#dc idyl

[ungoliantschilde]

some more George Pratt artwork.

[ufonaut]

The original, unlettered paintings done for Enemy Ace: War Idyll (1990). Art by George Pratt.

[daydreamerdrew]

Captain Marvel Adventures #14

[evilhorse]

Enemy Ace War Idyll house ad from August 1990

[spooky-fm]

DP x DC fic: Delivery Ghost

This has been consuming my brain for weeks. Based on this post by @gummybearstastelikesadness:

Danny wakes up in the new world and, not feeling responsible for its villains (unlike the ghost attacks where he is the one who turned on the portal) decides to take a break and have a vacation. As a pizza delivery person, he brings orders to the recipients within the specified timeframe, no matter what. Certain citizens of this world are suspicious when the app lets them order to a town 2 hours away from the location ... and the delivery boy is there in under 10 minutes.

If only Danny cared about their feelings.

Part 1.

Waking up sore and confused in the middle of a random field with only vague memories of last night's events wasn't that weird for Danny Fenton. He had been Amity Park's resident hero for several years and had lived through much stranger awakenings. His list started with Vlad Plasmius's spooky basement inside a cloning tube and his parents' lab strapped to the vivisection table, and ended with places like the middle of nowhere in the Ghost Zone after an ecto-storm or a hundered-year-old abandoned maze of secret tunnels under the Masons' house after a particularly exciting date with Sam. Next to those, an ordinary-looking meadow was a welcome change. Despite that, something felt not quite right, but Danny couldn't quite focus on the feeling in his drowsy state.

Careful inspection of his body revealed that he had all of his limbs attached where they should be attached and functioning as normal. Aside from mild discomfort after lying on the cold ground for a significant amount of time he was perfectly healthy, despite splotches of dried ectoplasm and blood indicating recent injuries.

Deciding that he did not care enough to remember what those splotches were from just yet, Danny shrugged and continued his inspection. He looked around the field, trying to find any clues, tracks, or signs of civilization, and, failing to locate any, he transformed into his ghost form.

The transformation was enough of a jolt to wake him up from his morning sleepiness, forcing Danny to remember the fight with an unfamilliar ghost that appeared just as he finished fixing reindeer antlers to the top of the head of his freshly-made one-foot-tall snowman made from the first snow in the season. He had been so concerned with taking the fight away from his new porch guardian that he hadn't taken it seriously enough. Between exchanging blows and trying to find out the name of the intruder into his neighbourhood, he ended up too distracted to notice that they were not alone and got blasted with a dark-purple beam from behind.

As much as he would have liked to know more, the memory tastefully faded to black and refused to provide any further details.

'Never mind the why's and how's then,' - Danny thought, unconcerned. 'Time to consider the where's and the when's.'

Having thought that, he suddenly realised what had been bothering him from the moment he woke up. He was so busy taking stock of his physical state that he forgot to question the gentle warmth of the ground he had slept on and the decidedly non-December greenery around him.

Wide-eyed, Danny quickly flew up, searching for anything that could point him towards Amity or any other nearby town.

The vegetation did not seem too different from what he was used to, so he concluded that he probably wasn't anywhere Southern enough to be this warm in December. That suggested Clockwork shenanigans, which did not fill Danny with too much confidence.

He turned invisible, picked a random direction, and flew at a leisurely speed fully intending to enjoy the idyllic weather.

A couple of hours later, he finally came across a large enough town where he decided he would not be instantly noticed in the morning crowd. He easily found the local library and got permission to use a computer from the librarian that barely glanced at him in the dimly lit lobby. He made his way towards the two ancient computers ready to learn the local date and hopefully figure out how he ended up in this situation.

Danny wasn't truly surprised when the calendar showed a date a couple months in the past according to his personal timeline. He had spent enough time (ha!) with Clockwork to not be put off by a bit of minor time-travel. What surprised him, however, was his inability to find even a single mention of Amity Park on the internet.

Familiar forums, social media account of his friends, Amity news sources, even his personal blog that he posted blurry pictures of blob ghosts to were missing. Maps, both regular and satellite, showed a familiar but slightly different landscape where his home town should have been with a completely different name written over it.

Danny stared at the monitor with unfocused eyes. If he really had travelled in time, he would have been able to find some trace of Amity, or his friends. Searching for their names gave unhelpful results, and trying to look up ghosts and ghost attacks only led him down the rabbit hole of superheroes and something called 'The Justice League' that just gave him a headache. This led to the natural conclusion that instead of a minor instance of short time-travel he got tangled in a major instance of timeline-hopping.

He shuddered a little, remembering Dan. At least it seemed that Danny didn't exist at all in this timeline, in any shape. That turned out to be a slightly disturbing thought and Danny decided to ignore it with the practiced ease of someone who was used to rolling with the punches for the sake of his mental stability.

He wondered briefly when this world and his started to differ, but his limited knowledge of human history was not enough to give him much of a hint. He figured it was at least a couple hundred years in the past, but that was the extent of his detective abilities.

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

It was a relief to finally exit the stuffy library building and let the rays of sunshine fall on his face after several hours of researching the new world he found himself in. Despite failing to get any closer to the mystery of his appearance there, he didn't feel that upset at the change of scenery.

While walking leisurely along the tidy street, Danny contemplated the heroes and villains of this timeline. It seemed that the Justice League was the top dog when it came to the forces of good. He wasn't sure how to approach them without raising suspicion that a person suddenly coming into existence would certainly cause.

Suddenly, he was struck by a thought so alien to him that he stopped in his tracks and stared blankly ahead.

He didn't have to do anything!

There were no ghost attacks in the news, and thus probably no portal to the Ghost Zone. He hadn't opened a doorway between the Infinite Realms and Earth, and there was nobody who needed help that couldn't be given by any of the local heroes.

Danny realised that didn't feel any pressing need to protect this world. That little part of his core that was always anxious about Amity, about Sam and Tucker, and about the rest of the world was now blissfully quiet. Danny smiled at that, shaking his head and continuing his walk towards what seemed to be a small river.

He also began to notice the stares people around were directing at him and tried to get lost in the crowd - with little luck. It almost seemed that having drawn the attention of the locals, he was standing out as an obvious outsider.

He was starting to get annoyed at the constant attention, when he noticed his ragged sleeve and recalled that he was in fact still covered in suspiciously blood-looking greenish blots. He considered the fact that it was actually blood from his already-healed small scratches was irrelevant. 

Cursing quietly, Danny quickly turned into a shady-looking alleyway and made his escape from the public eye by going invisible.

He decided to continue on his course towards the riverside in this way, while mulling over the earlier revelation. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that it was a great idea to take a break and get some rest from ghostly affairs. And if he really wanted to go back, he could always find a way to open a portal into the Ghost Zone and find Clockwork. His sort-of mentor, sort-of father figure wouldn't mind helping him with a little nudge towards the right timeline, would he? Besides, the guy probably knew all about Danny's little jaunt across realities. Since there was no sign of him or his cryptic advice, it was entirely reasonable that he approved of the whole thing.

So it was decided: Danny Fenton was going on vacation.

He flipped in the air in excitement and started flying away from the town. Giggling a little at the fact that he still didn't know the name of the first town he visited in this timeline, he froze in place as something occured to him: He had no money, no possessions and didn't know where to go.

Despite not technically needing food or shelter as a ghost, he didn't want to spend his vacation hiding away under his invisibility. And what sort of vacation would it be if he had no money to spend on fun things like videogames and hot dogs?

He figured the solution was simple: He'll just have to find a job.

[jesncin]

Love your art and interpretation of J’onn and Ma’al. I probably like it better than the actual comic version honestly.

I am curious as to how your version of M’gann would be like on earth, and what her dynamic with the brothers be.

Like would she be working for the martians and be antagonistic to the brothers or would she join the brothers as a sort of adopted family, and like gush with Ma’al about their wacky crushes together or something. Or would she never go to earth and stay on mars.

Sorry if this seems rude I’m just really interested your interpretation.

Hi there! Thanks so much for all the kind compliments!! I'm always touched when people compare my stuff to canon DC like that :'>

So M'gann is a mix of what you said. She was raised by M'yri'ah so she's got some Mars-loyalty to unlearn, but understands that her new little sister K'hym won't be safe on Mars. On Earth, she's J'onn's adopted daughter now too. They have a rocky relationship, since M'gann sees J'onn as an absent father figure. J'onn feels really bad about this and wants to connect with her.

J'onn knows that M'gann is struggling to fit in not just as a Martian telepath like he did, but with the added layer of being a White Martian too. Once being a giant cosmic being, M'gann feels out of place as a small girl on Earth. She assumes there's no way J'onn could ever understand what she's going through.

Things are rocky between M'gann and Ma'al too! Ma'al is responsible for M'gann's very first nightmare through creating H'ronmeer's Curse and having it unleashed onto Mars. It was a pretty traumatic experience for her, something that woke her up from her (up to that point) idyllic, innocent childhood. However, Ma'al's really stubborn about not regretting anything he did to escape Mars, so the two are kind of at odds about the whole thing.

They're all a dysfunctional damaged family held together by their love for baby K'hym. So everyone's got a lot of bonding and growing up to do!

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC 50's High School AU... Or is it?

Just imagine if you will, a very aesthetic 1950's high school setting. The Waynes live in the idyllic little town of Amity Park, going to Casper High, and living their lives.

Dick is the oldest son, off to college but still stopping by to visit, all letterman jacket and smiles. Jason, the bad boy greaser is trying to finish up his senior year of high school, a little late, but spending time in Juvie put his life on hold. He's trying his best, spending time working on his motorcycle and hanging with his study buddy, Jazz Fenton. Tim enjoying high school life with his family, studying hard and enjoying photography club. Gee, Tim's life sure is perfect

or is it?

Tim can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. Sometimes, he remembers something else. He has memories of his life here, and they must be real, his family is here, Jason, Bruce, Alfred, and even Dick when he's back from the Teen Titans college. Wait... Dick wasn't in college, was he? Wasn't he a cop in Blood Haven? Was he the local cop? That's right, Dick is the local cop, all sunshine and feeding his eternal sweet tooth with donuts. How could he forget that? He loved his family! Sure, there had been some rough spots, like when Jason died went to juvie, but they were together now, a real family.

But sometimes Tim has dreams, of another time, of another place. But they can't be true, can they? YES! No, That made no sense. Thinking about it made his head hurt.

Then there was the matter of the boy in his class, Danny Fenton. He kept catching him staring. Danny would just look at him funny. Sometimes he would say weird things. Tim would write him off as just an oddball, but sometimes what he said reminded him of his dreams.

Tim wasn't sure what it was, but something was up. He was going to find out what it was, and maybe, just maybe, Danny Fenton was the first step to solving this mystery

or

Tim wished for a more idyllic life and to get along with his brothers while on a mission in Amity Park. One reality warping genie ghost later and now they're stuck in something like a 1950's sitcom with altered memories.

[thirdtofifth]

Mournwhelk Large elemental, chaotic neutral Armor Class 18 (natural armor) Hit Points 110 (13d10 + 39) Speed 30 ft. Damage Resistances psychic Condition Immunities exhaustion, frightened Senses darkvision 60 ft. passive Perception 12 Languages understands Common and Sylvan but can't speak Challenge 6 (2300 XP) Absorb Fear. Whenever a creature that is frightened starts its turn within 60 feet of the mournwhelk, the frightened condition ends for that creature. Drink Sorrows. Whenever a creature takes psychic damage while within 60 feet of the mournwhelk, the mournwhelk regains hit points equal to half the psychic damage dealt, rounded down. Sure-Footed. The mournwhelk has advantage on Strength and Dexterity saving throws made against effects that would knock it prone. Actions Multiattack. The mournwhelk uses its Wail of Sorrow if it is able to. It then makes three bite attacks. Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 4 (1d4+2) piercing damage plus 9 (2d8) psychic damage. Wail Of Sorrow (Recharge 6). Each creature within 60 feet of the mournwhelk that has an Intelligence score of 5 or higher must succeed on a DC 14 Wisdom saving throw or be incapacitated for 1 minute. An incapacitated creature can repeat the save at the end of each of its turns, ending the effect for itself on a success. Constructs and undead are immune to this effect.

These creatures wander the idyllic lands of Lorwyn, the few sorrows of that paradise held within its body, corrupting it so that they do not corrupt the land.

Another monster from a Magic: The Gathering card, in this case Mournwhelk from the Lorwyn set.

[spider-jaysart]

An art collab that was done with the wonderful artist @dankgemestho @jonathan-samuel-smith (They're the same person)

(Click on image for better quality)

They did the sketch, I did the line art and then they did all of the coloring, which literally just looks so pretty and cute!!!✨💖✨ Their painting skills is also just so smooth and marvelous to look at!!! I love it so much!!💕 And I love the color choices of everything here as well, they all go so nicely together!!! I really adore this entire peice!!!!💗💖💗

This project was so much fun and it was a blast to work on it all with Isaac!!🌟

Link below is for the other drawing that they posted on their blog, which is also apart of the collab we did here! For that one I did the sketch, they did the line art, and then I colored it!

[warcorrespondence]

@ceeturnalia/traveller wrote this fic called aftermath, usa. I read it a little while back, and then I proceeded to think about it for a long time. It's about love, and about trauma, and the ways we love and the ways we trauma, and how maybe none of them look great from the outside, but we are on the outside, so maybe we should all shut up.

(Shocking no one, @ep6bastogne recommended it to me, but I'm stealing a march on writing the review)

fandom: generation kill

pairing: bradnate

explicit, 24616 words

I started this while sitting on a beach, a calm and idyllic setting if ever there was one, with my heart racing and my jaw clenched.

A month or two before, I said to @screwby, "I really just want an angsty road trip fic, is that so much to ask?"

And behold! The angsty road trip fic of my dreams! Only this particular road trip is precipitated by Nate getting shot.

He stops a couple of bullets intended for the President of the United States (no, he’s not Secret Service, just in the right place at the right time, standing there being Nate Fick). He recovers enough to call Brad to come pick him up from the hospital.

They drive across the country, from DC to San Diego, and it becomes clear that whatever their feelings for each other, they haven’t spoken in 10 years. And yet Brad dropped everything to come get him.

It’s a trip of recovery, of Nate’s health both emotional and physical, of their relationship, of what they meant and could mean, and what they decide they do and will mean to each other.

It's by turns rough and moving, gentle and brutal. It's sexy and sweet and funny all at once.

Is this a long quote? Yes. Yes it is. But it also, for me, fully encapsulates what this fic does, like a punch in the gut (or a weak, post-gunshot attempt at violence).

"I'm asking you for help," Nate says. "You fucking retard." Nate's weak left hand lands on Brad's arm, fist closed. "Was that… was that a punch?" Brad stares, swallowing the rest of the wash of emotion. "Because what I saw was the most limp-wristed pussy faggot attempt at violence since that time Person got in a catfight with a fucking Laker girl." "Fuck you," Nate says, hitting Brad again, a little harder this time, but the effort shows on his face. "Brad." Brad takes his hand, gives the fingers a squeeze. "You're serious." He looks back to the road, the white lines and the blue sky flying by. "Sooner or later, whether or not I want to go back will cease to be an issue." Nate's voice drops, shaking a little. "They'll fuck around for a while longer, probably months, maybe even years, but I'm going to have to. And I'm going to need. Help." Ten years where Nate didn't call, where the emails tapered off and finally stopped altogether. Nate graduated, Nate got married to some Back Bay princess, Nate wrote a book that barely mentioned Brad at all. Nate moved on. And Nate somehow knows, when Brad meets his eyes again, and he shakes his head. "I tried. But I missed you every fucking day," he husks. Brad bites down on the inside of his cheek. He's thirty-nine years old, he's a man, he's a Marine. He's not going to break down like some screaming teenage girl, pissing herself and crying at the latest Disney Channel dicksuck's concert. "You too," he says. Nate leans back in his seat, his whole body going slack. "Wake me when we hit Utah," he says, and closes his eyes.

[dairy-farmer]

genuine question, how was like dc incest ships formed? like how did it all start :0

ooof that stretches back WAYYYYY back to like...the birth of dc comics. i'm no comic historian and i have limited knowledge for the rest of dc aside from batman but based on what i've read and know i'm 99.99% certain that the first ever batcest ship was between bruce and dick. and it became rather infamously known because of this psychologist named fredric wertham who sort of waged a war against comics- remember in like the mid 2000s when parents were clutching their pearls and saying videogames made kids violent?

well this was that, only with comic books and in the 1950-60s. he said comic books were filled with violence and sex and they would make kids violent and engage in sexually promiscuous behavior.

he directly addressed batman and robin's relationship calling it essentialy queercoded. his exact words about their relationship were:

"Several years ago a California psychiatrist pointed out that the Batman stories are psychologically homosexual. Our research confirms this entirely. Only someone ignorant of the fundamentals of psychiatry and of the psychopathology of sex can fail to realize a subtle atmosphere of homoerotism which pervades the adventures of the mature “Batman” and his young friend “Robin.” (p 189)

"Just as ordinary crime comic books contribute to the fixation of violent and hostile patterns by suggesting definite forms for their expression, so the Batman type of story helps to fixate homoerotic tendencies by suggesting the form of an adolescent- with-adult or Ganymede-Zeus type of love-relationship." (p 190)

"Sometimes Batman ends up in bed injured and young Robin is shown sitting next to him. At home they lead an idyllic life...They live in sumptuous quarters, with beautiful flowers in large vases, and have a butler, Alfred. Batman is sometimes shown in a dressing gown. As they sit by the fireplace the young boy sometimes worries about his partner: “Something’s wrong with Bruce. He hasn’t been himself these past few days.” It is like a wish dream of two homosexuals living together." (p 190)

my favorite is this one:

"The Batman type of story may stimulate children to homosexual fantasies, of the nature of which they may be unconscious. In adolescents who realize it they may give added stimulation and reinforcement."

translation:

the goddamn batman is going to make kids GAY

however there is one thing to note about what wertham was getting at: he was outraged that batman and robin were gay- not that they were incestuous. in fact, nowhere in the book does it mention anything about incest but i just ctrl + f searched that so it's possible they COULD have mentioned it, but if they did they didn't call it "incest".

outrage from conservative parents and "proper" communities of course meant they didn't want their kids reading this "filth". internet archive, which has a copy of this book you can read for free if you're interested in the quacky stuff he was trying to argue, has a footnote about the very REAL conseqeunces his publishing of this book had.

it was that "fredric's book and testimony at Senate Hearings within 6 months of his book publiation, was used to ban many comic books and an industry-wide self-censoring to be launched."

this is what led to the Comics Code Authority (1954). below i included a screen shot from wikipedia of a list of the things they censored and banned. you'll be able to note not a single bullet point mentions 'homosexuals' and that's because it fell under the umbrella of "Sex perversion". gay people were percieved as sexual predators by default then and still today they're viewed that way, though the conversation has shifted more towards pointing fingers at drag queens and trans people.

batcest has a pretty deep history and i could go on about how adam west and burt ward's flamboyant portrayal of batman only fanned the flames of the whole 'batman and robin are gay' thing but i think this small batman history lesson was enough.

even though the Comics Code Authority is no longer a thing, getting dissolved in 2011, i think you can still see the little threads of influence that remain and the fact that many of the writers and artists really don't have full creative freedom and control over the character they're writing for.

which is a shame. an enviornment where creativity isn't allowed to thrive is not an enviornment where it will survive.

[cantsayidont]

February-March 1971. "THERE CAME A TIME WHEN THE OLD GODS DIED!" Jack Kirby's magnum opus and great unfinished symphony, the "Fourth World" saga actually began in SUPERMAN'S PAL JIMMY OLSEN #133 a few months before this issue, but it was THE NEW GODS that established the major players and the stakes of Kirby's cosmic conflict. Orion is the curiously feral champion of New Genesis, an idyllic world in uneasy truce with the industrialized hell of Apokolips, whose malevolent ruler Darkseid seeks the freewill-annihilating Anti-Life Equation on a remote, primitive world called Earth. Propulsive, epic in scope and theme, and compellingly strange, full of astonishing vistas and more moral complexity (and more overtly Jewish themes) than the summary might suggest, the saga (continued in FOREVER PEOPLE and MISTER MIRACLE as well as JIMMY OLSEN) was cut short by DC, which was looking for something more obviously commercial.

DC inevitably revived the franchise without Kirby, usually to diminishing returns. It's hard to say which of the various non-Kirby revivals have been the most misguided, and of the many creators who've tried, only Grant Morrison and Walt Simonson have seemed capable of even approximating the ferocious energy of Kirby's original.

[ufonaut]

House-ad for Enemy Ace: War Idyll (1990) running throughout all DC Comics titles in June 1990. Art by George Pratt.

[scarletroseabdl]

As an ABDL you must have a favorite diaper. What’s your favorite to wear? What’s your favorite diaper to put on someone else??

My current favorites are Trests, Cloudees, and SDKs!

I also really like the Little Kings and would like to put someone else in one.

It's been a while since I've diapered another person. I did like the DC Idyl, Megamaxes, and the preschools.

[masterwords]

every day is a start of something beautiful

Summary: It's time for the leaves to be cleaned up. When kids are involved, you have to be ready for anything.

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: a few casual mentions of Hotch's childhood not being idyllic, a reference to Foyet, and references to Hotch having chronic pain/ailments.

Words: 2.3k

Notes: Comfortember Day 3 - Leaves. I couldn't resist Hank here. As with everything else this month, this is part of the Chicago Times universe. I hope you enjoy!

**

Hotch couldn’t actually remember the last time he raked up autumn leaves.

Maybe because the last time he raked up leaves was when he was a teenager. That was an awfully long time ago, judging by the faded edges of his memories.

He could vaguely remember waking up in the morning to the sound of his father hollering about the damn leaves. “Why in God’s name do we have so many damn trees?” It never failed, he’d be shouting about Hotch cleaning them up before he’d even wiped the sleep from his eyes. It would be a quick breakfast and then out the door with a thermos of hot cocoa for a long day of hard work. The icy breeze would bite at his fingertips through his wool gloves and his hands would be bleeding and blistered and bright red by the end of the day. During the course of his time outside, he would have picked up three or four more jobs – neighbors who were older and couldn’t do the work or simply wanted to outsource. He preferred those, they got him away from his house for days at a time. His weekends would be occupied with what he considered easy money during that lull between the glory of football season and the horrors of basketball – a sport he was truly terrible at. He was hardly more than a bench warmer or someone whose shoes squeaked on the court only when their team was so far up in points that they could put their third string kids in, but it was better than the nightmare of wrestling and it kept him busy and away from the house. He would rake for free, but everyone paid him. It kept his gas tank full and he was able to buy Haley flowers and snacks and maybe even one nice date without touching the money his parents gave him.

After University, they lived in apartments, never quite settled. A nice condo in DC when he was appointed as a Federal Prosecutor, and a grungy little dump in Seattle when he took a steep paycut to pursue his dreams as an FBI Agent. While the trees planted to line the streets had falling leaves, he never had to touch them. He only watched them flutter to the ground and be scooped up by city trucks, that was the same no matter which side of the country you inhabited. The type of trees might have changed, but the behaviors never did. When they moved back to D.C, they hired a lawn care service, and again when they moved out to Alexandria. Haley didn’t want to do it on her own and he didn’t have the time. They installed sprinkler systems, did all the mowing and all of the cleanup while Hotch worked his long hours and never saw any of it. Then came two apartments back to back, and lawn care services that would come and go in an hour, sucking up all of the beautiful decaying leaves in their big riding mowers and move on. It was impersonal and loud, and when it was all cleaned up he missed the joy of the colors the leaves brought. There were children who lived in his building who would play in the leaves until they were cleaned up, and the sound of their laughter and the rustling got him through a lot of long lonely days after Foyet’s attack.

Now, he and Derek had a house. Well, Derek had a house and was kind enough to open his doors to Hotch and Jack, inviting them to move in rather than see them go back to Virginia when they were released from protective custody. They were still taking things a little slow, poking along, living together but not saying words like love too often. (Even if it was always heavily implied.) Derek’s divorce was still fresh enough to be a wound and the year of witness protection, the loneliness and fear and physical decline, were still wearing on Hotch in ways he couldn’t cope with some days.

But then the leaves fell, and he felt grounded and connected and useful just thinking about doing something mundane and simple. Something people just did at a certain time of year. Something that meant he belonged.

The front lawn was not just scattered with leaves, it was covered. At least a foot existed between the crisp upper layer and the damp, darkness of the bottom layer that was killing the small patch of grass they called a front lawn. Maple leaves and Oak leaves married in a sea of velvet orange and yellow and brown. The acorns pelted the sidewalk and made walking a hazard. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the backyard yet, those trees were still dropping leaves. They had another week or so before he could look at it as a project.

“I’ve got the riding mower,” Derek said, kicking his feet up with a beer in front of the TV. He was ready to watch some football and relax, and Hotch was about to join him. At least for the relaxing bit, he couldn’t tell you who was playing in the game. It was more about settling in beneath a blanket with Derek, resting his cheek against the mound of his shoulder, and maybe even falling asleep. “I’ll just take it out.”

“Too many leaves and acorns, it’ll clog it all up. I don’t want to lose a window to an acorn. I’ll do it, I have tomorrow off.”

Derek eyed him and scrunched his nose, shaking his head no. Like he’d considered the offer and instead of making a counter was outright refusing it. “I’ve used that mower the last two years. It’ll be okay.”

“I’d like to do it,” Hotch said, recanting his previous offer and rewording it. He was a lawyer in another life, he could do this all day until he found a loophole to exploit. Derek wasn’t an idiot, he knew what Hotch was doing and he kind of liked it. This sort of back and forth almost always led to sex, and it had been a few days since they’d had any...he was ready for that outcome. He’d even give up watching football for it.

“How about we wait until the weekend? We’ll get the kids out there playing and it’ll go quick if we work together. Then we can walk down to Lem’s and grab a bite to eat.”

“You don’t have to help, it’s a small yard. This football season has been exhausting, you deserve a break.”

“I got all winter, bud. I’m not coaching wrestling or basketball, just overseeing. Don’t worry about me.”

“But you’re worrying about me.” Hotch could feel his upper hand slipping away as his feelings crept in, knowing now that Derek was only concerned about whether he could do it at all. They went out running most mornings together, went to the gym, played all sorts of sports with the kids and Derek was worried his body suddenly couldn’t handle raking leaves? It hurt a little and he didn’t bother to hide it.

“Of course I am. I know we’re pretty active as a family, but that’s exactly it. As a family. You’ve had ticker problems since Foyet, don’t you dare pretend you haven’t. I know we don’t talk about what’s up with your body after Foyet much, it’s your business, but I think about it all the time. Plus your back’s all jacked up, you’ve been walking like an old man all week. I’m not letting you do it by yourself.”

“You’re making it sound like I’m an invalid.”

“No, I’m preventing a reasonably healthy middle-aged man from putting himself in the hospital because he’s stubborn. There’s a difference.”

Hotch scoffed at that, but when the weekend came and they were all bundled up under the bright morning Chicago sun he was glad for the help. And the company. The yard looked larger than he thought as he stood on the porch scanning the job with the last of his coffee warming his hands, and the sound of Jack and Hank playing catch with a football nearby made him feel instantly warmer. Derek was right, loathe as he was to admit it. This was a task better suited to the whole family.

He and Derek began at opposite ends of the yard, raking big piles of leaves, smelling the sweet decay, that smell of fall that’s so intrinsic and almost cathartic it was hard to put into words. It signaled to Hotch that it was time to hibernate, to hunker down in a way nothing else could. He imagined another night on the couch, probably with his heating pad nestled against the ache in the small of his back (because Derek was right about that too), a mug of tea or a nice dark beer and a movie – sharing a blanket and a laugh with Derek. This was the good stuff.

It would be the reward for a job well done.

They managed four giant piles in the front yard. “Not bad for a days’ work,” Derek announced, grabbing Hotch triumphantly by the hand and walking him back toward the garage for the carpenter bags to stuff the leaves into. They spent a little extra time in the garage, kissing in the shadows beside the shelves of fertilizer and tools. Warm lips and cold hands, safe from the biting wind for just a few minutes. “Aren’t you glad we did it together?”

“Yes,” Hotch smiled into another kiss before insisting they get back to the yard and finish up because he was starving. When they returned to the front yard, they found Jack throwing Hank wildly into the piles. Screaming and squealing, arms in the air, hair flying wildly where a knit cap had been moments before. That knit cap was now in the mess of leaves, what remained of their nice neat piles. Hotch couldn’t find it in him to be angry, even if they had undone much of the work he’d effectively destroyed his body for. He’d be in pain for the next few days, and it was worth it, but it would have been nice not to have to do it all over again.

“Again! AGAIN!” Hank was squealing with delight, throwing his arms wide, giggling madly when he hit the pile on his belly and sent a spray of leaves around him up into the air.

Hotch stopped and folded his arms, just watching with the ghost of a tired smile. Derek, on the other hand, dropped his bags and rushed forward, diving right into a pile himself. He didn’t need an invitation to the fun, and he certainly wasn’t going to be upset at work wasted. Jack tossed Hank down on top of him and soon they were both laughing and throwing the little guy, taking turns. Hank’s appetite for flight was insatiable.

“Come on Aaron!” Derek yelled and Hank rushed, covered in scraps of leaves and dirt and grass, toward Hotch. The leaves in his hair caught the sunlight and gave the impression of a golden crown, Hotch thought as he watched the kid run toward him.

“AGAIN!” Hank shouted, raising his arms like Hotch knew exactly what he meant. And, in spite of how badly he wanted to preserve the piles because of all of their hard work, he couldn’t resist playing. He looked at Jack standing there, a brand new teenager, and realized he’d never done this with his own son. He’d never thrown Jack into a leaf pile. Had Jack ever played in one? He didn’t know, but he thought maybe not. And when had he last done it himself? Those memories were faded sepia and silent and slow. His grandfather had tossed him into one, he thought. Yes, his grandfather played with him in the leaves, long before Sean was born. Never his father (or his mother). His father hated the trees, hated the leaves, hated it all. And he’d always been too busy with teenager things to play with Sean. What a waste, he thought.

Resigning himself to the fate of doing the work all over again, he lifted Hank into the air, gave him a kiss on the nose that made the kid giggle and launched him toward the pile. Derek raised his arms and caught his son, burying them both in the leaves quickly while Hotch walked up behind Jack and shoved him in. Just toppled him right over into the last fresh pile, watching him sink in with a look of surprise that eventually melted from teenage too-cool-horror into a smile.

So, they would have to rake again. Maybe Hotch would let Derek get the riding mower out for the second time, make short work of it. Hotch did like watching Derek out on that thing, he had to admit. There was something about it that felt so domestic and sweet he couldn’t help it. He always managed to sit on the porch and watch Derek looking so pleased with something so silly. But when he and Derek began throwing leaves at one another, he didn’t think about all the work they’d put in or all the work they’d have to do again. It wasn’t easy to take his mind away from it, he had a way of getting on a loop of work done before fun, but Derek wasn’t having any of that. “You never have the fun,” Derek would remind him when he got so caught up in the work that he couldn’t see his way out. “Sometimes fun before work is fine.” That attitude was infectious. His smile managed to pull Hotch in and get him playing too.

He’d be itchy, would definitely have to suck down some benadryl when all was said and done, but even he wasn’t immune to ending up in a pile of sticky wet leaves and enjoying himself.

“AGAIN!”

[potato-cerealkiller]

10 characters | 10 fandoms | 10 a negotiable number of tags

tagged by @zukoisblorbo :)

Damian Wayne. dc. i am an absolute sucker for human weapons who learn to be more than their past. the fact that his character development is imperfect and riddled with human mistakes makes me so insane. i just love that his palatability is seperate from his relative moral soundness, he isn’t a perfect abuse victim and i just love it. 10/10 he spins on my blorbo lazy susan a lot.

Bronya Zaychik. honkai impact. this was an og og fandom for me, but i do still love her. the supposed ‘lack of emotions’ she exhibits is very relatable to me as someone who probably has some form of alexithymia, the fact that she is nonetheless accepted by her friends and is portrayed as a complete human being just gets me so bad. also fits into the human weapon archetype <333.

Ranpo Edogawa. bungou stray dogs. i just adore him! similar situation to bronya where he isn’t told he has to fundamentally change himself to have a loving support system. his flippancy towards extraneous things like adult responsibilities, and his inability to understand the reasoning behind social conventions does remind me of myself at times. but as aforementioned, my favourite part of his character is probably that individuality doesn’t have to be sacrificed for success or respect! maybe i will catch up on the recent chapters some time…

Chongyun. genshin. social masking allegory and legacy character… i have a similar approach to fielding my emotions, and while I don’t have a decades long legacy to live up to, I find the way he has to navigate succession in his own way very interesting. he was also my first main, so!

Wanda Maximoff. marvel. similar thing to damian in the fact that she is an imperfect person who does not have an idyllic path to redemption and heroism. she’s messy and desperate, but that doesn’t make her undeserving. kind of love the position she’s in right now where she just has this quiet wisdom from all she’s been through. scarlet witch (2016) also has a special place in my heart for the second comic i ever read (shout out to the runaways for being the first).

Andromache. the old guard. immortals!!! love examining the impact of time on personhood, as in a ridiculously prolonged span of time, and boy is she fascinating. she’s completely jaded at this point, and only really existing rather than living. she almost becomes a product of time rather than an entity born from its passing. it’s just so interesting to see a character so entirely devoted to a cause through obligation, because what else can she do?, the only thing she remembers is how to fight.

Fushiguro Megumi. jujutsu kaisen. i love how much of a deranged mess he is. watching him have to unlearn his suicidal tendencies was so fucking interesting. he has this cool arrogance to him that makes him eminently unlikeable, but he is still a fundamentally good person at his core. for some reason my memory really failed me here? so not much to say, but I remember liking him.

Xie Lian. tgcf. innately good person despite his trauma! i love characters like this and i thought him fighting a literal manifestation of his past, more selfish self, was a fun way to signify his growth.

Homura Akemi. madoka magica. one of my childhood favourites. i watched this series at age seven and it probably severely impacted my psyche. her loneliness turned obsessive attachment and love is utterly heartbreaking to me. her unquestionable and desperate devotion to madoka is just. agghhh. the way that she needs her so intensely that she’s willing to sacrifice her personhood, the universe itself. ultimate blueprint for toxic yuri 10/10.

Boris Pavlikovsky. the goldfinch. he’s a lot of things but a mentally stable person is not one of them. i find the line he walks between total self annihilation and self preservation very interesting. he represents this kind of pseudo-eternal youth, he always commits to extremes. he doesn’t ever ‘overdo’ it but more because it would hinder his ability to live tomorrow rather than because of any adverse health effects. the fact that he is such an optimist at his core despite everything is just a fascinating contradiction.

tags if anyone wants to do this >>>> @sejaprune @calithilan @sizzlemourner @gladiikal