to sort through the tangled knots of expectation from any number of other sides, any number of other identities—husband, father, son.

There was no baggage attached to friend.  No forgive and forget and take your wife back because kids need their mothers or you’ll drag him down with you or I wasn’t enough.

There was just...Buck.  Present.  Supportive.  Caring about him.  Believing in him.   The real him—masks off, walls down, warts and all.   

The longer Eddie thinks, the clearer things become.  His mind flips through memories like a scrapbook—panic attacks and phone calls at two in the morning, nights on the couch playing video games with Christopher and the slower, lingering moments with just the two of them after they put him to bed, all those months sharing a bed in Buck’s apartment while he despaired over being away from his son and Buck reminded him he was a good dad—

How many of those nights had Eddie wanted to kiss him?  How many times had he felt that buzz under his skin, the whisper of it would be so easy, only to shove it down because it was too dangerous to deal with.  

And when he thinks now about the future, about having someone in his home, in his bed, in his life, when he pictures it, all he can see is Buck.

It feels right.

“I love him,” Eddie says out loud, tasting the words on his tongue, letting them linger.

I love him.

His pulse spikes with his anxiety, but it calms down as he sits with it.  Because he knows Buck’s not going to leave.  He trusts that.  Buck’s seen him at his worst and none of that has ever driven him away.  So maybe…

Eddie’s mind flicks back to earlier in the day, to the dark heat in Buck’s gaze as it dragged over him before he looked away.

...yeah.  They’ll be okay.

He’s home before he even really registers and takes a few slow breaths before he shuts off the truck and gets out.  When he steps through the door, it’s a strange feeling.  The space is familiar but not.  More...settled somehow.  Home.

Home.

Eddie closes the door behind him and follows the sound of running water to the kitchen.  He stops in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and spends a moment just watching Buck scrub potatoes in the sink until the other man glances up and notices him.

“Hey,” Buck greets.  “Chris is reading in his room, I’m just working on dinner.  How was the date?”

God, I love you, Eddie thinks, and nearly has to bite his tongue to keep it to himself.

Yeah.  It’s right.

He shrugs.  “It was fine.  Ana’s nice.”

“When’s the next date then?”  There’s an odd note in Buck’s voice that makes Eddie push off the frame and step closer. 

“There’s not going to be one,” he replies.  “Ana’s nice...but I don’t want to date her.”

Buck stops.  Shuts off the water and turns, leaning back against the sink.

“No?”  Buck’s brow furrows.  “It’s not—do you still feel like you’re not ready?”

“No, it’s not that,” Eddie replies.  “I do think I’m ready.  But with the right person.”

His heart is pounding in his chest, but it’s not fear.  More...anticipation.  

He swallows hard.

“Ana said something that made me realize that...I don’t want to start from scratch with some stranger.”

Eddie takes another step closer and Buck inhales sharply, emotions shifting across his face too quickly for Eddie to name them all.

“Eddie…”  Buck sounds hoarse, a little disbelieving.  He leans forward for a moment before shaking his head, clearing his throat.

“I can’t—I need you to be specific,” he says.  “Because I can’t make assumptions here, I can’t—”

Eddie kisses him.  Steps in far enough that Buck’s body presses flush against his, slides his hand around the back of Buck’s neck, and kisses him.  Buck makes a small noise and grips him right back, his hands curving around Eddie’s hips nearly tight enough to bruise in sharp contrast to the way Eddie’s mouth feathers against his, soft as anything.  

“Specific enough?”  Eddie breathes, staying close enough that their lips brush again.  Buck surges up and uses his grip on Eddie’s hips to turn them, pinning Eddie against the counter as he kisses him again in response.  Once, twice, three times, and Eddie shivers.  

He hasn’t been kissed in so long, hasn’t been touched with intention like this—he’d forgotten what it felt like.  His body floods with heat as Buck’s hands slip under his shirt, spreading wide over his rib cage, and he parts his lips eagerly for Buck’s tongue.

Down the hall, a door closes, and Buck jumps back, Eddie slumping against the counter to keep himself upright.  Buck is flushed and panting and Eddie’s pretty sure he can’t look much better, too warm and electric, wanting, wanting, wanting—

Both of them catch their breath and watch the door, but Christopher doesn’t appear.  After a minute Eddie catches the faint sound of a toilet flushing and he looks back at Buck.  

And he laughs.  It bubbles up from his chest like champagne fizz, bright and warm and right, and apparently it’s contagious because Buck starts up as well, stepping in again and sliding his arms around Eddie’s waist, ducking his head to laugh breathlessly against Eddie’s neck.

When they calm down, Buck stays close, his lips feathering over Eddie’s pulse.  Eddie hums and closes his eyes as he tips his head back to give Buck better access.  

“I’m in love with you,” he says.  “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Buck’s lips curve up against Eddie’s skin.

“Well that’s convenient,” he replies.  “Since Chris was asking me earlier why you couldn’t just date me if you were going to date again.”

Eddie’s startled into another laugh.  “Really?”

“Really.”

Eddie grins and opens his eyes again.  “Hey Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Go out with me?”

Buck snorts and pushes him out of the way so he can go back to the potatoes.  

“Help me finish getting dinner together and we’ll see.”  But the second Eddie turns away, Buck snags him by a belt loop and reels him back in for another kiss.

“Yes,” Buck says.  “Yes.”

And it’s right.           

[beholdthemem]

I’m putting some Owl House in the Metal Family, because I won’t be satisfied until someone does and the number one rule of fandom is If You Want Something Done, You Do It Yourself.

Vicky is a wild witch, from a very scattered family- all also wild. There’s not much that connects them, but they have a unifying attitude of Nobody EVER Tells Me What To Do that’s made them very unpopular with the Emperor. They’ve done magic their way for thousands of years, they’re not changing now just because some upstart’s got a fancy mask and claims to talk to the Titan.

I’m gonna say Vicky was a Glandis kid. She’s brash, tough, very rarely asks for help, and doesn’t like anyone to know she needs it... almost as if she’s worried somebody’s going to exploit that. That seems like the sort of thing that could have been instilled from spending one’s formative years in an environment that repeatedly hammers in ‘only the strong succeed’, even if that’s not the way she has to live now.

She’s really dismissive about the rumors surrounding Glandis. She talks about it like it was a totally normal school, nothing really wrong there beyond being boring... but she was also very careful to make sure that both of her sons would be going to Hexside instead.

Glam’s a wild witch too. Unlike Vicky, who never had any intentions of being anything else, though, Glam was once on track to becoming part of the then-newly-established Bard Coven. Gustav was the current head of an old, very powerful family, and had kept power by being able to tell which way the metaphorical wind was blowing. Correctly guessing that Belos was going to be sticking around, Gustav felt that the best way to court favor was heed the Emperor’s changes and get his children on the ground floor of the new Coven System. 

It wouldn’t be enough for them to just be members, though- if the family name was going to stay relevant in this new world, Gustav’s son would have to be the best of the best.

No matter what it took to make him that way.

The coven system never held any real attraction to Glam, but he never considered abandoning it until befriending Ches and seeing what the world was like for witches that didn’t limit themselves.

After Glam left home, Lydia became the representative of the Shvagenbagens in the Bard Coven. She’s high ranking, ambitious, and was EXTREMELY pissed when Scooter Crane chose Raine instead of her as the new Head.

Heavy’s got enough raw musical talent to make him a sought after Bard Coven candidate, but he’s got no real interest in it. (Much to his father’s silent relief.) He’s in the Beast-Keeping track at Hexside, and is constantly sneaking creatures into the house, driving Vicky and Dee crazy in the process. He has yet to meet an animal he doesn’t love, despite how likely it is to eat him. (Vicky is going to lose her MIND.)

Dee’s in the Oracle track, and is well on his way to potentially ruling the world. He knows everything about everyone, and rarely needs to use magic to find it out. He’s still got his Will-Ensure-You-Pass-The-Class-You-Didn’t-Study-For-For-Cash business going, listening in on whatever questions are being asked and feeding the customer answers through crystals small enough to be hid somewhere on their person. He’s made so much money. Everyone’s expecting the teachers to catch him at it sooner or later, but it’s never happened. Dee smugly assures them that it never will.

He works at the library in his spare time, and has one particular echo mouse that he regularly brings home and back. He insists that this is purely to record whatever information the mouse has stored in it, this is STRICTLY BUSINESS, but his family all knows that whether or not he wants to admit it, it’s a pet.

[ginanosakka]

The Mind of a Monster

Masterlist

I’m Sorry | Next

“Daddy, why does everyone look like that?” Your young and bright eyes stared up at your father’s, his own having no light or warmth in them, not even as he looked at you.

The smile that crept onto his face scared you, but you smiled back nonetheless like the naive little girl you were, just wanting to return your father’s love. In truth, you had been scared the moment you entered his company office, the automatic shift in energy when he walked in the room from all his employees had you fiddling with your fingers and doing your best to avoid eye contact. It was confusing to you why he wanted you to come with him today to introduce you to his work, but he never greeted anyone or even acknowledged their existence.

You wished you had paid closer attention and broken from his leash sooner.

“My dear, you’ll learn soon enough that these are inferior beings, and how they feel mean nothing when it comes to success.”

Sitting in a conference room filled with heroes was one thing, but sitting in a conference room full of heroes being debriefed on your secret criminal business father was another. Seeing all of these familiar faces made your palms sweaty and an anxious shiver go down your spine. They were all the former class 1-A students who met your father —whether that was by coincidence of scheduling, or these were the ones who couldn’t believe the case at hand, you didn’t know. None of them were as close as Mina and Katsuki so this truthfully had nothing to do with the past, but everything to do with the present news that came out not too long ago.

They were helping to protect their old friend’s child, and his now speculated ‘wife’.

“. . . I can’t give you any more information than that, the old bastard has all of his dirty work under security, but there’s someone who can.” Katsuki said, and you looked up at him from your spot next to Ashido and Kirishima, vacating your thoughts to meet his eyes that had landed on you. “Y/N.” He called, and you stood up from your seat.

You glanced at them all again, taking note of their very clear interest while finding the words to help them understand what you knew. It wasn’t just the ones who you had just seen again for the first time in years, this was also information and a plan that you had not run through with Katsuki, Mina, or Eijirou who had discussed this meeting with you beforehand. Whether it was because all three of them looked so concerned with your safety that your plan would positively not be received well, or simply because you yourself weren’t prepared to put everything at stake wasn’t abundantly clear.

A warm and soft hand grabbed hold of yours from where you stood, and you glanced at Mina to see her smiling with encouragement. “Don’t worry, I’ll have your back, ‘kay?” She said, and you squeezed her hand.

“Okay then. First things first, I want you all to know that I haven’t had contact with him since the last year you have all seen me, not even money related. When I was in close contact with him, I was unaware of any illegal actions he’d done until I was kicked out. Are there any questions on that?” You began, doing your best to get the most obvious questions out of the way first.

The eight heroes in the room — Tokoyami, Sero, Kaminari, Todoroki, Uraraka, Ashido, Kirishima, and Bakugou — all glanced at each other for a moment, and two hands went up: Todoroki, Kaminari. You looked to Todoroki first, his dual colored eyes piercing into yours like he knew you. From what you remembered from all that hero news Ryu loved, he had his own personal family issues that ended up public information. Honestly, you didn’t know if he was looking at you like that because he related to you, or was greatly suspicious of you. Either way, you nodded at him to voice his questions first.

“Did your father use you to fulfill his own goals?”

“Todoroki, let’s stick to questions that have something to do with the crimes and just her father.” Kirishima sweatdropped, and you could see Katsuki’s expression from the corner of your eye that looked like he wanted to send an AP shot right through his left side.

‘Never let him ask me anything, good to know.’

“Kami- Chargebolt, you had a question.” You redirected the attention to Denki who looked as done with Todoroki as the rest of the group, but once you called on him he refocused on you.

“If you knew he was doing illegal stuff at some point, why didn’t you say anything to the police before?” He asked.

The air became thick in the room, and all of them looked at you with their full attention once again, and that’s how you needed it to answer that. What they were about to take on may not be physically exhausting as a villain, but the mental toll this could take would be something they’d never forget. Their images will forever be changed in the media, and they’ll never look at those who run this world the same when you expose to them the man that they’d only met as a hopeful teenager. This was a man who would stop at nothing to stay on top, even going as far as to threaten his own blood’s life to ensure silence.

“When I got kicked out of my home, pregnant and a disgrace to him, he realized that I may not have known much about how the underground business he did, but I could easily stain his image by telling my story. About a month after I was kicked out, when I was two months pregnant, a man showed up at the hotel I was staying at and attempted to kill my baby. I survived with bruises and a stab wound that entered just between my rib cage instead of directly into my stomach. That man was hired by my father to kill me. . my mother had come to the hospital to break that news to me. She is the reason another attempt hadn’t been made on my life, but it was at the cost of me disappearing and never returning again.” You laid out the full story, sparing gruesome details but not leaving any room for confusion or continued suspicion.

Denki looked horrified as he tried to apologize, “I didn’t think he did something like that to you. I’m-“

You cut him off with a raised hand, “that’s why you’re here now. No one knows how evil Eito L/N is, because he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing to the public. This isn’t your routine evidence and arrest case, and if you think there’s a low that my dear old father won’t reach to make me disappear, you’re going to end up dead, or so far in the gutter of negative media attention that your career will be over in days. You’re going to find out information that will destroy the relationship between you and the men that have made you heroes. As we speak, he is most likely ten steps ahead of us all and expecting us to move as quietly as we can for the sake of your licenses and my business.” You explained, and Uraraka stood up in distress.

“Then we should be looking for evidence! Doesn’t this mean you could be being followed right now? Why are we sitting here discussing it?” She asked, and you nodded in agreement at her words.

“You’re right, but there’s a quick end to this that only I can do at the risk of my own life. . I didn’t go over this with any of you, and I deeply apologize for the trouble I will soon be causing, but I can’t let all of you save my life while I lay down and cower with my son.”

You whipped out your phone and searched up the first news outlet that came to mind, and just as you expected, your video was being played as you spoke. You laid it out on the table after turning the sound up, watching the video you had recorded last night played to the public.

“I am Y/N L/N, the daughter of a very well known man, Eito L/N. Six years ago, he told the public that I went overseas in search of a different life, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. In actuality, six years ago, Eito kicked me out of his home after finding out I was pregnant and used that story to cover up my disappearance. I have since been living on my own with no help or contact from my father, and I urge all of you to look closer at those in power and wealth. You have no idea what they could be doing behind closed doors. Thank you.” You turned your phone off and slipped in back in your pocket as they all took in what you had done, and it was of course Katsuki who spoke up first.

“What the hell did you do?!” He growled, and you met his concerned and angry eyes with frightening intent.

“I’m making this a media circus, Dyanmight,” you smiled.

“You’re drawing him out, but why? Won’t that make this worst?” Tokoyami asked, but you weren’t the one to answer.

“He doesn’t know what she’s going to do. . she’s making it impossible to keep his tracks covered.” Todoroki looked at you, and you both nodded at each other in complete understanding. “Y/N just made this a lot easier for us.”

A/N: I was gonna keep dad’s name neutral, but it just didn’t make sense that they all would constantly refer to him as her father. So evil dad’s name is Eito! This is pretty much a small filler before we reach our real drama and end. I can’t promise a soon update and the hiatus is still very much in motion, but I wanted to get this out to you. I hope you enjoy!

Taglist (Closed) <3 : @fandomgirllover @cloudsgathering @that-bipolar-renegade-romantic @jazzylove @that-chick212 @bonbonthedragon @misssugarless @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @bakugous-bakahoe @pinkykookie17 @animexholic @arielting @samkysnks @simpforeveryone @damnirina @deneuves @tsumuuumiyaaaa @vintage-teddyxo @regalmigraine @samvmgh @iamagalaxy @officialtrashbusiness @xwackk @videogameboiwhowins @marajillana @ellasdilemma @plutoneu @saucey-kneecapzz42020 @thestarsanctuary @dewdropwifu @star-light-imagines @kritiiiii @bakugosbottombitch @the2ndl @candybabey @simply-not-the-same @sam-i-am-1025 @mes-bisous @eternallyvenus @peppytine @chaelysian @definitely-yours @oikawarc @suneaterofthebig3 @m0na-l0ver @nkb0048 @losertsukki @notyourfavorlte @caramelsquares @hikaru-mikazuki

[ibijau]

*chanting* sangxuan, sangxuan! because I’ve been reminded that I love that ship, have a continuation of that fic where jzx is a very repressed bi with a huge ass crush on nhs

It takes Nie Mingjue about a week to realise that there's something wrong with Nie Huaisang. The first day or two, he blames it on the shock it must be for his brother to have finally graduated from Lan Qiren's classes, and with unexpectedly high grades at that. That success must have given Nie Huaisang one of his sudden short bursts of motivation, and that's why he's suddenly attending sabre practice with the other disciple, and showing up on time for lessons. Those bursts are usually short lived, in Nie Mingjue's experience. Where the sabre is concerned, five consecutive days of hard work is his brother's record.

So on day eight, when Nie Huaisang is still showing up dutifully, still trying his best to get the movements right, Nie Mingjue becomes concerned. When the lesson is over, he asks his brother to follow him to his office so Nie Huaisang can learn how to help with something, as befits a young master of a prominent sect. Normally, this is the time of the day where Nie Huaisang likes to take time to play with his birds, something he's always particularly enthusiastic about right after returning from Gusu. But this time he follows Nie Mingjue with only the briefest of hesitations.

Slowly going from merely concerned to actively worried, Nie Mingjue decides to see how far he can push this before his brother starts acting like himself again. He gives Nie Huaisang a pile of letters to be sorted through by order of importance according to a number of criteria such as the nature of the problem, the rank of the writer, and their physical location. Night Hunting doesn't interest Nie Huaisang, so it is always a bother for him to think about creatures and remember how dangerous any of them might be. He also can't see the point of keeping track of whether a duke or a magistrate is supposed to be given more consideration. As for geography, Nie Huaisang could get lost inside his own bedroom.

And yet aside from a deep, heartfelt sigh upon being given that task, Nie Huaisang doesn't show any reaction. He just picks a chair, makes some space for himself on the side of his brother's desk, and gets to work. Nie Mingjue sits down as well, ostensibly to check some bills, but most of his attention is on his brother who is never this obedient and helpful.

“Alright, what have you done this time?” Nie Mingjue asks after a while.

Looking up from the letter he's studying, Nie Huaisang stares at him with confusion written all over his face. He could pass as perfectly innocent if Nie Mingjue didn't know him better than that.

“Did you get in trouble in Gusu before leaving?” he insists. “Or on the way home?”

“Why would you think I got in trouble?” Nie Huaisang gasps, the very picture of wounded virtue. Nie Mingjue only has to gesture at the pile of letters for his brother to drop the act. “Oh, that. Well. I've decided that I need to become a better person. I can't keep wasting my youth in frivolous pursuits. The young master of a sect must be proficient in martial arts, in cultivation, and know about running an estate. Isn't that what you're always telling me?”

“And you're never listening.”

Nie Huaisang grimaces slightly at the accusation, but nods.

“I have not always been all that I ought to be,” he sighs, rather dramatically. “But I am a changed man.”

“I'm not sure that you can call yourself a man when you're not even eighteen,”

“A changed person,” Nie Huaisang corrects without missing a beat, glaring at his brother. “I need to improve my public image, or else I'll never get to marry.”

Just like that, Nie Mingjue relaxes. Out of every reasons Nie Huaisang might have had to straighten his act, this is the least worrying one. He's the right age to start thinking about that sort of things after all, and he's apparently made a lot of friends this past year in Gusu.

“Do you have someone specific in mind?” Nie Mingjue asks, trying his best to hide his amusement.

“Maybe I do,” Nie Huaisang grumbles after just a moment of hesitation.

“Boy, girl?”

“Does it really matter? You'll let me have however I want, right?”

There's a surprising note of worry to Nie Huaisang's voice, which Nie Mingjue doesn't like in the least.

“I just ask because it'll take more work to convince the parents of your beloved if it's a boy,” he clarifies, and yet his brother doesn't relax at all. If anything, Nie Huaisang starts frowning and bites his lip. “So it's a boy, and the family is stupid about these things,” Nie Mingjue guesses.

Nie Huaisang sighs and flops over the desk, ruining his careful work with the letters.

“It's hopeless, his parents are stupid!”

“Don't badmouth your future in-laws, Huaisang.”

“It's fine, you'll agree with me when you know who it is, and how much they've messed him up.”

That's a worrying statement, but for now Nie Mingjue decides to treat it as a secondary problem. It's hardly the first time Huaisang develops a crush on someone. When he was eight, he wanted to marry Lan Xichen for a few weeks. At thirteen, he threatened to court Wen Qing who he'd seen once at a conference and to run off with her. Nie Huaisang is older and (allegedly) more mature now, but Nie Mingjue prefers to check how serious this is before calculating an auspicious date.

“Well, tell me about him then,” Nie Mingjue demands. “What unlucky bastard caught your eye this time?”

“Bastard no, definitely not,” Nie Huaisang snorts. “Unlucky... yeah. He's... well, first of all, he's handsome.”

“Goes without saying. You're too vain to settle for someone less than stunning.”

Nie Huaisang sticks out his tongue and sits back up so he can slap his brother's arm.

“Rude, very rude. Anyway, he's the most gorgeous person in the world, especially when he laughs. But he sadly doesn't laugh a lot. He's been trained out of it, I think.”

For a brief moment, Nie Mingjue wonders if his brother is in love with Lan Wangji... but no, Nie Huaisang wouldn't dare to call Lan Qiren stupid.

“He's also pretty nice, when you know him,” Nie Huaisang continues, smiling to himself. “He complains a lot, but he'd offer to study with me and he'd really try to help me. And he's serious and righteous. No matter how many times I offered to let him cheat on tests, he'd always refuse because he wanted to succeed through his own work.”

“You set the bar so low,” Nie Mingjue comments, though at least now he knows how his brother got such good grades. It's almost reassuring, in a twisted way. “Doesn't cheat on tests, somewhat nice to you... I'm not really sold on this.”

“I am,” Nie Huaisang retorts, his smile growing a little warmer. “When he looks at me, it's like he's looking at the moon and wondering how he could ever reach it. Like I'm the most incredible person in his life.”

That does sound like something that would appeal to Nie Huaisang's vanity, though Nie Mingjue wouldn't quite call it enough to get married.

“And what do you see when you look at him?”

For a moment, Nie Huaisang falls silent, his expression turning serious. Nie Mingjue is half getting scared that he's made his brother realise how shallow his feelings are, when Nie Huaisang speaks again.

“I see someone I want to make happy and to protect from everything bad,” he announces, a deep frown on his brow. “I see someone who has been hurt, and it makes me hurt as well, because he's so wonderful, and the people who hurt him are the ones who should have protected him, and it makes me so angry that something like that happened to him. I just... I just want to take him away from everyone who's ever made him feel bad about himself, and bring him somewhere safe, and hold him in my arms until he's never afraid again of what others will say about him. Is that... Is that weird?”

Coming from any other Nie, it would be normal, Nie Mingjue thinks. Their family tends to have a protective streak, even toward people who don't quite need it. It's a little odd to hear this coming from Nie Huaisang, but he is a Nie too, so it shouldn't be a surprise that he loves like one.

“So I'm guessing you want for him to marry into the family, rather than you joining theirs?” Nie Mingjue asks.

To his surprise, Nie Huaisang shakes his head.

“Won't work, his parents won't allow it. Damn, they won't be happy with it even like this. But it's... da-ge, I think I'm really in love with him,” Nie Huaisang sighs, blushing at his own confession. “I didn't mean too, it was supposed to just be a game, but I really love him. If there's got to be someone, I want it to be him.”

“Then you'll have him,” Nie Mingjue promises, like it's an evidence.

To him, it is. Their sect doesn't bother playing the game of alliances through marriages that others do. They're a little more like the Lan in that respect, even if they're not quite as ostentatious about it, and they don't bat an eye at second or even third marriages. So if Nie Huaisang has decided he wants this person, enough so that he's willing to put in effort to improve himself for over an entire week, Nie Mingjue will help him. He is weak to his brother's whims, and even weaker to his rare moments of determination.

“You don't even know who it is,” Nie Huaisang protests. “You have no idea how difficult it'll be... I really might have to run away with him and become a rogue cultivator with him, because his parents are so damn stupid! And also, I'm not sure you'd actually approve if you knew...”

“Is it one of Wen Ruohan's sons?”

The immediate grimace of disgust and betrayal on Nie Huaisang's face make it hard not to laugh.

“I told you he's handsome!” Nie Huaisang gasps. “I have taste, da-ge!”

“Aside from these two, you can marry whoever you like,” Nie Mingjue retorts. “Even other Wens if that's what you want,” he generously adds, knowing full well that there were none in Gusu, and so it's unlikely that his brother's beloved is from the sect that killed their father. Even if he were though, Nie Mingjue would do what's needed to make his brother happy, trusting him to find the one person from that sect who would have any value as a person.

Nie Huaisang is less than impressed by that statement.

“You promise?”

Maybe it really is a Wen, Nie Mingjue wonders. If so, it's too late to back off.

“I promise. Any person you want, any sect, if you say it's a decent person, if that's who you want to spend your life with, I'll do what it takes.”

“I'll hold you to that,” Nie Huaisang threatens with a cheerful smile. “I want to marry Jin Zixuan.”

Nie Mingjue stares at his brother, refusing to believe he's heard that correctly... but no, Nie Huaisang is grinning like he pulled the con of the century, that manipulative little shit. He did, in a way. However much Nie Mingjue hates Wen Ruohan and dreams of slaughtering him, at least that's someone he can somewhat respect. Jin Guangshan, on the other hand...

Nie Mingjue shivers in disgust.

Maybe a Wen would have been better after all.

[blu-joons]

The Return Of Superman ~ Lee Hyukjae

Donghae quickly scanned the studio as he waited for the text from Hyukjae to let him know he’d arrived. All of the boys had organised the studio so your two children could enjoy themselves whilst they rehearsed, creating hubs around the room for the cameras to film too.

“I think that’s him,” Donghae smiled as he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket, “he says he’s just pulled up into the car park and that he has two very excited children with him.”

They all sat down and waited in anticipation as two cameramen walked in first, standing either side of the door. Jeongsu grabbed the cardboard cut outs they’d been handed to hide the cameramen with, placing them in front of the two of them, pulling down the holes that the cameras would sit in.

Their smiles soon grew as they heard two excitable giggles coming down the corridor, slipping out of their father’s hold when they realised where they were. The two of them both stopped as they reached the door, trying to pick out which of their father’s bandmates to run to first.

A few moments later, Hyukjae appeared too with several bags in his hands of toys to entertain his children. No one could have been mistaken for thinking he packed up the whole nursery to make sure they had the things they’d like with them.

“How much are you regretting this idea?” Shindong teased as he walked over to help Hyukjae out.

“I thought it would be alright to look after the two of them, but it’s only been a few hours and I’m already missing Y/N.”

He couldn’t sit down quick enough whilst Kyuhyun and Ryeowook began to entertain his son and daughter, finally taking a moment to catch his breath. He didn’t care if cameras were filming him, caring for two kids was absolutely exhausting for him.

It didn’t take long before Heechul was beside him, stretching his long legs out. “I’d love to know what went through your head when you thought you’d be able to care for the two of them.”

Watching them now with their uncles, his children seemed like absolute delights, but little did they all know what nightmares they could be at home. It took three attempts to get them out the house that morning, and even that was a good day for them.

“How about we swap for the day, I’ll do Knowing Bros and you can do this, they always behave for you,” Hyukjae groaned.

“You’ve clearly not worked with Hodong and Soogeun.”

“They can’t be as bad as those two, surely.”

As soon as he spotted the cameras, Jeongsu stood up and went over to your two children, “how about we find something to play with whilst daddy dances.”

The boys being around him was a welcome relief for Hyukjae, he’d already text you several times since you left that morning for a few days trying to figure out what to do. He’d bitterly underestimated how difficult the job was going to be.

“Why can’t we dance with you?” Your daughter asked him, folding her arms across his chest, “daddy has been teaching us some dances.”

“But doesn’t this look so much more interesting,” Jeongsu suggested, holding up the board game Siwon had brought.

Her head quickly shook, pointing across at Shindong who was beginning to set up the music. As much as he wanted to say no, the cameras were watching him, and Jeongsu knew there was no chance he could be filmed denying the two of them.

“How about this, we do one dance, if you dance better than daddy, we can all go out for dinner, but if you’re worse, you have to go home with daddy without us,” he offered.

“Being at home with daddy is rubbish without mummy,” you daughter blushed, quickly covering her mouth as a gasp came from Jeongsu.

“Don’t let daddy hear you say that.”

Ever since the two of you fell pregnant with your son, your eldest, the boys had been incredibly supportive of you both. They knew how hard it was on Hyukjae especially to balance fatherhood and his career, but he tried his best to meet the middle point.

Before Jeongsu had chance to speak again, he watched on as your daughter filled your son in with what he was doing. Jeongsu crept over to Hyukjae with a coy smile on his face, who quickly picked up on the fact that something was going on.

“How do you fancy a dance battle with your children?” Jeongsu asked him, shooting a glare across at Heechul who sniggered beside him.

“Do I even want to ask how you’ve managed to organise this?” Hyukjae asked, to which Jeongsu quickly shook his head. “There best be a good outcome in this for me, do you know how many hours they beg to learn Super Junior routines?”

Ryeowook and Kyuhyun were already back with your son and daughter, training them through the routines, making sure they knew every step. As much as he wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep, Hyukjae couldn’t let his children down.

“I guess I should go and warm up,” he sighed, pulling Donghae to one side to help him whilst the rest of the boys went over to your children. “Remind me to never underestimate how much effort Y/N puts into being a mother.”

Donghae smirked as Hyukjae began to stretch out, resting a supportive hand against his best friend’s shoulder. All of the boys were sceptical when Hyukjae suggested featuring on The Return of Superman, none more so than Donghae, who knew how much he’d struggled.

He smiled softly, “if you want to get an easy night, I suggest doing everything you can to lose this. Jeongsu’s stitched us up by bribing the kids to a night with all of us too.”

“That means I’d have eight babysitters for the night, that sounds like a dream.”

Donghae’s eyes rolled as the corners of Hyukjae’s mouth turned up into a smile. Whilst all of them adored being around your children and entertaining them, seeing Hyukjae struggle was more entertaining than anything else to all of them.

After a few minutes Jungwoon called across the studio to let the two of them know the children were ready for battle. Jeongsu had rolled their sleeves up and given them sweatbands to wear, helping them to really feel the part.

“I can’t believe this is going to air on television,” Hyukjae cried out as both his kids ran over to hug him. “Try not to show me up too much,” he warned them both, pressing soft kisses to the tops of both their heads.

“Uncle Kyuhyun said we have to play dirty to beat you.”

An innocent smile appeared on Kyuhyun’s face as Hyukjae glared up at him with a shake of his head. “When the cameras are off Uncle Kyuhyun will pay for that. We don’t battle harshly; we battle fairly like mummy and daddy taught you.”

Shindong walked over to the stereo, glossing over several of the tracks that had been recorded over the years until he found the one the kids had wanted.

The rest of the members all gathered behind the children to cheer them up, with the exception of Jeongsu who stood in front of everyone, staring across at one of the hidden cameras.

“The dance battle of the year,” he cheered, “let’s see if Y/D/N and Y/S/N will have to try and force a smile through a night with their daddy, or whether they’ll be actually able to enjoy themselves by spending the night with their favourite uncles.”

“Stop presenting!” Your son yelled, throwing his arms up in the air, “can’t we just get on with dancing?”

“Sorry Y/S/N…let’s dance!”

---

Masterlist

[atomicblasphemy]

Eda becomes some kind of flying taxi service

Amity: So I told Malphas he needed to have a talk with Gary about our coffee break space.

Emira: Mhmm.

Amity: I mean, for one, Gary never cleans after himself. Like, I once saw him leaving his mug dirty for over a week. A WEEK. It was disgusting. It was just sitting dare on the table for days. I didn’t want to clean it, I’m not a doormate. But it was dire and I had no choice. And don’t get me started on the fridge situation. My lunch has been getting smaller by the day and I can’t seem to figure out the culprit.

Emira: That’s nice, Mittens. Isn’t it nice, Edric?

Edric: What?

Amity: Will you guys pay attention? I need some advice on...

*Windows cracking”

Edric: What the...

Hooty: AMITY FELICITY BLIGHT! IT IS I, HOOTCIFER, HARBINGER OF THY DESTINY. COME WITH ME AND I SHALL REVEAL WHAT JOYS THE FUTURE HOLDS FOR THEE.

Amity: I... What?

Hooty: DOTH THOU DARE DEFY FATE? *Swallows Amity*

Emira: ... What just happened? Wasn’t that Eda’s house demon? You know, the one we met before Grom?

Edric: I think it was. I’m not sure though, he sounded more... ominous...

SEVERAL EMOTIONAL MOMENTS LATER

Luz: It’s early... Do you really have to go already?

Amity: Yeah... I still have to finish homework, and I have work tomorrow. But I’ll come back here tomorrow... If you’re okay with it, that is...

Luz: YES! I mean... yeah, I’d love that...

Amity: Anyway... I guess I should get going, we’re not exactly neighbors after all. See you tomorrow then.

Luz: Wait, I have an idea. *Turns around* EDA!

Eda: *Not stopping her flight practice* What?

Luz: Do you think you could give Amity a lift back to her place?

Eda: Oh? Not walking your girlfriend home? Thought you’d be more chivalrous.

Luz: *Showing that Amity’s tomato like properties are infectious* EDAAA!

Eda: Sorry, sorry. But yeah, sure. *Picks up Amity and flies away at neckbreaking speeds. She soon slows down to a more reasonable pace* So... Amity, before I give you that whole “What are your intentions?” scare there’s something I’ve been itching to ask you. What made you chose to dye your hair of all colors, and how did Odd-alia react?

Amity: Luz... Me... Girlfriend...

Eda: Ugh... Don’t make me regret making harmless fun of young love, kiddo.

ONE AWKWARD TAXI EDA FLYING SESSION LATER.

Eda: *Placing Amity on the Blight Manor’s front porch and looking at the two bewildered faces watching her* Sup. *Turns to fly away* Oh right, I guess purple here is in not in the mental state to give any explanations.

Amity: Small ceremony... Human realm... Only friends and family... Boscha is not invited...

Emira: Are you... Edalyn Clawthorne?

Eda: Last I checked I was.

Emira: You look different.

Eda: Oh right... Look, it was a very eventful night so let me start with the simpler one. King, you remember him, right? Tiny, angry, looks like a cat, was the MC at the last Grom along with Goops.

Emira and Edirc: Yeah...?

Eda: He’s harnessing all the powers of yelling. I guess all children his age kinda do that but he went above and beyond and actually learned how to make things go boom with his voice alone, and that’s why both Luz and your sister are still alive. And now I’m realizing I should probably go hide all those Death Metal records I got in human realm. Can’t risk turning my son into a weapon of mass destruction. Not yet.

Edric: That’s... nice... I guess?

Emira: How about Mittens?

Eda: Right. She and Luz are an item now. It was adorable, I called her Luz’s girlfriend then I think it finally really hit her and that made her go all catatonic on me. Sorry about that.

Edric: WHAT?

Emira: Okay, okay... So came out with it? Ed and I have some scores to settle.

Eda: I... Both, I guess? I don’t know, it was sort of at the same time. But I don’t want to spoil it for when she recovers. So I guess us three are kinda family now, huh? Tangentially at least, like you’re my nephew and niece-in-law or something like that, I don’t know.

Eda: The important thing is: there’s a huge waterway under my house and I think it is actually part of my property. Now I need to figure out a way to find out how big that place actually is without letting town hall know so my taxes won’t go up. Can’t push my tax evasion skills. I mean, can you imagine it? The Owl Lady, the most successful outlaw in Boiling Isles history: arrested for fiscal crimes.

Emira: Okay... That’s... cool.

Edric: Yeah... Not to pry though, but what happened to you?

Eda: Oh... Me? I got very high. Not on purpose. Then I became a Harpy. Also not on purpose.

Emira: ... I’m sorry but I’m not following the cause and effect relation between those thing.

Eda: Neither am I. All I remember is: Hooty spiked some cookies; I revisited that time I gauged out my dad’s eye, also not on purpose; then when I push my ex away (You know, Raine Whispers, current head of the Bard Coven, lead a small revolutionary guerrilla, now under mind control. Oh, yeah, guess they’d make to sure to keep it under wraps, anyway...)

Eda: Then it got pretty weird. I got trapped by this tall hooded sun and moon figure and I’m not sure whether that was an actual memory (I did get arrested a few time after all) or if it was just a hallucinogenics induced manifestation of the subconscious trauma of being persecuted for years by the state. Anyone’s guess to which was it.

Eda: And then I became Icarus, fell into the sea, and became a piece of paper. Then I was at the beach, the piece of paper was also there, but that’s not important... I hope... Anyway, so, my curse was there too an for a moment there I thought we were gonna play some chess, but nah.

Eda: I did have an epiphany though. The sky changed colors and now I’m a Harpy. Gotta a lot of stuff to process right.

Edric: *Wide eyed and mouth agape* Mother of Titan...

Emira: *Same as her brother* Do you... need a hug or something?

Eda: Ehh... Don’t worry, I’ll get through. I mean, I’m a badass Harpy woman now, what else could I want? I appreciate the thought though. Anyway, I’ll get going, Luz has probably been stuck in the same place ever since I left. Was nice seeing you guys. *Turns around*

Edric: WAIT, EDA.

Eda: Yeah? What is it?

Edric: Can you take me flying a little bit like you did Mittens? Pretty please?

Emira: *Elbowing her brother* EDRIC!

Edric: What? There’s a tall and friendly winged lady standing in our front porch and calling us family...

Eda: Kinda family.

Edric: Kinda family. And we only went flying, on dad’s staff mind you, like twice. And I mean, look at her. That’s clearly a person with next to no regard for speed limits or any form of flying safety. *Turns to Eda* I mean that as the highest of compliments, by the way.

Eda: *Nodding and smiling* Well, I’m not one to brag... But you’re on point there.

Edric: *Turning back to Emira* See? It will be fun. *Turns back to Eda while making puppy eyes* So, pretty pretty please?

Eda: Eh... What the heck, why not? I do need to get a better hold of this flying thing after all. Fair warning though, I only had these for about an hour, I’m not taking responsibility for any loss of limb or life. *Picks Edric up and place him on one of her shoulders and turns to Emira.* You sure you don’t wanna come with? There’s plenty of room.

Emira: ... I never said I didn’t want to...

Eda: *Placing Emira on her other shoulder* Alritty then, make sure to hold on tight to my hair, just don’t fall into it. Can’t promise I’ll find you if you do. And up we go. *Takes off at neckbreaking speed*

Eda: So... I tried that to Mittens herself, but she was too lost in elation to form coherent sentences. What’s the deal with her hair color change? Why did she pick that specific shade of... pink? Lavender? Purple? Whatever, I was a tad curious about that choice coming from one of Odd-alia’s offspring. So either of you can shed some light on it for me?

Emira: Eh, what can I say? Our little Mittens is growing up, coming out of her shell. I mean, if you told me a month that she’d have a girlfriend by now I’d call it bullshit. Though I would have guessed Luz as being the most likely candidate. In any case, I’m pretty proud of the steps our baby sister is taking, not gonna lie.

Edric: Yeah... Same. But I can’t shake the feeling that it is at least in part an act of rebellion against mom. She did always have that weird fixation with Amity’s hair after all...

Eda: Hum, I see. This actually takes me to my follow up question. How did your mom react when she saw it?

Edric: *chuckling* Oh, I thought she’d have a stroke right then and there.

Emira: Yup. Never saw mom that mad. You’d think the two of us would be the ones to cause it but nope, Mittens beat us to it. Again, I’m a proud big sister.

Eda: Hehehe Sounds about right. You two are the troublemaking type then huh?

Edric: That’s a way of putting.

Emira: We like thinking of ourselves as practical entertainers however. We are in the Illusions track so it comes with the territory. Buuut...

Edric: We indulge in some prankery every now and then, and there’s no one better at it than us.

Eda: Is that so? Ever get in trouble for it?

Edric: Sometimes... When we (kind of accidentally) cause more property damage than intended because SOMEONE botched their end of the spell and caused Bump’s office to almost go up in flames.

Emira: Awww. Ed, I told you already. Don’t beat yourself over it. Accidents happen. You’ll do better next time.

Edric: HEY!

Emira: Anyway, Eda. Why were you asking about Mittens’ hair?

Eda: Oh... You guys are going to love this. I think. Anyway, did you know that me and your parents attended Hexside at the same time?

Edric: Yeah, I remember mom seeing one of your wanted posters a while back and calling you “Ewdalyn Clownthorne” or something like that.

Eda: Ah, haven’t heard that in a minute, Titan those were the day. Anyway, as you might have guessed by now me and your mother we... had a bit of a rivalry. Unfortunately, I couldn’t top the nickname she gave me, best I could do was Odd-alia. No offense, but Blight doesn’t give much to work with in terms of puns, can’t get funnier than that. Especially when thrown at her.

Emira: None taken. And yeah. I mean, it is fun when people call us stuff like “The Blights of Hexside”. But it is kinda sad to know we’ll never get a nickname as cool as Owl Lady or Lord Calamity.

Eda: Oh, my fame still precedes me huh? You know, I think the three of us will get along just fine.

Edric and Emira: Yup, we sure will.

Eda: Anyway, flattery aside... Part of the reason why I love poking your mom with a short stick was, other than how aggravated she’d get and how surprisingly good at paying in kind she was, the fact that she was in the Oracle track. You see, that made her a challenge. And given how she would actually prank me back (successfully, mind you, I have no shame in admitting that) I feel like like we actually a weird sort of friends, or at least we reached some kind of agreement that we were fair game for each other. And trust me, she was ruthless, and very good at escalating things.

Emira: Wow...

Edric: That sounds nothing like the mom we know. Other than the ruthless or the escalation part, that is still true.

Eda: Yeah, anyway. Part of our little game was keeping it hidden. Neither your dad or my sister actually ever realized what was going on until... well, I’ll get to that.

Eda: Anyway, so some lovely day I notice how weirdly obsessed with her hair Odd-alia was. This gives me some ideas, but I know I have make this the mother of pranks, so I decided to just keep a watch, to figure out what the best way to go about it would be. And I was also making those smaller pranks, something to throw her Oracle powers off-balance, you know?

Eda: Well... Back in the day your mother wasn’t monochromatic as she is nowadays. She’d circle through all colors you can think off on her accessories (which she used an ungodly amount, and no judgement it just never seems physically possible). But I noticed that there was one very specific color that she never got anywhere near her.

Edric and Emira: No way...

Eda: And as I said, she was weirdly obsessed with her hair... And as top student of the Potions track making hair dye was child’s play for me... So... do the math... And guess what very specific color was? I may be bad at color names, but I won’t ever, EVER, forget that particular shade.

Edric and Emira: No... freaking... way...

Eda: Yes... freaking... way... I mean, seriously, the first time I saw Amity’s new hair I had to do a double take. The resemblance was just too uncanny.

Emira: And what did she do?

Eda: Well... For a couple weeks there I thought I’d have to place a restriction order on her or something like that. Ultimately the two of us, along with Lilith and Alador (they were our attorneys, no they were not qualified for the role.) sitting across from each other in a very formal looking table, signing a contract. An actual freaking contract setting clear limits to our mutual pranks, like what was off limits like her hair or my then partner, how long was the maximum period a prank could last, so on. Surprisingly enough that was Al’s idea.

Eda: And let me tell you, that was probably the toughest negotiation I ever been a part of. Shame it was not long before I dropped out so never could really put it to use. You know, sometime I think this actually made Odd-alia realize she wanted to be a business woman. I mean, before that she’d go off about how she’d join the Emperor’s Coven all the damn time.

Edric: Wow...

Emira: I second that. Really, wish I had brought something I could take notes on. You completely blown anything we ever did out of the water.

Edric: No wonder she never told us that. You know what? I think I’m dying my hair that color first thing tomorrow.

Emira: Can we tell Amity this story?

Eda: Are you two actually thinking of antagonizing her? Are you crazy? First off, she’s your mother, she holds power over you. All you’d accomplish is getting grounded. Not to mention that she has decades of experience on you, even if she wasn’t your mom, she’d demolish the two of you. No offense, you’re still young, naive, you lack guidance in the ways of the pranksters.

Edric and Emira: *Dejectedly* Ohh... You’re right...

Eda: Hey... Don’t look so gloomy. I see a lot of potential in you, in both of you. *Sighs* I can’t believe I’m gonna take more kids under my wing... But.... Have you guys ever heard of the Bad Girl Coven Initiative? We annoy our foes into submission.

Edric and Emira: WE’RE LISTENING.

Eda: Heh... We’ll get along just fine indeed.

[elwenyere]

A Very Small Grease Fire (and Other Human Disasters)

(Thanksgiving ficlet for the Stony and Avengers fam; also on AO3)

The Avengers didn’t have the best track record with Thanksgiving. The first time the dinner had ended in disaster, it had been Steve’s fault. One rainy fall Sunday, just months after the Battle of New York, Steve had been picking at a bowl of mint-chip ice cream, feeling tired of getting looks of sympathy about the holidays and absolutely exhausted by feeling sorry for himself. If Bruce and Clint hadn’t chosen that particular afternoon to ask him whether there was anything special he wanted for Thanksgiving – raising the question with just enough gentleness to make Steve’s jaw tighten – he probably would have said, “I’m a sweet potatoes guy” and left it at that.

Instead, Steve had been seized by a spirit of mischief. Putting on his most morose poker face, he had proceeded to invent a series of Depression-era dishes, from “Hoover Rolls” to “Poor Man’s Potatoes,” the recipes for which he concocted out of the blandest ingredients he could imagine. By the time he was in the process of describing his third Crisco-based dessert, Steve was sure he had gone far enough to reveal the joke; but Bruce and Clint had continued nodding encouragingly and jotting down notes.

The results had been borderline inedible. And even though the sight of Tony doubled over with laughter when Steve finally fessed up had thawed out a part of his heart he hadn’t even known was still on ice, the experience of eating a holiday dinner in which half the dishes tasted like over-starched socks forced even Steve to admit that the prank had been a bit of a Pyrrhic victory.

The second time…well, Steve would have said the second time was his fault too – though he supposed the rest of the team would blame the extremists who tried to kidnap the governor. Clint had just started basting the turkey when the “Assemble” alarm went off, and the team had to pile in the Quinjet to deal with a hostage situation at the capitol. It should have been an easy job – in and out with plenty of time to take the butter for the piecrust out of the freezer – but then one of the extremists had pulled the pin on a grenade just yards away from a state senator’s eight-year-old son, and four hours later Steve was waking up in the burn unit at Walter Reed hospital with the anguished sound of someone shouting his name still ringing in his ears.

“You fucking idiot,” the same voice had greeted him, and Steve looked up to see Tony sitting by his bed, the lines around his eyes drawn tight over a surgical mask. “You’re supposed to be a tactical genius, and you haven’t learned a single new method for containing explosives since basic training in 1943? I’m going to equip your suit with goddamn ballistic plates.”

“Tony,” Steve managed, feeling a halo of pain radiate up his scalp. “Are you okay? Was anyone hurt?”

Steve thought he saw something mist across Tony’s eyes, but he couldn’t be sure. The more fully he became aware of his body, the more he noticed the pull of his skin cells contracting in uneven loops around the burns on his torso, and it was taking a considerable amount of energy to keep Tony’s face in focus.

“Everybody’s fine but you, Steve,” Tony assured him. “And the doctors said you should be able to move to the general floor in a few hours. So shut those baby blues and let the serum do its job, because there’s a whole team of keyed-up superheroes waiting to see you, and they’re emptying the hospital vending machines fast enough to cause a run on the Frito-Lay factory.”

Steve had drifted in and out of consciousness for a while after that, finally waking up long enough to eat a holiday dinner of contraband take-out, which Natasha had smuggled into the hospital using only Thor’s tendency to knock over delicate instruments and Bruce’s oversized jacket.

“When you sign up to be an Avenger, no one warns you about doing overtime as a falafel mule,” Bruce had mused, leaning back to let Natasha steal a fry off his plate.

“I still think we could have gotten that eighth kebab if you’d been willing to consider pant legs as additional real estate,” she told him.

"You should all be eating stuffing and pumpkin pie,” Steve grimaced. “I’m sorry you’re stuck here on Thanksgiving.”

“Listen, Cap,” Clint replied, waving a dolma at him, “if you’re going to apologize for anything, apologize for the purgatory potatoes you tricked me into making last year. At least this year we have food that doesn’t have the texture of fast-drying cement.”

“Those tubers had truly been abandoned by the gods,” Thor agreed solemnly. “But I maintain that the Big Band Banana Pie was actually quite delicious.”

“Just don’t make the third-degree burns and hypovolemic shock a holiday habit, Rogers,” Tony put in. “Some of us are trying to watch our blood pressure.”

Tony had leaned over to adjust the settings on Steve’s bed as he spoke, and by the time he finished, a dull tugging sensation across Steve’s chest had loosened – the pain subsiding almost before Steve could register that it had been bothering him.

So that was why, after two years of throwing wrenches in the Avengers’ Thanksgiving plans, Steve was determined to make sure that year three went off without a hitch. He’d drawn up an elaborate plan for maximizing the utility of the Tower kitchen’s two ovens and seven burners and for optimizing the team’s various culinary skills. The operatives had been briefed the night before, and by 10:30 AM on Thursday, Steve was fluting a pie crust, Bruce was stripping fresh thyme leaves into an herb blend, Clint was whipping up a roux for the mushroom gravy, Thor was mashing potatoes and parsnips in an industrial-strength metal vat, and Natasha was dicing carrots and celery with a speed and precision that felt vaguely unsettling.

After checking the team’s progress against his itinerary, Steve turned to the next task on his own list: bringing Tony Stark his emergency coffee. Bruce had just made a second pot, and Steve poured some into the largest cup he could find: a purple novelty mug, featuring a drawing of the Hulk and the words “You Wouldn’t Like Me Without My Coffee.” He paused to tuck a few biscuits into a napkin (Tony’s relief at sighting fresh coffee sometimes opened up a narrow window during which Steve could feed him breakfast without being noticed), and headed down to the lab.

He found Tony standing with both arms braced against his worktable, designs for what looked like the paneling of Steve’s uniform projected in front of him. Steve cleared his throat, and Tony whirled around, the slump of his shoulders morphing into a graceful lounge by the time he was facing Steve.

“I was just about to come up,” he said. “I have a few finishing touches left here and then I’m all yours, Cap. Give me everything that can survive being the tiniest bit overcooked.”

Steve walked over to put Tony’s coffee on the table and then felt his breath catch in his throat when Tony reached out and took the mug from his hand instead.

“There’s no need,” Steve responded to cover his reaction, flexing the hand that had brushed Tony’s as he let it fall back to his side. “We’ve got the schedule covered for now. I was actually hoping I could talk you into a snack break.”

He waved the napkin of biscuits experimentally.

“Are you cutting me from the Thanksgiving roster, Rogers?” Tony asked. “Just because one time I set a very small grease fire – which I contained almost immediately, by the way.”

“The vase I broke when I sprinted into the kitchen would beg to differ,” Steve smiled. “But it’s not that. I just wanted to do this for you: a big dinner and sitting down with family.”

“For me?” Tony blinked at him. “Why?”

Steve started to cross his arms across his chest before realizing that he would risk crushing the biscuits. He settled for clasping his wrist with his free hand instead, widening his stance slightly and taking a deep breath. Come on, Rogers. Take it on the chin.

“Because I wanted to tell you that I woke up in this century alone,” he said, “and that you were the first person stubborn enough to make sure I wouldn’t stay that way. Now I wake up to a kitchen full of people who tease me about my lists but who know why I need them – who will eat dinner rolls that taste like soggy chalk just to make me feel at home.” He paused. “People who stay by my side for eight straight hours at the hospital.”

Steve looked up and caught Tony’s eyes, his heart rate picking up speed as memories of those same eyes flashed through his mind in quick succession: tearing up with laughter over a plate of cornstarched bananas, pinched with fear over a surgical mask, narrowed in concentration over the remote control for an adjustable bed.

“Romanov has an awfully big mouth for a spy,” Tony said with a rueful smile.

“I think it was a tactical leak,” Steve acknowledged, “to motivate her mark. She knew I needed a push. Because I’ve messed up the past two years, and I needed to tell you: pretty much everything I’m thankful for in my new life is here because of you.”

Tony was staring at him, his eyes darting quickly across Steve’s face as if JARVIS were scanning it for data. Steve held up under the silent scrutiny as long as he could before letting out an explosive breath.

“Anyway, sorry to interrupt you,” he said quickly. “You’ve got work to do, and I’ve got to go make sure everything’s on track upstairs. I’ll uh – I’ll have Bruce come get you when dinner’s ready.”

He started to make an about face toward the door, but Tony caught his arm and held him in place.

“Give a guy a goddamn minute, Steve,” he said softly. “I’m having to do a major cognitive reboot over here. It takes a while for the operating system to come back online. Just…sit down? Let me show you the new flame retardants I’m adding to your uniform.”

Steve complied. And as he watched Tony run through the specs, gulping coffee and nibbling absently at the biscuits, he realized that he knew what Tony was saying even before Tony finally spoke the words: “I’m thankful every time you wake up.”

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Chapter 1 -- Perfect Harmony | Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Emily Fox is a talented 17-year-old with a passion for all things music. Her dream is to become a successful singer-songwriter one day. But to achieve that dream, she needs to get into one of the most prestigious music schools in her district – it’s all been part of her plan since she was six. Sadly enough, those schools cost a ton of money that her parents don’t want to invest. They don’t even want her to pursue her dream. So, now Emily’s hustling, working at the music store to save up to get into college. That’s until she meets Charlie, an annoying seventeen-year-old boy with the same dream as her. The only difference is, he’s just doing it. He doesn’t need a fancy college to pursue his dream to become famous with his band. He just writes his songs and books small gigs here, there and everywhere. Will meeting Charlie defer her from her dream college, or will he actually help her achieve the dream? 

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x OC (Emily Fox) 

Warnings: mentions of death, the characters of Charlie, Owen, Jeremy and Madison are based on the characters they play on the show and i do not own their names, only OC are mine. The songs aren’t mine either, they’re all from the show except for one. 

Chapter One

~|Emily Fox| ~

As a seventeen-year-old, you should not be left to your devices. Unless you have no other choice. When you have a dream your parents have called unrealistic without ever listening to what you were actually capable of, you have no other choice but to move out and fend for yourself. Thankfully, I can stay with Uncle Mitch for a while until I’m off to college.  Since leaving my parents’ house at fourteen, my life has consisted of high school, working at the music store, write songs – if I have the time –, help Uncle Mitch around the house, sleep, repeat. It’s been a chore. But I just about manage. 

“Please, don’t touch the guitars without a supervisor, ma’am!” I say loudly from across the shop as I catch her hands rising up to pick up one of the acoustic guitars hanging on the wall for display. I rush over to her, dodging clients testing out guitars and pianos I’ve helped before. While the forty-something woman stares at me with an intense glare, I pick up the Gibson guitar for her and hand it over, offering her my fakest smile. “This one’s a nice one!” I tell her as she handles the guitar very clumsily, nearly dropping it. “What do you know about guitars?” she snarls at me. “Well, for starters, I work here, so I’m supposed to have some knowledge about guitars. Secondly, this is a bass guitar. Never just call a bass a guitar.” The woman rolls her eyes and when she casts her gaze on the strings, I roll mine. I’ve had my share of forty-something old women coming in here to buy something for their spoiled little sons, pretending they know more about guitars of any kind, pianos and drums while I have been brought up listening to Uncle Robert talking non-stop about all of his instruments. He taught me how to play each and every one of the instruments and brought me into the world of rock. If he were still here, I wouldn’t be working in a music store, trying to pay for my own apartment or my college tuition. He believed in me from the second he heard me sing and play piano. He still believes in me, I can feel it. Staying with Uncle Mitch – Uncle Robert’s husband, now widower, has been a lot more healing than it would’ve been if I still lived at my parents’. “I know that,” she grumbles, then looks back up at me. “If you know so much about everything, you little know-it-all, why don’t you tell me something more about this one?” I refrain myself from rolling my eyes again, and instead ball up my fists to put all of my anger there. “This is the Les Paul Junior Tribute DC bass. It’s actually a tribute to the historic Gibson EB-0 bass from the late 50's, but with modern features. The short scale length is actually chosen by many for its strong fundamental tone and sits perfectly in a track when recording. The mahogany double cutaway body and maple neck with rosewood fingerboard balances perfectly when playing either sitting or strapped on. It's equipped with a single expanded range LP BassBucker pickup with single volume and tone controls for simplicity. The volume pot has a push-pull feature to coil tap the pickup scooping the mids for further tone shaping possibilities.” I’ve explained this many a times, so it almost sounds as if I’ve learned it by heart. “Oh! And it comes in four different finishes; Worn Ebony, Worn Cherry, Blue Stain and Worn Brown.” The woman looks at me, clearly impressed at my knowledge of the bass in her hands. I’m pretty sure I could’ve told her anything and she would’ve believed me. “I want to speak to the manager,” she then says and pushes the bass guitar back in my hands as if handling a cardboard box. If my reflexes weren’t what they are now, we would’ve had a broken bass and I would be the one that had to pay for it. “What for?” I ask, my anger slipping through into a vicious snarl. “Just because you learn everything by heart, doesn’t mean you’re a good salesperson.” I open my mouth to say something, but I know I can’t win against a Karen. So, instead, I plaster on my best fake smile and say “Of course, give me a second.” I turn on my heel and make my way back to the cash register to get Ash, my manager who’s been nothing but an absolute gem to me. She wasn’t looking for any employees, but still hired me when she saw how desperate I was and how good I was with the instruments. She even lets me write songs after hours. “Karen alert?” Ash asks when she sees my annoyed face, at the brim of exploding. “Yep, at the bass guitars,” I tell her and take her spot to handle a paying costumer. Ash hops over the counter and makes her way to the Karen at the bass guitars. Only for her to leave the store in an angered rush without any bass guitar for her precious son. “That’s 44 dollars and 97 cents, please,” I tell the guy who’d come in for guitar strings, picks and some polish. He looks about my age. Dark hair gelled back, green almond-shaped eyes and rosy cheeks. He hands me the cash with a cute, nervous smile. “Thank you! And here’s the three cents change,” I hold out my hand for him to take the three cents, but he shakes his head. “Keep it,” he winks at me before grabbing his purchases and leaving the store. Leaving me all flustered and blushing. I hate when cute boys come to the shop and have the audacity to do this stuff to me. UGH. “Got rid of our Karen,” Ash tells me, “You can get back out there. I think the little girl over there at the piano could use some of your expertise.” She points to a fourteen-year-old gliding her fingers along the big wing of the white piano in the middle of our store. “Hi,” I say as I approach her, making her jump slightly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Emily. Can I help you?” She scans my face for a moment, as if assessing whether or not I’m trustworthy. I guess she decides she does when she opens her mouth and four simple words flow out of it. “Do you play piano?” I’m a bit taken aback by the question. None of the costumers have ever asked me that question. “Yes, I do, actually,” I reply honestly. “I want to learn how to play the piano, but my mother doesn’t allow me. Says it’s too expensive. The piano, that is. And lessons are expensive too, she says.” She stops talking for a moment as if thinking about what to say next. “Will you teach me?” “Oh,” I manage to bring out, “I—we don’t really offer any piano lessons in the store. We just sell them.” Her eyes water and she visibly swallows a lump in her throat. “Okay…” she whimpers, making my heart break just that bit more. “Will you play me a song though? I love hearing people play.” I take a deep breath as I think about how to turn this girl down. But then I remember my parents turning me and my dreams down. “Sure, I can play you a song. Any requests?” I ask as I sit down on the stool in front of us, patting beside me to invite her too. “Surprise me,” she says, shaking her head with a big smile on her face. I carefully touch the keys as I think of a song to sing. Once I’ve figured that out, I begin to play the right melody and then chime in with the lyrics I’d written with Uncle Robert when he was still alive. The song I cherish the most and wouldn’t share with anyone. But this girl reminds me too much of myself, and I think she might take something from the message. “Here's the one thing I want you to know You got someplace to go Life's a test, yes But you go toe to toe You don't give up, no, you grow.” The girl looks up at me with big Bambi eyes, urging me to continue. “And you use your pain Cause it makes you you Though I wish I could hold you through it I know it's not the same You got living to do And I just want you to do it So get up, get out, relight that spark You know the rest by heart” As I begin the chorus, I hear drums backing me up from somewhere inside the store, and when I look around, I find Ash behind a drum set with a smile on her face as she helps me out a little. “Wake up, wake up, if it's all you do Look out, look inside of you It's not what you lost, it's what you'll gain Raising your voice to the rain Wake up your dream and make it true Look out, look inside of you It's not what you lost Relight that spark Time to come out of the dark Wake up, wake up” By now, Ash and I have gained an audience. Most of the costumers in line don’t even mind having to wait to pay until we’re done with this outburst of ours. “Better wake those demons, just look them in the eye No reason not to try Life can be a mess, I won't let it cloud my mind I'll let my fingers fly” The girl next to me still has the same expression on her face. Eyes pooled with admiration and inspiration. Exactly the reason why I make music and why it’s been a dream of mine to make a career out of it. “And I use the pain 'cause it's part of me And I'm ready to power through it Gonna find the strength, find the melody 'Cause you showed me how to do it Get up, get out, relight that spark You know the rest by heart” I go for the chorus again, and then pop in with the bridge. The one I added to uncle’s song. The costumers in the store stare at Ash and me with smiles on their faces whilst swaying along to the song. “So wake that spirit, spirit I wanna hear it, hear it No need to fear it, you're not alone You're gonna find your way home” I close my eyes as I hit that high note, then stop playing for a second whilst starting the chorus for the last time. Even Ash backs me up with some backing vocals after having heard the chorus a couple of times already. “Wake up, wake up, if it's all you do” The both of us pick up the melody again, putting more power behind the rest of the song. “Look out, look inside of you It's not what you lost, it's what you'll gain Raising your voice to the rain Wake up your dream and make it true Look out, look inside of you When you're feeling lost Relight that spark Time to come out of the dark Wake up, wake up” I hit the last couple of notes on the piano before a roar of applause and cheers fills up the entire store. The fourteen-year-old beside me is clapping the loudest of them all. Her eyes still wide and admiring and full of life. “What’s your name?” I ask the girl, causing her to stop clapping. “Kayla,” she replies. “Listen to me, Kayla. Even if your parents don’t agree with your big dreams, please, never give up on your dream! If this is really what you want to do, go for it. You’ll find a way, I promise you.” A tear rolls down her pink cheek as her bottom lip trembles slightly. “Don’t give up, okay?” She nods her head vigorously. “Thank you, Emily!” she wraps her arms around me into a tight hug before hopping off the stool and rushing out the store. As I watch her run out, my eyes land on a guy. Somewhat my age, I think. I can’t really function for a second as his hazel eyes stare at me and with his mouth curled up on one side. When I finally manage to move again, my eyes scan him entirely. His brown hair sticks out from underneath an orange beanie, his nose fine and cheekbones defined. He’s wearing a flannel shirt over a grey muscle tank and ripped black jeans. I give him an awkward smile before heading back to the cash register. “Can you do register for a moment? I need to check something in stock,” Ash asks me, and I simply nod before helping the next costumer. After the fifth costumer, the boy who’d been staring at me before shows up in front of me. “How can I help?” I ask with my best customer service-smile. “By giving your number,” he replies coyly. I was going to give him the cute boy card until those words came out of his mouth. “Sorry, my number ain’t for sale,” I reply and look behind him, “Next!” “Oh, no, sorry! Uhm, I don’t mean it like that, I—” Before he can mutter another word, I interrupt him. “Are you going to purchase something, bro?” He opens his mouth, then closes it again, looking like a goldfish. “Uhm… No… I just—” I interrupt him again. “Next customer, please,” I stare at him intensely, hoping that’d chase him away. He knocks on the counter before moving away, clearly defeated by the rejection. I can’t believe douchebags like him still exists in this generation. People need to learn manners. “Hi, how can I help you?” I ask the next customer, bringing back my best smile. Just got to move on, just as I moved on from dealing with a Karen again today. Best way to do that, is focus on all the other customers. For the rest of my shift, I have not been able to shake the cute-but-rude guy from before. There’s something about him that haunts me still and I can’t seem to figure out what it is. Not even when I’m focusing on cleaning up the store. As I’m dusting the piano, I hear the bell above the door ring. “Sorry, we’re closed!” I yell without looking up from the piano. “Are you going to play again?” The voice sends shivers down my spine as it takes me right back to that one douchey line it uttered just a mere hour before. “Again, we are closed, sorry.” This time it comes out more like a snarl and with a bit of poison. The boy in front of me chuckles and holds his hands up in defeat. “Listen, I’m sorry about before, but—” he steps closer to me, but I hold up my finger to make him stop, and it seems to help as he simply freezes in place. “But the store is closed. Goodbye now.” I go back to dusting off the piano and wait for the bell to ring again, but it doesn’t. Instead, the sound of guitar strums reaches my ears. “You can’t touch any of the guitars without supervision,” I tell him sternly, but when I meet his eyes and they’re looking at me intently as if urging me to do something. “You’re supervising me, aren’t you?” he asks cockily, still stroking the strings, creating a beautiful melody that fills up my head. “What do you want?” I ask bitterly, looking at him again, and hoping it would make him leave faster. “For you to sing.” “Sing what?” He shrugs, leaving me to wonder what he means by that. “I have a lot of work to do, dude. Please, leave,” I sound pathetic, nearly begging him to leave. I’m only a step away from begging on my knees. The sound of the guitar abruptly stops when I go back to cleaning the piano. “Listen, I just wanted to tell you that what you did earlier today was amazing. You know, not a lot of people have the power you have. Did you see what you did to all those people in here? Imagine doing that for thousands of people! Have you ever thought of that?” I turn to look at him, suddenly having the urge to tell him everything. Then I remember what a douchebag he really is. “I don’t have time for this. Please. Leave!” I shout at him before heading towards the cash register to start counting the money. It’s silent for a while until the bell over the door breaks it. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. This boy did something to me without me even realizing it. Nope. Can’t trust boys. They don’t do anything but break hearts and be douchebags. But this one somehow seemed different. No other boy has ever left such an impression as he did. And I didn’t even have a proper conversation with him. I just hope I don’t have to see him. Like ever again.  

[filmwuju]

[TRANS] Character Introduction: People around Seongyeom & Mijoo

Ki Jeongdo | Yook Jiwoo | Ki Eunbi | Kim Wooshik | Kwon Young-il | Kim Hyunjin | Park May

Ki Jeongdo (Male, late 50s) Seongyeom's father / Four-term assemblyman

A politician who was an athlete. Back then, he was renowned as the nation's thief for snatching actress Yook Jiwoo, who was the nation's first love, at the prime of her youth. Rising to fame, he threw his hat into the political ring, as if he was waiting for this. Him moving into his wife's family home as a live-in son-in-law was also for the campaign fund.

Managing a family that can be recognized by citizens during elections was also Jeongdo's long time plan. As a man, Jiwoo was his trophy; and being the father of siblings who are national athletes, he was able to bear national sentiment. Seongyeom's home becoming a show window family was entirely Jeongdo's volition. Family means gathering together when needed and taking a harmonious photo, that's it. Just one is hard enough already, how incredible is it to raise two national representatives of South Korea? He regards fatherly love as an instinct, and thinks what he's doing to his children is true love. Not knowing that for the person receiving the unwanted love, that love can become violence.

He has always been privileged with vested rights, and since he's in the upper class, he always lived with pride. He has never doubted his capability of going higher, higher up. Most politicians are likewise, their final goal is running for the presidential election. And since they're running, naturally, they want to win. But Seongyeom, who used to be an obedient chess piece, keeps causing trouble. So he's contemplating on how to quash him.

Yook Jiwoo (Female, late 50s) Seongyeom's mother / Actress

A top actress hailed as the nation's first love. If there's Suzy in the 2000s, there was Yook Jiwoo in the 1980s. During the early days of her career, she went by the stage name Jiwoo, without the Yook, because her last name comes off as stubborn. This was her agency's policy. Later, Jiwoo saw her name on a movie poster and threw a huge fit. Since then, she goes by her full name that sounds stubborn for a "female" actor.

She's a perfect actress named as the Queen of Cannes; but she's a born actress who, in pursuit of her career, is far from even the letter M in the word "mother", much less be an excellent one.

Ki Eunbi (Female, 30) Seongyeom's sister / Pro golfer

She doesn't know how to love in an ordinary way, because she's never lived an ordinary life. The world's number one female golfer. With that title alone,  men—regardless of their skin color—approached her, not knowing how Eunbi is like after falling in love. There are no exceptions—whether they have a strong build, or got a straightforward personality. By the time they realize how scary Ki Eunbi is not as the queen of golf, but as a lover, it's already too late—so accept your fate. Once she takes a bite, she does not let go until she gets sick of it. There's no place to escape unless you go to the edge of the world.

Of course there's an exception. When their love for her dies down, she lets go without hesitation. It was always easier to figure out separation than love. The same goes for her family. The time she spent with them in her whole life wouldn't amount to even one year because of her trips abroad. They always separated the moment they met, and she felt worried at the thought of Seongyeom, who would be alone in the huge house. My poor little brother. Their father, who likes to rank, compares them frequently; the media, who likes to chatter, bashes him regularly. My little brother Seongyeom. Seongyeom, whose sin is getting born as my little brother.

Of course she worked hard, but Eunbi's talent played a bigger part. Her sense of distance is more outstanding than others, and she's exceptional in controlling her strength. They said the only thing left for a first placer to do is to fall downwards, but Eunbi didn't know how to fall. If she didn't have talent, would it be a different story? While having these thoughts, she saw Seongyeom and thought, hmm.. it would be stressful to have no talent.

She's even sick of the first place now. Feeling bored, she was thinking whether she should retire and rest a bit, but her beloved little brother caused big trouble. What can I do? My little brother wants to do it. It's an older sister's duty to act as his shield, and I won't die from doing it for a few years more—so just for a bit longer, I'd have to stay in the first place for him.

Kim Wooshik (Male, 20) National track and field athlete

He lost his parents at a young age and was raised by his grandmother. Unlike someone his age, he believes in superstitions. But rather than saying he believes in them, it's more like he's familiar about life and is treated as a precocious child. His self-sufficient grandmother clothed him in cleanly washed clothes even though they're old, and did everything she can so that Wooshik can grow up as a bright and optimistic person. Wooshik, who grew up just like how she raised him to be, was perfectly kind and honest. He wasn't good at studying but he was smart; his hands were slow but his feet were fast. Naturally, Wooshik chose track and field. It was also a sport that he could do even with no money. He fell in love at first sight after watching Seongyeom's race, ran all the way with Seongyeom as his goal, and became a national athlete. It's his wish to run a relay race in the same competition with Seongyeom before the latter retires. No records or competition, just as Ki Seongyeom and Kim Wooshik.

He once saw a passage that said forgiveness is the biggest revenge. That's like saying the powerless can't do anything but to forgive. Ever since his days in  sports high school, he experienced countless assaults and abuse under the force of power. And you say that's the biggest revenge? It was a day when he got beaten by his seniors as usual. He roughly wiped the blood from his nose using his sleeves. The superstitions Wooshik believed in were of no help at all in the face of reality. The one who offered Wooshik practical help was Seongyeom. He told him that forgiving is the victim's right. He told him that he doesn't need to forgive if he doesn't want to. As the only person who told him that, how could Wooshik not admire him.

Kwon Young-il (Male, 29) National track and field athlete

South Korea's track and field record holder. As the best sprinter, he lives up to his reputation of South Korea's No.1 track and field athlete who receives unconditional support from track and field fans. He's a narcissist who cares about nothing but himself, but takes an interest only in Seongyeom. It's because he's jealous.  Whenever he's free, he picks a quarrel with the forever runner-up Seongyeom and ends up saying foolish words. I'm the real first placer, but why does it feel like I'm being pushed back by Ki Seongyeom every single time?

But still, as Seongyeom's long-time colleague, and as a sportsman, he's a friend who supports Seongyeom for the path he's going.

Kim Hyunjin (Male, early 40s) Assemblyman Ki Jeongdo's aide

Would there be another expression that puts a limit on Hyunjin as much as the phrase "aide by nature" does? However, he is a capable aide—to the level that everyone would agree in unison—who grasps everything about the Ki family, including Assemblyman Ki himself. He's machine-like, making one wonder if his heart is made of steel; he does not feel things like conscience and warmth.

Park May (Female, 35) CEO of imported film distributor May

Her name was originally Maehwi. Was it her dad's poor hearing, or her mom's poor pronunciation? Her dad, who heard Maehwi as May, registered her birth with the name "May". For a long time, her mom called her Maehwi and her dad called her May. To May, the actual party concerned, it didn't matter whatever they called her by. What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

May believed in fundamental things. This was also due to her peaceful and cool nature; is it because of that? Entering a translation and interpreting university at the top of her class and finishing her studies in a graduate school of the same expertise, she was walking the so-called elite course. But then she set aside her career path and went into foreign film translation. The reason was simple. Because films are fun, but film festivals are freaking fun. She was in Busan when she first met Mijoo. At the Busan International Film Festival, which she skipped her class for, their sharing of the same bed at the guesthouse was the beginning of their relationship. After getting to know her, she found out that she's a distant junior of hers under the same department in their university. Mijoo was 21.

There is no bad Mijoo in this world. This is the pet theory of May as the dog owner of Mijoo. Mijoo—rough and clumsy, which makes her cute and pure too—was like a dog sometimes, she had no hesitations in baring her claws at arrogant things. From then on, May took it upon herself to be the dog owner. She was worried. If Mijoo meets a good person, it feels like she'd overcome her struggles and become extremely successful*, and if she meets a bad person, it feels like she'd get stabbed with a knife in the midst of selling drugs in a backstreet. All or nothing—Mijoo, who has no in between, didn't have a lot of things. She said she's never met a nice adult in her 20 years of life. Ah... I'm stuck. No choice, I'd have to be the nice adult for Mijoo, she decided**. Just like that, she spent around 10 years of time with her, as a senior and roommate.

She had more curiosity and energy before compared to now, but she feels no excitement nor interest in whatever she does these days. When she was young, she simply felt that her older seniors were cool, but now that she's at that age, she understood. There's just no fun in doing anything. She's done them all, tasted them all; the energy she used to pour out without reservation had been exhausted since long time ago.

Around that period of ennui in her life, an unsavory incident broke out in the translation industry she's been working in. She left translation behind and set up an imported film distributing company. As a small company that mainly imported independent films and art films, it involved a lot of legwork, so business trips is a norm. Her dream was to be a salaried employee for a lifetime, but why'd she become a CEO? CEOs like salaries too.. she didn't know of this fact until she became one herself. Is this, depressing? May, who was mentally healthy, immediately began her visits to the psychiatrist. Antidepressants help people who help themselves, and May wants to help herself properly. And since she's on it already, it's better to be bright and healthy.

T/N: * The idiom used in the original text is 개천에서 용 난다, which literally means "a dragon rises up from a creek." Often translated as "rags to riches," it is used to refer to someone from a humble background who overcame their hardships and became extremely successful.

** A longer translation that would more properly express the nuance of the original sentence would be:  May decided that: I'm not the best choice, but since there's no one else to do it, there's no choice but for me, at least, to be the good adult for Mijoo.

(orig post link from writer Park Shihyun’s DC gallery post)

[risthebrave]

day 03; “ophanim”

free-form; angel harry, half-angel and half-demon louis

“In the Bible, there were three spheres of angels,” Harry explains, and Louis rolls his eyes. “The First Sphere contains the angels that serve as the heavenly servants of God the Son incarnated. Seraphim, Cherubim, and the Thrones, or Elders. To the Jews, that included the Ophanim which were seen in Ezekiel’s -”

“I’m sorry,” Louis interrupts loudly, ignoring the irritated look Harry sends him. “Why is this important?”

Harry’s eye twitches, lips flattening into a line as he stops his pacing. He looks awfully grumpy for who Gabriel said was one of their best goodness mentors, arms crossed over his white shirt and stance stiff. His wings are crisp and pure white - bright enough to make Louis’ eyes burn if he stares too long. He’s the only angel Louis has seen so far besides the archangels to actually follow the stereotype and dress in all white and the thought makes him smile. “I’m trying to explain the angel hierarchy so you can understand how things work around here.”

“Then why don’t you get to the important part instead of babbling on about shit that doesn’t matter,” Louis says, arching a brow. “I’m pretty sure I got it anyway. The Order of the Angels are part of the Third Sphere where regular angels report to Seven Archangels as the superiors and the seven report to the Second Sphere and the Second Sphere reports to the First. Really complicated stuff, I’m blown away.”

“How do you even know that?” Harry frowns. “Marla said the others barely got to explain anything to you before you chased them off.”

Louis scoffs. “I’m not dumb. I learned the basic stuff about the system ages ago.”

“The demons taught you about our systems?” Harry frowns, the distaste dripping from his voice undeniable.

“Yeah, they do,” Louis says dryly. “Hierarchies, habits, hundreds of methods of murdering angels…”

He said it in hopes of eliciting a reaction, and he gets exactly what he wants. Harry goes rigid, eyes flashing. “Don’t joke about things like death and murder,” he says darkly. “Not here.”

“Death is inevitable,” Louis dismisses. “Even for you and me. The demons taught me that too.”

Harry sighs. “This would be so much easier if you just listened,” he says flatly.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Louis asks sweetly, smirking. He swings his legs from where he’s perched in a chair, Harry stood across the room from him.

“If you listen, you can learn,” Harry insists. “Learn how to be an angel and how to maintain goodness.”

“Well, that sounds boring,” Louis says, feeling satisfaction flicker inside him when Harry has to squeeze his eyes shut in exasperation.

“You have to listen,” Harry says firmly. “Those are the conditions. You have to try.”

“But I don’t want to,” Louis says, shrugging.

“How do you know you don’t want to when you haven’t tried once?” Harry asks. “When you haven’t even tried to learn about angels and how -”

“I can’t be what you and Gabriel and the others want me to be,” Louis interrupts flatly, “and I’m sure you’ll see that for yourself eventually. I can’t be an angel or believe in any of the bullshit you’re preaching about me being able to learn something that cannot be taught. I’m not like you and I never will be.” He lets out a harsh, bitter laugh. “None of your lessons in goodness will ever change that.”

For emphasis, he stands up and plants his hands on his hips, letting his wings unfold in proof. Harry’s eyes track them, a grimace curling his lips. He doesn’t even bother to hide his discomfort and it just makes Louis even more mad.

“This unnerves you, doesn’t it?” he says, blood boiling at the sight. “My existence unnerves you because it proves everything you know to be true as wrong.” He ruffles his feathers, blood boiling when Harry averts his gaze. “You can’t even look at them.”

Unlike Harry’s pure white feathers, Louis’ wings are a stark shade of slate, lighter than charcoal and darker than ivory. The perfect shade of gray. And it’s really only fitting, he supposes. He’s the mix of both worlds - half-angel and half-demon. He’s not good or evil - he’s in between.

And that’s what drives both angels and demons completely mad.

Neither side knows what to do with him, knows what to do with the boy who crossed the bridge between both kinds that had for so long been unbridgeable and changed the game forever. He is the product of a forbidden match and the source of chaos that neither demons nor angels know how to deal with but seem to think they have a claim over him anyway. He is a source of conflict.

He tracks the movement of Harry’s jaw as he grits his teeth, frustration radiating from his figure. If Louis weren’t so pissed at him, he’d find the whole irritated facade attractive. He’d find Harry attractive. He is objectively handsome, Louis can admit. All angels are to some extent, but Harry’s looks exceed even that bar - all sharp angles and classically beautiful features. Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t notice it, or if he said his eyes didn’t linger on the angel’s biceps and how nice they look with his arms crossed like that.

But beyond that enticing exterior, Harry is no different than the other angels Louis has met - perhaps, even worse. He doesn’t get it, is the thing. He thinks he can teach Louis about goodness and that eventually his wings will turn white and any remnants of his demon DNA will drain out of him like sweat off his skin. That he can just choose a side even though his blood is woven with strings of both.

That’s what they all think - what the demons thought too when it was their turn to try and convert Louis. Because that had been the decision made when Louis’ parentage had been confirmed two years ago. Two years with the demons. Two years with the angels. And then, on his twenty-fourth birthday, he’ll choose a side.

Louis had been raised on Earth - raised with the humans. He grew up in the system, passed from foster home to foster home until he turned eighteen and was let loose on his own. That’s also when his divinity became too strong to conceal. It hadn’t even been a week since his birthday when he woke up with a searing pain between his shoulder blades - the exact spot where eventually his wings sprouted, tilting his world on its axis and sending him reeling. He remembers the day like it was yesterday, the memory making him feel almost nauseous.

“It doesn’t matter if I can look at them not,” Harry says shortly, breaking him out of his thoughts. “It’s my responsibility to mentor you - to teach you goodness. And that’s what I’m going to do whether you cooperate or not. Because I believe there’s potential in you: potential that you can learn the way of the light as you’ve learned the way of the demons in the last two years. You have a decision to make at the end of all of this, Louis.”

“Like I don’t already know,” Louis snaps, annoyed. Harry’s speaking as if he hasn’t been reminded of his impending choice every day since he grew his wings and was taken by the divine beings, poked and prodded at by demons and angels alike, studied and talked over like an object on auction. He’s well aware of what they decided for his destiny - what was decided for him since never once did either side ask his input. He spent his time with the humans being passed from home to home only to end up with the same fate here.

After two long years with the demons and these tumultuous last couple months with the angels, Louis is tired. He’s tired and he’s weary and he’s angry. He doesn’t give a shit about either side - if anything, he thinks he’s better off with the humans. Earth is a mess, he knows, but it’s also completely gray.

Humans are just like him, a mix of good and evil. They exist in the in-between and it’s allowed. Louis has spent his entire life feeling lonely, but at least in the human world, he hadn’t actually been alone. He hadn’t been the odd one out - he was just one in a sea filled with a million shades of gray.

“You can argue or fight it all you want,” Harry says slowly, brows dipping in the middle. Louis can see the way he tamps down any feelings of annoyance and frustration, determined to be peaceful and saintly like all other angels. All traces of potential anger that Louis had been thriving on have vanished from his tone along with any hopes on Louis’ side that he could truly get to him. He’s truly just the same as everyone else - angel or demon alike. “But you’re here for almost two years before you make your decision. You may think you can’t be one or the other, but you can and you will be whether you like it or not. Neither side will allow any other alternative. It’s my duty to show you our way of life and that’s what I’m going to do whether you let me or not. It’d be much easier, however, if you were cooperative and actually tried to fit in here.”

Louis scoffs. “I can’t fit in. In case you missed it the first thousand times, I’m not an angel.”

“But you could be,” Harry says easily, fixing him an intense stare. “You may think it’s impossible because of your blood, but I know you can. And I intend to prove it.”

“What makes you think you have any chance?” Louis asks, tone bored. “What makes you think you have a chance when the four other angels assigned to teach me couldn’t last longer than a week. It’s only been one day and I’ve gotten to you too, you can’t deny it. How much longer will you endure it?”

“I’m a Paragon,” Harry says calmly, still trying to be peaceful even as Louis tries to goad him. “I’ve worked my entire life helping humans choose the right path and guiding them to happiness and contentment and I’ve surpassed all other angels in my class. I was blessed with this title along with only nine other individuals, because I represent the supreme ideal of goodness. And on the day I ascended, I made a promise that I’d do everything in power to help as many people as I can choose good, including you. And you will not be the black mark on my perfect record.”

Louis’ lips curl, fingers clenching the fabric of his white tunic. “You forget my mother was a Paragon,” he says coldly. When Harry flinches this time, he doesn’t feel an ounce of satisfaction. Riling the angel up these past few days might have been entertaining, but it doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t and will never understand Louis - will never even try. He tries to keep his tone even as he continues, “She ascended like you - was just as good and noble as you to be given that title and yet she still ran off with a demon. She fell in love with and then chose to be with a demon, to reproduce with one and create me - an abomination in your eyes and the eyes of everyone else. Would you call that good? Would you call that ‘perfect’?”

Harry doesn’t respond, rendered silent.

december word prompt challenge 12/03/20

[shih-coulda-had-it]

Just i m a g i n e ; Nana and Gran Torino know the friends / almost boyfriends of Toshi and Torino was like; "go away of that blond idiot or I'm going to hit them without mercy" while Nana is; "Sora, let them, are childrens. But if they hurt m’lil Toshi, I'll also hit them without mercy :) ". The boys, (Dave, Sir, Tsukauchi and Aizawa), are scared of the threats of Toshi's parents and he does not realize that his parents have threatened his almost boyfriends. I think that would happen 👀.

Oh, I like where your head’s at. This is technically the beginning of either a recurring arc/a long one-shot in the NanaLives!AU that’s been building as tumblr snippets.

*Note: Sorahiko did not join Nana and Toshinori in the States for several months. He was cleaning up their tracks/records. On a last-second impulse, he asks the Commission to retrieve Kotarou. Kotarou’s reunion is a whole drama of its own, but the end-result is that Kotarou (1) gets therapy (2) gets a whole year off school! (3) gets a whole family!!!

//

Neither Nana nor Sorahiko are blindsided by the first boy Toshinori brings home. They’re trying not to invalidate All Might’s work by playing chaperone, but they do pay attention to the news. And the news is captivated by the presence of an exceptionally handsome young foreigner popping up to take care of problems.

Problems like the explosion at the local college laboratory.

“Okaa-san,” says Kotarou, enraptured by disaster, “Toshi-nii’s shirt got burned off.”

“He doesn’t know he’s got a camera trained on him,” observes Nana.

“Figures,” Sorahiko says darkly. He’s sitting at the couch, financial paperwork spread out on the coffee table. Kotarou is cross-legged, ostensibly keeping Sorahiko company and doing his English handwriting exercises. Nana had been busy with laundry, but she poked her head in at the first excited cry. “All this work to stay under the radar, and the brat immediately gets trapped in the spotlight.”

“No one will recognize him.” Goodness knows Nana hadn’t, the first time Toshinori tapped into One for All and puffed up.

“Who’s he talking to?”

“He’s talking to somebody?” Sorahiko’s head snaps up at Kotarou’s innocent inquiry, and Nana doesn’t need to see his face to know that he’s studying the grainy screen, eyes narrowed in calculation.

“He looks nice,” she tries. The two boys on-screen are laughing together, bright-eyed and grinning. Toshinori’s new friend is totally staring at Toshinori’s chest.

“Looks like a sycophant,” he growls.

She rolls her eyes. “Toshinori just saved him from a burning building. Gratitude and admiration, along with some heart-eyes, aren’t out of the norm.”

“Hn.”

“What’s a sycophant,” Kotarou says, twisting around when the camera finally cuts away to a pair of commentators. He peers at Sorahiko’s papers like he can understand not only English, but also Sorahiko’s chicken-scratch handwriting.

Long-sufferingly, Sorahiko answers, “A sycophant is a person who always says yes to another person.”

“Oh.” Kotarou dwells on this. “Like you with okaa-san.”

There’s a beat of silence. The first giggle escapes Nana’s valiant grasp, and then she’s leaning on the wall, overtaken by them. Kotarou looks pleased; Sorahiko starts to sputter and defend himself.

Several hours later, Toshinori’s boisterous voice announces, “I’m home!”

“Welcome back,” Nana calls out from the kitchen. Over the course of a few months, her cooking repertoire has expanded to include boxed yellow curry. It bubbles ominously in the deep pan, set over a low heat. “Watch out in the living room, I think Sorahiko’s still napping with Kotarou.”

“Ah.” Nana hears a murmur. Then the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Involuntarily, she tenses and activates Float, her world narrowing down to the question: who is that. Her hands curl into fists, scarred and white-knuckled. She navigates the hallway to the front door and checks the mirror--oh.

Float deactivates. Nana briskly re-ties her hair, shakes out the adrenaline still thrumming in her hands, and steps out into the open with a smile.

“Who’s this?” she asks pleasantly.

Toshinori hasn’t stopped using One for All, but he’s picked up a white “I <3 LA” shirt. While he can stay puffed up for as long as he wants, there’s an unspoken rule to leave All Might in the streets. Thankfully, Nana thinks, Kotarou understands the secrecy regarding Toshinori’s Quirk.

The reason why Toshinori is still All Might finishes toeing off his sneakers. He’s tall, slender, and perceptibly nervous. When he executes a short bow, his shoulder-length hair moves with him.

“Hello,” Toshinori’s friend (boyfriend? Nana wonders, a little alarmed at the thought, because Toshinori can only have known him for four hours, max, and now Toshinori has brought him here, perhaps to meet the family) says in awkward Japanese. “I am David Shield. It is nice to meet you.”

“I understand English,” she says, not unkindly. “Your accent is very good, though.”

Shield exhales in relief. “I wanted to try,” he says, sheepish. “I’ve taken classes, but it’s just--difficult.”

“You need a willing language partner,” Nana agrees. “Call me Shimura-san, David. Are you here for dinner?”

“If it’s no problem.”

“Oshishou,” says Toshinori happily, “Dave’s offered to build me a sturdier suit! I thought the least we could do is dinner, right?”

Then, Kotarou comes barreling down the hallway, only to come to a reeling halt at the sight of someone new. He ducks back behind Nana’s legs, wary of strangers. She reaches back to ruffle his hair, and notes that David looks similarly taken aback.

Dave, however, is apparently going to tailor a new suit for Toshinori. Nana studies the young man and his fine-boned hands--an engineer? a researcher?--and decides that she needs Sorahiko to take a second look.

“This is Kotarou, my son.” Nana smiles reassuringly. “And of course. A friend of Toshinori’s is always welcome. Take your time, boys. It’s chicken curry tonight.”

She retreats back to the kitchen, Kotarou in tow.

“Are you fixing my cooking?” she gasps, catching Sorahiko in the midst of seasoning the pan’s contents. He doesn’t even flinch, and tosses in another pinch of black pepper.

“Little bland. Overall, tastes like the box promised. Good job on not burning it.”

Nana scowls. “This is because we teased him this afternoon,” she tells Kotarou, and Kotarou finally unclenches his fingers from her sweatpants and laughs. She bops his nose with her finger, and informs Sorahiko, “Remember the boy Toshinori saved? He’s here for dinner, and his name is David Shield.”

“What,” says Sorahiko.

“He’s, hmm, offered to make Toshinori a suit, and Toshinori thought he should pay the favor back with dinner.”

“I don’t understand English yet,” Kotarou complains.

“There’s that too,” she adds, but comforts Kotarou with, “I’m sure he’ll understand Japanese if you speak slowly, Kota.”

Footsteps on the staircase. They’re both heavy-footed, Nana distantly registers, and they’re headed for Toshinori’s bedroom. Which is normal for friends to do. Heck, she and Sorahiko used to have sleepovers together. This is fine.

Toshinori has known Dave for, at most, four hours.

Sorahiko sets the ladle to the side. He appears to be tracking a similar line of thought, because he says, slowly, “You know, when Toshinori came out to us as bisexual last week, I didn’t think…”

“He didn’t have anyone in high school,” Nana points out. “If there’s any place to explore romance without consequence, it’s halfway across the world.” She grimaces. “Also, let’s not jump to conclusions. We shouldn’t assume everyone Toshinori brings home is a potential partner.”

“He doesn’t bring people home,” Sorahiko stresses.

“Before, Toshinori wasn’t able to.”

Kotarou’s eyes flick back and forth between them. Incredulously, he asks, “Toshi-nii has no friends?”

They wince. Toshinori has friends the way someone builds a rolodex; many people extend their friendship, and Toshinori accepts, stores their information (name; Quirk; details about family, likes, dislikes) away in his encyclopedic brain, and never pursues a follow-up. It isn’t something they taught him, but it’s not a habit they’ve tried breaking either.

“He has friends,” says Nana. “So, best behavior, okay?”

Sorahiko grimaces. He bobs his head, but Nana assumes he’ll ask pointed questions during dinner anyway. Depending on how good a mood Toshinori is in, maybe their charge will let the interrogation slide. If not, well, Toshinori knows how grouchy Sorahiko can be.

“Okay,” Kotarou replies, oblivious to the byplay. “When’s dinner?”

“Soon,” Sorahiko promises.

(There is a long stretch of time between David Shield and Sasaki Mirai. In the span of this time, Kotarou has grown up and gotten married and had two children. Nana and Sorahiko have officially tied the knot, and they are in the midst of renovating a small apartment complex in Yamanashi Prefecture. Following Sasaki is Tsukauchi Naomasa. Then Toshinori brings home Aizawa Shouta.

“He’s like you,” Nana mourns to Sorahiko, after cheerfully seeing Aizawa off. Toshinori is walking with him to the train station; it’s fifty-fifty on whether Toshinori will spend the night in his own apartment, or in Aizawa’s bed.

“How’s that,” Sorahiko grunts, locking the front door. They trail their way to bed.

“His kids will be his students.”

He glances at her. “Kotarou wasn’t my student.”

“He learned a lot from you anyway,” Nana promptly responds, and he snorts. She’s undeterred. “Anyway, I can only assume he’ll bond with every class, and act as their collective dad. Tons and tons of encouragement, complete with rigorous physical training.” She sighs as she pushes their bedroom door open. “All those extended grandchildren we may never get to meet…”

“Be glad,” Sorahiko suggests. “I can only imagine Toshinori fathering a child with even crazier dreams, and we’ve finally reached a point in our lives where we don’t have to deal with that shit.”

“You’ve jinxed it.”

“I’ve jinxed nothing.”

Four months later, when they are watching the Sports Festival live on television, staring at a fluffy green-haired boy shout ‘Smash’ battle-cries and perform therapy so bad (so well? The result may have been the goal), he’s knocked clear out of the tournament--

“I jinxed it,” says Sorahiko in disbelief, as Nana cackles and starts texting Toshinori to bring home Midoriya Izuku.)

[transracialqueer]

The Baby Brokers: Inside America’s Murky Private-Adoption Industry

by Tik Root

6/3/21

Shyanne Klupp was 20 years old and homeless when she met her boyfriend in 2009. Within weeks, the two had married, and within months, she was pregnant. “I was so excited,” says Klupp. Soon, however, she learned that her new husband was facing serious jail time, and she reluctantly agreed to start looking into how to place their expected child for adoption. The couple called one of the first results that Google spat out: Adoption Network Law Center (ANLC).

Klupp says her initial conversations with ANLC went well; the adoption counselor seemed kind and caring and made her and her husband feel comfortable choosing adoption. ANLC quickly sent them packets of paperwork to fill out, which included questions ranging from personal-health and substance-abuse history to how much money the couple would need for expenses during the pregnancy.

Klupp and her husband entered in the essentials: gas money, food, blankets and the like. She remembers thinking, “I’m not trying to sell my baby.” But ANLC, she says, pointed out that the prospective adoptive parents were rich. “That’s not enough,” Klupp recalls her counselor telling her. “You can ask for more.” So the couple added maternity clothes, a new set of tires, and money for her husband’s prison commissary account, Klupp says. Then, in January 2010, she signed the initial legal paperwork for adoption, with the option to revoke. (In the U.S., an expectant mother has the right to change her mind anytime before birth, and after for a period that varies state by state. While a 2019 bill proposing an explicit federal ban of the sale of children failed in Congress, many states have such statutes and the practice is generally considered unlawful throughout the country.)

“I will never forget the way my heart sank,” says Klupp. “You have to buy your own baby back almost.” Seeing no viable alternative, she ended up placing her son, and hasn’t seen him since he left the hospital 11 years ago.

Movies may portray the typical adoption as a childless couple saving an unwanted baby from a crowded orphanage. But the reality is that, at any given time, an estimated 1 million U.S. families are looking to adopt—many of them seeking infants. That figure dramatically outpaces the number of available babies in the country. Some hopeful parents turn to international adoption, though in recent years other countries have curtailed the number of children they send abroad. There’s also the option to adopt from the U.S. foster-care system, but it’s an often slow-moving endeavor with a limited number of available infants. For those with means, there’s private domestic adoption.

ANLC was started in 1996 by Allan and Carol Gindi, who first called it the Adoption Network. The company says it has since worked on over 6,000 adoptions and that it’s the largest law corporation in the nation providing adoption services (though limited publicly available data makes that difficult to verify). ANLC’s home page is adorned with testimonials from grateful clients. Critics, however, see the organization as a paradigm of the largely unregulated private-adoption system in the U.S., which has made baby brokering a lucrative business.

Problems with private domestic adoption appear to be widespread. Interviews with dozens of current and former adoption professionals, birth parents, adoptive parents and reform advocates, as well as a review of hundreds of pages of documents, reveal issues ranging from commission schemes and illegal gag clauses to Craigslistesque ads for babies and lower rates for parents willing to adopt babies of any race. No one centrally tracks private adoptions in the U.S., but best estimates, from the Donaldson Adoption Institute (2006) and the National Council for Adoption (2014), respectively, peg the number of annual nonrelative infant adoptions at roughly 13,000 to 18,000. Public agencies are involved in approximately 1,000 of those, suggesting that the vast majority of domestic infant adoptions involve the private sector—and the market forces that drive it.

“It’s a fundamental problem of supply and demand,” says Celeste Liversidge, an adoption attorney in California who would like to see reforms to the current system. The scarcity of available infants, combined with the emotions of desperate adoptive parents and the advent of the Internet, has helped enable for-profit middlemen—from agencies and lawyers to consultants and facilitators—to charge fees that frequently stretch into the tens of thousands of dollars per case.

A 2021 ANLC agreement, reviewed by TIME and Newsy, shows that prospective parents were charged more than $25,000 in fees—not including legal costs for finalizing the adoption, birth-mother expenses and other add-ons (like gender specification). The full tab, say former employees, can balloon to more than double that.

“The money’s the problem,” says Adam Pertman, author of Adoption Nation and president of the National Center on Adoption and Permanency. “Anytime you put dollar signs and human beings in the same sentence, you have a recipe for disaster.”

Even though federal tax credits can subsidize private adoptions (as much as $14,300 per child for the adopting parents), there is no federal regulation of the industry. Relevant laws—governing everything from allowable financial support to how birth parents give their consent to an adoption—are made at the state level and vary widely. Some state statutes, for example, cap birth-mother expenses, while others don’t even address the issue. Mississippi allows birth mothers six months to change their mind; in Tennessee, it’s just three days. After the revocation period is over, it’s “too bad, so sad,” says Renee Gelin, president of Saving Our Sisters, an organization aimed at helping expectant parents preserve their families. “The mother has little recourse.”

Liversidge founded the nonprofit AdoptMatch, which describes itself as a “mobile app and online resource” that aims to “increase an expectant parent’s accessibility to qualified adoptive parents and ethical adoption professionals.” She says the hodgepodge of state statutes invites abuse: “Anyone that knows or learns the system—it doesn’t take much—can exploit those loopholes very easily for financial gain.”

Thirteen former ANLC employees, whose time at the organization spanned from 2006 to 2015, were interviewed for this story. Many asked to remain anonymous, out of fear of retaliation from the Gindis or ANLC. (The couple has filed multiple suits, including for defamation, over the years.) “The risk is too great for my family,” wrote one former employee in a text to TIME and Newsy. But whether on or off the record, the former employees told largely similar stories of questionable practices at an organization profiting off both adoptive and expectant parents. “These are such vulnerable people,” says one former employee. “They deserve more than greed.”

The Gindis have long faced questions about their adoption work. In 2006, the Orange County district attorney filed a scathing complaint contending that while operating Adoption Network, the couple had committed 11 violations, including operating as a law firm without an attorney on staff and falsely advertising Carol as having nursing degrees. Admitting no wrongdoing, the Gindis agreed to pay a $100,000 fine.

Since around that time, the Gindis’ exact involvement with ANLC has been difficult to discern amid a web of other companies, brands and titles. They both declined interview requests, but Allan did respond to emailed questions, explaining that he plays what he termed “an advertising role” for ANLC, including for the company’s current president, Lauren Lorber (the Gindis’ daughter), who took over the law practice in 2015. Before that, an attorney named Kristin Yellin owned ANLC. Former employees, though, say that despite an outwardly delineated setup, Allan in particular has remained heavily involved in ANLC operations. As far back as 2008, even though Yellin was the titular owner, “everyone knew that Allan Gindi ran it,” according to former employee Cary Sweet. (Sweet and other employees were plaintiffs in a 2010 discrimination and unlawful business practices lawsuit against ANLC. The company denied the allegations and the parties settled for an amount that Sweet says she isn’t allowed to reveal but called “peanuts.”)

In an interview, Yellin bristled at the idea that Allan Gindi was in charge during her ownership period, saying, “I realized what the Gindis’ role was and how to put boundaries on that.” Lorber, who declined an interview for this story, wrote via email that Allan has been a “leader” in adoption marketing. He maintains, also by email, that over a 25-year period, each attorney for whom he has provided his “highly specialized marketing services” has been “more than satisfied.” In an earlier text message, Allan also characterized the reporting for this story as “an attack on the wonderful work that Adoption Network has done and continues to do.”

Sweet, who worked with both expectant and adoptive parents at ANLC from 2008 to 2011, says she wasn’t aware of Klupp’s experience but remembers a situation involving a staff member’s threatening to call child protective services on a mother if she didn’t place her child for adoption. In a 2011 deposition taken as part of Sweet’s lawsuit, Yellin stated that the employee in question had told her that they had conveyed to the mother that “if you end up not going through with this, you know social services will probably be back in your life.” Yellin said that she found the comment inappropriate in context but did not perceive it as threatening or coercive.

Lorber, who has owned ANLC since late 2015, wrote in an email that she’s unaware of any incidents in which birth mothers were told they would have to pay back expenses if they chose not to place their child. But Klupp isn’t the only expectant mother to say she felt pressured by ANLC. Gracie Hallax placed two children through ANLC, in 2017 and 2018. Although the company arranged for lodging during her pregnancy (including, she says, in a bedbug-infested motel), she recalls an ANLC representative’s telling her that she could have to pay back expenses if she backed out of the adoptions. Madeline Grimm, a birth mother who placed her child through ANLC in 2019, also says she was informed that she might have to return expense money if she didn’t go through with the adoption. “That was something that I would think of if I was having any kind of doubt,” she says. “Like, well, sh-t, I’d have to pay all this back.”

The experiences described by Klupp, Hallax and Grimm fit a pattern of practices at ANLC that former employees say were concerning. Many describe a pervasive pressure to bring people—whether birth parents or adoptive couples—in the door. This was driven, at least in part, they say, by a “profit sharing” model of compensation in which, after meeting certain targets, employees could earn extra by signing up more adoptive couples or completing more matches. Former employees say birth mothers who did multiple placements through ANLC were sometimes referred to as “frequent flyers.” (Lorber and Yellin both say they have never heard that term.)

“The whole thing became about money and not about good adoption practices,” says one former employee. As they saw it, ANLC made a priority of “bringing in the next check.”

Adoptive parents, former employees say, were sometimes provided inaccurate statistics on how often the company’s attempts to matchmake were successful. “They almost made it seem like birth mothers were lining up to give their babies away,” says one. “That’s not reality.” (Yellin says in the 2011 deposition that the data were outdated, not inaccurate.) Clients pay their fees in two nonrefundable installments, one at the beginning of the process and another after matching with a birth mother. As a result, former employees say, if the adoption fell through, there was little financial incentive for ANLC to rematch the parents, and those couples were routinely not presented to other birth mothers. “Counselors were being pressured to do this by the higher-ups,” claims one former employee, recalling instructions to “not match couples that are not bringing in money. Period.”

Some prospective adoptive parents whom the company deemed harder to match—those who were overweight, for example, say former employees—were given a limited agreement that timed out, rather than the standard open-ended contract. There was also a separate agreement for those willing to adopt Black or biracial babies, for which the company offered its services at a discount. (In her 2011 deposition, Yellin acknowledged that there were multiple versions of the agreement and providing staff with obesity charts. When asked if obesity was a reason clients got a limited agreement, she said, “Specifically because they were obese, no.” In regard to whether what a couple looked like was considered, she responded, “I can only speculate. I do not know.”)

Former ANLC employees also allege the company would encourage pregnant women to relocate to states where the adoption laws were more favorable and finalizations more likely. “I believe it’s called venue hunting,” one recalls. And while that former employee made sure to note that ANLC did produce some resoundingly positive, well-fitting adoptions, they say the outcome was largely a matter of luck, “like throwing spaghetti on a refrigerator to see if it’ll stick.”

Yellin acknowledges that when she took over the company in 2007, “there was a feeling that some of the adoption advisers had felt pressured just to make matches.” But she says she worked to address that and other issues. Yellin says she put an end to the use of the limited agreement, and denies that ANLC ever advised birth mothers to relocate to other states to make an adoption easier. She also says she wasn’t aware of any instances of birth mothers’ being coerced into placing their babies. Other practices, though, she defended. Charging lower fees to parents willing to adopt babies of any race makes business sense, Yellin says. “Their marketing costs were lower. That’s just the reality of it.” Lorber maintains that fee structure stopped in 2019. More broadly, she noted that of the thousands of parties that ANLC has worked with over the years, the complaint rate is less than half of 1% and “that is one track record to be proud of!”

But ANLC’s practices over the years could have legal implications. Experts say that reports of any organization’s putting pressure on birth parents to go through with an adoption would raise concerns about whether those parents placed their children under duress—which can be grounds for invalidating consent and potentially overturning adoptions. And ANLC may be violating consumer-protection laws with a clause in its agreement that makes clients “agree not to talk negatively about ANLC’s efforts, service, positions, policies and employees with anyone, including potential Birth Parents, other adoption-related entities or on social media and other Internet platforms.” The federal Consumer Review Fairness Act of 2016 makes contract clauses that restrict consumer reviews illegal, as does the 2014 California “Yelp” bill.

“It would certainly be unlawful,” says Paul Levy, an attorney with the consumer-advocacy organization Public Citizen, who reviewed the agreement. “If they put this in the contract, what do they have to hide?”

Stories of enticement and pressure tactics in the private-adoption industry abound. Mother Goose Adoptions, a middle-man organization in Arizona, has pitched a “laptop for life” program and accommodations in “warm, sunny Arizona.” A Is 4 Adoption, a facilitator in California, made a payment of roughly $12,000 to a woman after she gave birth, says an attorney involved in the adoption case. While the company says it “adheres to the adoption laws that are governed by the state of California,” the lawyer, who asked to remain anonymous because they still work on adoptions in the region, says they told A Is 4 Adoption’s owner, “You should not be paying lump sums. It looks like you’re buying a baby.”

Jessalynn Speight worked for ANLC in 2015 and says private adoption is rife with problems: “It’s much more rampant than anyone can understand.” Speight, whose nonprofit Tied at the Heart runs retreats for birth parents, worries that the industry sometimes turns into a cycle of dependency, as struggling women place multiple children as a means of financial support. (The same incentive may also encourage scamming adoptive birth parents, with purported birth parents who don’t actually intend to place a child for adoption or are never even pregnant.) Anne Moody, author of the 2018 book The Children Money Can Buy, about foster care and adoption, says the system can amount to “basically producing babies for money.”

Claudia Corrigan D’Arcy, a birth-parent advocate and birth mother who blogs extensively about adoption, says she routinely hears of women facing expense-repayment pressures. Some states, such as California and Nevada, explicitly consider birth-parent expenses an “act of charity” that birth parents don’t have to pay back. In other states, though, nothing prohibits adoption entities from trying to obligate birth parents to repay expenses when a match fails.

“How is that not blackmail?” D’Arcy asks, emphasizing that in most states, fraud or duress can be a reason for invalidating a birth parent’s consent. According to Debra Guston, adoption director for the Academy of Adoption & Assisted Reproduction Attorneys, conditioning support on a promise to repay or later demanding repayment if there is no placement is “at very least unethical.”

States are ostensibly in charge of keeping private-adoption entities in line. Agencies are generally licensed or registered with the relevant departments of health, human services or children and families. Attorneys practice under the auspices of a state bar. But even when misdeeds are uncovered, action may be anemic and penalties minimal. In 2007, Dorene and Kevin Whisler were set to adopt through the Florida-based agency Adoption Advocates. When the agency told the Whislers the baby was born with disabilities, the couple decided not to proceed with the adoption—but they later found out that the baby was healthy and had been placed with a different couple, for another fee. After news coverage of the case, Adoption Advocates found itself under investigation. In a 2008 letter to Adoption Advocates, the Florida department of children and families (DCF) wrote that it had found “expenses that are filed with the courts from your agency do not accurately reflect the expenses that are being paid to the natural mothers in many instances.” Although DCF temporarily put the organization on a provisional license, a spokesperson for the department says that after “enhanced monitoring for compliance,” it relicensed the company, and there have been no issues or complaints since. (When contacted, Adoption Advocates’ attorney replied that the company is “unable to respond to your inquiries regarding specific individuals or cases.”)

More recently, in 2018, the Utah department of human services (DHS) revoked the license of an agency called Heart and Soul Adoptions, citing violations ranging from not properly searching for putative fathers (a requirement in Utah) to insufficient tracking of birth-mother expenses. Rules prohibit anyone whose license is revoked from being associated with another licensed entity for five years. But a year later Heart and Soul owner Denise Garza was found to be working with Brighter Adoptions. DHS briefly placed Brighter on a conditional license for working with Garza but has since lifted all sanctions and never assessed any fines.

Enforcement is even harder when middlemen operate as consultants, facilitators or advertisers or under any number of other murky titles that critics believe are sometimes used to skirt regulations. There is little clarity on who is supposed to oversee these more amorphous intermediaries.

Jennifer Ryan (who sometimes goes by “Jennalee Ryan” or “Jennifer Potter”) was first a “facilitator” and is now a kind of middleman to adoption middle-men. Her “national online advertising service” refers expectant parents to lawyers (including her own son), facilitators and other intermediaries; as of November 2020, the company was charging these middlemen fees starting at $18,800 for each birth-mother match (with the idea that the cost is passed on to families). Ryan declined an interview but, in an email, she says she does approximately 400 matches annually. Among the websites Ryan operates are Chosen Parents and Forever After Adoptions, which both include a section that lists babies for adoption, sort of like a Craigslist ad. One example from last August: “AVAILABLE Indian (as in Southeast Asia India) Baby to be born in the state of California in 2021…Estimated cost of this adoption is $35000.”

Many advocates say they would like to see reforms to private adoption in the U.S. Even Yellin, a proponent of private-sector involvement in the adoption space, says there probably ought to be more regulation. But calls for systematic change have remained largely unheeded, and agreeing on exactly what should be done can be difficult.

Some believe the problem could be addressed with greater federal-level oversight—pointing to the foster-care system, which a division of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services helps administer, as an example (albeit an imperfect one). But Liversidge notes that family law has traditionally been a state issue and says that is where fixes should, and will likely need to, occur. She wants to see improvements such as an expansion of mandatory independent legal representation for birth parents, better tracking of adoption data and the reining in of excessive fees.

Illinois attempted to take a strong stand against adoption profiteering in a 2005 adoption-reform act, which barred out-of-state, for-profit intermediaries from engaging in adoption-related activities in the state. But Bruce Boyer, a law professor at Loyola University who championed the legislation, says, “We couldn’t get anyone to enforce it.” Only after much pushing and prodding, he adds, did advocates persuade the state to pursue a case against what Boyer called the “worst” offender: ANLC.

The Illinois attorney general filed a complaint in 2013 alleging that ANLC was breaking the law by offering and advertising adoption services in the state without proper licensing or approval. To fight the suit, ANLC retained a high-profile Chicago law firm, and within months, the parties had reached a settlement. ANLC agreed that it would not work directly with Illinois-based birth parents, but it did not admit any wrongdoing and called the resolution “fair and reasonable.” Boyer disagrees. “They caved,” he says of the state. “There were no meaningful consequences that came from a half-hearted attempt.” The attorney general’s office declined to comment.

What few changes have been made in adoption law are generally aimed at making the process easier for adoptive parents, who experts say tend to have more political and financial clout than birth parents. At the core of the inertia is lack of awareness. “There’s an assumption in this country that adoption is a win-win solution,” says Liversidge. “People don’t understand what’s going on.”

Many proponents of change would, at the very least, like to see private adoption move more toward a nonprofit model. “It’s a baby-brokering business. That’s really what it’s turned into,” says Kim Anderson, chief program officer at the Nebraska Children’s Home Society, a nonprofit that does private adoptions only in Nebraska (with a sliding fee based on income) and which rarely allows adoptive parents to pay expenses for expectant parents.

Whatever shape reform ends up taking—or mechanism it occurs through—advocates say it will require a fundamental shift and decommodification of how the country approaches private adoption. “A civilized society protects children and vulnerable populations. It doesn’t let the free market loose on them,” says Liversidge. Or, as Pertman puts it, “Children should not be treated the same as snow tires.”

Yellin kept working with ANLC as an attorney until late 2018. By then, she says adoption numbers had dropped significantly because of increased competition and a decreasing number of expectant mothers seeking to place their babies. But the company seems to still be very much in the adoption business. During the pandemic, Adoption Pro Inc., which operates ANLC, was approved for hundreds of thousands of dollars in stimulus loans, and its social media accounts suggest it has plenty of adoptive-parent clients. According to data from the search analytics service SpyFu, ANLC has also run hundreds of ads targeting expectant parents. For example, if you Googled the term “putting baby up for adoption” in January 2021, you might get shown an ANLC ad touting, “Financial & Housing Assistance Available.”

Meanwhile, Allan Gindi continues to play an advertising role for ANLC (and to use an “@adoptionnetwork.com” email address). Court documents connected to a bankruptcy case show that, in 2019, Gindi expected to make $40,000 per month in adoption-advertising income. (He says that number was not ultimately realized but did not provide any more details.) Lorber’s LinkedIn profile says that ANLC is a “$5 million dollar per year” business. “And that’s just one family in Southern California,” remarks Speight, who used to work for ANLC and who runs a birth-parent support nonprofit. “Think about all of the other adoption agencies where couples are paying even more money.”

Klupp’s Facebook feed still cycles through “memories” of posts she made when she was placing her son through ANLC. They’re mournful but positive, she says; in them, she tended to frame the decision as an unfortunate necessity that put her son in a loving home. “I thought everything was really great,” recalls Klupp, who has since immersed herself in the online adoption community. What she’s learned has slowly chipped away at the pleasant patina that once surrounded her adoption journey; such a shift is so common, it has a name, “coming out of the fog.”

“They take people who don’t have money and are scared, and they use your fear to set you up with an adoption that you can’t back out of,” Klupp says of the industry. “I’m sure even the parents that adopted my son … didn’t know half the stuff that went on behind the scenes. They probably paid this agency to find them a baby, and that’s what they cared about. And this agency takes this money from these people who are desperate.” Klupp isn’t anti-adoption; in fact, she’s been trying to adopt out of foster care. The problem, she says, is the profit. Today, she believes she has a better understanding of the extent to which ANLC influenced her and now views her decision as, at the very least, deliberately ill informed, if not outright coerced. She says she’s taken to deleting the Facebook posts about her son’s adoption as the reminders pop up—they’re too painful.

“It seems like the agencies have some universal handbook on how to convince doubtful moms,” she says. “I know in my heart that I would have kept my son if I had had the right answers.”

[Link in the notes]