#i loved it i cried so hard they’re perfect i need another instalment

[hanzaikyou]

it’s just starting to hit me that, for the foreseeable future at least, morimyu is over.

it’s so odd to me. like… last time, we had the announcement on the last day. we had more to look forward to before we could get sad about what had just ended, so there was never really this limbo that we’re stuck in now.

there’s been no further announcement. totally fine, of course, because that’s not a no, per se… but it’s not exactly confirmation. i hope we might get more, but everything feels so final. a lot of the cast are thanking for a good series, not a good run, and it’s just… i’m scared for this to end.

for now, i wish to thank the cast and crew of morimyu for everything. they put on such a wonderful show that holds such a special place in my heart, and i wish them all the best in future endeavours. perhaps someday, they will make the wind blow in our hearts again.

[rare-yanderes]

(F/H) =favorite hobby.

I have the weirdest crush on this freaking duck and I don’t know why, so I’m taking out my confusion on this matter by making him yandere. Sorry that this is so long, boring and slow but I’m a sucker for slow burns and just dislike instant love. This went from just from headcannons to a freaking long ass story. I think I’ll make more on how the reader reacts when they find out just how mentally fucked Scrooge became.

Who knows, maybe I’ll write one for good ol’ Flinty. I have a feeling he’d just drop kick any rival he spots without much qualms about it. Meanwhile, Scrooge has a full on psychological derailment.

TW: manipulation, dependent behavior, stalking, and more.

______________

•To be honest, the likelyhood of Scrooge turning into a yandere might be higher than you think. He’s capable of self defense and can fight. He literally hunts treasure for a living. He also has a trillion dollar stockpile sitting around begging to be used for cover ups. His determination is pretty crazy, and he’s seen a lot on his adventures, things that would kind of instill a paranoia over time or an unhealthy me mentality. He can easily hide behind a professional front. Oh, and if he so wanted, he could travel and bury any evidence under a volcano. :)

•Since this is a yandere AU or, I’m gonna go with the idea that this is a what if the show had a TV-14 rating as well, so much darker themes can link and be explored.

•After pretty much a century of adventure, most of which includes violence and fighting through perils, human or not so, Scrooge is desensitized to quite a bit of violence and the dark and greedy side of the world. He’s seen the best of people and also the worst. This plays majorly in anyone who becomes a yandere; how exposed they are to people’s bad side or their own dark tendencies.

•Scrooge himself is not perfect and has demonstrated some traits of greediness, paranoia, and general distrustful behavior which is perfectly reasonable considering his work and the things he exposes himself too during it.

•Even though he loves adventure, there are a lot of bad things that happen on them that he seems to bottle up or keep to himself. Bottling up things causes a negative buildup in anyone, especially Scrooge because he expects that loving his life’s work will repair the same damage it sometimes does to him.

•Most likely, Scrooge developed an affinity with you through your similar drive for adventure. Maybe you worked for him in some way and he saw you defend someone or maybe you outsmarted one of his adversaries on an adventure he decided to bring you on. Regardless, you’ve caught his attention and this is only the beginning.

•A rival love interest’s biggest mistake is mistaking his age for a weakness. One minute he’s complaining about someone being on his lawn, the other they’re buried under it.

•Scrooge would probably connect most if he’s seen that you used to be in his shoes before, or at least a similar situation. Maybe you’re struggling financially but working your ass off to stabilize your income. As someone with the humble origins of a shoeshiner, Scrooge understands perfectly. Despite his incredible stockpile of wealth, he knows what’s it’s like to be at rock bottom.

•At first, you’re probably obviously very suprised with Scrooge’s involvement in your life. He’s from an entirely different world than yours after all, the top of the pyramid. Depending on your origins, you might react quite differently. Currently, you managed to find yourself stuck in a job you hated, working for someone you despised. It was a miserable, repetitive job that brought to your life a void of boredom.

•You craved adrenaline, even if it would get you killed, you finally figured that at least you’d go out with a spark. Putting on a smiling face, you accept a position at McDuck industries thinking that it was going to be another office job. By your luck, (or, later on, unfortunate luck), you managed to score a position that required you to be near Scrooge quite often.

•This gave both of you time to acquaint with eachother and the opportunity for him to see the potential in you as an adventurer instead of just an employee. Scrooge rarely lets people in beyond family, and is quite reserved so he himself questions what he sees in you at first, distrusting you even.

•When you are taken on your first adventure, you nearly boil over with eagerness. There’s a worry at first of the treachery involved but eventually, as you venture on more and more explorations, that fear dulls and you think the adrenaline as far more important than the possible loss of your life.

•Craving adrenaline is the main reason at first as to why you to want to stay around Scrooge. Despite his repeated attempts to brush or push you away, you find yourself excited every time you get to explore and finally get to see a world that you thought you’d never visit.

•Still, Scrooge remains cold and you can’t figure out why beyond the reason that he’s just a pessimistic old capitalist. As much as you want the adrenaline, you kinda can’t help but eventually enjoy his presence as well despite his temper and general grumpiness. Having been alone for over two decades without friends does that to someone. You needed warmth again.

•Maybe you grew attached to all the times you felt you were winning when you snubbed an artifact. Also, after collecting and sneaking a few gold coins into your own pocket, you were finally getting out of debt and on track to actually start your own business involving (F/H). You had the dream that you could travel where you wanted and finally find peace from your own mind and problems.

•Scrooge, despite his own warnings to himself not to persue, can’t help but offer you a job working for him. You made adventuring a million times better and were a great addition to the team, providing your own perspective or plan for the times he and his family would journey out. Oh, and he’d finally get the opportunity to be around you more. It was refreshing to see how optimistic you managed to remain despite your current financial predicament. (Which he contemplated solving.)

•Soon, however, Scrooge began to see that you were not as happy go lucky as you pretended to be, at least not when you weren’t on another treasure hunt. Something appeared to be gnawing at you. Deep down inside, it appeared to plague you and Scrooge began to worry for your well being and as a too curious for his own good duck, he needed to know what was going on. Especially when he had caught you quickly wiping away tears while you began to head home. What could possibly be causing you this pain?

•He had to find out and to his own realization, he had to know now. After all the times you saved and helped him, he wanted to make sure you were at least doing alright in return. He ordered Launchpad to tail you home and Launchpad, oh so very loyal, doesn’t question it much.

•Most yanderes might suffer from the constant delusion that their victims love them back or that they’re in the right but that’s not the case with Scrooge. There are times where he does try to justify himself, but this is mainly due to a fit of rage or to play innocent to you. Most of the time, he knows his actions are wrong and the burning temptation is causing a war. Very early on, he suppresses his curiosity and the growing feelings he has about you. Especially when they begin to boil into something far darker. Although he’s done this to nearly everyone, being cold to you and pushing you away seemed to be his way of trying to ensure your well being instead of his. He was finding it hard not to think about you sometimes.

•Soon enough though, he begins to grow inquisitive about your personal life as you open up to him and define yourself as a person instead of another blur. You were always quite genuine to just sit around and talk to him and despite denying it to himself, Scrooge was lonely, especially after the Spear of Selene. Sometimes you’d joke to him, sometimes you’d think philosophically. Sometimes it was just a mutual, comfortable silence.

•Scrooge might make excuses aloud to you, but doesn’t lie to himself. All the times he’s made you work later or given you an extra dose of paperwork was because he wanted to keep you around and in his line of sight. 12 hours without you was turning into a painful reminder of how isolated he was, even with Beakley around. You were a warmth, a cool, calm warmth.

• “I’ll eventually need to know her address later on in case she’s attacked by one of my adversaries anyways.” Nope, Scrooge wasn’t fooling himself with that sentiment. He knew he was invading your privacy, but he also knew that he was too nosy to care enough.

•The main problem is that although Scrooge knows a lot of what he’s doing isn’t right, he begins to care less and less. (Though this process takes quite a while.) You’re a valuable and positive part of his life, you had stayed when everyone else had abandoned him for his admittedly awful mistakes. He can’t lose another person he treasures. Especially not you. You’re becoming the shiniest yet. Losing you might mean losing himself in some sense.

•Scrooge tries to shake off the guilt but only finds that maybe it’s better to punish himself by feeling it. He’s currently following along your path to wherever your destination currently is.

•Of course, his iconic shiny limousine would be a sore thumb sticking out to both you, the media, and Duckberg in general so he makes sure to either trail far behind or to have another mode of transportation available. Regardless, Scrooge never hires another person to watch you in place.

•Scrooge doesn’t even install cameras. He’d rather experience your life from his own two eyes and not as reported from another bird or screen. He rather liked tracking you himself. It gave him a place to go and at least he’d be able to bask in your duality himself. Sometimes you cried, he found to his own breaking heart. Sometimes you’d smile, (mostly only in his presence, to his delight.)

•Most of all, though, you seem caught in the present of life. Distracted, even. It seems though, that sometimes you’re so distracted that you don’t even notice something is off. Or maybe you yourself are too unable to break the cycle of adrenaline adventure to see it. Maybe you yourself were actively creating excuses, at least at first as to why you sometimes ran into Scrooge McDuck everywhere.

•If there’s something else Scrooge is a master at other than money, it’s with keeping up the detached and reserved persona of a wealthy individual. After all, who would suspect him of such crimes like these? He’s just a selfish, greedy businessman that only cares about his wealth, right? He’d never bother with other birds unless he was shaking hands at a conference table.

•Wrong. As you and him grow to become more like mentor and student, Scrooge begins to insert himself everywhere he possible can in your life, especially after seeing the shitfest that was your social group, what little of it there was. Apparently, you’d finally made a few friends over the years working for him and there was only one out of all of them that Scrooge approved of.

•Two of them, both identical Peacock twins appeared to be fascinated with your link to him and nothing more. It made some sense. After all, who could say they were a close worker to the richest duck in the world? The other one, a tall and lanky chicken, was getting far too handsy with you, and the final, a feline male was nothing but gossip and drama.

•To add to insult, you were a pretty big pushover outside of work which meant that they would drag you to places you didn’t even want to go and pressure you to have drinks you didn’t want to taste. They were in love with the mask you put up, not the complex and amazing face behind it. The one that you were beginning to let Scrooge see.

• Scrooge watches from a distance as your laugh reverberates. The laugh appears to Scrooge as unwavered and solid, mechanical in nature like it was a reoccurring script. Gazing at your face, he could see that your smile was strained, beak scrunched. You just wanted to go home and nothing more.

•The chicken next to you he was sucking a cigarette and the smoke blew in your direction, replacing your laugh with coughing and the others cackled with drunk glee, their solo cups tipping as they did. You blew it off as an accidental push in the wind which, by the way, wasn’t even blowing.

•Out of all of them, Scrooge hated the lanky chicken, who’s name he learned was Gale, the most. You deserved far better than that. Surely you saw through his sleazy act, right? Why were you hanging around such a ratched group of birds? Just how blind were you to their usage of you?

•Almost without even realizing it himself, Scrooge had tailed you the entire way home. After having to torment himself with an hour of seeing you torment yourself, he figured that maybe you’d find something that made you happy other thanyour little flock of “friends.”

•So he was admitting to being a stalker to himself. Did that mean he’d be able to admit it to oblivious ol’ you? Well, no. At least, not for now. Not until you trust him completely. Oh well, he’ll never go further than then that, right? He was watching you, but not engaging in any way. Nothing worse could come out of it..

•Wrong.

•After a while of having you working under him at McDuck Industries, Scrooge began to realize just how much financial control he had over you. Not only did you depend on him cod for paycheck, your landlord worked for someone who worked for him. In other words, the spot of land you were living on was an apartment company that belonged to him. You were living under one of his roofs. All he’d have to do was shift some circumstances and you’d either be homeless or debt free forever. Scrooge of course, plays the benevolent route and lowers it significantly for you. Why antagonize you?

•After having taken that action, Scrooge noticed more and more of a smile on your face as you realized that you didn’t have to depend paycheck to paycheck for food on the table. He had also been aware that you had a side hobby now, involving (F/H.) sometimes you joked you’d start a business and go off parting ways with that hobby. It was source of entertainment to watch you be..Well, you. There was this genuine behavior about you that just drew him in.

•If Scrooge wasn’t adventuring with you or at a meeting also with you, he was still with you. You just didn’t know it yet. Interestingly however, you’d begun to pick up the signs that there was a presence in your life. Whereas you didn’t close the blinds before, you did now. Or maybe that was from all the adventures you’d nearly died on fighting others off. Maybe it was paranoia.

•Eventually, Scrooge managed to break into your apartment under the guise to Launchpad that he’d been invited by you. A ludicrous lie, of course, but Launchpad is gullible to a fault when it comes to Scrooge. He’s loyal like that, and his friendliness to you plays into Scrooge’s emotional manipulation later on.

•As Scrooge sneaks in while you’re still home, he makes his way behind the kitchen counter which seperated your living room. He didn’t expect you to be right there in the living room, but you were, just five feet away from him and the window he snuck in. The window was to your right. He had carefully parted the curtains. Your couch was sitting approximately five feet from the window balcony, facing a corner of the wall with the T.V off.

•Peculiarly, you hadn’t even noticed he’d entered by rigging the door. You were right there, not staring at his direction, but he should have at least appeared in your peripheral. Just what were you doing to be so disconnected to the reality around you? It was worrying.

•Now hidden behind the counter directly to the left of you, he observes your desensitized form. For a moment, Scrooge thought you were a corpse until he peered closer. You were still there, physically. Mentally you looked as if you were in a whole other dimension. In a rather bold move, Scrooge slowly stands up and positions himself in the archway, watching you from his spot.

•You were still, so very still unlike all the times you’d fidget at work or with those “friends.” You still breathed and your hands shook slightly and there was color to your eyes but you yourself didn’t even seem present whatsoever. Your eyes were glazed and far away. It was just your body sitting there in that couch. It was worrisome and yet there was a blissful smile to your face seconds later.

•It was you, daydreaming about something. Something you obviously enjoyed. Scrooge, to his own shame, hoped it involved him. For a few more moments, all you did was sigh like you were meditating. It was haunting how easily you had lost yourself within the confines of your tumbling mind. Somehow, you were blocking out the world beyond, maladaptively.

• Scrooge knew he was taking a huge risk. All you’d have to do to spot him now was swivel your head a few inches or wake up from dreamland. It would take a few inches to ruin what you thought of him.

Just then, to Scrooge’s horror, you had slowly picked yourself off the couch. Your body shuttered as your head snapped up. He knew he was taking a huge risk with this and began to think that maybe it was a terrible idea after all. (Who was he kidding, it was terrible in the first place, he knew what he was doing.)

•He quickly fell back to his crouched position behind the counter, silently and expertly as you turned around and made your way closer and closer. There was a tense moment in which Scrooge contemplated just knocking you down completely and rendering you unconscious. All it would take was a few seconds. Maybe you’d forget or maybe he’d give you the dreamland you seemed so desperate to reach. It would certainly give him peace of mind to know where you are 24/7..All he’d have to do is knock you out and take you to the manor. You’d be secure and have everything you need there…

•Your presence was setting him alight, in the good way and bad way. He loved being near you. But hated the idea of you getting any closer right now, because you getting any closer would ruin your trust in him entirely. A few more steps is all there was between the idol you saw Scrooge as and the monster he was growing to be. You were like a fire. The heat scorched his feathers. Then, when you were away, his thoughts.

•Your steps were louder than they’d ever been. Then, to Scrooge’s unbelievable luck, you turned towards the hallway away from the kitchen. Scrooge knew not to push his luck trying to follow or stay, so despite his clawing urge to figure you out, he hesitantly snuck out with unanswered questions on your concerning mental state.

•It had been a months since that incident and Scrooge was moving onto bigger and bolder actions. Sometimes he’d swipe you away from any conversations you had with your friends by calling you in for a task. Sometimes he’d eat up all your time by keeping you in late, and taking you to places far away that required days of travel.

•Sometimes he’d drive bad influences away by financially ruining their life forever.

You noticed Gale’s downfall quickly, but you didn’t have any idea it was Scrooge who was responsible. Gale lived actually, three complexes from you and oh so suddenly, rent had begun to skyrocket in the particular room he had to himself. This led to him being presented with an eviction notice. You didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye. (Not that you wanted to, though.) deep down you were glad he was gone and Scrooge knew it. Gale had to move far off to find an affordable spot. It was a mercy considering how often Scrooge had dreamed of just throwing him into the ocean tied up for the sharks to find. He was a toxic influence.

•Maybe if someone pushed his button just right, Scrooge would end up killing them, and who would care? There were seven billion fellow people on the planet. Scrooge could just get rid of any threat he wanted and no one would notice or ever suspect it was him. After all, he’s just a grumpy old man with a cane.

•It turns out, Scrooge had picked up on your plans to possibly quit your job. He had never felt his heart sink like it did now. He was fighting off his initial shock as you stood in his office, masking it with a detached face. You hadn’t even confirmed the statement. All you’d said was that maybe you’d found a company within your favorite hobby.

•It was just a small implication. But, Implications could become statements, which could turn into actions, and Scrooge couldn’t let the thought even be a presence in your mind.

•You had stayed with him throughout the years of his loneliest moments, had confessed secrets, had confided in him. You were like his pupil, learning from him and you were like his partner, fighting alongside him. Maybe you were something different altogether.

•...Was it a friend that convinced you? It had to be. Scrooge knew how much you enjoyed galavanting around the world with him. There’s no way you’d just fly off without him.-

“I promise I’ll still occasionally go with you, Scrooge. (A first name basis. This was devolving from anything normal.) I found my passion. We can still adventure together, but I found a path that also makes me happy and doesn’t ya know, get me killed.” You chuckle as if it were nothing. A light joke.

•So you were leaving. You were going to go. Why? You had a great paycheck, (an expensive one that took a lot of money,) you had the opportunity to travel the world. You had the best job you’d ever get. Who else was going to be as good as him? He won’t let you destroy your future by applying for a Mediocre position at some dumptruck company.

•As it turns out, the bird responsible for swaying you was none other than one of the peacocks, her name was Shelby. She and you laughed, and for the first time, your laugh was genuine. Genuine with her and not with Scrooge. You both shared each other’s stories, and she in return had encouraged your little dangerous fantasy of being independent.

•Now of course Scrooge realized how ridiculous this all sounded. He had willingly allowed you to go on perilous adventures with him, but at least then, you were with him. How could he keep an easy eye on you if you just moved off to some rando spot? Plus, he was plenty good as saving you. He was your hero.

•Bad influences needed to go away.

•Scrooge might lie to himself about how much it digs under his feathers, but to see you around other people really dug wrong. He itched every time you decided to take advice from other people, or confide in them instead of him. He was the one you could go to, not them. Your secrets didn’t need to be shared with anyone else but Scrooge. All those rare and precious things that made you yourself didn’t need to be snatched by thieves like Shelby or Gale or whoever else.

•He knew that his criminal actions would scare you. Even with your growing trust and dependence on him, he knew it was too early for you to want to stay with him if you knew what he’s been doing. If he wanted your presence, he’d keep it through lengths you’d find terrifying.

•Scrooge found your biggest flaw was that you always attracted the wrong crowd, and it was primarily because you were always trying to impress others when they really didn’t deserve the magnificent canvas you painted yourself to be. To his even greater detriment, you were beginning to spend your time more and more with Shelby. The canvas you painted was beautiful, as always. But it wasn’t for him, and he found that he was not happy with this new development.

•Don’t you know people take advantage of kindness? It happened to him all the time and still does. It happened to you over and over and yet you kept venturing forth giving out your trust like it was nothing. The world is a sour place if you’re not careful. Cursed kilts, you were already naive about Gale. Who knows how badly future people would hurt you, even if they were well intentioned.

Scrooge could tell that, despite him insisting otherwise, you thought leaning on his shoulder was burdening him. He wanted to make sure you knew it was anything but that. As a matter of fact, he wanted you to lean on his shoulder every moment he possibly could get you to. What was just you occasionally asking for advice on impersonal things becomes entire sessions with Scrooge encouraging you to reveal every personal detail of your life.

•You had revealed that many times, you just wanted independence. A company of your own to possibly build so you could pursue life your own way. Scrooge knew these dangerous thoughts were one of the final roadblocks. Scrooge had to prevent them. Be it through roughening you up financially or discouraging you. Be it from murdering outside influences, too. Who was going to miss the miserable miscreants that plagued your life anyways?

•It is three days before the date you had decided that you would resign. Instead of being merry, you were miserable. The opportunity you had to get the job was burned by them not even calling you for an interview. After your resume, why would they reject you? You had the word of one of the finest businessmen out there to back you up. Scrooge himself promised to put in a good word for you! You were perfectly qualified for the job you were looking for. In your days of being rejected from the position you wanted, you confide in Scrooge. You don’t know it but as he pats your shoulder, he’s thinking of the next way to sabotage your efforts of leaving him.

•Shelby ends up going missing. She was one of your closest friends and the only one who finally treated you well. Your devastation causes a major setback in any ambitious plans as you isolate yourself from anyone else but only the closest person left in your life; Scrooge.

•Currently, you were enveloped in a warm hug, the side of your face leaning in the crook of Scrooge’s neck as he calmed your crying form down, patting your back and promising you his presence would remain forever. You wept at Shelby’s funeral, so did her twin sister and their parents, who, upon seeing Scrooge, had nearly fainted in shock.

•Despite your tumultuous relationship with Shelby, she had actually begun to redeem much of her previously antagonistic actions towards you. She was in a rough place when you had developed a connection with her. So you wept in your boss’s, or rather, your best confidantes arms. You wept.

Scrooge, however, did not.

[captainjimothycarter]

How about modern Steggy meeting at Pride? Both bi, but that's not why she's there, she's there cause her young child is trans and she's not letting them grow up ashamed of this ("Even if it does turn out to be a temporary questioning 'phase', I won't let them ever be ashamed of being who they are."). Cause like 10 year old Carter child who's a little antsy to be there, Peggy with bi-pride tipped curls, and Steve with the trans flag painted on his cheek

OP YOUR MIND!! They would fiercely protect the Carter Child, not that Steve thinks she can’t do it, but he’s downright feral at times when it comes to kids in danger. This might not be what you had in mind, so I do apologize. This got ahead of me is quite long.

--

“Ignore them,” Bucky breathed in Steve’s ear, tugging on the blonde’s hand to get him away from the protesters that are somehow legally allowed here. This was borderline abuse if you asked him. Sure, freedom of speech but it was quickly cut off when you yelled at children and elderly people for being themselves. 

Steve growled under his breath and tugged his hand away from Bucky’s, careful not to touch the drying trans flag painted across his cheek. Natasha would be furious if he messed up her work. Or touch the chalk-dye of the flag in his hair.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, despite Bucky didn’t look like he’d believed him. The guy stood out like a Christmas tree, literally with the bi flag colors wrapped around the metallic arm and shining bright enough to land a plane. “Just go find Clint, I’m going to walk off. Need to cool down.”

Before the man could say a thing, Steve was stomping off, in midst of the crowd to get away from his rightfully worried, best friend.

The last he expected was when he emerged from the other side of the crowd was to be tackled-hug by a ten-year-old child with bright hazel eyes, a buck-tooth grin, the same colors in his hair dyed on their hair, and wearing a shirt that read, ‘i’m the trans kid your parents warned you about.’ 

Steve fell to his backside to avoid instinct-wise to protect himself, an arm wrapped around the kid to prevent any of them from being trampled over by the crowds rushing from one stand to another.

“You’re Captain Ameria!” The kid sat upon his chest, still bright-eyed, kneeling rather painfully. “You’re Steve Rogers! I did reports about you.” They were actively bouncing up and down and Steve was doing his best to school the pain the sharp knees caused. 

“I am,” he grunted. “Can we keep it to a whisper, son? It’s a secret.” He pressed his finger to his lips to indicate hush, hush until he saw the kid’s eyes widen and go glassy. “Oh no, no. Hey, hey, did I say something wrong?” He sat up and the kid latched on, imitating what Steve imagine what it was like to hug a Khola.

His arms wrapped around the kid and gently held them close, kissing their temple in a show of calming them down. What could he say? He still had parental instinct installed in him from his mother. 

He could feel the kid’s sobs against his chest, feel their fingers dig into his shirt, refusing to let go while he tried to calm them down. If anyone noticed Captain America clinging to a sobbing kid, no one stopped to say a thing.

“Michael?! Michael!” 

A breathless woman with flushed cheeks, the same brown eyes, and her hair dyed in the bi flag colors scrambles to them. She drops to her knees beside them and slides the last few steps, looking from her child to Steve.

“I-I don’t know -” Steve breathed, a panic looked etched on his face. “They tackled me and I-I fell and-and accidentally said son, a-a force of habit and they started crying. Did I say the wrong thing?”

The woman’s eyes lit up with recognition as to who Steve was before her face softened, tenderly laying a hand on the back of Michael’s hair and stroking it out of the way. “No,” she breathed. “No, you said the right thing. The perfect thing for them to hear. They ideologize you and always have. I guess seeing you here is...well, overwhelming. Michael, love, we got to let the Captain go.”

Slowly peeling away from him, the kid sniffles and rubs at their face, smearing the flag’s paint without realizing it. His face is flushed and eyes red, with tears still in them. He looks almost ashamed as he climbs from Steve’s lap to his mom’s. He could hear the murmurs of an apology.

“Hey now,” Steve breathed, fully sitting up now. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” He can’t help himself in tossing the guy’s hair and wiping away a stray tear. It makes the kid smile, at least. “You were just excited and overwhelmed, there’s a big crowd here today, huh? And I guess...me calling you son didn’t help did it? Just burst that bubble.” When the kid flushed, Steve just gave a helpless smile. “When my ma first called me Steve, I cried so hard I managed to throw myself into a panic attack.”

“I bet that did nothing to help the asthma,” the mother muses, giving Steve a fond smile. At Steve’s surprised look, she shrugs. “I might be a Brit, but I grew up on your story, Mr. Rogers. I’m Peggy, by the way. This is Michael.” 

Steve shakes their hand and nods. “No, it didn’t. Managed to give myself a nose bleed too. It’s good to meet you two. Here, let’s get up before we’re trampled.” Getting the pair off of the ground, Steve brushes the grass stains off of their clothes out of habit. “I take it it’s your first pride?”

“For both of us,” Peggy muses, kissing her embarrassed son’s cheek. “Michael wanted to go to his first pride since coming out and I wasn’t going to tell him no. We’ve already been yelled at by them.” The tone alone tells Steve well enough who them is.

“Tell me about it. I’ve already gotten into two screaming matches before my friends had to drag me away.”

“That was you? Crickey, no wonder people looked nervous. Well, yes they’ve called me quite a few names already. Child abuser. Pedophile. Rapist. Disgusting, barbaric group.” She sets Michael down and hugs him close to her frame. “Even if this is a phase, I don’t care. I’m going to support and love my child regardless. They do not deserve to be ashamed of themselves.”

Steve’s eyes fall to Michael whose still staring up at him like he’s the moon and stars and it makes him both antsy and warms his heart. “I wish I had that line of thinking,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Not that I’m ashamed of who I am, anyone with the right knowledge can research about me, history can’t erase that forever, but...the backlash one could’ve received in my time...it leaves a mark on you.”

It was a struggle in his mentality. Steve supported, openly every LGBT organization, spoke out against protestors, and haters. Donated large, marginal amounts of money, but when it came to speaking about his struggle and making an ‘official’ public remark? That’s when he backed out. 

“But Mr - Captain…” Michael sputtered, tugging on Steve’s shirt.

“Steve.”

“S-Steve.” He was still breathy from the crying spell but his excitement to get to call his obvious hero by his name was etched into his face. “There are lots and lots and lots of people who would be happy to know that you’re like us too! You might get people mad at you but then they weren’t fans of you in the first place if they don’t support your decision. I know lots of my friends would know and  be happy to know that you’re a-a-a trans guy like me!”

Well, what in the hell could he say to that? He looked from the smart kid up to his mother who just smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “He’s right, you know?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I do. I think you’re right, Michael, I shouldn’t hide who I am. Been asleep far too long and I think I got work to do to fix this mess.” He paused for a moment, reaching into his jeans to hand Peggy a business card [Tony’s idea] with a hologram of himself in his uniform and saluting, his name and personal number on the back.

“Call me tonight? I want to talk to you about this. I have to go.” 

His eyes flew to something past the pair and Peggy’s neck craned to see over the crowd, clicking her tongue as she spotted what Steve had seen. 

If it was just her, she’d help, but Michael was here and perhaps didn’t need to see his hero fighting a bunch of bigots. He was still quite sensitive to violence, the poor thing. 

“Okay,” she agreed, scooping her son up and tucking his head into her neck. “You go do that.” She paused to kiss his cheek. “And be safe, please.” 

--

That’s how, two days later, Steve finds himself standing in the very park Pride had taken place, on the portable stage with his team behind him. He still sported a black eye, almost healed but the remains of a yellow bruise were still there. His ribs ached from being kicked, but he was still standing. It was on the news for days how Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes and Clint Barton ruthlessly attacked a bunch of peaceful protesters.

Peaceful, my ass.

They didn’t see the symbols they carried, the signs, the proud man who stood in front of them? Steve wasn’t standing in 2013 anymore, he was in 1943 and standing before a german officer, wearing the same grin on his face. He knew his choices, the power of his voice, and money, and knew them well. He also knew what the other side of Steve’s fist felt like against his jaw.

“They were Nazis,” he tells Tony over dinner, rolling his eyes. Peggy’s on speaker between them, having just gotten done lecturing him. “I don’t give two shits what the media says.”

“Language,” Peggy muses, though Steve can hear the smile in her voice. “I have a son.”

“Whose asleep,” Tony interjects. “Cursing is allowed when the kidlets are asleep.”

“Says you.”

Steve rolls his eyes at them and downs the rest of his beer. “Pepper is gonna smooth it out, anyhow. I’m not making some public statements on how sorry I am ‘cause I ain’t. Don’t show up to an event and not expect a backlash. They’re lucky that’s all we did was break a few bones. Maybe it’ll teach ‘em next time. Besides, they attacked us. We gave them clear enough warning not to touch us.”

They had formed a barricade, protect those Pride Idiots from charging inside while the cops did nothing. Even Tony had to call in a few suits and help, Pepper immediately on the scene with her trusted news crew. 

“I ain’t worried about it,” He continues, shrugging.

“Spoken like a true American,” Peggy teases, making Steve flush. “So have you given any thought to our earlier conversation?”

Tony’s staring at him from across the way, Steve’s started to nervously play with the end of his binder. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, I have. I’ll call you with the details.”

Taking in a deep breath to calm his nerves, Steve’s eyes scan the crowd. He knows there are a few of those Pride Boys out there, but he can’t make them out. He doesn’t care to. They wouldn’t dare to attack a stage when Captain America stands in full uniform and his team behind him. Pepper had brought out her news crew again, live broadcasting this emergency meeting, as well as a few other news sources. 

She’s smiling at him from the side, giving him the thumbs up.

Steve’s eyes fall to Bucky whose gotten up with Clint and stood beside him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “About time you’re doing this, though you owe Dugan 50 quid for this,” Bucky teases, leaning up to just barely kiss Steve’s cheek in a public display of affection. “I’m proud of you.”

Clint’s beside them, towering over Bucky, holding the life out of Bucky’s flesh hand and pulling him close. His head tilts to the side and signs to Steve, asking if he’s ready. 

Steve nods, his eyes finally falling to the two people who got this started. Peggy Carter and her son. Michael runs up to him from the side of the stage when they arrive, climbing onto Steve’s shoulders like he’s always belonged there. Steve can’t help the laugh he lets out as he grips Michael’s legs around his chest to keep him secure. Peggy, for her own sake, smiles as she stands beside Steve, Bucky moving over to let her get closer.

“Alright,” He sighs into the microphone, perhaps too close. “Let’s get this over with.” He pauses, counts his heartbeats, feeling them in his throat. “It goes without saying, who I am and whose in my company, but I think we need to make some personal facts clear in the light of recent news.”

He stills and takes in a sharp breath, eyes scanning the vast crowd before he feels Peggy’s hand on the small of her back.

“My name is Steve Rogers and I am a transgender guy.” There’s a mixture of stilled silence and gasp throughout the crowd, followed by intense murmurs. Yet no one raises their hand or shouts questions. Pepper has these guys whipped. Good.

“That might come as a surprise to some of you and regardless of your personal opinion, I do not care. Let me restate that, I do not care if you support me or don’t. I want one fact and one fact made clear, if you decide to attack me, my friends, or anyone for being who in the hell they are, no amount of legal fear and paperwork will stop me from doing what I think is right to rectify that situation.”

“I was thankful to have heavy support during my time serving, before, and after, and even waking up here. It was recently brought to my attention as to what me coming out officially could do for the young LGBT youth and I am only sorry it’s taken this long for me to realize it.”

“To be fair,” Peggy muses. “You’ve been a little busy.”

Steve laughs, unable to help himself. “A tad bit.” He squeezes her to his side and presses a small kiss to her temple. “Now,” he speaks into the microphone. “If anyone else is curious, I’m bisexual too. And in this recent news, my team and I have gotten together to design a program to help the LGBT youth seek the sanctuary they deserve. This means after school programs for all ages, cafes, safe bars, book stores, all opened 24/7 to offer them help. There are homeless shelters in place that will help the youth kicked out, programs we’re establishing to help with anything from name changes to hormones, to funds to get back on their feet. Counseling as well for any who wish to seek it. Adoptive parents who figuratively would want to ‘adopt’ and assist the youth.”

“Who’s paying for all this?! It sounds like -”

The reporter, someone in the midst of the crowd, that Steve can’t see is instantly shut up when Clint charges off the stage and heads in his direction and pulls the man up to his feet by the collar of his neck. 

“Who in the hell do you think is?” He snaps. “I wish these programs were around when I was a kid, then maybe I wouldn’t had destroyed my body using makeshift binders that hurt me. These kids, adults, whatever will get the help they need. If you have a problem with it, then I suggest you shut the hell up.”

“Thanks, Clint,” Steve breathes, jerking his head at Bucky to go get his boyfriend. “In a better sense of words, I am. Now, any questions?”

There’s a hell of a lot of questions that go over Steve’s head. 

When did your name change? What’s in your pants? Did you have surgery? Did you have bottom surgery? Is that kid yours? Are they paying you to say this? 

There’s plenty of statements too, raging from support but more often protest and the second it gets rowdy, it’s put to a stop when Natasha and Tony are strolling around the crowd. 

Bucky and Michael are right - this is a long time coming. The youth, the people of today deserved to know who Steve truly was. Not that he’s ever denied himself. They deserve to know that he would do anything to protect them, even if it involves a few legal cases of punching a Nazi here or there.

Michael was certainly right, the youth of today deserved to know who had their back, and how proud he was to come home one day and run straight into Steve’s arms while his mum was at work, to tell him how he stood up to his bully and made sure the substitute teacher called him by his real name and how he got to tell them that his new dad was Captain America.

[atc74]

New Adventures

Warnings: Established poly relationship, fluff, pregnancy, birth, slight angst if you squint, fluff. 

Summary: Jared, Jensen, and Y/N give an exclusive interview, breaking the news of their relationship and pregnancy to the public. Baby is born and they celebrate Christmas. 

Pairing: J2 x Reader

Word Count: 1916

Beta’d by: no beta, all mistakes are my own. Images found on google and pinterest. 

A/N: This has a few time jumps in it to fit it in for the Holidays! This is the last installment of To New Beginnings, which originally started as most definitely not a request from @supernatural-jackles, who told me she would love to see me write a J2 x Reader. It has exceeded my expectations and I hope yours too!

As a reminder, this is a work of fiction and should be regarded as such. No harm is intended toward the actor(s) or their families.

The days following the wrap party were filled with nerves for Jared, Jensen, and Y/N. After deciding to invite Samantha Highfill and Entertainment Weekly into their home, giving them an exclusive about their relationship and the baby, they were all excited, but definitely nervous. One month felt like a long time, but before they knew it, there was a camera crew set up in their living room.

“How do you feel now, having said goodbye to Dean and Sam Winchester, and Y/C/N?” Sam started off easy. 

“We’ve had this question at conventions before and even now, the answer is the same,” Jensen began. “It’s not goodbye. Sam and Dean have been a part of us for the last fifteen years. I know Dean as well as I know myself and he’ll always be here.” He patted his chest. 

“Jensen’s right. I was Y/C/N for only five years, but she’ll always be a part of me. We put so much of ourselves into our characters, that they’ll never truly be gone,” Y/N added. 

Jared cleared his throat, clearly already a little emotional. “Never. As long as we, and the Supernatural family, are around, they’ll always be here.” 

The easy questions continued for about thirty minutes, not that the next question Sam asked was difficult, but they all knew it was coming and this was the one they had prepared for all week. 

“So what projects are on the horizon for you guys? Jensen, what do you have lined up?” Sam looked to Jensen first. 

“It’s odd, you know? For the first time in twenty-three years, I am officially unemployed. I decided to take some time off, indefinitely. We’ll still be doing conventions here and there, and there’s the charity work, but I haven’t signed on for anything, filming wise,” Jensen informed her. 

“Nothing caught your eye, yet?” Sam assumed. 

“No, it’s nothing like that. We’ve all had some very interesting scripts sent to us, but for the time being, we’re concentrating on ourselves, our family, for the first time in a long time,” Jared added. 

“What about you, Y/N? You taking time off, too?” Samantha inquired, hoping at least one of them had some interesting news to share. “Tell me you’ve got some top secret role up your sleeve for us.” 

“There’s literally nothing up my sleeve, as you can see” Y/N laughed lifting her arms in her flowing tank, growing a little more nervous now that the attention was solely on her. “But I am taking on a new role before the end of the year.” 

“That’s great! Care to share some juicy details about your new role?” Sam exclaimed. 

“Well, I can tell you I am incredibly excited and terrified at the same time. It’s going to be a long term role, but I have the two best partners a girl could ask for going into it. It will be my most extensive and hopefully my most prominent role ever,” Y/N rattled. 

“Sounds exhilarating! Is the role filled with some badassery in true Y/C/N fashion?” Sam winked at her. 

“She will definitely be the badassest in this new role,” Jared laughed. 

“Dude, that is not a word,” Jensen sighed. “I think what Jared is not so eloquently trying to say is that while the role is still being developed, Y/N here will be amazing and more than perfect for it.”

“Thank you both. I know we’ve got you more than a little perplexed, Sam. It’s motherhood. I’m pregnant,” Y/N finally blurted it out. They hadn’t told many people, only their immediate family and close friends. It felt real telling someone they barely knew and only in a professional capacity. 

“What? Wow! Congratulations, Y/N! Who is the lucky man?” 

“Well, that’s another story altogether,” Y/N said quietly. Jared and Jensen immediately picked up on her increased nervousness. Each of them picked up one of her hands in theirs and held tight. 

“We are,” Jared and Jensen said at the same time. 

The look on the journalists face told them she definitely was not expecting their answer and it took a moment for her to pull her thoughts together. “The three of you are...together then?” 

“Polyamorus relationships remain taboo in this day and age, but throughout history they were quite common. No one person can give you everything you need. There are so many facets to a relationship and being someone’s everything is a hell of a lot of pressure, when you think about it. I personally feel that’s why more than half of marriages end in divorce. We’ve been together for about eighteen months now and every day keeps getting better,” Jared explained. “And the new roles we’ve embarked on are going to be our most extraordinary.”

“I’m thrilled to be a father. Scared as hell, but I know it will be worth every sleepless night,” Jensen interjected. 

“Do you know which one of you is the father?” Samantha asked. 

“We don’t know and we’re not going to find out,” Y/N began. “To us, it doesn’t matter. This baby will be loved beyond belief.” 

“Our DNA? Mine or Jared’s, won’t dictate how much love we already have for this baby. We’re halfway to meeting our little bundle of joy and none of us can wait to truly begin this new chapter of our lives,” Jensen elaborated. 

“It’s all about nurture for this baby. Nature will have nothing to do with it,” Jared added. 

The interview continued for a few more minutes and as soon as the door closed, Y/N collapsed into a heap on the sofa. “I’m exhausted!”

“That was intense, but you were great, darlin’,” Jensen sat beside her, pulling her feet into his lap and rubbing them gently. 

“I know we said we were ready, but now, I’m even more nervous,” Y/N admitted. “What if people hate us? They’re going to think we’re crazy!”

“Hey, hey now. We talked about this. Those that matter don’t care and those that care don’t matter, right? All that matters is how we feel and what we know to be the truth,” Jared reminded her, taking a seat as well, placing her head in his lap. “There will be haters no matter what, but there will also be a fuck ton of people that are really happy for us.” 

“I know and you’re right. Thank you. I’m going to take a nap, but we’re still going shopping for the nursery, right?” Y/N looked up at both her men and they nodded in agreement. Jensen covered her with a light blanket, both of them kissing her softly before letting her rest. They decided to finish cleaning out one of the spare rooms that they planned on for the nursery. The next four months would go by in the blink of an eye. 

~*~

“I hate you both!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs as another contraction seized her body and she pushed once again. Y/N had been admitted to the hospital four hours earlier after her water broke. 

“Darlin’, you’re doing such a good job. We’re so proud of you. Just a few more pushes and you’ll be done and we’ll have our baby in our arms, okay?” Jensen encouraged from his spot on her right. One hand under her knee, the other in a death grip in hers. 

“You’re so strong, baby. We love you so much,” Jared cooed, pressing a gentle kiss to her sweat soaked hairline. Her body relaxed slightly as the contraction eased, but he knew they weren’t done yet. 

“I love you. I’m sorry I yelled,” Y/N cried. Her body was sore and exhausted from the labor. She didn’t think she could go on and then another contraction hit. 

“Okay, Y/N, one more and the baby’s head should be out. Push hard for me,” the doctor instructed. “Dads, help her out, we’re almost there.”

Tears feel freely from her eyes as she bore down, Jared and Jensen each pushing her legs up and her back forward as she pushed. Screams tore through the room. Jared and Jensen caught each others eyes, both wet with their own tears, because they knew there was absolutely nothing they could do to make it easier on her. 

“Okay, the head is out! One more hard push, Mama, and your baby will be here,” the doctor informed them. A moment later, a cry sounded and it gave Y/N the strength to keep going. 

Y/N gave it her all and she felt the pressure ease. “It’s a boy!”

Born one week early on Halloween of all days, Jack Winchester Padalecki-Ackles weighed in at a very healthy eight pounds, three ounces and twenty-one inches long. Wrapped in a soft blanket, he slept peacefully in his mother’s arms, a bright orange pumpkin cap on his head. 

~*~

The room was lit only by the lights of the Christmas tree and the moon shining through the large glass windows overlooking the mountains of Vancouver. Y/N sat nestled comfortably on the sofa, nursing Jack before bed. Christmas had been a busy time for the new family with all three sets of parents visiting to spend time with them. 

Jensen carried a tray of hot chocolate and set it down on the table in front of her. As she shifted Jack over her shoulder to burp him, Jared swooped him up, Jensen handing her a steaming mug. “Take a break, darlin’.” 

An enormous belch escaped their baby and the three of them giggled softly. 

“Our first Christmas as a family is in the books,” Jared said quietly, Jack dozing in his father’s arms. 

“And a great Christmas it was,” Jensen added, taking a sip of his cocoa. 

“Mhmm,” Y/N agreed, yawning contentedly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But it’s not over yet. Jen, would you check Jack’s stocking one more time, please?”

“What did you do now, Y/N?” he chuckled, getting up and moving to the mantle. He pulled a small package from inside the hand knitted stocking and returned to the sofa. 

“Well, open it!” Y/N insisted, the smile on her face growing with each passing second. 

Jensen tore the paper open and revealed a small flat box. Ripping the tape from the sides, he lifted the top and his eyes went wide as saucers. Jensen looked up from the gift, meeting her gaze first, then Jared’s. “Are you serious?” 

She nodded excitedly. “I know we didn’t exactly talk about it, but we also didn’t do anything to prevent it. By next Christmas, we’ll have another baby. Merry Christmas, Jen. And you too, Jared.” She leaned over kissing them both, before placing a soft kiss to the top of Jack’s head, his fine hair tickling her lips. 

Jared took the box from Jensen and looked at the small shirt inside. “Big brother.” 

“I’m loving this new adventure,” Jensen declared, wrapping his arm around Y/N tightly and kissing her lips. 

Jared reached over, taking her hand in his. “This really is the best adventure ever and there isn’t anyone I’d rather share it with than the two of you and our little ones.” 

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl  @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busyfangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk  @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke @gh0stgurl @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid @seenashwrite @manawhaat @crashdevlin @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @emoryhemsworth

The Dean’s List/Jensen’s Jamboree: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @maddiepants​  @adoptdontshoppets​ @supernatural-jackles​ @akshi8278​

The Sam Sin-dicate / Jared’s Menagerie: @supernatural-jackles

[jupitermelichios]

Jupiter’s Top 10 Fic Series of the Decade

In no particular order (and belonging to no particular fandom)

Honourable Mentions: Of Hunters & Hellblazers by KittyAug - Self Help by maskedfangirl - Bad Jokes by hahaharley - Doubtful Sanity by DustToDust - Wilton’s Bakery ‘Verse by machine_dove & sproings -  Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc by etothepii - New Favourite F Word by Polaris - little beasts by noctiphany & likewinning

drawn into something by Nonymos (Venom, Eddie/Venom, Dan/Anne, Eddie/Venom/Dan/Anne)

“Eddie, you… and him.”

“Yeah.” Eddie stares at the floor. “And… and look, Annie, I know it’s weird, but I can explain, I…”

His voice breaks, he’s damn near tearing up, panic rising again—and he jumps when Anne cups his face.

“Hey, it’s—it’s all right, Eddie.” She’s making a valiant effort to smile. “Don’t get so worked up. I’m not gonna run screaming.”

“No?” He laughs and sniffs. “Damn. Starting to wonder what it’s gonna take, at this point.”

This is not Nonymos’s only entry on this list. In fact they may just be my favourite fanfic author of all time. Drawn into something is everything everything I want from a Venom sequel, emotional, kinky, romantic, and poly.

OTP: Fight Club by MorganOfTheFey (Detroit: Become Human, RK900/Gavin)

"One hundred. Ten X," Nines says, voice flat enough it almost doesn't sound like bragging. "I would have been decommissioned otherwise."

"Ohhhh. Aw, that's sad. Just," She tries to snap her fingers and gets distracted for a moment when she can't. "Jus'like that?"

"Yeah RK, that's so sad," Gavin echoes. "Can you play yourself despacito?"

His own phone blares the song barely a second later. Gavin drops a few f-bombs fumbling to get it out of his jacket pocket and turn it off. Then as soon as he puts it back in his pocket, it starts up again.

"Thank you for the suggestion, detective," RK900 says. "This is making me feel better."

The fourth part of this is still coming out, and it’s the highlight of my week when the new chapter drops.

Dreams of the Waking Man by Lex_Munroe (Marvel Comics, Wade/Cable, Daken/Bullseye, Wade & Hope)

All at once, it hurts.  It hurts worse than the day Nate died (because Wade couldn’t accept it back then, insisted that Nate had managed to timeslide out, that the busted old telemetry circuit would only let him go forward and he was just lost for a little while).

He sits in the middle of the floor, ducks his head, cries.

She was smarter than he was—than he is.  She’d known all along.  Brave girl.

Timesliding doesn’t work right on Wade, never has, and their cobbled-together sliding module barely had power to take one stringy teenager for one jump.

She’d known she was leaving her parents, that she certainly wouldn’t see one of them again and quite possibly wouldn’t see the other.

Wade allows himself a moment more for grief and shame and humility.  Then he clears his throat and wipes his eyes and gets back to work.

This may be the cleverest fic I’ve ever read. Crossovers, theoretical physics, and the best love story Marvel never wrote.

The Mountains Are The Same by bonehandledknife & Primarybufferpanel (Mad Max: Fury Road, Furiosa/Max, Furiosa/Ace, Everyone & Healthy Coping Mechanisms)

“'Real isn’t how you are made’” Gilly said with the air of a quote, of a Remembering, “'It’s a thing that happens to you.’”

Rotor closed his eyes in a long blink, “A thing that hurts, innit it right?”

“Sometimes,” Gilly agreed, squeezing his hand, “That’s life though, when you are Real. We all become it bit by bit. But it doesn’t happen if you’re not strong, if you’re not soft, if you’re not sturdy.”

“ But how can y'be all of those at once ?” he wheezed out. It’s getting hard to catch his breath.

“You are all that right now, aren’t you?” Gilly asked him with piercing eyes, “No one else of all these Boys has had the strength to ask for me. And I will Witness you as I have kept all those of my sisters who’ve fallen these past days.”

This series is not always easy, it doesn’t shy away from the hard or the dark or the painful, but it is always worth reading.

The Unspoken Truth by Nonymos (MCU, Clint/Loki)

Barton glared at him like he was trying to decide whether he was being mocked or not, but the next second, his shoulders slumped. Loki was familiar with the feeling – that dreadful feeling of discovering something repulsive in one's own nature.

And then, he waited. He waited for Barton to think and connect the dots, to realize that an obvious solution was standing just before him, to remember how he had felt when waking up tied down, or being forced to drink down the water. The demi-god just stood there, hoping – almost praying for the first time in his life – that his enemy would look up at him with something else than hatred in his eyes.

No one writes kink quite like Nonymos writes kink, and this series is the perfect encapsulation of that.

The Stone Gryphon by rthstewart (Narnia, primarily Gen)

"Tools!" Richard was so shocked he was near speechless. He sat down heavily on the bench and began writing frantically in that strange code. "You are saying that you have observed ordinary crows use tools? Peter, that is… remarkable."

"Well, I've seen Beavers use fishing tackle and sewing machines, so it didn't seem that unusual at the time."

I’m not going to lie, this may not be to everyone’s taste. But, amateur theologian, lover of weird animal facts, and history nerd that I am, there are very few fics more exactly tailored to my interests.

Republic of Heaven Community Radio by ErinPtah (WtNV x His Dark Materials, Cecil/Carlos)

The greeting catches both her and Carlos off-guard. It's not wrong to talk directly to another person's daemon, but it's still a little weird. "Likewise," she stammers.

They're both waiting for the obvious next step, which is for Cecil to introduce his daemon. The fact that Carlos hasn't spotted her yet is understandable — a big community gathering in a small space, you get plenty of daemons breaking away from their humans to socialize directly with each other. Any of the dozen animal shapes currently within ten feet of them could be Cecil's. If his daemon has an unusually high range, there are even more possibilities.

What Cecil says instead is, "If you ever have any important experimental-theology news that you need to share with the town, call me any time! Everyone listens to my show." There's a touch of what Carlos hopes is nothing more sinister than smugness when he adds, "Everyone."

He steps out of the way to let someone else interrogate Carlos, and vanishes into the crowd. Carlos doesn't get a chance to see what daemon he leaves with.

This may be the most carefully thought out crossover I’ve ever read, and I’m a little in awe of ErinPtah’s skills.

The Soul in the Machine by missdreawrites & Troodon (Dishonoured, Corvo/Outsider)

“... Outsider?” Corvo asked, sitting down on the filthy floor. “In the published list of the people who died of the Plague… how many were registered Augments?”

<There have been a total of 231 dead in the past year. Of that group, 100% were Augmented individuals. This number has increased exponentially under Hiram Burrows’ “The Boldest Moves Are The Safest” law, allowing the execution of any individual infected by the Plague.>

“Son of a bitch, ” Corvo swore with feeling. “This is… look at this waste. We aren't even people to them, are we?” He looked down at the body next to him. “And I killed the one person who could help. I did this. I doomed an entire people to plague, and murder and…”

The cyberpunk Dishonoured AU I desperately wish I’d thought of, because it works so very well.

In Which Tony Stark Builds Himself Some Friends (But His Family Was Assigned by Nick Fury) by scifigrl47 (MCU, Steve/Tony)

“Do you know what the difference between a villain and a super villain is, Stark?” Coulson said, leaning his palms on the tabletop, looming over everything like a very snappily dressed gargoyle.

“Style?” Tony asked, pointing both index fingers in Coulson's direction like the gunslinger that he was. He added a wide grin to the gesture, but Coulson didn't seem to notice.

“A villain has a giant mass of robotic vacuum cleaners that he can sic on his enemies. A super villain gives them the ability to fly.”

“In my defense, I do not actually remember installing repulsor technology in the Roombas,” Tony said, choosing his words carefully. It had been a working theory, sure, but he still wasn't quite sure when he implemented it. Maybe sometime on Tuesday night... That one was a blur. “It was a very long couple of days. So I was as surprised by that as everyone else.”

This doesn’t really count as a rec, since everyone in the fandom has read it already, but it really wouldn’t be fair to draw up a ‘best of the 2010s’ list and not include this.

A Great and Gruesome Height by mokuyoubi (Hannibal, Will/Hannibal)

Bedelia lashes out but Will is quicker. He grabs her wrist, pressing hard between the delicate bones with his thumb, until she makes a soft noise of distress and drops the fork.

Hannibal purses his lips and leans in close to her ear. “Now that is disappointing,” he whispers, and Bedelia has the good sense to be afraid with that mouth so near her skin. He inhales her scent deeply and straightens. “I thought you and I were beyond such petty jabs.”

“Were it not for the fact that you required medical attention, I have no doubt I would have met a similarly crass ending at the hands of your pet,” she says, lip curling in disgust.

Hannibal smiles serenely and says, “Will is a creature entirely of his own making. It is not to me to guide his hand. Merely to share in the sublime perfection of his vision, when he allows it.”

There are many dark!Will stories out there, and most of them are a lot of fun, but few are quite at believable as this one.

[amydancepants-peralta]

So here’s a little headcanon that I wrote, that absolutely no-one asked for, totally inspired by this post by @Upworthy on Instagram that completely melted my heart.  (aka, a fic where Jake goes to ballet class with his daughter and everyone’s heart explodes just a little bit 💕💕)

(Full disclosure, I have no idea what I think they will call their child, or even if they will have their daughter.  There have been some amazing options thrown around, and I here for all of them!)

x

tutu tuesday 🩰👯‍♀️

Jake Peralta, in case anybody is asking, is one of the most bad-ass detectives New York has ever seen.  The best, in fact (a statement he can now make a little more confidently, given that his wife is now a Lieutenant).  He has seen things that could make even the toughest cringe, and he can handle any situation that the world throws at him.

Except, it seems, Tutu Tuesday at his daughter Mia’s dance class.

He’d been so confident walking in today.  His mother had been so insistent that he knew how to dance properly (it’s an incredibly charming skill, Jacob, and not up for negotiation) that spare time during his youth had been filled with dance classes not dissimilar to this.  It was a expertise that few knew about, mainly because he rarely mentioned it without turning bright red, but he was actually fluent in the art of ballroom dancing, and after two years of lessons, a master at tap.  And sure, it had been a few years (okay, maybe more than a few) since he’d actually danced, but it was just like riding a bike …. right?

Wrong.

His feet wouldn’t turn out the right way, his frame refused to lock into place, and he was just a bumbling mess of oversized limbs and mumbled apologies that kept accidentally bumping into people whenever he tried to move.

His daughter, on the other hand?

“No Daddy, like this!” She giggles, raising her hands up as high as she can reach them and spinning, and she definitely didn’t get this from Amy but she turns so gracefully, so weightlessly, this beautiful hybrid of messy curls and a button nose that (thank god) she had inherited from her mother and his heart just may not be able to contain how cute this is.  Not for the first time since her birth, Jake wishes he had a Go-Pro permanently strapped to his head, purely to capture all of these tiny but incredible moments, because it doesn’t seem possible for him to be able to remember all of them, but somehow he does.  

He can’t wait to get home to Amy, to tell her about their day, and also he just noticed one of the waiting moms taking video of the whole thing and he’s definitely going to ask her for a copy.  

“And one, two, three and plié!” Miss Melissa the dance teacher calls out from the front of the class, and quickly Mia moves back into position in front of Jake before bending her knees outwards so smoothly it appears second nature.  Jake copies his daughter’s action, ignoring the definite creak that came from his left knee or the tiny twinge of pain that came from his nearly decade old bullet wound, and steadfastly ignores the mirror on the wall opposite them.  

“Lift up!” the teacher calls out and Jake leans forward, gripping his daughter carefully around the waist and raising her up high.

“And time to twirl!” 

Jake turns in a circle, praying that he’s staying within their own dance space as Mia’s ribcage vibrates with giggles.  Her body is held into a tiny arabesque position, arms and legs as straight as she can manage through her contagious giggles, and the smile on her face could light up the entire room.  Jake can feel his body swaying to the side as the spinning makes him dizzy, and he tightens his grip slightly before lowering to the ground with the other dancers, smiling when Mia immediately envelopes his legs in a giant hug.  

His lower back is aching, his knee is absolutely throbbing and this did not go the way he had expected it to (what on earth happened to his dancer’s frame, damnit?) but his daughter was bursting with happiness and he was so very, very grateful that he got to attend ballet class today.  

“That was so fun, Daddy!” Mia tells him, voice muffled by his sweater, and Jake’s heart soars.

Keeping one hand on her back, Jake uses the other to push his glasses back up (today was his first day off in ten days, and contacts seemed like way too much effort this morning), glancing over at the other dads beside him and feeling relieved when they looked just as exhausted as he did.  Marco, the father of Mia’s dance class bestie Harper, widened his eyes in Jake’s direction, pretending (or maybe not pretending) to wipe a line of sweat off his brow.  At the front of the room, Miss Melissa announces today’s class was over, asking all the children to give a round of applause to all the parents that had come to class today.  

Jake gives a tiny bow in Mia’s direction, lifting his hand up for a high five when she finishes clapping, and lets out a relieved sigh that finally he could relax again.  

Parenting was tough, guys.  

.

.

“Okay, madam Mia, remember our story?” Jake asks as he switches off the car engine, turning in his seat to smile at his daughter still safely ensconced in her carseat.

“Dance class then straight home!  No icecweam at all!” Her tiny voice cries out, raising one tiny hand across her mouth in a ‘my lips are sealed’ motion she had definitely picked up from her mother.  

“Exactly, baby girl.”  Grabbing one of the wet wipes from the holder Amy installed in the centre console, Jake unbuckles his seat beat and leans towards his daughter, wiping the remnants of the ice cream that they absolutely did not have from her face before getting out of the car.  She is a wriggly worm of excitement as they make their way along the footpath to their apartment, feet still stretched out in perfect points as she practices her pirouettes.

“Imma show Mommy how good I’ve gotten!” Mia announces as Jake unlocks the door to the building, bounding towards the elevator with such energy that he needs to push his aching legs into double time just to keep up.  

Her tiny ballet slipper covered feet slap against the hardwood floors that lead to their front door, and she bursts into their home as soon as Jake turns the key, racing over to Amy in the kitchen before Jake’s even crossed over the threshold.

“Mommy, Mommy!  Daddy danced with me today and the teacher said I was rooly good and we definitely didn’t have any ice cream at all!”  Her words bounce off the kitchen cabinets as she races into Amy’s arms, and Jake steadfastly looks the other way as Amy clocks the words ice cream and definitely.  

“Wow, that sounds like a lot of fun, Mia!” Amy responds with a laugh, clapping politely as her daughter begins to display her turns, holding third position as she finishes.  “Very good, sweetheart!”

“You shoulda seen Daddy, he was soooo funny!” Their daughter giggles, pointing at Jake before covering her mouth to conceal her laughter.  

“I bet he was, baby.  How about we get changed out of our tutus and into our regular clothes, and you can come back and tell Mommy about the rest of your day?”  Mia nods, waiting until Amy has bent down to leave a kiss on the top of her head before running towards her bedroom, the tulle edges of her skirt scraping against the door frame as she runs.  

“I’ll have you know, I glided like an angel in that classroom.”  Jake begins, walking into the kitchen and giving Amy a kiss in greeting.

“I’m sure you did, babe.”  Amy winks, ruffling his hair good naturedly.  “But what’s this I hear about ice cream, Detective?”

He winces, glancing in the direction of their daughter’s bedroom before leaning in for another soft kiss.  “You know I can’t help myself when she looks at me with those gorgeous eyes of hers, Ames.”  He rubs his nose against his wife’s before continuing.  “I’m a sucker for them, and because they’re the same as yours, I totally hold you responsible.  Besides, she knows the rule.  No ice cream after dinner if she’s had some earlier.”

Amy’s eyebrows lift as she pulls away slightly, leaving her hands gripped tightly around Jake’s waist.  “You’re going to deal with the meltdown later, Peralta.”

“Fair call.”  He leans in for another kiss, because he truly can’t get enough of his wife, before leaning back to pull his phone out of his pocket.  “Would it help if I told you that I have video from our class today to show you?”

“Um, YES!  Why didn’t you lead with that?  Gimme!” 

Laughing, Jake hands over his phone before turning his attention to the ingredients for dinner that Amy had begun to lay out on the bench.  She was an excellent planner, but not so excellent chef, and surprisingly he had taken to the role like a duck to water.  

He hears a snort behind him as he reaches for a frypan from the cupboard, half turning to watch Amy’s shoulders begin to shake with laughter as she pauses the video on his phone.  

“Soo … by ‘glided like an angel’, you totally meant ‘stumbled like a baby calf learning how to walk’, right?”

“Hey!  I was very graceful.”

Amy nods slowly, the barely contained smile on her face completely giving her true opinion away.  

“Ballet is hard, babe!  Honestly, I do not recommend.”

“No doubt!  But Mia looks like she loved it.”

He turns fully at that, leaning his weight against the kitchen counter.  “She is so amazing, Ames.  Our girl can move.”  Throwing Amy a wink, Jake continues.  “No idea where she gets it from, though.”

Her hand slaps against his shoulder, and he captures it before she can get away, leaving an apologetic kiss against her palm.  “Sorry, babe.”

Amy’s eyes narrow slightly but she shakes her head with a sighed, “No, you’re right.”, before leaning her head against Jake’s chest, arms encircling around his waist.  “It’s about time there was a Santiago child that could dance, though.  And I’m totally proud that it’s ours!”

A heavy thump and the unmistakeable sound of multiple items falling echoes down the hallway, interrupting their quiet moment, and Amy lifts herself out of Jake’s arms with a groan.  “One of these days, she’s going to be able to get changed without making a mess.  This is totally your genes at play here, Peralta.”

Jake’s unable to argue as Amy hurries out of the kitchen, watching her hips sway (still a favourite of his) before moving a few ingredients to the cutting board and reaching for a small dose of paracetamol from their first aid kit.  

Parenting was hard, and his dancers frame was all but completely gone, but all of it was one hundred percent worth it.  

[yuthoe]

PENTAGON Yuto x Ballroom Dancing

Hello bebs! ‘Tis time again for another installment of PTG BALLROOM DANCERS. I would’ve posted this on the 30th because I needed to wind down after watching RtK (which, btw, our boys did so well in!). If you guys wanna scream with me about it, my asks are always open!

Making these HCs are my way of getting out of writer’s block, because to me it’s essentially writing a fic without the commitment of flowing prose. Helps me relax and find my way through the thicket. (Also I needed to weeb out somehow and Yuto is the perfect candidate. If you know where the song is from, you have a special place in my heart.)

---

Yuto is a Standard dancer with some Latin training. He’s the “silent but deadly” type, in the sense that he can probably do whatever you want him to do, no matter how hard it is. If it’s on a higher difficulty level, he’ll dance shadow (dancing in form without a partner) after hours until he finally gets it. He’s an extremely hard worker and you appreciate that about him a lot.

Can dance other styles if he puts his mind to it, and with enough hours of practice. He’s comfortable where he is, but he won’t say no to doing a cha-cha-cha or hip hop collab with his friends. He likes exploring the world outside of his box and applies the lessons he learned there into his repertoire.

Really loves conditioning days. He’s a gym buff himself, but he mostly focuses on his arms, so he’s always in pain after leg day. But eh, if that’s what it takes to have a good dancing body, then he’ll gladly take it. He takes conditioning days seriously because he knows it’s good for him.

Strong lead. Knows when to push you and when to pull back to give the best performance, but you know he gives every run his 100%. You’ve known each other since middle school, when you signed up for ballroom classes, and you’ve been partnered for a total of seven years now, so you know each other’s ticks.

Very affectionate. Hugs everyone that comes in to train if he knows them well, but bows a lot or shakes hands with people he’s only just met. At first glance Yuto seems scary because he’s tall and he’s not very talkative, but once people get closer to him, he loosens up and will laugh at almost everything. (Except during training, of course.) After every good run of choreography, no matter how sweaty you two are, he will try to hug you, and you end up playing tag and getting even sweatier.

Has the basic SNS accounts (IG, Twitter, FB), but rarely posts, like Hui. His followers suffer weeks and weeks of no updates until he decides to upload BTS shots of one of his magazine shoot outfits out of the blue, and then the actual magazine promotion in the next post.

Doesn’t really post many video clips; there’s like one NG take of a tango on his IG where he accidentally steps on your skirt and you guys tumble to the floor. But other than that one, he leaves the choreography videos to your SNS.

Needless to say, his YouTube is mostly empty as well. He has a SoundCloud, though, and he sometimes posts there. Not many people know about it because he doesn’t really advertise it. You do your best to hype up his songs, though.

Posts pictures of you and your friends mostly, and one or two couple selfies. Those always get the most interactions.

Gets invited to be in dance programs as a pro, but declines the offers; he knows he’s not ready for that type of pressure, and is comfortable with admitting it. In the meantime he hones his talent further by doing collaborations with friends and competing, or making choreography with you or for his friends for fun.

You’re a firm believer that he’s way better than he gives himself credit, and you tell him so all the time.

Has a side job as a model because he’s tall and has nice and sharp features. Yuto is pretty lowkey about it, though, and only really posts about them when he absolutely loved working on the shoot.

Really loves black. You rarely see him in any other color, but the inside of your closet is also monochrome, so you can’t really complain. Besides, he looks really good in black and it suits him very well. That said, his competition costumes are usually black on black, or a black suit with another cool/neutral tone shirt. Which is good because it’s easier to match your costume with his.

Lowkey loves the Viennese waltz. He can’t really pinpoint why, but it’s very calming to him; for him it’s like he’s flowing with the water, effortless but unstoppable. He’s just so happy and at peace when he dances it, and he always has such an angelic smile pointed at you, which makes you smile, too.

And it might seem on-brand, but he loves the tango, too. The strength and endurance it takes to dance so low and heavy, yet still so sharp and powerful is fun to him. The tango is like, another form of exercise, for legs, core, and arms. Most of the time you get whipped and steered everywhere from the sheer speed of his movements.

Is friends with Hongseok and Yeo One; they met at Blackpool one year and were pleasantly surprised to find they had mutual friends. They got each other’s contact numbers and planned a gym day when they got back to Korea. Yuto doesn’t include their faces (only his hand holding a dumbbell or a mirror selfie in a locker room) when he posts about gym day, but everyone who follows all three of them already knows they’re buddies.

Loves watching anime, mostly shounen type, but one of his friends from high school sent him this music clip and he instantly wanted to make choreography for it. (He also asked what anime it’s from, binged it in a day, and you both cried a lot when it finished.)

You both decided to use simple choreography for it and make it really fun. A couple hours and four aching arms later, and you were talking about costumes. You know Yuto has a white dress shirt and tie in his closet somewhere, so you spend the rest of the night looking for them.

The next day you go to the park with a friend and sacrifice your old dance shoes to the grass gods. It takes you the better part of the day to film the 1:30 track because you both kept slipping on the grass and sinking into the dirt, but you got a few good one-takes by the end to choose from.

The video is uploaded onto both your YouTube accounts, and it trends across the anime’s following. You two didn’t really notice the attention it got because you mute your notifications usually, and it was only when Wooseok messaged Yuto about it that he realized the video got a number of likes.

Watched Welcome to the Ballroom and has a lot of feelings about it, but complained how there isn’t much actual dancing in it, which he would have loved because he could have tried copying them with you. He downloaded the opening theme and added it to his workout playlist, though.

[fericita-s]

First Born

This is the next installment of “When All is Lost” that @the-spastic-fantastic and I are working on to tell the story of Young Iduna and Young Agnarr.  This story takes place after they are married while they are expecting their first child. All thanks and glory and honor to @the-spastic-fantastic for helping me get this to where I wanted it!

Links to the other stories: When All is Lost

Iduna  wanted to give him a child right away.  She knew it was important to the kingdom, but even more she knew it was important to Agnarr. The monarchs of Arendelle had a tradition of dying young, more often than not as the only child of an only child.  Some in the village whispered that it was a curse placed on the royal line after the trolls were run up into the mountains. Iduna didn’t hold with that, and not just because it would mean she had a short and grim future.  Trolls were tricksters, sometimes able to interpret or see magic that others could not. Occasionally, some of the most powerful ones were able to use small magic if the old tales were to be believed. There were even Northuldra stories of trolls making a man lose a cargo of mushrooms from his sled or enchanting a man into marrying a stranger, but never ones about cursing a kingdom.  Iduna was certain a good midwife would help her more than trolls could harm her.  She had already dealt with trolls and their impossible command to leave her homeland. What more could they do to her?

She could tell Agnarr was worried by the way he smiled in a thin line, no teeth showing, no dimples. He ordered Midwife Jora to take up residence in the castle during the pregnancy before it was even clear to others that she was carrying. Iduna knew his mother had died during childbirth and did what she could to calm his fears.  “I’m strong, love - healthy.  My mother had four children, all easy births.”

Speaking of her mother, thinking of her mother, and missing her mother were daily chores.  She counted on the repetition to help the overwhelming grief of it seem bearable.  She had mourned her mother as lost to her years before, but becoming a mother herself made the loss fresh again. Would the baby have her mother’s blue eyes? Her father’s height? Would she be able to remember the lullabies of her youth? Who would teach her how to nurse and how to swaddle?

Midwife Jora saw her tears and patted her arm. “It’s to be expected, many women cry and fuss over nothing and everything during this time.”

One thing was not as expected. Iduna felt cold the entire pregnancy.  "Most people feel hotter while expecting," Gerda said as she rang the bell for more tea for the queen. Agnarr took over tending the fire in their room, hoping to keep a closer eye on her and to help his wife stop shivering. But the fire didn’t want to behave, leaping in tall bursts and then sputtering down to embers whenever Iduna so much as shifted in its direction.  It left her uneasy, and she wished she could remember more about curses and magic and what her people knew so much about.

At night he rubbed her arms until she fell asleep and slept with her pressed against him. He wore thicker clothes to keep himself warm and worried about what this might mean for her health and that of the babe.  In the seventh month, Midwife Jora felt the queen’s stomach and announced the baby a healthy size and weight. "Carrying can do all sorts to a woman. I've seen feet get larger and stay that way, mothers-to-be who felt itchy the whole time, some who could no longer stand the taste of potatoes. I'm sure you'll be right as rain when the baby comes. You're growing a whole person in there, your majesty."

Iduna wasn't worried about feeling cold; Arendelle on the whole was a much warmer place than the home of her youth. But she worried for the baby, and worried that this unexplainable cold was a portent of magic. Could that be why even in the steaming hot bath, she felt a pull and a push in the water? Or why even the wind felt more like a kindred spirit than it had since she left Northuldra? She wished for her mother and for the knowledge of magic the Nothuldra had. Something about this baby felt magical, and she wanted assurances it was good magic.

When she was so large that Agnarr fastened  her shoes on for her each morning, he gave her a gift that was so precious, she cried.

“It’s a shawl.  For the baby to have as a blanket.  I had the weaver make the same symbol as the one on yours,” he grinned, shyly, as if they were once more young teenagers. “The same as the ones I had put on my coat.”

Iduna wept, holding the shawl to her chest, her tears falling down on it and soaking into the beautifully woven fabric.  “It’s perfect.”

Agnarr smiled, pleased he had not gifted her with something terrible. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to remember his gift to her on her sixteenth birthday without embarrassment. A golden mortar and pestle had seemed like such a thoughtful gift at the time. He hadn’t known that gold was so malleable, but Iduna had told him, laughing, pleased that he would give her a gift to celebrate her new position at Old Man Visser’s Apothecary after she left the orphanage.

“I remember you saying Northuldra children receive one at birth,” he murmured as he kissed her cheek. “I know this isn’t the same, I know it’s not as treasured as your own mother or grandmother making it, but we can treasure it together.”

Iduna wrapped herself in the shawl, thinking about how her mother had wrapped her in a new shawl at birth, again longing to talk to her about this new life growing in her, the coldness she felt, the strangeness of the elements around her. It was a lonely feeling.

***

Cradling Elsa, she studied her daughter’s translucent fingers and pale hair, her impossibly small ears and large blue eyes. Iduna stroked her cheek and hummed, starting a lullaby she had not thought of in years. It was an old song that her mother had sung to her in another life. Agnarr put one of his large fingers into Elsa's hand; it opened and closed around him like a morning glory, unfurling and then closing the splendor of its petals.

Where the north wind meets the sea

There's a river full of memory

Sleep, my darling, safe and sound

For in this river all is found

In her waters, deep and true

Lie the answers and a path for you

Dive down deep into her sound

But not too far, or you'll be drowned

Yes, she will sing to those who hear

And in her song all magic flows

But can you brave what you most fear

Can you face what the river knows

Where the north wind meets the sea

A coldness, settles deep in me

Come, my darling, homeward bound

When all is lost, then all is found

Elsa did not seem sleepy hearing the song; she merely blinked and continued to open and close her hands.  Agnarr looked down at the baby’s hand in his and saw a single, perfect snowflake.  

***

Elsa cooed and smiled and sometimes made icicles grow on the ends of her fingers and toes.  She started to crawl and the ground beneath her would occasionally turn to ice. To Iduna’s surprise, Agnarr was delighted. “Most people think their babies are a miracle, but our Elsa really is! Look what she can do!”

Iduna started to form an idea that gave her a hope she had given up the day Agnarr proposed to her. “I think the spirits have gifted us with a magical child. I think Ahtohallan is telling us that the mist is open, and Northuldra is safe.”

Agnarr thought of a lot of reponses: Was Northuldra ever safe? Was a talking river of memory a good thing to listen to? Would an opening in the mist mean the end of peace for Arendelle? But he saw the hope in her eyes, knew she longed for her mother, and knew he would do anything to give her a new moment with her family.

He would do anything for another moment with his father, to ask him if he wore the crown well, or to know what his mother’s voice sounded like and what it would feel like to have her ruffle his hair. Traveling to the mist and seeing if the forest was open was something he could do for his wife, for their family, and the good of the kingdom would have to come in second place.  They could go without royal insignia and soldiers, just alone, as a family of three.

***

It had been hard to convince Gerda and Midwife Jora that an outing in winter without the palace guard made sense, but King Agnarr claimed it was a royal tradition to pay homage to the trolls and no more questions were asked. When they came to the place, no trolls were present, and the hill that had been Flemmy was now completely a part of the landscape.

She saw the stones and shivered. The mist was still there.

Agnarr walked up to it carefully, but was pushed back after reaching a hand out to make contact. Iduna passed Elsa, wrapped in the newly woven shawl, to Agnarr before she walked closer.

“Perhaps it has to be me.  A Northuldra.” Iduna touched the mist, but was pushed back with a stronger jolt, and she fell to the ground.

Agnarr rushed to her and helped her stand. “Do you think Elsa needs to touch the mist?”

Iduna drew a shaky breath, taking Elsa back.  She could too easily imagine her daughter being hurt by the force of the blow.  “ I won't risk it.”

She checked Elsa’s blankets to be sure she was warm and covered, though the cold never seemed to bother her.

"It’s alright." Iduna swallowed and kept her voice steady. It's alright.” Agnarr drew close, seeing how her shoulders caved in and her hold on Elsa grew tighter.  "It was just an idea. It's fine if it won’t open.” She tried, and failed, to smile.  “I'd rather not cause a war or have Ahtohallan claim our baby.”

Agnarr took Elsa from Iduna and cradled her in one arm as he wrapped the other around Iduna, drawing her close. “No one will harm our baby.” He sighed and stared at the shifting mists.  He had heard her crying in her sleep during the pregnancy.  Heard the names she had entrusted him with spill from her lips as she stirred.    “And I would give anything for you to see your family again.”

“I don't even know if they're in there,” She said softly. “Or alive.  Or traitors.”  Her voice broke. “Or if they would kill me on sight for wearing Arendellian clothing, or if they murdered your father, or if they would murder you.”  She let out a sob.  “Or our daughter.”

Agnarr’s gripped tightened and he rested his head on the top of hers.  “Your family, whatever else they may have done, always loved you.  You know they loved you. They love you still. And we will tell Elsa about them, so she will be ready to love them when the mist does open.”

"No, please,” she shook her head and wiped her eyes “Please we musn't tell her. I don't want her to know your father was likely killed by my people. I don’t want her to know that a river of memory might drown her if she looks for answers about her magic. She will be happy with the ice and snow she makes.”

“If you think that’s best, that’s what we’ll do.” Agnarr watched her face, and saw that the tears had ceased.  

Iduna nodded, relieved at his words. “ She doesn’t need to be burdened with stories of elemental spirits in a forest she can’t visit.  She does not need to know her mother’s family is punished, cursed and trapped in the woods.”

The ride back to the castle was slow and cold, and they stopped several times for Iduna to nurse. Iduna stroked Elsa’s nose and sang an Arendellian lullaby about a snowman. Agnarr sat with his body around Iduna, shielding her from the wind, and so she would not see his grief at her sadness.  She had enough to bear already.

Iduna and Agnarr never came back to the mist.

[rosemaryfm]

『ANYA TAYLOR JOY ❙ CIS FEMALE』 ⟿ looks like LYDIA MONTGOMERY is here for HER JUNIOR year as a COMMUNICATIONS student. SHE is 21 years old & known to be HOPEFUL, IDEALISTIC, DEPENDENT & MALLEABLE. They’re living in PERKINS, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ JAMES. 21. EST. SHE/THEY.

hllo. .. sorry fr switching muses so suddenly .. bt lydia will stick. i swear. as always gib this a like if u’d like 2 plot <3

TW ABANDONMENT, DEATH MENTIONS, BORDERLINE IMPLIED

aesthetics.

knee highs and platform mary janes, tulle skirts and bubbles and beads and lace, and heart-shaped mirrors and heart-shaped bruises, gaudy mirrors and gaudy faucets and gaudy frames and chandeliers and gaudy gold, handwritten love letters and kiss-stained envelopes, flowers braided in hair and dying flowers in vases and flowers pressed in between pages, vintage perfume bottles and old ballet slippers and discarded head-shots, short skirts and satin slips and tiny cardigans, melted candles and burnt fingertips and dripping wax, floral baths and beach waves and seashells and summer breezes, renaissance paintings and statues and praying hands and rosaries and empty beds, masks and identities and sobbing and crying and yearning and wishing and learning and wanting and needing and the cycle repeating and repeating and repeating.

basic info.

full name: lydia rosemary montgomery

nickname(s): lydia delia, lyds

b.o.d. - june 22nd, cancer

label(s): the allegiant, the chameleon, the crestfallen, the facade, the gregarious, the grifter, the malleable, the marionette, the neophyte, the obsequious, the rose-colored glass, the sybarite, etc. ...

height: 5′7″

hometown: new york city, new york

sexuality: bisexual

pinterest

stats

inspired by: amy march (little women), lydia bennet (pride & prejudice), lucy pevensie (narnia), daisy buchanan (the great gatsby), moira rose (schitt’s creek), karen smith (mean girls)

biography.

the product of an affair between christian montgomery, an esteemed doctor at his hospital - and one of the nurses there, allison dermont. the half sister of caleb montgomery (shoutout 2 alli!)

named after her maternal grandmother (deceased before lydia even turned one) and rosemary because it reminded allison of her childhood (rosemary always in the air, growing from pots on their porch and baked into the bread they’d eat)

growing up, lydia never knew her father. but she knew of him - her mother told her stories often of him, and the work he did to save others. built him up as a hero, a role model, someone admirable and brave and just despite the fact he’d no longer look her in the eyes when crossing paths in the hospital’s hallways. lydia idolized him.

was a very lonely child - her mother worked long hours, and babysitters were often distant. tended to attach herself to them, anyways, clinging to legs and arms and having to be peeled off and scolded (which then resulted in tantrums, of thrown toys and stomping feet and red, tearful faces)

her schoolmates were cruel to her, an easy target as a child - she followed behind the girls who seemed the most well liked, trying to mimic how they were. it’d always been a little off, and a little off-putting, and she cried often.

abandonment issues led to an obsession with perfection - as if she accomplished the most, her father would be blown away with her talents when he finally reached out. it’d always been a hope for her - her father contacting her, bringing her into his life. being a full family, loved and attended to. 

strove for the highest marks in all her classes, though there’d been hiccups here and there. she’d done ballet for a number of years before her dance instructor had essentially told her she’d never make it to a company, which led to her abruptly quitting. even put out a portfolio and contacted modeling agencies - she’d done a few small photoshoots as a teenager, but she’d never made it to anything big.

tried her hardest to act and work the part of someone important, elegant and better than who she really was. it showed in the aesthetics she indulged in (thrifted nearly everything she owned, from trinkets to her clothing) and the way she acted. in high school, she trailed behind the popular girls. molded her personality to cater to them, to be more like them. a mean girl, in a way. 

did the same when it came to boyfriends and lovers - she’d mold herself into exactly what they wanted, tried to be the perfect girlfriend for them, or sexual partner, or anything. she just wanted the attention, the love. had a myriad of relationships in high school (and it bled into college, too) where she’d give her all, and ultimately end up used and disappointed.

never felt like the first choice, only the second. always the bridemaid, never the bride. never good enough, no matter how hard she tried. but always remained hopeful - idealistic, always thinking that she’d get her turn one day. optimistic, but with lowering self-esteem and a mountain of insecurities.

became something of a habitual liar, in the process - always wanting to seem better than she was, so she lied about where she lived (instead of a measly apartment, she lived in a penthouse) and her accomplishments and her experience, and her feelings and who her parents were.

found something she was genuinely good at during her senior year of high school, when she’d chosen a fashion elective for one of her class periods. the practical aspect, she was good at - creatively? she had nothing to offer.

because of her lack of ideas, she never pursued it further. in college she chose to go into communications, specializing in public relations, though she’d never thought of actually finishing college. it was just a way for her to find a beau, to marry - to leave new york and have children. has always wanted to be a housewife with a white picket fence and 2.5 kids. to be loved and held for the rest of her life.

without cliques in college, it was hard for her to find her footing among peers. joined a sorority, molded her personality once more into something they would desire, and was accepted. got a frat boyfriend until it burned out, and another, and another, until she had something of a reputation.

with all of these expenses adding up - lydia’d never wanted to work a retail job, or food service, or anything measly like that - she found use for her sewing skills in the back of npc shops. worked in a shady operation producing fake designer items. she’d been excellent at producing exact replicas.

it wasn’t a very safe job and it’d ended her up in danger on some occasions, but it paid, and she was desperate.

met caleb for the first time at his mother’s funeral and became obsessed with the idea of having a brother, of being closer to her father somehow. cyberstalked him as much as she could and found radcliffe, where she eventually transferred to when caleb had decided to go back. practically followed him like a lost dog.

got into perkins because she literally pre-wrote her essay to get in and basically sobbed her story in front of secretaries and deans and housing faculty until she’d been granted permission to move in.

currently interning at a company where she has control over their social media accounts, alongside a team of other interns. when she’s feeling particularly upset she’ll post passive aggressive or straight up distraught, distressing messages (tweets, captions, etc.) on their official accounts, sometimes featuring the mascot of the company/brand. they haven’t figured out its her, yet.

personality.

i won’t lie. she’s a bit of a mess. 

constantly changes her personality to fit whoever she’s talking to, desperate for their approval in even the most minimal ways. consistently lies about literally ... whatever, sometimes for no reason, if it’ll make her seem cooler or better in some way. type of person who wants to one-up others.

excessive, in that way. clingy and pushy, she tends to latch onto people and designate her ‘favorites’ - their opinion means the world to her, and when it falters she essentially crumbles as a person.

pretty fragile as a person - emotional, and unable to be yelled at because she’ll wind up crying. takes a lot of things very personally, and always accuses herself as being the problem, which leads to her changing aspects of herself.

loves often, and viciously, will fall for someone at the drop of a hat. yearns, often. sulks often, too.

still has a ballerina’s posture, model’s demeanor, very upright and it could be mistaken as intimidating, though the facade cracks immediately when she speaks. loves gossip and unintentionally - or, intentionally - spreads it at the drop of a hat.

can get very possessive, and jealous, and outright mean. very highly defensive at times, when pushed (it doesn’t take much to push her)

sentimental to a fault - she still has her last pair of ballet slippers despite the fact that she’d dropped that pursuit when she was fifteen.

her room is adorned with mirrors, handheld and mountable and tabletop - they’re all heart-shaped.

has an obsession with hearts, actually, and florals, and gold, when it comes to decor. has hanging plants and flowers falling from her ceiling. her sink is a gold swan (her favorite animals are swans) faucet that she paid to get installed without permission from perkins.

basically her decor is very gaudy. loves fur coats and silk slips and mini skirts, brandy melville, platforms and socks. very specific style that she doesn’t falter from, often.

takes baths often to distress but setting them up is an hour-long process in itself, flowers and herbs and candles surrounding her tub. she’ll stay in there until she’s pruny and the water’s gone cold.

likes to garner sympathy when she can - though she herself tends to be a very sympathetic, compassionate, person. cries for others even when they’re not crying themselves. it’s a lot. tends to make things about herself, in some way.

a smoker, and a bad one at that, does it whenever she feels the slightest amount of stress. she’s very stressed, very often.

likes the aesthetic of art, like renaissance paintings and roman statues, but isn’t deeply knowledgeable on them.

very impressionable, easy to impress, and is loyal to a definite fault. doesn’t tend to give up on people, and holds out for the best.

a dreamer, excessively hopeful and idealistic - is often let down. wears rose-colored glasses and doesn’t see it, anyways. can be vicious, but ultimately just wants to be loved. obsessed with the idea of it.

very finicky and picky, but is also? a hypocrite? says she’s a vegan but she isn’t - she has indulged in mcdonalds nuggets more than once.

very materialistic in that she loves high-end things that she ... can’t afford, but is also financially irresponsible and loves to spend her money on things she absolutely doesn’t need. selfish and immature, at times.

vastly insecure, likes reassurance. double texts. overthinks. romanticizes.

laughs when she’s nervous - laughs a lot.

patient until she’s impatient, the reason why she burns her tongue and the roof of her mouth so often on hot teas and coffee and treats.

is either over-prepared or under-prepared; over-prepared in academics, always doing the upmost she can do (still a perfectionist) and under-prepared when it comes to dressing out - never wears a jacket and is always cold (anemic, too) because she’s hoping that a handsome stranger will give her theirs’

wishes on dandelion puffs and shooting stars and each and every 11:11, wishes for a lot of things - they never come true, but she keeps wishing.

loves romance novels, and period / historical dramas/romances especially. like, frankly obsessed

has a collection of erotica novels, too.

sleeps around often but there’s no guarantee that she won’t get attached to who she’s sleeping with.

la croix fan :/

got onto the cheer team the same way she got into perkins. crying to the coach. but she does have immaculate form, so.

can’t say no to anybody, about anything and for anything its a genuine Problem she feels like she always Has to do what people ask because that’s how you get people to like you (no it isnt!)

tdlr; she listens to marina and the diamonds, lana del rey, and mitski far more than any normal fucking person would and that should be enough to describe her.

wanted connections.

okay so i kind of imagine her as being New to radcliffe so these may not be instantaneous but.

a ride or die... someone tht she wld probably die fr at the drop of a pin or w/e, they dn’t have to be Her ride or die though,, y’know what i mean

bad influences... she’s very impressionable and wants to fit in with people... they cld get her to do anything...

people she annoys... she does that a lot :/ she’s just intense. high care. needy.

friends! just friends... please ... give her friends ... she’ll lay down her life for them ...

a drug dealer... y’know ... just fr funsies.

party pals... needless 2 say ...

unrequited feelings... mostly if not entirely on her part, because she’ll ‘fall in love’ with just about anybody

attachments... that she has on other people. just won’t quit!

new yorkians... who might’ve known her in her youth! she went to a public school.

associated with caleb... people who only know her because she’s caleb’s bastard sister

bad time... something went wrong along the way of their friendship and now it’s ... super bad ... 

enemies... she’ll probably cry to your face or maybe even yell at u! who knows! u hate each other.

perkins roommate... i repeat, mayhaps a perkins roommate? who got thrust with her in the middle of the semester?

something soft... idk what ... cld be cute

the world is our oyster ... we can always brainstorm too... idk!! she’s new in town!! john mulaney vc !!

[shireness-says]

Ebb and Flow

Summary: There's nothing like the motion of the waves - especially when dealing with a baby who just won't go to sleep. Being married to a pirate with his own ship certainly has its perks. A fluffy and domestic sequel to "If I Could See Your Face Once More". Rated G. ~3.8K. Also on AO3. 

A/N: And I’m back, with more fluff! And to think, this all came out of the angstiest fic ever. You’re welcome to read those previous installments if you like - they’re all linked on AO3 - but it’s not necessary in order to enjoy this one. Big thanks to @snidgetsafan for her excellent beta skills. Featuring some Fathership references because why the hell not. Blame @distant-rose for that one.

I’ve got a few more of these in mind, but if you ever think of an idea, shoot it my way!

Tagging: @thejollyroger-writer, @profdanglaisstuff, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd, @superchocovian, @snowbellewells, @killianjones4ever82, @wellhellotragic, @ohmakemeahercules, @let-it-raines, @lifeinahole27, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @spartanguard, @courtorderedcake, @justanotherwannabeclassic, @teamhook

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Emma vaguely remembers discussions before she and Killian decided to have another baby, where they’d decided they really were doing great with the whole parenting thing. Their daughter was doing great - better than great, really, she was just the best kid - and they’d even been handling teenage hormones and attitude with Henry well . Obviously, they knew everything and were totally prepared.

Wrong. Completely, horrifyingly, hilariously wrong. 

It really brings into clarity the fact that Charlie was an easy baby, predisposed to tranquility and agreeability. Not that Emma and Killian love their younger daughter any less for it; it’s just that Daisy Margaret is a different experience altogether. It’s just that Charlie and her are different in every conceivable way, from Daisy’s little tufts of blonde hair to her insistence on everyone hearing her at all times. They’ve recently entered a babbling phase (which is, of course, adorable, if rather noisy), but their little girl has never been shy about crying or shrieking or whatever else to draw their attention and express her needs. Charlie had been an observer; Daisy is all action, and what she wants, she wants now.

Now that the baby is five months old, Emma is just starting to go back to work a few days a week. Both Killian and David have been picking up whatever extra shifts her deputies can’t cover for the past couple months, with Robin as extra-extra back up as needed, but it helps everyone - especially Emma and her sanity - to have her start slowly coming back into the rotation. Killian is more than happy to stay home with the girls on the days she’s working, anyways. Back when they had Charlie, David had been able to handle a good chunk of the babysitting; however, he and Snow now have three children under five, including 21 month old twins, and their hands are more than full enough. Emma’s not quite ready to leave her kids in daycare yet, so for the moment, she and Killian are alternating shifts in a complex balancing act between the station and home, with Smee authorized to handle everything down at the docks for the moment. It’s not perfect, especially on days like this, but it’s working well enough. It won’t be that much longer, either, before Emma gets over her daycare hesitance and they enroll the girls with Ashley so that Emma can get back to work full-time.

(Mostly, even if this is hard, Emma is just glad her dad’s weird twin gene hasn’t shown up in her little family yet. Some days, it feels like they’re barely keeping their heads above water with one infant and a toddler; Emma can’t imagine juggling another baby in that mix.)

Emma doesn’t doubt that Daisy would be noisy today regardless, just by nature, but the fact that the poor thing is teething doesn’t help matters. Her heart breaks just a little more with every whimper her daughter vocalizes, but she doesn’t know what else she can do. They’ve tried frozen teething rings and numbing cream and everything else they can think of, to no avail. Hell, Emma had tried relieving some of the pain with magic - though she’s not really convinced it worked. She’s a little too tired to be confident in her powers. Every time they try and lay Daisy down for a nap or just some real regular nighttime sleep, she cries even harder until one of them picks her back up. Emma’s spent the last two nights dozing in the rocking chair, and it’s… not great.

“I know, baby, I know it hurts, I’m sorry,” she croons as she bounces her daughter in her arms. Any hopes Emma might have had for an actual naptime today are quickly being dashed in a tidal wave of wails and tears.

Charlie still tries to observe everything her mother is doing, the way she’s so prone to, but her expression is decidedly unimpressed. “Baby loud,” she tells Emma as emphatically as a three year old can manage. She’s proven to be a fine enough big sister - certainly gentle and generally loving, which is probably the best Killian and Emma could have hoped for - but unimpressed is really the best way to describe her feelings towards her baby sister. The novelty of wanting to hold the baby and play with the baby and give the baby gifts has long since worn off. Charlie’s stopped even trying to identify if Daisy is feeling sad or mad or whatever else like she did at the beginning - it’s just baby loud now. Which, truthfully, is probably the best description anyways. 

“Yes she is, Bean, thank you for letting me know.” Charlie still isn’t much of a talker, so Emma and Killian both try to acknowledge and encourage her whenever she does say something. It’s obviously an inclination thing, not an ability issue - their older daughter can get going with the best of them if she’s excited or angry, insistently talking as loud as she can so that everyone can hear. “Do you need something?”

Charlie seems to think about it for a moment. She gets this cute little wrinkle in her forehead whenever she does - not that Emma’s watching in this particular moment, as Daisy lets out another ear-splitting cry. “No,” the toddler finally responds.

“Ok. You’re just keeping me company?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, that sounds nice. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Charlie just watches her bounce back and forth all over the room for a little bit, desperately pacing and humming and rocking and attempting anything short of actually knocking Daisy out with magic to get her to sleep. She’s a terrible mother for even considering that, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Or something.

She’s so tired, damn it.

Her Charlie girl is a smart one, though, and probably a lot better rested than anyone else in the house. After alternating for several minutes between playing with her stuffed fish and watching Emma’s neverending movements around the green-painted nursery, Charlie pipes up again. “We go to Golly?” Killian’s daughter has always been enamored of his ship, even if she has a little trouble pronouncing the J in Jolly sometimes. It’s pretty adorable regardless. 

Still, they’re not really in any position to make a trip to the harbor today. Emma’s an exhausted mess and showering has been… iffy at best the last couple of days. Honestly, she’s looking forward to going back to work just for the excuse to force herself into the shower and then out into the world. Right now, taking two young kids down to the docks seems an almost insurmountable obstacle without any compelling reason to force her to do it. 

“Oh, no, honey, I’m sorry, not today. Maybe you and Papa can go this weekend.” Emma tries to sound as apologetic about it as possible - Charlie is generally a pretty even-keeled kid, but one of the things that can really get her upset is being told that she can’t go on the Jolly. Absolutely her father’s daughter, honestly.

Instead of immediately dissolving into hysterics, thankfully, Charlie narrows her eyes in that stubborn way Emma knows she got from her. “Golly rocks.”

At first, Emma just thinks that Charlie has picked up some lingo from Henry. It sounds like something he’d say excitedly. It hits her though, as she notices the way she’s absentmindedly swaying back and forth with Daisy on her shoulder. Maybe her older daughter meant that much more literally. It’s not a bad idea, actually - the ship’s gentle rocking on the waves always put Charlie to sleep when she was a baby, it’d probably do the same for Daisy. If nothing else, it’s worth a shot; everything she’s trying here clearly isn’t working.

“You know what? Yeah, that’s right. Let’s go to the Jolly,” Emma agrees. “Why don’t you go get some shoes while I get Daisy’s stuff together. Do you want to make a note to leave for Papa?” If this goes well, they hopefully won’t be back by the time Killian gets home from the station; if it goes poorly, well, they can take the note off the door when they get home.

Charlie’s sweet face lights up at the prospect. “Yeah!” she exclaims before tearing out of the nursery, presumably for paper and markers. She’s proving to be quite the little artist. At three, her masterpieces still aren’t much more than scribbles, but she executes those efforts with a single-minded focus and attention to details only she can see. Maybe she’ll be an artist one day, or an architect, or something else that would let her draw for a living. 

Emma couldn’t tell anyone later how long it takes for her to change into something less ‘hasn’t left the house in three days’ and get all the various baby paraphernalia together. There’s a certain point of tired where mindless tasks blur together into a period of time that might have been five minutes and might have been thirty. All she knows is that Charlie is just finishing up her picture on the living room coffee table when she hauls the baby and her backpack downstairs. 

“Looks great, kiddo,” she makes sure to smile, running her fingers through that soft dark hair. Emma keeps expecting that eventually it’ll lose that lovely baby softness, but for now, the dark chocolate strands are still that perfect fluffy smoothness. Then again, she still loves playing with Killian’s hair, and their daughter has definitely inherited her father’s locks, so maybe she won’t grow out of it after all. Emma should have figured, though, that Charlie would bypass getting her shoes in order to draw her picture. “Let’s go get your boots and we can put this on the door.”

The stroller lives on the front porch these days, as if to announce to everyone passing by that yes, they do have kids and yes, they are kind of overwhelmed and letting things fall into a messy disaster, thanks for noticing. The real plus is that Emma can keep an eye on both girls at once while she helps Charlie with her shoes - little boots that look just like her Papa’s. Not that Emma can’t hear the snuffles and whimpers from this short distance. At least for now, Emma knows Daisy will stay put - it’s inevitable that once that little blonde baby is mobile and figures out the buckles, she’ll be an absolute terror no one will be able to keep safely contained. 

Once all the drawn-out rituals of leaving the house with kids are fulfilled - God, does she ever yearn for the day when she could just grab the keys and leave - Emma takes a last moment to dig out a crayon from the backpack that holds anything either the baby or the toddler might need and scrawl a note at the corner of Charlie’s masterpiece. Gone to Jolly - meet at docks. With one more quick flick of her hand, the note is magically tacked to the door for Killian to find when he gets home (if they don’t make it back first).

One of the many advantages of this house is that the harbor is already visible at the end of the street, just a short walk away. Technically, Emma could probably just poof the three of them onto the ship, but she’s always been a little nervous about doing that when her kids are still so little and squirmy and possibly not great about keeping a hold of her hand - not to mention the sheer amount of stuff she has to carry. It’s too many things to worry about on too little sleep. It’s barely a five minute walk anyways, and it’s a good opportunity for Charlie to get some of her energy out. It gives Emma a chance to get out of the house and actually see the light of day, too. Win-win-win, really.

Still, five minutes is a long time when you’re hauling a crammed backpack and dealing with a fussy baby and a toddler who’s finally figured out (at the exact wrong time) that she can walk further than three feet away from Mom and Dad without dying a dramatic and bloody death and is trying to exercise that right by skipping way further down the sidewalk than she should. For now she’s just trying to go pick dandelions or say hello to one of the neighbors’ dogs, but that won’t always be the case, and on a day where Emma’s bordering on too tired and frazzled to function… as much as she wants to encourage her daughter’s independence, it’s easier to keep her close. Even if it means Charlie pouts. Just another day in paradise or something. 

It’s an indescribable relief to set foot on the boardwalk, and even better to spot Captain Nemo waving from the docks. Killian’s relationship with his… whatever Nemo is (half-brother’s adoptive father is a mouthful, and somehow doesn’t seem to fully encompass the relationship Killian is slowly starting to foster on his own) often is hesitant, but Emma has always gotten on with the jovial submarine captain, and he obviously adores the girls and Henry. Somehow, in the time since he and the Nautilus have first arrived in Storybrooke, he’s become a beloved grandfather figure in the family. Hell, Charlie’s favorite stuffed animal is a soft clownfish that Nemo bought her as a baby - he’s still the only person in this crazy town who was genuinely delighted by their cartoon counterpart.

“There’s my favorite ladies!” he calls in his booming voice, striding up the floating plastic docks in a way that somehow seems natural, despite how anachronistic he and his ship look against the surroundings. Though many of the people from the Land of Untold Stories have fully adapted to Storybrooke, including modern clothing, Nemo still insists on his uniform in all but the most informal of situations. 

Before Emma can protest, Charlie has already taken off down the boardwalk with her fish to intercept her Baba Nemo. The submarine captain is good about pretending to be bowled over when the toddler crashes into his legs for a hug, much to her delight. As long as she’s in the care of another adult, Emma can’t find the energy to reprimand her for dashing off again. “Hey, Nemo,” she responds wearily. “How goes it?”

“Well, as always. Liam and I are just performing some maintenance on the old girl.” Nemo does look particularly jovial today, though Emma personally suspects it has nothing to do with his submarine. Rumor has it that he’s been seeing another captain recently, a flamboyant lightning collector who’d only started docking in town in the last year. Something about rekindling a past relationship. Emma’s mostly just happy to see such a generous and affectionate man so happy in a new way. “You though, my dear, look decidedly…”

“Exhausted? Drowning? Unshowered?”

“Overwhelmed,” Nemo concludes diplomatically. 

“That’s just the polite way of saying all of those things.”

“Ah, perhaps, but it’s more succinct, isn’t it? Now, what brings you to the shores of the sea today?” Nemo asks, crouching to make faces at Daisy. It’s a nice distraction for a moment, but then she’s right back to snuffling again and trying to gnaw at a frozen teething ring that must have melted in the summer heat already. “Is someone upset?”

“Someone’s teething, and I’m honestly getting a bit desperate for sleep. Naptime hasn’t exactly happened. Charlie suggested that we come down to the Jolly, and I’m about willing to try anything at this point,” Emma explains. 

“There is something calming about the movement of the waves, isn’t there?” Nemo comments mildly. “Now, why don’t you give me that backpack,” he gestures with a waving motion, “and I’ll take young Charlotte here, and we can get the three of you settled on the Jolly.”

It’s not a question, or a suggestion, or anything remotely up for debate. Nemo just… takes charge, with a gentle but confident authority that feels like someone’s finally letting her slacken the reins on a runaway horse.

(Killian would probably appreciate that analogy. Emma’s a little too exhausted to think about it any further.)

It’s nice to have that help, and it’s weirdly nice to be ushered into the captain’s cabin like an overgrown child. Emma wouldn’t say the seas are rough by any stretch of the word, but there’s an obvious sway underneath their feet accompanied by the sound of waves lapping at the hull. It’s all very rhythmic and soothing, and even if she didn’t think it possible, Emma feels exhaustion somehow settle even further into her bones. At least it seems to be quieting Daisy a bit, too.

Nemo notices these things. Of course he notices; at this point, Emma shouldn’t expect anything else. “Now, I will leave you and wee Daisy down here,” he commands, a benevolent dictator on lands not his own, “and Charlotte and I will be on the deck waiting for Killian. Perhaps you’ll both be able to get some sleep.”

“Thanks, Nemo,” she smiles, bouncing the miraculously quieting baby. “I hope so too.”

“I steer, Baba?” she faintly hears Charlie ask as Nemo leads her back out into the corridor. Emma has no doubt he’ll cave; he’s an absolute sucker for anything she asks. 

Maybe we’ll both finally get some sleep, Emma thinks as she sinks onto the thin mattress padding the ancient bunk. In the past, she’s needled at Killian to let her fix the stupid thing, make it larger and thicker and softer and generally better, but it doesn’t seem so bad today. Daisy has managed to slip into the long-awaited nap - one of those situations straight from awake and unhappy to out like a light. 

Emma should put her down in the collapsible crib in the corner, but she’s got a terrible feeling that will jinx it all - that the moment she lays the baby down, Daisy will just wake right back up again. And really, the bed is feeling pretty comfortable. She could just close her eyes for a few minutes, propped up at the head of the bed with the baby on her chest…

——— 

It had been a good day, Killian reflects, all things considered. The people of Storybrooke had been good enough not to completely descend into madness today, which was more consideration than they usually afforded. He did end up having to intervene in one argument between dwarves first thing in the morning - something about Mr. Clark stealing Leroy’s bacon - but that’d been the worst of it. 

(Fitz had also been kind enough not to tease him when the deputy had returned to the station after patrols, only to find Killian dozing off over the reports he was supposedly filing. It had not been his finest moment.)

He’d been looking forward to coming home and seeing his girls - even if a certain little one won’t sleep through the night and is exhausting her poor Mama and Papa - so it’d been something of a surprise to find their note taped to the door. It’s certainly unusual for them to make a trip without him, but Killian has never been one to complain about an excuse to spend the evening on his ship. Carefully, he tucks the drawing - a lovely rendition by his Charlie girl of all of them and his ship, if he’s interpreting the scribbles correctly - into his pocket for protection. It’ll look charming framed on his desk in the harbormaster’s office.

It’s all around a day for surprises, though, as when he arrives at the Jolly Roger, Emma and the wee lasses are nowhere in sight. Instead, Captain Nemo is waiting on deck, reading in one of the folding beach chairs Emma keeps in one of the cabins below. It’s an odd sight, to be sure - the electric green chair contrasted against the older man’s formal navy-colored uniform. The only thing that would make this tableau look even more unusual would be a tropical drink with a tiny umbrella. Hell, even one of those gods-forsaken speedo contraptions Emma showed him would look more natural here. 

“Killian!” he calls, waving a hand in greeting. Killian still feels somewhat awkward around the other man after all they’ve been through - and considering that includes an accidental stabbing, that’s warranted, in his humble opinion - but Nemo doesn’t seem to be hung up on it in the same way.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Nemo,” he replies cautiously. He manages to make it friendly, of course - even at his most tired, Killian has never lost his manners - but a man is allowed to be hesitant about such a welcome.

“You’re looking for your lovely wife and daughters, I assume,” the submarine captain continues with a smile. “They’re below in the captain’s quarters. I offered to entertain young Charlotte while Emma settled wee Daisy, but when I took Charlotte back down once she got tired, both mother and daughter were sound asleep. I thought I’d keep watch until you arrived.”

It’s a touching gesture - Killian isn’t sure why he expected anything less of a man who’s been nothing but generous since he’d made Storybrooke his home. “Thank you, Nemo.” It’s not enough, but it’s a start.

“Don’t mention it,” the other man excuses with a wave and a smile. “Go see your family. You look like you could use a nap yourself - I can stay a while longer. Now go, shoo!”

It’s a touching scene that greets Killian when he enters his cabin: Emma, propped in a half-reclining position with her arms secured around Daisy on her chest, and Charlie curled into her side, head resting on Emma’s stomach and dark hair strewn every which way. Killian creeps across the room as quietly as he can, avoiding the squeaky planks with a habit born of hundreds of years to reach them, finally able to brush some of Charlie’s dark hair out of her face and carefully extricate Daisy from Emma’s arms.

It’s not quite careful enough, though; Emma’s arms tighten instinctively and her eyes flutter open as Killian starts to lift the baby away.

“Shhh, go back to sleep. I’m just going to put the baby in her crib,” he whispers. Emma hums contentedly in response, shuffling a little further down the bunk to get more comfortable. Charlotte doesn’t even stir as her mother shifts beneath her; she sleeps like a rock these days, even challenging teenaged Henry. By some miracle from the gods themselves, Daisy doesn’t wake either as he lays her down in the pop-up crib they’ve kept in the cabin since Charlie was born. A miracle it may be, but Killian isn’t nearly stupid enough to question it. 

With everyone settled more comfortably, Killian toes off his own boots, leaves his hook on the bookshelf, and crawls onto the bunk behind Charlie so that she’s cocooned between her parents and Killian can rest his stump across the both of them. 

“Did you have a good day?” Emma mumbles, obviously still half-asleep.

Carefully, Killian leans across to press a kiss to her cheek without disturbing the toddler between them. “Better now that I’m with you.”

And somehow, miraculously, with the waves chattering in the background and gently rocking the Jolly, their little family finds sleep.

[greenbergwrites]

all the possessive criminal bucky

y’know what would make Bucky livid/possessive as hell?

Someone walking in on Steve when he’s not there.

Like, maybe Bucky’s coming back after a long day dealing with shit and he’s ordered Steve to ready himself. Or maybe Steve wasn’t specifically told not to touch himself and he indulges in a little alone time.

Either way, there’s Steve in their bed, in nothing but a collar and one of Bucky’s shirts. A vibrator in his ass and a slick hand on his cock, his lithe body writhing gorgeously as he pleasures himself, cheeks flushed pink and his lips bitten red.

He knows he’s not allowed to come, not without his Master’s permission, but that almost makes it better. He has to keep stopping, pausing in his indulgence to keep himself from disobeying. Once he’s gotten hold of himself, he’ll start again.

Just–Steve edging himself for ages, waiting for Bucky to come and play with him.

By the time Bucky does arrive, Steve’s completely lost in a world of sensory pleasure. The bedclothes are rumpled all to hell from his wriggling, his hair’s a sweaty mess, and Bucky can see the flush of pleasure all over his body, the light sheen of sweat covering him. His eyes are closed, mouth slack from pleasure.

His little cock is so hard. There’s a mess on his belly and more dripping from the wet little tip, his boy’s small length flushed so deep a red it almost looks purple. Bucky knows from experience that it will be so very sensitive when it looks like that, knows that if he were to climb onto the bed and push Steve’s thighs apart, take that pretty little cock into his mouth, that his boy would sob and cry and claw at his shoulders, would beg him, plead both for the torture to end and for his Master to never stop.

He knows the exact sounds Steve would make if he was just a little rougher than that sensitive little cock could take, the gasping little cries, the way his boy’s body would move and contort, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to leave bruises.

“Too much,” his baby would cry, has cried many times before, breathless and sobbing, tears on his cheeks and trembling all over. Perfect in every way. “Too much, it’s too much, no, no–”

And Bucky always pulls off, pressing soft, sucking kisses to that perfect little cock. So small just like the rest of his boy. He loves it, loves that his boy is so very small all over.

“You can take it, baby,” he would murmur, still kissing. Nuzzling close and licking his most sensitive spots just to hear another overwhelmed sob. “You can take it. Be my good little boy now.”

He’d take it back into his mouth and listen to his boy’s cries start anew, a sweet song that he never tires of.

Here, now, Steve hasn’t turned the vibrator back on, but it’s still deep inside him, keeping him full as he touches himself lightly. Petting his cock, running light fingertips over himself, the way his Master does to him sometimes. His thighs tremble, body contorting and he takes his hand away to fist in the sheets as pleasure sparks through him. He bites his lip to keep himself from crying out, but as soon as reaches trembling fingers back to his cock, he loses the battle.

A pleasure-drunk sob bursts out of him as he arches, nails scraping along the inside of his thigh. It turns into a quiet, aching keen as his other hand wraps around his throat, pushing the collar further into his skin.

“Master,” he begs softly, lost in his fantasy as he touches his cock again. “M-Master, please.”

It would be the perfect thing to come home to, except–except, there’s someone else in their bedroom, just standing halfway between the door & the bed, watching his boy. Steve’s so lost, he doesn’t realize that he’s not alone. He’s too caught up in his own pleasure and thoughts of his Master playing with him.

The man takes a step toward the bed like he means to touch Steve, and Bucky snarls, the sound near-feral as it tears from his throat. Before he can even understand the movement of his own body, he has the guy by the throat, dragging him out of the room in a grip meant to hurt. A grip meant to kill.

Bucky slams him against the wall across from their bedroom. The guy looks disoriented like he’s coming out of a dream, and Bucky doesn’t really blame him. Steve is a vision when he gets like that, but he’s Bucky’s vision, his boy, and no one gets to see him like that unless Bucky allows it. Unless he’s there to protect Steve.

The idea that this guy was alone with Steve when his boy was so vulnerable, the idea that anything could’ve happened while he wasn’t there, makes his whole body shake with fear and rage. His grip tightens until the guy is clawing at him, unable to breathe. The panic in his eyes satisfies Bucky down to his bones.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” He growls and the guy’s at least smart enough to know he’s in serious shit.

He tries to shake his head, tries to speak, but he doesn’t have the breath to do it.

Bucky thinks about ending him, right then and there. He’s mad enough to do it, filled with a protective rage that only Steve could ever inspire inside him.

But then a soft, tremulous voice asks, “Master?”

Bucky turns to see Steve clutching at the doorframe. He leans his forehead against the wood, his gorgeous blue eyes wide and hazy and scared. There’s a slight tremor to his body–a combination of the pleasure of moments before still wreaking havoc on him and the fact that most of his smooth, pale skin is exposed to the cool air.

Bucky turns back to the man, the possessive fire flaring up when he sees him stupidly taking Steve in, his eyes roaming when they have no right to. Smacking the side of his head, Bucky forces the man’s gaze to him again.

“It’s your lucky night,” he hisses. “I don’t make it habit of killing men in front of him. But you listen close: I don’t care what the fuck you needed. Don’t care why you were in there. But if you ever–ever–come near him again, I’ll feed you your own eyeballs. You got that? You stay the fuck away from him.”

The guy nods frantically and Bucky lets him go, watches as he scrambles to get as far away from their bedroom as possible. When he’s gone, Bucky takes a minute to get a hold of himself before turns around. 

Steve reaches for him as Bucky steps closer, bending just enough to cup Steve’s thighs and lift him. It’s only when those slim thighs are around his waist and his boy’s arms are around his neck that he feels better.

“Was I bad?” Steve whispers.

“No,” Bucky says immediately. He touches Steve’s cheek, caressing it gently. “No, baby. That wasn’t your fault.”

He carries Steve back into their bedroom, shutting the door behind them, seeking out a deep kiss as he makes his way to the bed. Steve opens for him so easily, moaning sweetly and clutching at him tightly as Bucky plunders his mouth. So eager and sweet, so utterly submissive that it only fuels the fire still raging inside him, a fresh way of protectiveness flaring up in him.

His original plan for the night had been slow and teasing. He’d wanted to make his boy whine and cry, wanted to make him beg. He was going to make Steve earn his cock, but that’s not the case anymore. Now, he can’t get inside his boy fast enough.

I can’t decide if he’d be slow and tender or fast and rough. 

He’d probably waver between both, starting off rough and fast and only slowing when his orgasm starts to draw near, trying to draw it out and make it last. Alternating between sweet kisses and possessive bites on every bit of skin he can reach, between sweet reassurances that are more for him than for Steve and possessive promises like, “no one gets to touch you but me,” and “you’re mine, baby, you hear me? mine” and “I wanna kill him, baby. I wanna find him and end him for even thinking he could touch you, have you.”

Steve thinks he should probably be afraid of that last one, but he’s the exact opposite. His Master is promising to protect him and that only makes Steve love him more.

It’s only later--much later--when they’re in the bath together, that they really talk about it. Bucky holding Steve close, running fingers through his wet hair, kissing his forehead.

“He almost touched you,” he says again, but this time, his voice is raw with panic for something that never even happened. 

Steve, despite the close call, isn’t worried at all. He might be later, but it’s impossible now, with his Master holding him close, keeping him safe.

“But he didn’t,” he replies, trying to reassure his Master with soft touches.

Bucky kisses his forehead again and then between his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, the tip...making his way down to his boy’s sweet lips and taking them in a long, tender kiss.

“He won’t,” he promises, when he can stand to stop. “Nobody will.”

They don’t sleep that night until Bucky’s had someone come in and install locks on the door. 

I just imagine Steve with his damp hair, collar on his neck, dressed only in one of Bucky’s big shirts, drowsy on the bed while Bucky supervises the installation.

At one point, he gets impatient. Sits up, the shirt falling off one shoulder to reveal pale skin and a tempting collarbone, the hem riding up indecently on his thighs, and he’s sleepy and pouting severely.

“Come to bed,” he begs.

Bucky comes closer, standing at the edge of the bed as Steve goes up onto his knees and touching his Master’s chest as Bucky takes his face between his hands, tilting it up for a tender kiss.

“We’re almost done, baby,” he whispers, and then kisses his boy again, satisfaction rocketing through him when Steve moans and scoots a little closer, fisting his clothes to keep him in place. “We’re almost done. Be good.”

It takes several more long kisses before he can convince Steve let him go and even then, the only reason he manages it is because his last kiss is so deep and hungry that it leaves his baby kiss-drunk and dazed.

When the locks are finally installed and they’re left alone, Bucky comes to bed with two sets of keys; one for him and one for Steve.

“From now on,” he says, as he gathers Steve close, “you lock the door when you want to play with yourself like that. Understand?”

Steve’s already half-asleep, snuggled deep into his Master’s embrace and finally able to drift off. He sighs his satisfaction when the strong arms around him tighten their hold.

“Yes, Master,” he murmurs sleepily, before he’s gone completely.

Bucky kisses his forehead again and tells himself that it wouldn’t be fair to roll the lithe body in his arms over and wake his boy again so soon with his cock.

Later, he promises himself.

[seventeen-teen-teen-trash]

-tw: guns, death, minimal violence-

Seungcheol doesn’t look back as he leaves the food court, the image of Jeonghan’s worried face etched into his mind. Despite the other’s tendency to cover everything up with a veil of nonchalance, Seungcheol could easily see through the cracks.

His mind is running a mile an hour, clinging to the little details like Jeonghan’s stiff shoulders and the unprecedented amount of fear in Vernon’s voice. If he were to slow down and actually process the current situation- that Mingyu is dead and Minghao has lost his mind- he’d break down, too.

You can grieve for him if you make it out alive.

Gently, he touches the bracelet around his wrist and picks up his speed as he runs toward Best Buy. He doesn’t get very far, though, before the sound of shrill screams stop him. Minghao’s voice is instantly recognizable, even from a considerable distance, and despite his most recent state, Seungcheol feels a pang in his chest at the thought of his former friend in danger. He shakes his head in exasperation as he turns back around toward the food court, despite the small voice warning him that if he doesn’t escape soon, he might not escape at all.

“Minhao, I’m coming!” he screams, fear rapidly settling in. He doesn’t think Vernon or Jeonghan would have it in them to hurt Minghao to the point where he’d make that frightened of a scream, leaving only one other option. Someone else is involved here.

He spies a broken rod lying on the floor near one of the empty shop entrances, probably from a clothes rack or something, and picks it up just in case the situation calls for defense.

Another round of screams, clearly belonging to Jeonghan and Vernon.

Seungcheol nearly drops the rod at the sound, too intense to be out of mere panic. Without hesitation, he runs toward the food court, shoving away the gnawing thoughts of guilt and anxiety about his own safety and instead focusing on the feeling of the worn tile floor beneath his feet, every step bringing him closer and closer.

“C-Cheol!” a weak voice cries out.

Immediately, he freezes and surveys the area for anyone nearby.

“Seung-” the voice erupts into a coughing fit, punctuated with sharp gasps and choking sounds. “P-please… Help me… Right-” more violent coughs, “Across from you.”

Seungcheol turns around to look in that direction and immediately sees a dark silhouette huddled in the back corner of the store across from him. He bites his lip, eyes flickering back and forth from the distant entrance to the food court to the shadowed figure across from him. “Are you okay?” he calls, subconsciously tightening his grip on the rod.

Between coughs, the person replies, “Cheol, I-I’m… I’m gonna d-die. I don’t wa… wanna. Pl-please.”

“Can you…” Seungcheol lets out a frustrated exhale, slowly stepping closer to the abandoned store, “Can you hang on a few minutes? Will you be okay?”

“Don’t l-leave me, Cheol…”

That voice… “I’m coming! Hold on,” he says, firmly deciding that Jeonghan, Vernon, and Minghao will have to be okay for a few minutes. Carefully, but quickly, he makes his way inside the store, holding out his rod in front of him. He squeezes between fallen racks and shelves until he reaches the back of the store, drawing in a gasp as he sees the body laying on the floor. It’s dark, but he can still make out that there’s blood all over Joshua’s body and clothes, and his hair is slick with something wet. His heart breaks at the sight of his friend, and suddenly he understands Minghao’s pain, anguish, and fear. Tentative fingers reach out to brush Joshua’s hair away from his face. “Who…” Seungcheol says softly as he crouches down, “Who did this to you, Joshua?”

“Oh, Seungcheol,” Joshua sighs as he sits up effortlessly, voice suddenly devoid of the terror from moments before. In an instant, he grabs something from his pocket and stands up, Seungcheol still on his knees. He laughs, sickeningly sweet, as he presses the barrel of his gun to the other’s forehead. “You did.”

Seungcheol’s throat goes dry. His pulse rattles his skull as he looks up at Joshua, catlike eyes challenging him in an indulgent grin. “W-what,” he chokes. “What’s going on? Joshua, please…”

“It’s been quite the show, this whole game,” he hums, pacing in a circle around Seungcheol, gun still trained at his head. “I must say, I didn’t envision you to be the final contestant, but I suppose it makes for a thrilling finale. You were, after all, one of the many catalysts that led me to devise this brilliant plan.” He crouches down to Seungcheol’s eye level and smiles contently. “So thank you for that.”

A furious mixture of confusion and anger courses through his blood as he stares Joshua dead in the eye. “What are you talking about?” he whispers, careful not to speak too loudly so as to set off Joshua (and his gun).

“Hm,” Joshua stands up again. “You have a very inefficient memory, then. Care for me to refresh it?”

“Yes, please,” Seungcheol grunts, trying to locate the rod as inconspicuously as he can.

But, of course, Joshua notices. He kicks the metal rod across the store to the point where it would be impossible for Seungcheol to retrieve it now. “Can’t have you getting any ideas,” he chuckles. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. You see, our little group at Pembroke was so lovely at first. The richest boys in the school… We practically had the entire school under our feet. But among ourselves, there were definitely a few members who were consistently overlooked, forgotten, ignored.” His smug expression morphs into a bitter scowl. “Namely, myself.”

“You all gave me popularity and status above the other students at Pembroke, but I was never more than a bank account number or an empty house to host parties. Really, it was draining.” Joshua shrugs and continues his pacing. “And then came my golden opportunity, when your father lost his job, and you dropped out. When you left, I checked Wonwoo’s father’s company’s website, and when I saw your father was removed, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. I told a few students, and quickly word spread like wildfire until it reached our group. You obviously assumed it was Wonwoo, deflecting suspicion from me and hurting Wonwoo’s reputation within the group. I thought it was the perfect plan. Without their boisterous, attention-seeking leader, the group would be able to focus on its other members.” He pauses again, momentarily lowering his gun. “Unfortunately, that was not the case.”

“This,” Seungcheol breathes, tensing his shoulders in anger, “Was all because you felt left ou-”

The cold feeling of Joshua’s gun between his eyes stops him from saying anything more. “Shut up!” Joshua hisses. “You’re going to let me finish my monologue!”

Clearing his throat, Joshua resumes. “As I was saying… Even my best efforts to dismantle our group’s hierarchy failed. Me, Joshua Hong, son of the second-richest businessman in South Korea, reduced to nothing? I just couldn’t let that happen. So when Soonyoung suggested this bonding trip, I slowly developed the perfect plan. If I couldn’t rise to the top on my own, I’d make sure to knock everyone else down, peg by peg.”

“How the fuck did you… You’re psychotic, Joshua!” Seungcheol shouts, unable to bridle his fury any longer.

“No.” Joshua clicks his tongue and pets Seungcheol’s hair gently. “You’re just mean.”

“You… YOU did all of this?! You killed Mingyu? Where is everyone else, what’s going on, Joshua?!”

The younger purses his lips, edges still curled in a smirk. “I’ll admit, I couldn’t have done this without Seokmin’s help. Faithful until the end, he was,” he sighs, shaking his head ruefully. “Ah, well. I didn’t call all the shots here. You all picked who was going to die. I just carried out the deed.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen in shock, body trembling under Joshua’s piercing gaze. “You… They’re all… T-they’re dead…?”

“Yes, Seungcheol. They’re dead.” He taps a finger to his lips in thought. “But as a prize for being the last man standing, I suppose I’ll give you a special offer. You see, I didn’t install the keypads- they were, however, a pleasant surprise- but you could have easily broken a window to escape. I’ll let you take that opportunity. You can leave this mall with all the pride and satisfaction of knowing that out of all your dead friends, you, Choi Seungcheol, survived.” Joshua leans in to whisper in Seungcheol’s ear. “What a fascinating story to tell,” he says. “Or, in the ultimate sign of solidarity, you could join your friends. No guilt, no trauma, no lasting nightmares… The choice is yours, Cheol. What will it be? All? Or alone?”

__________________

part 10 of the dead mall series

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(a/n) ....ok first of all this is NOT how I view Joshua (or any of the members) at all! I just needed a bad guy for this story, and I felt he would make an interesting villain. so, how did your theories stack up? ending is tomorrow at 7pm cst. see you then ;) -mimi

[harryseyebrows]

Confetti Mouth

Here’s the newest installment of the Hazoff verse! I spent way too much time on pinterest earlier and ended up nailing down the visuals for all of the interiors and exteriors from the time the twins are born all the way until pre-baby 4. So, this is Harry and Jeff going to see their second house that they upgrade to when the boys are roughly 4 (The Twins) and 3 (River). 2.2k of gross fluff with some inappropriate language, but that’s about it. Edited by me. 

If Harry was suspicious when Jeff told him that the kids were at his mom’s house for the day and that he had something planned for them, he never showed it. He didn’t question it when Jeff loaded him into the car and jumped on the highway. He still didn’t question it when they were still on the road forty-five minutes later. He just sat quietly in the passenger seat, a small smile on his face, while he hummed along with the radio. Jeff kept one hand on the wheel and the other resting in Harry’s over the center console.

Jeff was giddy the entire time, but he had to keep it concealed so he didn’t give anything away, even though Harry seemed dead-set on remaining oblivious to everything, likely pleased to have a day of relative peace and quiet without the kids. Still, Jeff was practically vibrating in his seat.

He had made that same drive a few times, the first being his initial look at the house, after being in correspondence with the realtor for a few weeks. Keeping it a secret from Harry had been a feat, working exclusively in incognito tabs, only taking phone calls on his lunch break at work so Harry wouldn’t be able to overhear. He had gone to visit the house a few more times, to check on different renovations and to simply just look at it, standing in the empty living room, trying to picture all of their furniture inside of it, visualizing how it would fill the space, how it would look with his family in it.

Though, a part of him has felt odd about not involving Harry in the process. Buying a house is a pretty big deal, and Harry had been so hands-on with the first one, really passionate about making sure that everything was near-perfect, that Jeff isn’t sure how he’ll react to being edged out of the initial decision. However, Jeff is pretty confident that he knows Harry’s tastes by now, so hopefully it will be a good surprise.

Pulling onto the quiet residential street, Harry is still sitting in his seat, looking out the window and evidently feeling very amicable. Jeff hopes it lasts.

He pulls into the driveway of 649 Hillsea Ave and cuts the engine. Harry’s smile gains a nervous quality, thinning a bit as he eyes Jeff suspiciously.

“Do you wanna get out?” Jeff asks.

“Why? Are we visiting someone?”

Jeff just shakes his head and hops out of the car, moving around to open Harry’s door for him and help him down.

“What is this?” Harry asks, nerves finally starting to fully manifest, his voice flinty getting louder.

Jeff can’t answer him, too full-up on joy and excitement. He’s afraid that if he opens his mouth, confetti is going to fly out, or something equally ridiculous.

“Seriously, Jeff, can you fucking say something? You’re freaking me out.”

Jeff nods his head in the direction of the realtor’s sign on the front yard, with the “SOLD” sign sitting proudly on top.

Harry turns and whips back around, his eyes wide, face turning pink. “What is this?” he whispers.

Jeff clears his throat, a lump suddenly forming. “It’s your’s. Well, our’s, if you want it.” He wiggles his fingers in a poor imitation of jazz-hands, “Surprise?”

Harry rakes a hand through his own hair, lip starting to tremble dangerously. His voice cracks. “What?”

“I know it seemed like a pipe dream, getting a bigger house. But that was a couple years ago. And we haven’t really talked about it since. But I’ve worked out all the finances and with my new position at work… we can do it. Well, I went ahead and did it, actually. And I wanted to surprise you.” Jeff closes the gap between them and wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders. He’s relieved when Harry melts into him.

“I-- I don’t know what to say.” Harry says into Jeff’s shoulder. Before Jeff can respond, he continues. “Jeff. This house… it has two balconies.” He lifts his head like he’s double-checking, biting his lip like he’s hesitating. His eyes are asking, Can we really afford this?

Jeff grins. His cheeks are going to start hurting soon, he’s smiling so much. “Do you wanna see the inside?”

Harry nods, a smile of his own starting to creep onto his face.

Jeff wiggles the fresh key out of his jeans pocket and presses it into Harry’s open palm, letting him do the honors.

It’s more than satisfying, watching Harry’s jaw literally drop after only stepping into the foyer. All of the walls are white for now, because Jeff wanted Harry to have a completely blank canvas to work with, so everything is bright and clean, amplified by the natural light that all of the windows provide. If Jeff is being honest, the door and windows sold this house to him; everything about the house is beautiful, but they’re the features that he loves the most.

This will be their first two-story house, and the big staircase is hard to miss in the front hall, all dark wood and simple trim. All of the rooms are empty for now, long expanses of deep hickory hardwood floors flanking the foyer, a living room to the right and a dining room to the left.

Harry looks like he’s floating as he moves, stepping slowly and making the floors creak satisfyingly, like the crunch of a good loaf of bread. Apparently the house was built in the thirties and has great bones. All the floors are original but have been sanded and refinished. Jeff follows silently while Harry explores, watching as he drags his fingers over built-ins and door frames, his green eyes making sweeping arcs as he surveys everything from the bottom to the top.

They make their way to the kitchen, where the island is bigger than their entire current kitchen. The countertops are a dark granite with white cabinets, paired with a neutral, small-tiled backsplash. The range is huge, and it even has a big brushed stainless steel hood.

Harry inhales sharply. “Jeffrey, there’s a pot filler.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jeff snorts. “I had it installed.”

Harry is on him in a second, wrapping a leg nearly around one of Jeff’s hips, clinging like his life depends on it. “God,” he breathes out. “I’m so sorry I’ve been so weird and quiet, I love it. Everything. I love you.” He loosens his hold marginally so he can lean back and kiss all over Jeff’s face.

“How can you love everything if you’ve only seen part of the first floor? We still haven’t done upstairs and the backyard,” Jeff says. Harry pinches him. “Oh, yeah. And I guess I like you too.”

They poke around downstairs for a few more minutes. Jeff shows Harry the half-bath and all of the closets. Harry starts verbally planning all of the storage racks he’s going to get from Ikea and Jeff nods away, pleased that Harry seems much more enthused now. It was a lot to take in at first, so Jeff doesn’t blame him for being a bit shocked, but having outwardly happy and excited Harry is far superior.

On the upstairs landing, while peering down the hallway, Harry tentatively asks, “How many bedrooms does it have?”

“Four, including the master. There’s an office, though. If we wanted another bedroom, for whatever. Or, like.. I already talked to a builder. We could either do some shifting with the current structure or add on to the downstairs.” Jeff says it as mildly as possible. The boys are a handful already, and while it’s on the table -- having another baby someday -- it’s not something they really talk about in the present.

Harry’s face remains pleasant, though. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this. I feel kinda bad, that you had to do it all by yourself.”

“It was no problem. You take care of the kids most of the time, so the least I could do is get you a nice house.”

Harry’s cheeks turn bright pink. “Our house is nice. I mean-- well, the one we’re currently living in.”

“It is. I’m gonna miss it.”

“But?”

“But this is good. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Harry exhales. “Of course. It’s gorgeous. And now the boys will be able to have their own rooms,” he pauses, “It was time.”

“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Harry ducks his head, bashful, like they haven’t been married for years now. “You’re being very sweet today.”

“Am I not sweet everyday?”

“Hm. No comment.”

Jeff pinches Harry’s butt when he turns on his heel to head down the hall, and is rewarded with a very undignified yelp.

They peruse the bedrooms, discussing how great the natural light is and plans for where they’re going to position beds and furniture for the boys’ rooms. The master bedroom is last, and Harry nearly cries when he walks in. When Jeff asks why, Harry thickly says, “It has crown molding,” like that’s some type of valid reason to be brought to tears. He supposes today has been an emotional day, so Jeff won’t give him shit for it.

The master is one of two rooms that gets a balcony; the other is a small sitting area near the upstairs landing, which is likely going to be overrun by the boys.

“Are we gonna put chairs out there? Oh, imagine having coffee out there in the morning? We need to do that, like, immediately. Which reminds me, when are we moving in?” Harry says all of this practically in one breath.

“Yes, we can do that,” Jeff laughs. “And I have everything arranged already. I just need you to figure out which days will work best for you and the kids, and then we can go from there.”

Harry’s nostrils flare and he gets that glint in his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. “You are so getting laid tonight. Like, the most laid anyone has ever been laid. The ultimate laid.”

“Didn’t you know? That was the whole reason for this entire thing. I was angling for sex.”

“I’m not even mad.” Harry shrugs.

The master bathroom is absolutely enormous and Harry is apparently in love. Even as they’re walking back downstairs, he keeps talking about the glassed-in shower and the jacuzzi jet tub.

As soon as they step on the back deck, though, Harry goes quiet again. The entire backyard is all fenced-in, a huge expanse of perfectly green grass equipped with a stone patio, a swing set, and space for a garden. Most of it gets direct sunlight, but there’s a big oak tree that provides some shade. Jeff already has plans for putting up an standing umbrella, and maybe even a hammock. There are two smaller trees towards the back that should be able to support one, and he knows Harry would love it.

When he looks at Harry, he can tell exactly what he’s thinking, just by the expression on his face: soft, half-smiling, and a little bittersweet. He always looks like that when he’s either thinking of the kids or watching them play in real time. Jeff asked him once, why he looks like he’s caught between happy and a bit sad, to which Harry explained that he loves seeing the kids exactly as they are, but he’s already sad for the future, when they won’t be little anymore. Jeff is more of a “roll with the punches” type of guy, but he gets it.

Turning his attention to the yard again, Jeff can conjure up the same image he has been for weeks now. Jude and Eli on the swings, River trying to climb up the slide instead of going down it. All three of his boys running through the grass. Harry using the sit down mower to cut the lawn, having the boys take turns for a ride-along on his lap.

Jeff even dares another thought, one he only indulges in every now and again -- a fourth baby, boy or girl or whoever they want to be, because Jeff isn’t picky, crawling across a blanket while they have a family picnic. A fourth baby growing up with three older brothers who loves them and torments them in equal measure. A fourth baby who will only ever know this big, beautiful house, with plenty of room to play and grow. The house that they needed and wanted and everything in between.

Jeff is pulled out of his thoughts when Harry slips their fingers together, bumping shoulders.

“So, do you like it?” Jeff asks, feeling quite smug.

Harry narrows his eyes at him. “Don’t ask stupid questions, Jeffrey. I can take back what I said earlier.”

“Bullshit. There’s a pot filler in your new kitchen. I know that shit gets you going. You’ll only be punishing yourself.”

“Excuse me,” Harry scoffs. “That is… entirely not true.”

“You’re a shitty liar.”

“Honesty is the best policy, Jeffrey.”

“Well then can you be honest with me for a second? I promise I’m not fishing for anything. I just want to make sure that you’re really okay with all of this.”

“Of course. I’m so, so happy right now,” Harry reassures before smirking. “So happy that I thought about blowing you in the kitchen when you first showed it to me. Right by the stove, so I could keep an eye on my new appliance the entire time.”

“I knew it.”

Harry laughs and tugs on Jeff’s hand. “Come on. I wanna go look at that tub again.”

“Lead the way,” Jeff says. His cheeks do hurt from smiling.

[stormblessedcastiel]

The MCU Generation

So I’ve been thinking about Marvel a lot lately. Specifically Infinity War. And I have some Feelings™, so I just thought I’d share. This is probably going to be long and super inaccurate and cringe-y, I don’t mean to offend anyone, but I just wanted to get it out of my system. BTW there will be lots of spoilers.

Iron Man was released in 2008, and many people including me consider it the true beginning of the cultural phenomenon that is the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I was eight years old when it came out, man that makes me feel old. I didn’t really know much about/pay attention to/care about superheroes much at that point, but my dad liked those kinds of movies so I had watched things like the Tobey Maguire spider man movies and Christopher Nolan’s batman movies (the first two were out at that time). They didn’t really hold much interest for me at the time. Iron man rolled around and dad seemed excited about it, but it still just seemed like another comic movie that the family would maybe re-watch if it were on TV or something. No big deal, right? Well, time went on and I started to hear talk about a bigger story. Iron man 2 came out when I was 10, and introduced nick fury and Natasha Romanoff. Still, I paid little mind to the film besides casually enjoying it like any other decent action film. Then came Thor. One year later, we got the first taste of the universe outside of Tony Stark, and that universe was much larger than I had anticipated. Looking back, the first Thor movie was definitely not the best superhero film ever made, but it did a lot of things right. Most importantly, it set the stage for more heroes who quickly joined ranks. It’s at this point that I feel the MCU really started to gain traction, at least from what I was hearing. My eleven-year-old self was beginning to view this collection of movies as something with potential, something to get excited about. In that same year, Captain America: The First Avenger hit the big screen. This is where I became truly and totally hooked. I don’t know what did it, but something about the story, the characters, or the message seemed to grab my full attention. This was the movie that had me craving the next installment. It probably helped that at about twelve years old I was starting to enter the social media world, if only in small doses. I discovered Pinterest and quickly realized that other people around my age (maybe a few years older) were talking about these movies, interacting with each other, making jokes and edits and headcanons. If I wasn’t invested in the MCU characters before then, that changed rapidly. Seeing other people’s takes on what the heroes thought or did off camera, speculation about subtext relationships, comparisons and continuations of themes from the comics, all mushed together to bring me closer to this Story than I had ever been before. So I was ready for Avengers. The Big One. The superhero movie that did what no superhero movie had done before. It brought together a cast from multiple movies into one glorious world-saving group. By this point, everyone could see that this franchise would make an impact. It truly was an entire universe, and we had just touched on the surface of this super team potential. Fans were everywhere; people at school, on the street, in commercials had their favorite heroes’ logo somewhere on their clothing or bag. There had never been (or I maybe just never noticed) such a widely spread media infatuation. 

Then came phase two. Iron man 3, Thor dark world, captain America winter soldier, guardians of the galaxy, age of Ultron, and ant man. These came out between my 13 and 16th birthdays. In my opinion (back then and now), none of these movies were quite up to par with those of phase one, but nostalgia may have already been clouding my judgement, even after just a few years. However, they did give us more characters to love, and also let us enjoy learning more about our old faves. I think this phase was Marvel kind of trying to find their footing in this huge undertaking they just opened up, trying to figure out how to write their stories now that they had to feel like they were in such a large universe?? I don’t know, it just feels like Phase One took place in a box the size of a fridge, and Phase Two now had to try (or at least start) to fill out an entire swimming pool. I was still excited with every new movie announcement and was happy to watch them, but after age of Ultron I feel like I lost a bit of steam. So much that I didn’t see Antman at all when it came out. It just didn’t seem worth it.

Phase Three. Civil War. I think this movie is the turning point for the MCU, into a much darker and somber tone. Inner conflicts among the avengers that have literally been boiling for years come to a head, we see so many characters in the same place, see their stories starting to turn in different directions from each other and we, as fans, are starting to get torn apart. Team Iron Man, Team Cap, and social media is stronger than ever, and more prevalent in my life. We don’t even get a solution at the end of the movie. It ends with both sides hurt, betrayed, and with no clue where to go from here, just like us viewers. It’s fair to say that I was re-invested in this universe once more. Though it hurt, I think Marvel needed to introduce some real, lasting damage to its characters. I feel like this movie took itself more seriously as well. That was 2016. After that, we got Dr. Strange, GotG volume two, Spiderman homecoming, Thor: Ragnarok, and Black panther. While these movies were not perfect either, I think they got a lot closer to what marvel wanted to make their universe feel like. They know what they’re doing now, and we fans got some great new characters out of it, along with a fun new take on some old ones (I’m looking at you, Mr. Waititi). I do want to mention a couple little things about some of these. Spiderman was worrisome for me, because the character had had two separate franchises in the last decade or so. That’s a pretty quick turnover. Let it be known that my fears have been quelled, and Tom Holland is my true Spiderman. (Tobey will hold a special place in my heart though. Sorry Andrew, better luck next time). AND THEN. The sensation that was Black Panther. This was when I was really getting into social media; tumblr, youtube, deviantart, all that jazz. It is also when I started college, so imagine that absolute upheaval of perspective. This movie was so important for minorities, and it caused such a stir just as my life was turned 180 degrees on its head. I didn’t know what to think. But I loved it.

Everything was going good. Marvel was hitting its stride again, life was changing, and my mind was expanding and finding out things that I had never considered before. I was 18 years old.

Then it happened. The one everyone had been waiting for for several years. “The endgame.” 

Infinity War.

Let me tell you what it was like when I sat down in the theater that cold spring day. I had heard whispered rumors. About loss, about death. I brushed them off as speculation, trying not to latch onto any spoilers. I wanted to be totally oblivious as to what was about to happen, so I could experience it as mine and only mine the first time. I sat down in that dark theater with my parents, brother, snacks, tissues, and blanket. Mind you, the tissues were for allergies that had been acting up the past few days. I never cried at movies. Never. The trailers played, my family and I whispered to each other about needing to keep an eye out for this or that film when it came out. Then the lights dropped to almost nothing. We settled in for the long haul as the Marvel logo began to play. You know the one, where it shows clips of the past movies, coming together to form the name of the company? Except this one said “MARVEL STUD10S.” Did you get that? There was a number 10 in the name. I was confused for a minute or so, until it dawned on me that the Marvel Cinematic Universe had been making movies for ten. years. More than half my life. I was still in elementary school when the first Iron Man came out. And now here I was, a year into college, about to watch characters that I had grown up with and come to love, in the movie that people were saying destroyed their souls. At that moment, I knew I was in trouble. I was right. Straight off the bat, we lost my favorite villain who really just needs a hug, one who really was instrumental in bringing the Avengers together in the first place. Loki Odinson, in his own words. Right up till the end, he was a trickster, but he loved his family. He and Heimdall were the first hard losses, though seeing all of Asgard torn to shreds was a wake-up call that no one was prepared for the utter destruction that had been avoided until this film. No more clean Disney kid-friendly-ness anymore. Throughout the movie, we got to see reunions, long-awaited meetings, even more characterization and growth (geez marvel, how did you even fit that in? This is the endgame movie? How are you still teaching us new things about these people?) torture, fighting. The tension to the final battle was mounting, and at some point it became clear to me that the Avengers would not be together when this threat arrived. And as anyone who has ever seen a horror movie can tell you, splitting up only leads to death. Now, here’s where my memory gets a little fuzzy. Things were happening so fast, switching from group to group of heroes trying desperately to stave off the destruction of everything we’ve ever known. Things are going wrong all over the place, no one knows where anyone else is or what they’re doing, people we love are fighting each other because they’ve never met before now. What I do remember is when we get to the fight on Titan. Half of the Guardians, Tony, Peter, Strange. Tensions are running high. When Thanos arrives, I have no Idea what’s about to happen. They start fighting, and we finally get a demonstration of some of the more amazing feats the Infinity Gauntlet can pull off. The upper hand swings back and forth so many times, but finally the heroes get their plan to work, they’ve got Thanos on the ground, the Gauntlet is almost off. And Quill… ruins it. What else can he do? He just found out that his love is dead. So he messes everything up. Thanos gets free, pummels everyone into the ground, and then… gets the stone. Strange gives up the stone, even though he swore he would let a child die before he would ever give up such a dangerous object. What the hell Strange???? Was my immediate reaction. I knew it had to be more than just some newfound compassion for these people he met a day ago (was it actually a day?? Has all of this only happened in one short day?) Obviously the doctor has a plan, but this still seems like the worst possible idea. Now to earth. We get some truly awesome moments here; Bucky and cap’s reunion, Shuri showing off her mad science skillz, epic fight moves against hordes of zombie lizards, Thor’s entrance, his little banter with Steve, “I am Groot” “I am Steve Rogers,” Scarlet Witch dropping in at the last second with that massive power move. Everything seems like it’s going ok, and then suddenly, its not. Everything drops so suddenly into Not OK Town that I can still feel the whiplash. People are scrambling to get to each other, calling for backup, getting knocked down and thrown around, and then Thanos makes his entrance. He practically wipes the floor with our remaining heroes. The only thing standing between the universe and total ruin is Wanda. I’ve been preparing for a scene like this the whole movie, but it didn’t hurt any less to finally see it. Vision begs Wanda to destroy the stone, to destroy him, we all know that she has to give in. That’s what heroes do. So she says goodbye to the man she loves and uses her power on him. Now I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’ve seen this scenario play out before. I’m expecting someone to get there at the last minute and just fricken’ knock Thanos out cold, or maybe discover that Shuri had enough time to basically detach the stone from Vision, even if it didn’t look like it. But no. Wanda destroys the mind stone and Vision actually dies at her hands. Even after all the death that’s already happened in this movie, I was still surprised and devastated.

But they couldn’t just end it like that, could they? Marvel Studios needs to drink every last drop of pain from their fans. 

Thanos moves back the clock. He takes the stone. Vision’s sacrifice was in vain, Wanda had to watch her love die for nothing. Nothing that anyone did made a difference. Since Avengers came out in 2012, these characters have been fighting to keep this evil at bay, to protect the stones, even before they knew it. And now none of it matters. Because Thanos the Mad Titan has all the infinity stones. It’s all over in my mind, I wait for the quintessential Villain Laugh™, the gloating, and then whatever evil thing Thanos has planned. But wait! Thor to the rescue with his brand-new hammer-axe! My heart leaps as he skewers the big purple raisin. He gets his revenge for Loki, for Heimdall, for all of Asgard, for us. Except. except. “You should have gone for the head.”

Wait,

snap. .

.

. My body is rigid and I can only stare unblinking in confusion at the screen. What’s going on? What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO? Thanos disappears. Everything is quiet. “Where did he go?” Steve asks in confusion, mirroring all of our thoughts exactly.

“Steve?”

We see Bucky walking towards us, and then he just…. Dissolves. Into dust. what’s going on what was that My mind is sluggish. I don’t understand.

Wakandan warriors disappear in the wake of the battle. T’challa tries to help Okoye up but then he’s gone. Groot. Wanda. Sam. Mantis, Drax, Quill, Strange.

And oh god. 

“Mr. Stark? I don’t feel so good.”  Oh god no.  “I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, sir, please, I don’t want to go… I’m sorry.”

Gone.

Through this whole thing, it is silent. No music. Just emptiness, confusion, fear.

And that’s where we’re left. The audience is motionless. I do not cry at movies, but my throat is tight like a noose and my sleeves are soaked from wiping away tears.

Like all good Marvel fans, we remain still in our seats. I try to comprehend what just happened to me as the white credits scroll over a void and dramatic music accompanies them. We wait for our first end-credit scene. Instead, what we get is a fading of the music. Avengers: Infinity War shows from the center of the black screen, and a familiar melody plays. A few slow, simple notes on a piano. The triumphant theme of our heroes, earth’s mightiest protectors. It sounds lonely now. The last note plays, and the title dusts. And I almost scream.

If you’ve read this far, wow! Thank you for reading my absolute monstrosity of a garbage post! It’s been a few months now since Infinity War, and I’ve had time to think. What I figured out was this; when I’m older-old enough to be a parent myself-and looking back on my childhood, these are going to be the movies I remember like my dad remembers Star Wars. I was so lucky to be just the right age when this all started to enjoy every single one, and to remember experiencing them all for the first time. I was just the right age to forge a bond with the characters and their world. I think it was a special kind of bond that only occurs when you’re young but not too young, one that weaves webs of innocence and nostalgia through your most transformative years, and grows with you as you become a new person, and stays with you like a friend even as you see things so differently than when you first started out. What I’m trying to say is that I feel like I grew from child to adult just as the MCU did. We grew together. I don’t know if anyone my age feels the same, but these movies feel like the first big mainstream thing that really belongs to my generation. Like they came at the perfect time to shape me. It feels like they were made for me.

[capseycartwright]

the big trip out

aaron takes on a cafe outing with three kids in tow. aka, another instalment of super!dad aaron dingle.

“You’ve really taken to that, you know,” Bob commented, busy making Aaron’s coffee.

Aaron looked at Bob, bleary eyed, and completely confused. It was nearing lunchtime, and he’d only managed to get himself out of the house now, a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a slouchy hoodie on - he was sure Abigail had spit up on his t-shirt, as they’d left the house.

He was hardly going to win villager of the year, there and then.

It was his first week alone with the kids, during the day. When they’d found out their new addition was going to be two new additions, the twins a welcome surprise, he and Robert had talked it through, and decided it was a good idea for Aaron to stay at home with their babies.

He’d always fancied being a stay-at-home dad, and it was the perfect opportunity - the scrapyard running itself these days, Home James doing well enough for Robert to justify reducing down to four days a week, three when there wasn’t so many meetings, paperwork done from the comfort of their kitchen table.

But Robert did have to go to work, to Birmingham for a meeting that morning, leaving Aaron to play super dad for the day.

“Being a dad,” Bob explained, noting Aaron’s confusion, placing the coffee on the counter. “I’ve never seen anyone take to it like you have. Super dad, you are. Six pound fifty, please.”

Aaron rooted in his pocket for the change, handing it over to Bob. “You think?” he said, barely able to keep the smile from his face as he looked over at the little table where Sebastian was sitting, kicking his legs out, his favourite teddy bear in his lap, the huge double pram next to him.

He’d turned three, a few weeks beforehand, Sebastian growing into a right little boy, always running about and getting himself into trouble. Aaron was surprised he’d managed to make him sit for a solid five minutes while he’d ordered them some breakfast.

Or was it lunch now, really?

“I do,” Bob confirmed. “You’re a great dad, Aaron - they’re lucky to have you.”

Aaron looked over his shoulder at their three kids, the three people who were the very centre of his universe these days, and he couldn’t help but grin. “I’m lucky to have them,” he said, picking up the two drinks, and the plates of food, heading back over to their little table.

“Papa, can I ‘ave juice?” Sebastian looked up at him, innocent and doe-eyed. Aaron loved these little moments, when he was calm and quiet, right before he started running circles around them.

The terrible threes were real.

Aaron nudged the glass of juice toward him, fixing the straw so it was at mouth level for him. “Did you look after your sisters while I was ordering?” he asked, glancing at the thankfully sleeping twins.

Sebastian nodded eagerly. “They’re sleepin’,” he mumbled, eyeing up the cookie Aaron had sitting next to his elbow.

Brushing Sebastian golden blond hair back off his forehead, mentally reminding himself to get Robert to take him for a haircut, Aaron smiled. “What do you say?” he teased, waiting for those magic words.

They were working on his p’s and q’s.

“Please, papa, can I have a cookie?” Sebastian said, sitting up a little straighter, an eager look on his face.

Aaron could never say no to him. “Of course you can, little lamb,” he murmured, breaking the cookie in half, setting one half down in front of Sebastian. Bob’s cookies were famed, among the kids of the village, and he’d learned the hard way giving Seb a full one all at once resulted in an almighty sugar crash.

“Thank ‘o papa!”

Aaron leaned back in his chair as Sebastian started to munch on a piece of his cookie, taking a swig of his piping hot coffee. He’d never been an Americano kind of guy, and then the twins had come along, and Aaron had decided he needed as much caffeine in his body as possible, as quickly as possible.

He managed to get half his cup of coffee down him before Leah woke up, pitiful cries filling the busy cafe. “It’s okay, love,” Aaron murmured, unstrapping Leah from the pram. She was wearing one of the ridiculous snowsuit’s Victoria had bought the twins, one covered in tiny little penguins, her shock of dark hair peaking out from underneath it.

If Abigail was the pukey baby, Leah was the crier.

Rocking her gently in his arms, Aaron managed a few bites of his sandwich before Abigail decided she was going to join in with the ruckus, letting out a whimper from her pram.

“Come on, princess, give your daddy a break, eh?” Aaron pleaded, brushing a finger across her cheek, hoping it would calm her down. She was usually happy if she was getting a kiss or a cuddle, Abigail, and sure enough, she settled again, leaving Aaron to turn his focus back to Leah.

Who was getting a crumb covered, slobbery kiss on the cheek from Sebastian. “Helping!” he declared as he realised Aaron was looking at him, waving his cookie about, Aaron wincing as he coated himself, the table, and the floor with crumbs.

“You’re my little helper, aren’t you?” Aaron smiled, brushing his fingers through Sebastian’s hair again. He really did need that haircut, and soonish, before he wasn’t able to see.

Sebastian beamed at him. “I am!”

Aaron looked down at a setting Leah, her little cheeks bright red from the effort of her tears.

Three kids fed, mostly happy, and he was managing to get some food down himself as well.

Super dad wasn’t far wrong.

[ipodclassic160gb]

2017 Year End Music List

Hello and welcome to another installment of my annual album/song of the year lists. It was a rough year! Thank you for reading I love you so much.

20. Fleet Foxes - Crack-Up

I never liked Fleet Foxes. I always thought they were the product of an NPR think tank (just like Wilco or Neko Case). But I gave this album a shot and it really did it for me. The music is just so lush! My only issue with it is that you kind of have to give this album your undivided attention and listen to soak in all of the details. You can also file this one under “albums that sound like their cover art”

19. Colin Stetson - All This I Do For Glory

Every release from Colin Stetson is remarkable in it’s virtuosity and sheer innovation. No other artist on this planet can do what he does with just a saxophone. However, since Vol 2: Judges his work has been a lot of the same. It might just be me, but I felt like this release changed up his formula just enough to make this some of his best music yet.

18. Blanck Mass - World Eater

I think any album by a member of Fuck Buttons has a certain loudness requirement it has to meet to be considered as part of their body of work. While I don’t think they’ll ever match the pulsing wall of buzzsaw distortion that was Street Horrrsing, this album takes me to that same musical realm.

17. Jlin - Black Origami

THIS ALBUM IS BATSHIT FUCKING CRAZY. It sounds like the drumline from the movie Drumline and a West African drum circle playing together but they’re both are performing on computer instruments. These songs absolutely refuse to be background music. There were moments on here that left me with my jaw dropped, just staring at the speakers because I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

16. Vince Staples - Big Fish Theory

Big Fish Theory is a great example of an album where the risks pay off and Vince Staples feels like the only rapper capable of putting it together. The production is pretty out there and not only does Staples make it work, he makes himself at home in it. Even with producers like SOPHIE (if you had told me even a year ago that I would hear Kendrick Lamar rap over a SOPHIE beat I would have called you crazy), this album is West Coast to it’s core.

15. (Sandy) Alex G - Rocket

This album is honestly kind of a mixed bag, but the good songs are great and led me to listen to listen to other a lot of older Alex G. So I figured it was worth including in this list. To me, his music falls into the space somewhere between This Is a Long Drive for Someone with Nothing to Think About and Either/Or.

14. Mastodon - Emperor of Sand

Since no one else is saying I’ll go ahead and say it: Mastodon is STILL COOL and this is by far their best album since Crack the Skye

13. Ross from Friends - You’ll Understand/Don’t Sleep, There Are Snakes

Lo-fi house gets a bad rep because it’s bandcamp music made by enigmatic producers with funny names and is basically just an offshoot of vaporwave. That being said, lo-fi house is at the very least more functional than straight up vaporwave music and honestly…what’s wrong with funny names? 

12. Sheer Mag - Need to Feel Your Love

I love this band. They make such PERFECT and AUTHENTIC sounding 70′s rock. Do you remember The Darkness??? I liked The Darkness when I was A Teen but you could always tell that they were copying from someone else’s playbook. With Sheer Mag, I feel like you could put their music on a playlist right next to a Thin Lizzy song and no one would think anything of it.

11. Thundercat - Drunk

To me, this is Thundercat finally hitting his stride. The shorter songs suit him well and keep the album from getting stale. A lot of artists this year tried to capture the essence what it’s like to live in such buck wild times and a lot of them fell flat . This album captures that essence without even trying.

10. Visible Cloaks - Reassemblage

You know how you go back to look at the music you listened to the most over the past year and it’s like...what is this album I listened to like 100 times apparently? And it’s that album you would always play while riding public transit to help you relax and zone out? That’s what this album is and it’s really good

9. Power Trip - Nightmare Logic

Easily my favorite metal album in years. Not a moment of filler. This is music to punch people in the face to. 

8. Kelela - Take Me Apart

After seeing Kelela play the side stages at virtually every festival I’ve been to in the last four years I am really happy to see her blowing up from this release. The central theme of this album of yourself apart and putting yourself back together after losing someone hit EXCRUCIATINGLY close to home for me this year. 

7.  Charli XCX - Pop 2

Turning her back on the Iggy Azalea paycheck money to work with a set of producers who make music that sounds like you’ve wound up on the WRONG part of the internet solidifies Charli XCX as one of the realest artists working in pop music today.

6. Kendrick Lamar - DAMN.

This album is the last nail in the coffin of every rapper that is not Kendrick Lamar. It solidifies him as the peerless, undisputed heavyweight champion of rap music (honestly…the second half of “DNA” alone accomplishes this). It’s been such a gift to watch Kendrick make his way to the top.The only thing that worries me is that now that he’s at the top where can he go from here?

5. Mount Eerie - A Crow Looked at Me

One of the most gut-wrenchingly sad albums I have ever heard. What sets this apart from other albums about death is the specificity. It is an unadorned look into what someone goes through when someone they love dies. I think I’ve been able to make through the album start to finish a total of two times

4. Fever Ray - Plunge

What makes this album great is that it carries the same political themes brought forth on The Knife’s last album into a more refined and structured space without it sounding any less bizarre. No other lyric better summarizes the current global political climate than “THIS COUNTRY MAKES IT HARD TO FUCK”

3. St. Vincent - MASSEDUCTION 

I wouldn’t say that it’s St. Vincent’s best work by any means. However, there’s a handful of songs on here that just fucking GET to me. A lot of people seem to view MASSEDUCTION as this fun and sexy album but to me it’s just overwhelmingly sad. Yes there are some fun latex BDSM moments here, but they exist in the context of an album about loss and addiction. I don’t think I’ve ever cried at a concert as hard as I did when I heard this album performed live.

2. JAY-Z - 4:44 

This is one of the best albums of Jay-Z’s entire career. The real hero of this album, however, is No I.D.’s production. The "doing everything as big as possible” sound of Jay-Z’s other recent work only seemed to make him sound older. On this album, over slower more soulful beats, he sounds more in his element than he has in years. Jay-Z if you are reading this I do NOT forgive you

1. SZA - Ctrl 

If I could give AOTY specifically to the line “why you bother me when you know you don’t want me” I would. I connected so much with the loneliness and the uncertainty and the self doubt that lives at the heart of so much of this music. This is one of those albums that I will carry with me forever because it will remind me of a specific part of my life that was bad. And I’ll go back to listen to it later and I’ll be brought back to that time but I’ll miss it for some reason. Does this happen to anyone else? There’s a lot of music that takes me back to specific BAD moments in my life and makes me miss those moments. Hopefully that is normal.

Songs of the Year:

Lil Uzi Vert - XO TOUR Llif3

(Sandy) Alex G - Bobby

Carly Rae Jepsen - Cut To The Feeling

Anamanaguchi - Miku (NES Version)

The War On Drugs - Thinking Of A Place

The National - The System Only Dreams In Total Darkness

Gorillaz - Hallelujah Money (ft. Benjamin Clementine)

Cardi B - Bodak Yellow

Japanese Breakfast - Road Head

King Krule - Dum Surfer

Lorde - Green Light

Kelly Lee Owens - More Than a Woman (Aaliyah Cover)

Radiohead - I Promise

Payboi Carti - Magnolia

Lizzo - Truth Hurts

Thundercat - Show You The Way (ft. Kenny Loggins and Michael McDonald

N.E.R.D. - Lemon (ft. Rihanna)

yaeji - raingurl

Arca - Piel

Calvin Harris - Slide (ft. Frank Ocean and Migos)

(2017 Overall Playlist)