#I looked through my WHOLE COLLECTION of movies to find a scene that would fit

[lauraneedstochill]

My first choice (part 2)

summary: Aemond thinks you are way too good to be Aegon’s best friend. But you are enough for the one-eyed prince to fall in love with. pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader words: ~8500 (this is why I divided it into 2 parts lmao) warnings: friends to lovers, more angst (death of a parent, attempted harassment), hurt/comfort, an embarrassing amount of softness, Aegon is the smartest one for once author’s note: this is heavily inspired by “Little women” (2019) and Amy March in particular (read the rest of my long-ass explanation in part 1). again, I apologize for the angst! it gets worse before it gets better.

 Part 2. In a room full of art I stare at you.

It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with Aemond. Maybe you were too blind to notice until it was too late or maybe you were doomed from the start. From the moment when the boy, who everyone deemed to be intimidating and reclusive, bent down to you to offer help without any hesitation. The second-born son of the King, tall and close-mouthed, surely had more important things to do than waste time on a strange girl crying over her stupid dress — and yet, he only showed you solicitude, asking for nothing in return.

You thought that mayhaps you owed him, and were seeking the opportunity to return the favor. Or at least that’s how you tried to justify the fact that you were looking for him every chance you got. You often found a reason to chat with Aemond during dinners and feasts, feeling bad for him spending time on his own — and you learned that he was very easy to talk to. You made sure to visit the training yard if he was there and sometimes stayed to watch him train for hours, even — or especially — when everyone else already left. His tenacity and strength had certain allure but under all those layers, you saw a lonely boy whose only friend was probably his dragon.

Despite the circumstances and his preferred solitude, Aemond never rejected your company, however sudden it might have been. Even when Aegon foolishly suggested playing hide and seek one evening, bored out of his mind, and you busted into the library and stumbled upon Aemond, who looked like he had no interest in silly games. And yet, when you awkwardly asked for the best place to hide at, he guided you to the enclosed area of the reading room. It was dimly lit by just a few candles and, somewhere between feeling uncomfortable and getting scared, you reached for his hand. He didn’t pull away. Furthermore, he stayed with you and cheered you up with stories about Old Valyria, making you forget about any childish fears.

As the two of you have grown older, you often heard people being frightened by Aemond’s disposition but you found there to be no ground for that. He’s never been rude to you nor had he lost his temper, regardless of circumstances — and the day you saw him without the eyepatch for the first time was the prime example of that. It was getting late and Aegon had too much to drink and, while running around in a drunken stupor, he cut his hand somewhere in the yard. Luckily, the wound wasn’t too deep but he was bleeding and refused to get help, against your best wishes. He was babbling that scars adorn a man — and then, in an attempt to escape you chasing him, he barged into Aemond’s chambers. You ran in merely a second after, with explanations at the ready, and were met with his younger brother standing there, looking startled. It took you a second to realize he wasn’t wearing his eyepatch.

“My scar will be easier to hide,” Aegon giggled, not recognizing the gravity of the situation.

It was the only time you had to make an effort not to slap him in the face. You thought it was mostly a secondhand embarrassment, which was part of the experience of being Aegon’s friend, but the look on Aemond’s face, hurt and humiliated, also made your heart ache.

“His scar is a reminder of his bravery and the strength of his character that he should only be proud of,” you gave Aegon a death stare. “Yours will be a reminder of your idiocy.”

It seemed to work as his smile vanished and he even muttered an apology, leaving hurriedly to call for the maester. When you turned to Aemond, he already had his eyepatch on, and you fought the urge to come and take him by the hand again. You didn’t want to bother him at such a late hour, so you opted to offer an apology, too, and leave him be.

“His behavior was unworthy. But I meant what I said,” you turned to Aemond on your way out. “And the sapphire looks very pretty,” you could swear you saw a trace of a smile on his face but you chose not to think much of it.

With every encounter, sudden or not, and every conversation, most of which were too short for your liking, you were making more room for Aemond in your heart. You should’ve known you were a lost cause when you actually told yourself — out loud, with hands grabbing the edges of your table — “I will not fall in love with him.” At that point, you already did. He always worked so hard to be seen — and you only had eyes for him all along.

You hid your true feelings well enough for anyone to take notice — but your father was no fool. He also knew better than to meddle with whatever your thinking process was. So he watched from afar for quite some time, until you started catching his curious glances on you every time you went to talk to Aemond. Predictably, after yet another feast he could not resist bringing up the topic.

“Did the royal menace have too many cups of wine again? Haven’t seen him this evening,” he adored Aegon whole-heartedly, and you suspected that their shared love for crude humor was the main reason for that. You didn’t mind.

“Wasn’t that many, actually,” you chuckled. “But he asked me and Aemond to help him to his chambers, said he wasn’t in the mood today.”

“Well, you seem to really enjoy Aemond’s company. I assume that the feeling is mutual?” he looked expressively at you.

Your face grew hot at his words. You also felt your heart break just a little.

“We are merely friends,” you told him, your smile too tense to be believable.

There was a shadow of concern in your father’s gaze, followed by a sad sigh.

“You will let me know if anything changes, though?” he mustered a smile in return and his was much brighter than yours.

“You will be the first one to know,” you promised as he came closer to bring you into a bear hug. You never spoke of it again.

Surprisingly, the only other person who seemed to have suspicions about the nature of your and Aemond’s relationship was his father, the King. You didn’t think he was aware of your existence, and even when your friendship with Aegon grew stronger and you became a regular guest at the castle, you soon realized Viserys barely paid any mind to his younger kids’ whereabouts. You would catch a glimpse of him in the halls and curtsy out of politeness but didn’t expect him to notice. You got too comfortable with his absence — so much so, that one day, when Aegon was carrying your supplies and humorously complained about the lack of art in the castle, you blithely suggested painting a portrait of the King. The last thing you expected was for said man to step out of the corner.

“I would be delighted,” he cut right to the chase. “Lady Y/N, isn’t it?”

He didn’t look scary up close, his face wrinkled and a tad too tired, but quite benevolent. He simply asked if you would be content with drawing him on the Iron Throne and you agreed, just as easily. Truth be told, you didn’t think he would follow up on his offer — being the King and all that, but he sent a carriage down to fetch you literally the next day. Viserys took the task with juvenile ardor, bombarding you with questions — what pose to take, what paint do you use, how quickly will it dry and how did you learn to draw. After he was satisfied with the answers, he changed the subject.

“My wife considers you to have a positive influence on my eldest son,” he pointed out with ill-concealed interest.

“I deeply appreciate her trust but I believe that he is capable of changing on his own,” you corrected him courtly.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he disagreed with a mischievous grin. “I’ve only heard good words about your guidance. It seems that you rein him back so easily, you would’ve made for a fine wife.”

You silently groaned at his comment.

“Your grace, I can assure you, our relationship is strictly of a friendly nature.”

“Oh, I know, I have seen you two,” he said, laughing, and when you peered at him, you saw that it wasn’t his usual uncomfortable-looking crooked grin but an actual genuine laugh.

“Shall you ever lay an eye on any other of my sons,” Viserys continued, much to your surprise. “Do not hesitate to tell me,” and his face suggested he knew more than he was letting on.

You ducked behind the canvas so he didn’t see your heated cheeks.

His suggestion lodged in your memory and even though you wouldn’t dare to actually approach the King, you held out hope that maybe he would give Aemond a similar hint. But months passed, Viserys’s condition drastically worsened, and for whatever reason, he never mended the relationship with his children. And eventually, your hope was gone.

You didn’t lie to Aemond when you told him about having power over who you love. But you failed to mention that said power has its limits — and doesn’t guarantee that your feelings won’t be one-sided. You learned that lesson the hard way when you had to face up to the reality you were in. Your love for Aemond seemed to be as infinite as the ocean — and you had to fit it in a fragile vessel of your heart. At first, you felt the waves raging at the mere glance of his, at every gesture of his goodwill or just upon hearing his voice. The storm of your feelings would splash over the rocks of your self-control but you survived the roaring torrent of love, time after time. The rough ocean grew calm over the years as you came to terms with being in love with someone who didn’t love you back.

You did choose to harbor feelings for Aemond, and you had no regrets about that. But when adulthood came with its own responsibilities that you had to focus on, all your energy was put into finding a husband. You were aware that your choice would have a major impact on your family as their stability depended on it. You approached the issue in a cold-hearted manner, prioritizing the duty above all else. Mayhaps, you were too calculated in your pursuit, and that was how you ended up accepting the courtship of a man who had nothing to give but his wealth.

When it comes to Jason, he never ceases to evoke a few feelings, too, but none of them are pleasant. His arrogance is the first thing that catches the eye — he’s wrapped in it and wears it with pride as if it’s another title of his. You often have to bite your tongue and fake a smile in response to his dismissive remarks and borderline vulgar comments. It doesn’t help that his self-esteem is inflated beyond your comprehension, and if only he could put his own face on their House’s sigil, he would. You are grateful that he keeps his hands to himself but you notice him getting quite handsy with the maids, and it gives you an unsettling feeling. His behavior is so disdainful and frivolous, you have no doubts that once you are married, you will be merely an accessory to him, a pretty wife to show off to his friends without taking your opinion into account. Showing off is the one thing he does best — and each time you can’t help but compare him to Aemond who doesn’t even know how to take a compliment. You find yourself thinking about the prince every time Jason comes by, and these thoughts help you get through tiresome promenades with the lord and endure boring dinners with him.

But after your last conversation with Aemond, you force yourself to stop thinking about him altogether. That decision is remorseless but you believe it’s for the better — or at least that’s what you convince yourself to think after you run out of the garden and into your carriage, only caring about getting home as soon as possible. You pretend that nothing happened, lying to your parents that the prince was too busy and you had to return earlier than planned. And then you lock yourself in your chambers, with hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the sound of crying. A small part of you hopes that Aemond will come to you the same day and explain himself. But he doesn’t. When you don’t hear from him for another two days, you come to the conclusion that he regretted his sudden outburst. And that his words actually held no meaning.

Cutting Aemond out of your life does seem to be attainable with some time, and you perceive it as just another task, another skill you can master. But getting him out of your head seems like an impossible goal from the start. You are so used to keeping memories of him, cherishing each and every one, you can’t just erase them all at once. You try your best, you do so with ferocious persistence, but there’s always some annoying little reminder ready to surface and catch you off guard at the most inopportune moment.

It gets even harder when four days later you find yourself sitting next to Jason who is even more presumptuous than usual. At this point, you feel like your nerves are at the limit, so you can’t even find it in yourself to keep up the act. You push your food around the plate, jumping from one pointless thought to another: the tasteless meal, the barely visible crack in your cup, the revolting tone of the lord’s voice. You feel your mother staring at you, clearly displeased with your attitude, yet Jason is oblivious, too wrapped up in bragging about his winery — or whatever else he is talking about, you have no idea because you stopped paying attention about twenty minutes ago.

You think if you stay by his side any longer, you will be physically sick.

So you get up from the table — may be a bit too dramatic for your own liking — and muster out a weak excuse:

“My apologies, I am in need of fresh air.”

You leave before anyone has a chance to stop you.

It seems like an act of disobedience but there’s so much freedom in it, you feel that you can finally take a breath. And you do exactly that once you reach the balcony, several corridors away from the dining hall that felt stuffed with Jason’s ego. As you stand there, soaking up the last rays of the sun, you can’t ignore the obvious question — how is it even possible to marry someone you absolutely cannot tolerate. You never had illusions about the nature of your relationship with him but you at least hoped there would be some ground to build your future on. At yet, right now it looks like you are trying to lay a foundation in the quicksand. For a man of a noble lineage, Jason knows too little of what nobility actually is, and you have enough self-respect to not give him explanations. The prospect of marrying him makes your duty feel like a burden, and you contemplate if you should even take the risk.

You are lost in your thoughts until you hear a thin voice:

“Do you know where the sun lands?”

You turn to find your sister Alyna standing at the door, in her long white nightgown and barefoot, her eyes unnaturally large for her baby-like face. She always talks like that, too thoughtful for her young age, and sometimes she reminds you of Helaena. There you go, another connection to Aemond.

“I do not, my sweetling. Wherever that place is, it’s a well-guarded secret,” you comb her curly hair with your fingers as her curious eyes study your face.

“Maybe it doesn't want to be seen,” she deduces. “Just like you don't.”

Her ability to get straight to the point sometimes blindsides you. It’s also quite liberating to talk to someone who hasn’t yet learned the skill of pretense, and she may be the only sibling of yours with no ulterior motives or hidden agenda. Alyna tilts her head, signaling that she isn’t enjoying your touch anymore — and when you remove your hand, she says, out of the blue:

“Just like Ser Lannister doesn’t.”

You stare at her in bewilderment, and only then notice that the hallway behind her is empty. It dawns on you that Alyna’s nanny Dorea is nowhere to be found. She is only a couple of years older than you, meek and quiet, her trusting nature ever so defenseless — but she is also very pretty. Too pretty for her own good, as your mother likes to say.

You feel a wave of nausea again. This time, it’s followed by a sense of dread curdling in your stomach.

“What did he do?” your voice comes out unusually calm, in striking contrast with how you are really feeling.

“I heard him talking to Dorea outside my chambers. I wanted to join the conversation but he asked me to leave,” her brows slightly furrow. “He said there are some things I am not supposed to see.”

It may be the first thing you and Jason can agree on, you think. It is also the only thing because you certainly will never agree to marry him — and that realization frees you of any false politeness and self-restraint.

“What are those things?” Alyna naively asks, shifting from one foot to the other.

“I shall go and ask him,” you pat her on the cheek. “But you stay here, alright? I will be back before you know it.”

Usually, it would take about a minute to reach your sister’s chambers, but you cover the distance twice as fast. You are a couple of feet away when you hear muffled voices — one is demanding, the other one is scared, and both are well-known to you. You grasp the situation in no time and run to quickly open the door. When you walk in, you feel a flare-up of anger at the sight: Jason grabbed Dorea by the hips, trying to pull her closer, as she weakly protests, her palms pushing at his chest in an attempt to get away. The squeak of the door makes them turn their heads to you, and you see the distressed look on the nanny’s face.

And then their gazes fall behind your back, and Dorea gets horrified.

You easily guess the reason for that — your younger sister isn’t very good at following orders. So Alyna mumbles, standing next to you and looking at her nanny:

“I do not think she likes it.”

“Neither do I,” you throw Jason a baleful stare. “Let her go and get out.”

He removes his hands — so carelessly, it almost seems like he’s offended by your suggestion of his wrongdoing. Dorea immediately comes to your side, ashamed and distraught.

“Did he hurt you?” you inquire, helping to adjust her dress.

“My lady, I think you misinterpreted —” Jason tries to say but you shut him off.

“I am not talking to you,” you scowl in his direction. Your face softens when you ask Dorea again: “Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head, sheepishly trying to explain:

“I didn’t do anything, I-I didn’t want to, and he said... He said he is a lord and I sh-should be flattered.”

Not only did Jason has the audacity to pull that off but he also wanted to do so at your little sister’s chambers — and you simmer at the thought.

“I believe you,” you gently stroke her shoulder. “I promise you will never see him again.”

“These are some unrealistic expectations,” Jason sneers, walking to you but his grin dies down when you look at him again.

“I know your opinion of women isn’t very high — trust me, the feeling is mutual — but you cannot seriously believe you will fool me,” you sense that now he isn’t pleased with your attitude but you don’t care. “When I told you to get out, I meant it. You are not welcome in this house.”

“That doesn’t sound like a wise decision to make if we are to be wed,” Jason contemptuously hisses.

“Then I guess the wedding is off,” you glare defiance at him. “But whoever you end up marrying, I hope she outlives you. Just so she can spit on your grave,” the last part is meant only for him to hear.

And he definitely does as his face reddens with rage. Jason roughly grabs you by the hand, and your nose fills with the stench of wine when he speaks:

“You are in no position to make demands,” he drawls. “Your family is in debt up to its ears, you little halfwit, so I suggest you choose your words very carefully.”

While he doesn’t see it, Alyna looks between you two, and, out of the corner of your eye, you notice her frowning. She doesn’t do well with conflicts as they upset her deeply, which can only trigger one reaction. Before you can say anything, a high-pitched scream shatters the room, echoing through the whole house.

Jason removes his hand within a second, looking shocked, but Alyna stands innocently with her mouth closed as if nothing happened. Your parents come to her chambers in the blink of an eye.

“What is wrong?” your mother looks at you all uncomprehendingly.

“Ser Lannister got lost,” you cooly explain. “He is already leaving.”

“And why is that?” your father glares at him with suspicion.

You want to spare Dorea the humiliation so you pause for a moment, trying to come up with an excuse. But Alyna has no understanding of what a maiden’s honor is — and she loudly proclaims:

“Ser Lannister was touching Dorea, and she didn’t like it.”

No one in the room needs an explanation for that.

“You shameless scoundrel!” your father roars at Jason, who unsurprisingly isn’t as courageous as before.

“Ser, there clearly has been a mistake — ”

“It was a mistake to let you in,” your father rudely interrupts him. “You won’t set foot in my house ever again. Get out of here before I make you!”

Jason doesn’t need to be told twice and storms out of the room as your father’s gaze follows him. He stands with hands clenched into fists, his nostrils flaring with anger.

“Pompous jerk,” he mumbles under his breath. “And to think that I was willing to give him my daughter’s hand...!” his voice breaks, hoarse with ire, and you notice a vein pop on his forehead. You have never seen him so furious.

“He’s been dealt with,” you cautiously say to ease the tension. “That shouldn’t be a cause for your concern anymore.”

He turns to you, his eyes bloodshot and breathing heavy. As you step closer, you hear whistling sounds with his every breath, and his gaze gets absent. You realize that something is wrong as he opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out.

“Father, are you alright?”

He places a hand over his heart, trying to inhale, a look of fear in his eyes. The chain of events is too sudden to comprehend: his breathing begins to wheeze as he squirms, falls flat on his back and convulses.

And then your evening turns out to be way worse than you could’ve ever imagined. A week later Aegon wakes up at an ungodly hour — and he’s fueled by sole determination to put an end to everyone’s misery. Surely, he must be the only sane person in his house since all his family members seem to be oblivious to what is going on between you and Aemond. Aegon, however, can use his eyes for their intended purpose — and it is clear as day to him that you and his brother are in love with each other.

He caught on to that pretty fast, although the signs were not that obvious at first: you often smile to people purely out of politeness and Aemond may not show his true feelings even under threat of death. So Aegon kept secretly observing you two, taking note of fleeting glances and light touches, of the way you would relax in Aemond’s presence, the way he was always too eager to help you with whatever you needed, and how you two would gravitate toward each other. Both his brother and his best friend were annoyingly stubborn about making their own decisions so Aegon didn’t mean to interrupt — or at least he tried not to. But when your evident mutual pining stretched into years, Aegon started losing his patience.

In the beginning, he initiated small things, asking Aemond to come and greet you (“Oh, I just woke up! And you are already dressed for the occasion”), to deliver you his hand-written message (“Yes, it is incredibly important and I trust no one but you!” — it was his doodling of Aemond), to keep you company during the feast while Aegon stepped out for a moment (he didn’t come back). He asked him to switch places at dinner (so you and Aemond could sit together), to help find the books you wanted (“All those years of you reading should be good for something”), to pick up the portrait of his children (“They are your nephews, is it so hard?! No, I am not being dramatic!”). A couple of times he even pretended to be way more drunk than he actually was just so you and Aemond could help him to his chambers and spend some time alone in the process. None of that worked. At some point, he seriously contemplated locking you both in a room but then came to the conclusion that you would rather team up to find a way out than confess your feelings. Truly, it seemed hopeless, and Aegon thought that maybe he should give up.

But as of recently he couldn’t help but notice that something was clearly off between you and Aemond, although the younger prince refused to talk about it, and you simply stopped visiting the castle. He decided to give it a day or two, hoping that you would sort things out and refusing to even consider the opposite. A week passed and nothing changed, and Aegon cannot bear looking at Aemond’s sour face any longer. So the older prince comes up with a plan.

He is unexpectedly the first one at the breakfast table and everyone who walks in shoots him a surprised glance. They are amazed even more to see that Aegon isn’t drinking which is as rare as a miracle. Aemond comes last and he is the only one who doesn’t notice the change, too wrapped up in his thoughts. Another thing that goes unnoticed is the gleam of sadness on their mother’s face.

Five minutes in, Aegon clears his throat to attract everyone’s attention.

“So, I was thinking,” he drawls loudly.

“That does not sound good,” Otto mutters, unimpressed, which Aegon chooses to ignore and continues.

“Lady Baratheon’s poor taste in men shouldn’t be an obstacle in our way of reaching the grand goal.”

“Which is...?” Otto asks while the younger prince doesn’t move an ear.

“To find a lady worthy of my brother, of course!” Aegon tries his best to say it with a straight face.

Aemond spares him a glance. “I didn’t know you took much interest in that.”

“I always have your best interest in mind,” Aegon slaps him on the shoulder earning a disgruntled hum in return.

“I was just thinking if we should go over the list of requirements once more,” Aegon suggests.

“I don’t have a li—”

“Of course you do!” another slap. “At the very least, she should be of a noble kind. Am I right?”

“Sure,” Aemond absentmindedly agrees.

“And we are definitely looking for someone who is keen on reading.”

“Yes,” Aemond rolls his eye and looks at his plate, already showing no interest in the conversation. That is exactly what Aegon wants — and he starts talking a bit faster:

“Someone with a flexible nature...”

“U-hmm.”

“And with a kind heart...”

“Yes.”

“A great listener...”

“Uh-huh”

“Who will attend to your every need...”

“Sure.”

“And may even be of indescribable beauty...”

“Hmm.”

“...And you will still be miserable because you love Y/N.”

“Yes,” Aemond says without thinking — and then it’s too late to take his word back because everyone’s eyes are already on him. When he turns to his brother, Aegon has a shit-eating grin on his face:

“You are welcome.”

Alicent looks genuinely confused. “Aemond, but why haven’t you mentioned it?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question for years,” Aegon snorts, and Otto raises an eyebrow.

“Years?” his grandsire questions.

“I almost gave up on him,” Aegon keeps talking while his brother just sits there, eye glued to the table.

“She was the one who drew the portrait of our father,” Helaena cheerfully speaks up. “And he kept it.”

“He did,” Alicent nods and gives her son a sympathetic look. “Aemond, she is an admirable young lady. No one would have spoken against it if only you —”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Aemond cuts her off, averting his gaze. “She is to be betrothed to Ser Lannister, and I do not intend to ruin her plans.”

“You cannot be serious!” Aegon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Shall you find the courage to propose, she will immediately reject him!”

“She already did,” Alicent avows, to everyone’s surprise.

Aemond looks up at his mother in an instant.

“Did she?” he asks in disbelief.

Alicent gives him a wan smile.

“A week ago, yes. It is rumored that his behavior... left much to be desired,” she explains half-heartedly. Her face, however, doesn’t show any signs of happiness.

“That seems like a reason to celebrate but it doesn’t sound like it,” Aegon looks at her questioningly, and Aemond tenses up in anticipation.

Alicent dithers as her face falls, eyes getting woeful and voice feeble.

“Her father fell ill that very day. Some say he got too upset with the whole situation, and I...,” she takes a deep breath. “I received a message this morning. He passed away three nights ago.”

Everyone falls silent, their faces showing shock that is quickly replaced by sadness.

“Seven hells,” Aegon mumbles.

Aemond doesn’t utter a word, feeling his heart sinking. He knows that you’ve always been your father’s daughter, and the prince cannot even begin to imagine how heartbroken you are right now. He should’ve been there for you, he thinks, full with remorse and guilt.

“You should go,” Aegon turns to him, not a hint of jesting in his voice. “We may give her some time to grieve, but I will gladly take Sunfyre out for —”

“Why would you need to?” Aemond gives him a puzzled look. “I can take Vhagar.”

Aegon emits a long-drawn groan and says to no one in particular:

“And to think he is the smartest one? I am having doubts”, he then glances at Aemond with reproach. “I am sure her mourning family will not at all get terrified at the sight of your monstrous dragon.”

His brother mulls over the idea.

“It is not safe to fly drunk.”

“I will be stone-cold sober.”

“You believe both of us will fit into the saddle?” 

“We will fit just fine, can you stop with your excuses?! I am being reasonable for once, and you are making me regret it!”

“I don’t think it would be wise,” Otto cuts in their bickering, and both princes turn to him.

He holds pause with a blank stare before a sly smile crawls out on his face.

“I would rather recommend the prince goes right away. We don’t want her family to make any rushed decisions,” their grandsire advises, earning a sign of relief from Aegon, who jumps out of his chair.

“We’re leaving this very second! Do I need to drag you out of your —”

“You do not,” Aemond stands up in a hurry — and then Aegon still grabs him by the hand, pulling his brother out of the room.

Alicent gazes fondly after them.

“It was very kind of you,” she says to her father without looking at him.

Otto thinks that, with how well you’ve been handling Aegon, marrying you to Aemond would be a blessing. Because gods know, he is fed up with them both.

On their way to the Dragonpit Aegon can barely hold back his excitement but his brother’s mind is clearly elsewhere. The older prince lets Aemond take time to gather his thoughts and doesn’t bother him along the road. But once they reach the cavernous building and both pop out of the carriage, Aegon decides some encouragement would be fitting. 

“Have I ever told you how I met her? That day at the feast?”

Mentioning your name always works wonders — Aemond turns to him in a flash.

“I was jesting around and she was the only one who didn’t laugh at my jokes. At all. Just stood there with a straight face and ignored me. Can you imagine?” 

Aemond does know the unimpressed look you usually give Aegon, and it causes him to let out a dull chuckle.

“Took me good five minutes to even make her smile — and, frankly, my success didn’t last very long. Pretty sure half of my jokes landed flat. But you know what was the real issue?” Aegon’s smile is melancholic. “Most of the evening she kept asking about you.”

Aemond looks like the very epitome of heartbreak. Not only was he blind, he was also an idiot, he realizes.

“I know, I should’ve told you sooner,” Aegon gives him an apologetic look.

Aemond shakes his head. “I should’ve told her sooner.”

“Well, it’s only been what, seven years?” his brother chortles weakly while the dragon keepers finally bring out Sunfyre, and the dragon casts Aemond a curious look.

Aegon approaches the beast first, running his hand over the scales that shine bright in the sunlight, and the prince can never get tired of that blinding beauty. But his excitement mingles with another feeling.

“I value her friendship, you do know that, right?” he squints at Aemond, who simply nods.

“This is my way of saying that if you mess it up, I might push you off my dragon on our way back,” Aegon casually remarks, grabbing the rope to climb up.

Aemond falters with answering, reluctant to admit.

“There is a chance that I already messed it up.”

Aegon looks down at his brother and gives him a stern glare.

“Unmess it, then.” You don’t remember much from the past week, your days and nights blurred into one another. The only thing that stays on your mind is your father’s face — you can still see it so clearly, with his gentle gaze and his every wrinkle, the corners of his mouth always upturn like he’s a second away from smiling. You also remember how that face contorted in pain, how his body stiffened, and that scene plays on repeat in your head, over and over. And then there are only pieces of memories, torn and mushed together, and you can’t find it in yourself to sort them out.

You spend all your time at your father’s bedside, with a string of never-ending prayers falling from your lips. They don’t seem to help — and nor do the maester’s efforts, and you lose hope with each passing minute. As hours fly, you get a very bad feeling that soon turns into blood-curdling awareness. Deep down, you know what’s to come, and you hate yourself for it. You think you will never stop crying but by the time the maester declares your father’s demise, there are no tears left. Death has many faces — none of them looked at you with mercy.

Your mother wails, overtaken by despair, your sisters don’t leave her side, eyes puffy and full of sorrow, and you are sure that you look the same — yet you feel completely empty. There’s a cleft in a place of your heart, and all the feelings seemed to flow out, leaving you drained and emotionless, but it brings you no relief. Everything in your house reminds you of your father, his presence tangible in the rooms and in the halls, his image still as clear as a reflection in the mirror. The memories of him crawl out of every corner, seep from under the doors, fall on you along with the dust you brush off his things that you can’t make yourself take away.

Stacks of hardcovers with bookmarks in the middle.

The unfinished cup of wine.

The long grey coat hanging on the back of his chair.

Piles of letters left unanswered.

Parchments, ink and a quill that he will never use again.

All the pieces of him that you can’t look at, don’t want to look at — yet it’s all you see, and there’s is no hiding from it. You feel trapped in your own house, and you wait for the walls to collapse so maybe under the weight of them you will find some peace. You are restless in your grief, you are drowning in it.

The day of the funeral leaves a blank space in your memory, void of colors and sounds apart from everyone’s crying. The ceremony is rushed and there is only a handful of family members since your mother couldn’t bring herself to tell everyone yet. You don’t blame her for it — you think she’s too afraid to say it out loud, afraid that speaking the words will make them real, and she’ll have to finally accept his death. You have no problem with acceptance, you just don’t know how to move on. How to stay strong when you are shattered beyond repair.

Your home now feels like a coffin but everyone expects you to be in charge, so you force yourself to. Merely an hour after his body was buried in soil wet with rain, you find yourself sorting out his papers. You look through his diary, his scribbled notes, the calculations he made in attempts to stabilize the emptying coffers. He’s always been the responsible one, keeping count and cutting costs, planning for the future — and yet he’s been robbed of it. None of it makes sense to you and your father isn’t there to teach you. You clench your teeth in frustration, and it makes you want to put your head through a wall.

You push through the second and the third day. You give orders to the maids, who walk on eggshells around the house, sharing concerned looks. You take it upon yourself to bring meals to your mother and all but spoon-feed her so she at least will have some energy to get up from bed. She doesn’t — while you want nothing more than to get away. You’ve had a fair share of responsibilities your entire life but now there’s an abundance of them and it puts you in a chokehold, and you are all alone in your discomfort which brings you no respite at all.

On the fourth day you wake up feeling like the walls are closing in and you can’t breathe, the need to leave anchoring in your lungs. You don’t want to waste another second as you put on a coat right on top of your nightgown, frightened that each moment of stalling might lead to you being dragged into the same routine again. But the house is asleep, and the sun has barely risen when you tiptoe out of your room. You only wake up one maid, telling her you’ll go for a walk so your sudden absence doesn’t come off as a deed of cruelty.

You step outside and close the door behind your back, taking a slow, deep inhale. And just when the guilt is about to sneak up on you — you dart off into the morning fog.

The air is fresh and cooling against your skin as you run away from your house and through the trees, not minding the branches or the damp ground. You breathe the crisp air in, and it makes your body feel weightless, and you speed up, leaving no chance for the responsibilities to catch up with you. Patches of the forest, splattered with all shades of green, bushes and weeds that graze your knees — you pay them no attention as your feet carry you further away, up the hill, to the most remote place you can think of. You don’t know how long it takes for you to reach the narrow wooden bridge and cross the remaining field that ends with a cliff, but when you finally do, your feet ache and your lungs burn and you gulp air.

The sky is draped by the light layer of clouds but the blue of it stretches as far as the eyes can reach, and the movement of the sea can be seen in the distance. The morning is still with silence and it welcomes you, the fresh breeze encircling your body. The feeling of it isn’t gentle as the wind instantly bites every part of your skin that is covered with sweat. You should’ve worn thicker layers, you shouldn’t have rushed, maybe you shouldn’t have come at all — but you are too tired of thinking, of restrictions. Of yourself.

You let the cold seep in and pierce you to the marrow as you watch the waves meeting the horizon. You then close your eyes, hands coming up to cross over your chest. It’s an oblivion of some sort — with no demands and no tears, it’s only you and the wind. The empty space around you matches the emptiness in your heart, and the beating of it sounds like a hollow note. You feel nothing, you feel numb, but it’s so tranquilizing, you can’t help but give in, just to stop brooding for a few minutes — or maybe hours, you care not.

In this state of torpor, you almost miss the sound of wings cutting through the air. When you open your eyes, you only catch a shadow hidden by the clouds and a glimpse of gold but it’s still enough to guess. Sunfyre. At any other time, Aegon’s visit would’ve brought you joy yet right now it feels useless against the doldrums of your soul. At least your sisters will be happy to see him, you think, not having the slightest desire to move from your spot. The wind is now howling, the grass is rustling — and then the small measured sound joins the melody of nature. It sounds like someone’s approaching but their step is nearly noiseless. There is only one person who walks like that, and the realization brings you out of your trance.

You turn to Aemond before he can say anything, your gaze meeting his, and he immediately stands still. The distance between you is just like before, and you only now grasp the amount of time that has passed. You haven’t seen him in two weeks — and so much has changed, and nothing is the same — but when you look at Aemond, at every painfully familiar feature of his, your heart twinges. You really, really missed him, and it’s the first thing you feel in fourteen days.

He notes your lack of protest and hesitantly comes toward you, only pausing when he’s at arm’s length. His cheeks are flushed pink from the wind, the collar of his coat raised to the angles of his jaw.

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” his tone is filled with sadness. “Even if you despise me.”

“I could never,” you mirror the words he once said but your voice comes out too quiet and blank.

There is only compassion and understanding in his gaze, and you are hungry for both, so you don’t break eye contact. He doesn’t, either, and reaches out a hand — it moves to your shoulder as he says:

“I am so sor—” when his fingers come in contact with you, Aemond suddenly stops talking, and his eye darts to your arm. There is a flicker of confusion on his face that quickly turns into worry.

“You are freezing,” he breathes out, and his worry grows stronger in an instant.

Aemond cautiously guides his hand up and down your arm — you see the movement, clear as day, but you don’t feel it at all.

“I didn’t really notice,” you mumble.

You want to tell him that staying with your family drove you up the wall, that you lost sleep and the nights bring you no rest, that you accept your emptiness and loathe it. But the wind is still howling, your mind is clouded with exhaustion, and you are afraid that Aemond will get angry at you.

Instead, he pleads.

“Let me take you home,” he continues caressing your arm. “Please, let’s go back. You can’t —”

“I don’t want to,” you retort, and all the unsaid words bubble up and pour out. “I could not stay there any longer, it was all too much, I needed a break, I — it just made me feel like...,” your skin finally absorbs the heat of his touch which sends goosebumps down your spine, and you get short of breath.

“Like I wanted to disappear,” you say, voice barely above the whisper.

Your confession hangs in the air, and you catch that same unreadable emotion in his eye. Three heartbeats later Aemond removes his hand, and the absence of it threatens to strip you of your short-lived comfort. But then he unbuttons his coat — and opens his arms to you:

“Disappear here.”

His words break the ice of your numbness, filling your lungs with air — so much of it, you almost feel light-headed. You are cold, and you are lonely, and you missed him. In a heartbeat you fall into his embrace, with the same force one may plummet down from a cliff — only instead of waves, you are welcomed by his warmth, and you instantly sink into it.

Aemond takes you under his coat, gently putting it over your body, and then holds you tight. You instinctively wrap your hands around his waist, nestling against his chest. Your cold palms glide over his shirt, and Aemond involuntarily shivers but doesn’t budge. He starts slowly stroking your back, and you soak up the calmness that radiates off him. His touch is soothing, quieting your mind, and you lose yourself in the serenity that it brings. 

You are both lost in time, standing quietly, as your body gradually warms up and relaxes. You listen to his heartbeat, the rhythm of it even and lulling, and it makes you feel at peace.

When Aemond looks at you clinging to him, his heart swells with so much love, he can barely contain it.

“How are you feeling?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “It all happened so fast, I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t. Everyone expects something from me now and I... I wish he was still here.”

“Your father was the kindest man I have ever met,” his voice is laced with sorrow. “I am so sorry you had to go through that. I should’ve come sooner but I only found out this morning.”

“And you came,” you remark delicately. “It’s all that matters.”

You snuggle up to him even more and relish in the feeling of his body close to yours, finding solace in it. You let yourself forget about everything else in the world, comforted by his kindness as he shields you from all the worries and the troubles of life.

“Whose idea was it to take Sunfyre?”

“Aegon’s,” the prince chuckles. “He was very persuasive, I’ll give him that.”

“Is he waiting for you on the hill?”

“He went to see your family, offer his condolences. And maybe complain a little since he didn’t particularly enjoy the flight.”

You try imagining the two of them squeezed into the saddle, and you know Aemond must’ve teased Aegon all the way to your house. You feel the tickling of laughter in your throat but it doesn’t go higher and then dissolves. Still, it’s a start.

“How much do you regret agreeing to that?”

Aemond pauses — and then his low voice vines through your hair:

“Right now, I don’t.”

You feel his heart skipping a beat, and for some reason, his pulse speeds up. You wonder what the reason may be, and your cheeks heat up when you are struck by the answer you can’t dare to hope for.

Or maybe you can.

“I’m not marrying Ser Lannister,” you blurt out, your own chest vibrating with anxiety. 

Aemond pulls away just a bit, only to have a look at you.

“I heard about that,” he reveals. “He was never a good —”

“You are under no obligation to say anything or do anything,” you cut him off, nervously lowering your gaze, because if he tries to pity you it will break your heart all over again, and you cannot bear it right now. “I just... I knew I would never love him. So I believe it’s only for the best.”

You keep babbling, but he hardly listens, his eye fixed on your face. Aemond isn’t sure you fully allow yourself to be this vulnerable with anyone. But it’s his favorite side of yours — with your bashful sincerity, your overly complicated explanations that he understands with ease, your habit of talking with hands, with your searching gaze and your eyes bright with life. It’s all the little things that he adores.

It’s what makes his feelings finally spill over.

“...But we don’t need to talk about it, you don’t need to say anyth—”

His touch is so gentle, you barely register when Aemond puts a finger beneath your chin, lifting your head to look at him — and then suddenly his lips cover yours. His mouth is even warmer than his hands, and he gives you a couple of seconds to make sure you won’t pull away. And then he starts kissing you, slowly and steadily, in a way you could only dream of.

Aemond gently cradles your head, his lips are soft and ardent — they meld with yours, and time freezes and sounds fade as you melt into the kiss, into his touch. And at that moment nothing else matters. You are wrapped in his tenderness, the ocean of feelings flooding your body, and he enters your heart like he owns it. He always did.

Aemond is the one to break the kiss, sensing that you are gasping for air. You slowly open your eyes in a daze, as if you’ve been awoken from a dream.

“I will take care of everything,” he affirms, his mouth still only a couple of inches away. “You do not have to worry about a thing.”

One of your hands moved on top of his chest, and you feel that his heart rate is back to normal. The pounding of it pulls you back to reality.

“You mean that?” you whisper. “Aemond, I don’t have that much to offer.”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face and leaves a trail of light kisses up to your temple.

“You have everything a man can wish for,” he reassures you, and his gaze finds yours again. “Everything I have ever wished for.”

The prince takes your face between his hands, and his thumbs follow the contours of your cheeks.

“Even in a room full of art I can only look at you,” Aemond murmurs, his words are flamelike and go straight to your heart, making it flutter.

Only now you notice that the sun emerged from the clouds, and the golden light illuminates everything around you. You bask in it as well as in Aemond’s affection — and he makes you feel seen, safe, cared for. Loved.

“That was very poetic of you,” you tilt your head and lean closer to him.

“I agree with poets on one thing — we have no control over who we love. But I have never regretted loving you,” he can’t stop himself from placing a kiss on the edge of your mouth. “And if I had to choose, it would still be you.”

When you meet his gaze, this time you read it with ease — and you are sure it’s a mere reflection of your own. An overwhelming feeling sweeps over and spreads through you. But the ocean is calm, and you are not cold anymore — and Aemond does love you, after all.

You feel your mouth quirk in a smile, genuine and a very happy one. Aemond presses his forehead to yours and promises:

“From now on, you will always be my first choice,” and then you see him trailing for your lips.

And you believe him.

the taglist: @greenowlfactif, @mischiefmanaged71, @pasta-rask, @imjustboredso, @iiamthehybrid, @m00n5t0n3, @crispmarshmallow, @bellaisasleep, @aemondssuit, @ipadkidsworld, @itisjustwhatitis, @maximizedrhythms, @fckwritersblock, @hiatuswhore, @fantasyreader130, @bibli0thecary, @teapartydreams, @kyuupidwrites, @thelittleswanao3 (I couldn't tag some of you for whatever reason, so I'll just message you guys)

yep, it’s me again!

the title is someone’s quote (I have no idea where it’s from, pls help a girl out)

“Disappear here” are Jonathan Carroll’s words that have been engraved in my memory for years and they just popped into my head while I was writing in a haste and only then I realized wait, technically it’s a quote, you can’t do that?! but guess what, I did! I also tried to rephrase these two words but it looked weird so I’m letting you know that I suck as a writer

the bit when she babbles and he looks smitten with her — I couldn’t help but think of that scene from “North and South” (it screams Aemond to me!)

I imagined the cliff to look like this 🍃

I originally planned to turn the romance down just a notch ’cause I already have 4 sappy fics and I wanted this one to be more “realistic” but… oh well, me and romance go hand in hand, apparently.

you will see this version of Aegon more often because I enjoyed it immensely!

what do you guys think? comments and opinions are VERY welcome! 🥺 ✨ my masterlist English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[paintedkinzy-88]

Im sorry to bother you. I just wanted to say that I love your COI AU. I love the leo angst in it and the Dragon. I have always loved dragons and this scratches a itch I didn't know I had 😆 I was reading back through the asks and saw where you weren't sure about Leos hoard, and then I saw an ask about how he used to talk with Donnie about getting wings. They would talk about shows like Rio and Gaurdians of Gahool. So maybe his hoard can be birds. Just imagine he has all these bird stuffies and figures because he loves movies with flying because he wants to fly, but his family just assumes he just likes birds. Donnie, of course, knows about the dreams, but leo just always plays it off, so it never clicks for Donnie that the bird hoard is another hint at his need to fly. When his brothers find out the birds make so much more sense to them and the obvious obsession just hits them hard because they never noticed. Just a random thought, lol. Sorry that was really long.

Never a bother to get an ask! I love reading everyone’s thoughts!! I’m glad you enjoy it! (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Ahhhh I really had to think about this for a while, feel how it would fit in the story, and the more I think about it, the more I actually really like that idea, dang it! I hadn’t actually planned on adding hoards, but you guys make it too fun XD

I’m still debating if it’s ooc at all for him... and if I care lmao. So excuse me as I go on a whole ass ramble once again, to get my new thoughts in order, and maybe see if anyone likes it lmaooo.

Everyone knows that Leo’s liked birds since he was a little dragonet, specifically because of what you mentioned: movies! Rio, The Aviators, even Angry Birds, he loved them all! But at the end of the day, Guardians of Ga’Hoole is what started everything. With scenes like this, as a kid who never really thought about what it was LIKE to fly beside Raph and Mikey? That little tot was immediately fascinated.

However, he also really liked Happy Feet before that, for the exact opposite reason: the swimming (Though the music was a bonus too). He was familiar with that, and he was good at it too, so seeing these lil penguins swimming in an ocean instead of the little pool Splinter was able to get for them was HUGE.

So when birds became such an important thing that it triggered his hoarding instincts, why would anyone assume anything was wrong? Obviously that’s where his questions about flight came from! Birds birds birds.

Bird toys, bird figurines, bird pokemon cards, pictures, movies, plushies, books, he was collecting it all!

It wasn’t until he got to see HTTYD or Avatar, (both a little after he finally accepted flying wasn’t an option for him and obsessing over it wasn’t helping), that he realized his hoard wasn’t just limited to birds. Dragons (ACTUAL dragons, not drakes or serpents…), bats, insects, frikkin flying squirrels — suddenly he was aching to get items revolving around those too.

But if he let himself hoard stuff like that all willy nilly, his family would certainly piece it together, wouldn’t they??

He’s able to let a few items fly (pun intended), like a plush dragon here and there because “it looks like Mikey,” a cool pinned butterfly because it’s “blue, like me,” a bat diagram because “there’s no medical poster for dragon wings, we need that in the medbay, obviously!” Anything he can come up with an excuse for.

But anything else? Anything that might raise too many eyebrows? Like that dragon onesie or that giant bat Halloween decor or the whole WoF comic book series??? Either resist the temptation, or shove it under his bed.

Meanwhile, he absolutely gets teased for being “SO into birds” as a dragonet, it became his hoard. But that’s fine, they tease each other a lot, it’s not as if all of his family doesn’t constantly bring him more bird stuff as gifts lmao.

[oddlyhale]

RWBY: The Show That's Tried To Explain Itself For Years

Lately, I have been into reading and writing again. I love reading books that are pretty fucking bad because, like bad movies, bad books are fun to read and collect. I've also been into watching other content creators review bad books and give their thoughts.

There's a term that I had never heard of before until a few days ago: "steam of conscious." What it means is "to depict the multitudinous thoughts and feelings which pass through the mind" of a narrator. Basically meaning the author is plugging in ideas that sound cool at the moment, and are forgotten about later because there are other random, cool ideas that the author keeps plugging in.

That's not inherently a bad method of writing. It's similar to "pantsing" a book, meaning "sitting down and writing by the seat of your pants," except it doesn't have to be left as is. You can plug in as many ideas as you want in your story, but you also have to remember to go back and do major editing to try and make these ideas flow and make sense to the story itself. Of course, that means you'll be cutting out a hunk of content that does nothing or makes no sense to the overall story. Unless you're an experienced chaotic writer, you'll be putting in a lot of work.

I like editing, and I like knowing that I am a pantser, so it feels like a good combination. Not a perfect one, but a workable one for me.

But it does make me wonder about RWBY overall, wondering now if the show was a stream of consciousness the whole time, except the writers can't go back to edit everything.

I wouldn't say RWBY is an unedited mess of consciousness. There's definitely editing here and there to make dialogue and scenes make sense, but the overall script is fucking nuts.

RWBY V1-V3 have their stream of consciousness where the writers had anime brain rot, plugging in cheesy tropes that other animes have to make RWBY fit neatly into that media. Oh look, kids with superpowers going to a superpower school to learn more about themselves. Oh, put in a tournament because other school animes have those. Oh, make the main cast have some personality tropes - like Weiss can be a cute tsundere, and Ruby can be the naive but brave heroine who is also likely the chosen one that will save Remnant.

Not saying these tropes are bad, but I don't think RWBY understood why those tropes were so fun in the first place after they blew it all up before V4 began.

This thought has been on my mind for a few days because oddly, it reminds me quite a lot of The Night and Its Moon. If you're not familiar with the book, it's a plagiarized Witcher story, but trying to be queer.

I say trying because the author failed miserably to make their sapphic main couple the main focus. Like, the back of the book promises an action-romance, but that feels like a lie. One of the women would rather be surrounded by her male harem while the other woman is wishing to find her long-lost lover.

But the author of The Night and its Moon admitted to writing the first book in an ongoing manic episode that lasted for a few days. She finished the entire thing in 10 days, self-published it and it was out in the world for her fans to check out. I don't mind if people take such a small amount of time to complete a book, but what I do care about is if the author cared enough to go back and edit everything.

As you can guess, TNAIM's author did little. She was fearful of criticism, saying this book is important to her identity as a bisexual and didn't want any negative feedback. As much as I understand where she's coming from, wanting to live in a bubble of nobody being allowed to criticize your book was where her book fell flat and fell miserably. The book turned out very problematic, not because of the queerness, but because of the weird white skin, white girl worship, and fetishization of the only dark-skinned woman who happens to be one of the main protagonists.

The book has so many plugs of cool moments that it never comes back to, moments between characters that seem to mean something but are actually never expanded upon ever again, the poor sapphic representation, and the racism.

Which is where it reminds me of RWBY.

The difference is that the entire story of The Night and its Moon was written by one person who refused critical feedback. RWBY has three-four writers that all share the same braincell and it still flops.

If you want to know more about the book, you can find out more about it by watching YT reviews made by Booktubers. It is a hot mess, that's what I'll leave you with.

YA novels have a hard time discussing heavy topics, yet they insist on tackling them. That's not a bad thing, but if you're going to do that, you can't just try tackling it while in a stream of consciousness. Many authors accidentally - or maybe not accidentally - come across as incoherent and offensive. Relying heavily on cheesy tropes to help build weak support but never do anything creative with it. Not being sensitive to topics that can be fumbled so badly that the audience may assume you're [a] problematic person(s).

I don't believe that CRWBY is working off a stream of consciousness after V3, however. That stream of cheesy anime material had dried out fast because they shoved almost all of them into the first three volumes. They published their metaphorical books and realized they made huge mistakes that they can't go back and fix, so they have to work with retconning or pretending those things totally didn't happen. Or perhaps acknowledge some of those ideas did happen but then quickly turn tail and run before explaining anything any further. Or, the worse thing, is to plug in a new idea that combats that old idea, but now they have to explain that new idea if it doesn't follow up in the next volumes.

A weird cycle of ideas that can or cannot be explained, and it feels like RWBY has become "the show that is trying to explain itself." Not a show about kids with superpowers trying to save the world.

Stream of consciousness and pantsing aren't inherently bad methods to write a story. I don't mind if you would even refer to yourself as a "chaotic but organized" creator. If you love the story, you'll put in that extra effort to make it cohesive to the general audience, or at least make it all flow together and make sense. But do not leave it in a messy heap that you need to justify in the next fucking book, and don't be mad when people point out the problematic things you wrote into the pages. The audience wasn't the one that put that context into the story. You as the writer did.

[navree]

https://www.tumblr.com/navree/727281176414420992/what-do-u-think-about-zeglar-and-how-she-talks?source=share

Gotta agree with a lot of ur points. So many male actors out there that they didnt read/watch the source material of the character their playing and get no shit but the moment a female actress say that all hell breaks loose.

From what I have seen it seems like the problem most people have with her is how she spoke negatively about og snow white and its plot and themes and characters. And there was that whole thing with the drawfs (im not going into that rabbit hole).

Personally the girl seems nice. Its easy to see that shes new to the scene. And she seems to ramble (?) say things without thinking them through ( ppl call her a pr nightmare 💀) (apparently this has happened before). But overall she seems nice and lovely.

The only thing that i found a bit eye raising was her saying her costar on film who plays the prince can just be cut out of the movie which was a bit ??? Though i can tell she didn't mean this badly or negatively (atleast i hope).

The thing that's so baffling to me is we've had people actively hating the source material of the movie/TV show they're adapting and most everyone was fine with it. Robert Pattinson (my beloved) spent nearly his entire time in the Twilight franchise actively hating everything his character did and every plotpoint in the books and the movies, and nobody batted an eye. But now Rachel said something about this movie nobody's even seen yet and isn't even done filming and it's World War 3? What?

The thing to me is that, OK, she said something that was perceived as disparaging to the original movie. So? Maybe she said that the plot wasn't that interesting or that the characters are flat or the themes basic to nonexistent, beyond the fact that she wouldn't be wrong to say any of that because it's all true (no shade if you like that movie, but it is a bit basic compared to even other classic Disney movies like Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, and it makes sense that it's flat because, again, it was the first of the Disney animated movies that would solidify its brand), but genuinely: who cares? Literally who cares if a Disney movie of almost a hundred years old is being lightly disparaged for two minutes? Why are you (not you anon, but the collective you, the royal we type of you) so upset about it? Is your identity so desperately and intrinsically tied into the concept of 1937's Snow White and the Seven Dwarves as created by the Walt Disney company that the lightest critique is tantamount to a personal attack?

Listen, I get having strong feelings about favorite movies, even favorite Disney movies. My favorite movie of all time is most likely The Lion King, I find it a practically perfect film and beyond my enjoyment, it is something that's fundamentally tied into my relationship with my father in a way only he and I share, I get having an emotional connection to these kinds of movies even as an adult. But if y'all are pitching a hissy fit because Rachel might be pulling an RPatz, that's for you to sort out with a responsible adult, or in therapy, not go and be gross on Twitter for no reason.

Also again, this movie has not come out yet, it's not even finished filming, we can't be doing discourse about something literally only partially completed, it's like complaining you know a cake is gonna taste bad because you put it in the oven five minutes ago and it still looks like mostly batter.

[missymurphy1985]

The Extra (part 3)

Warnings - not yet 😉

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton

You'd accepted the role - it was only for a week, and you were there anyway. Clara would be killed off at the end of this week, sending Tommy into a crazy spiral that would last the whole series. Your class were so excited to see you in costume performing alongside the rest of the cast, they were thrilled for you. You kept playing it down, it was no more than a glorified 'extra' role, just there to set the story for the rest of the series - your actual screen time would be no more than two episodes.

You were catching up with Liane on Wednesday lunchtime over a sandwich and latte, she was grilling you about how your scenes with Cillian.

"You know, he's not at all what I expected. He's so down to earth and lovely. Really sweet. Patient too - thankfully. Hard not to forget your lines when you've got those eyes staring at you!"

"Is it not as awkward as you thought then?"

"Well he got rid of any awkwardness on Monday morning! His trick worked - we've been great ever since."

Your phone buzzed on the table and Liane couldn't help but notice.

"You exchanged numbers already?" She said, eyebrow raised.

"It's not like that - he used my phone to find his yesterday, left it in his trailer."

"You are not that naive Y/n... That's the oldest trick in the book!"

"What is?"

"The old 'lost my phone, can I ring it from yours' trick! He just wanted your number!"

"What if I did?" Cillian's suddenly appeared seemingly out of nowhere, plonking himself down next to you making you jump.

"Jesus Cillian, don't do that..." You laughed, clutching your chest.

"Sorry, I did text to say I was behind you in line but you were too busy discussing my ulterior motives for getting your phone number," he grinned, winking at Liane who was redder than a tomato.

"I um... Yeah I have to go do that.. thing.. I'll see you later y/n," she made her exit, and you shook your head, trying not to laugh.

"Would it have been so bad if she was right?" He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head.

"Was she?"

"No, I actually did lose my phone.. but quite a clever trick isn't it. And I do have your phone number now." His eyes were on yours again, you swore he knew the effect it had on you.

"You do indeed. What exactly do you intend to do with it?"

"Well I plan to call you later, some of the cast have arranged a drink in the hotel tonight. See if you wanted to join us?"

"Me? I'm hardly a cast member Cillian, I'm only here for a week?"

"You're as important to this show as I am y/n - without your character, Tommy's spiral into madness doesn't make sense. You're going to be a real focus for this series."

You pondered it for a few minutes. You didn't have plans that evening, just heading back to your own hotel and reading a book, nothing too exciting..

"Okay I'll come for one drink. Just one though, it's an early start tomorrow."

"Great! I'll text you later with the details?" You nodded and he headed back over to the canteen, collecting his coffee and out the door.

Your scenes done, you were in your hotel room getting ready. Liane was on her bed reading, giggling like a schoolgirl as you straightened your hair.

"Will you stop - it's a quiet drink with all the cast!"

"Mhmm. Yep. I'm sure you'll have a lovely time! I won't wait up, don't worry!" You threw a cushion at her, just making her laugh even more at you.

"Right, my taxi's outside. How do I look?" You stood up in your black jeans and flowing pale tan shirt, finished with black boots.

"Looking hot mama! His eyes are gonna be on stalks when you walk in!"

"Oh shut up, will you!" You laughed, rolling your eyes, heading out the door.

You walked into the hotel, and as promised Cillian was waiting in the lobby for you.

"You look amazing y/n," he kissed your cheek and offered you his arm to loop into. Nodding at the bouncer on the door, he led you through into the bar. The other cast and crew were already inside, smiling and laughing as they chatted about the first few days of filming.

"What's your poison?" He asked.

"Vodka and lemonade please." You got your drinks and made your way over to Anto, who was currently entertaining Sophie and Helen with dodgy Dad jokes. You were cringing before you'd even arrived. He saw you and instantly threw his arms around you.

"I thought you said you weren't coming!" He asked.

"She had a better offer, Anto!" Sophie giggled looking at Cillian, who's cheeks had flushed a little at her comment.

"Oh now, I see how it is, my eyes not blue enough for you?" Anto laughed.

"Well no.. they're brown?" You smirked, making Cillian laugh.

You spent an hour chatting with Sophie and Natasha, filling they were telling you how well your students were going and how much they enjoyed having them all onset. Natasha went to the bar to get a round in when Sophie nudged you.

"Don't look round, keep looking at me."

"Okay..."

"He hasn't taken his eyes off you. Not once y/n. Keeps glancing at you, he thinks I can't see him."

"Who?"

"Cillian! He's talking to Paul at the bar, but he's looking over at you."

"Come in, you're not serious?" She nodded. You blushed again, feeling a fluttery feeling in your stomach.

"He clearly fancies you y/n."

"Yeah, a multi millionaire Hollywood actor fancies some random university professor from Stafford? Come on Sophie, even I'm not that daft! I'm going outside for a smoke, you coming?" She shook her head, and you headed out the side door into the empty smoking area. Taking out your phone, you typed a quick text to Liane telling her you'd be back in an hour.

"You got a spare one of those?" Cillian's voice behind you startled you.

"I thought you were a non-smoker?" You handed him your packet and he took one, you lit it for him.

"Social smoker." He leaned against the wall next to you, blowing the smoke away. There was a silence between you. All you could think about was how the hell you'd ended up here in a smokers area with Cillian Murphy. The little fangirl inside you was having a hissy fit. The grown woman in you was telling you to stop being so damn stupid.

"You're a damn fine actress y/n." You turned to him and scoffed.

"Seriously. Too good for that dick of a director. Purely intimidated by you, that's why he didn't hire you."

"I'm intimidating, am I?"

"A little. In a good way. A very good way," he raised an eyebrow. Was he flirting?

"And what is it that's so intimidating, exactly?" He stubbed the cigarette out in the wall mounted ashtray and turned to face you properly.

"We've spent a lot of time together these last few days. You know your own mind. You're intelligent, confident, have just the right level of sass, attractive. It's a deadly combination y/n."

"Is that so?" Did he just get closer? You were rooted to the spot, you were sure he was closer than he was before...

"That is so. Qualities like that don't come around very often. He was mad to not hire you, and even more tapped to blacklist you. I'd star opposite you any day of the week."

"Would you really?"

"Yeah. The movies I could make with you..." he winked, before heading back inside leaving you to wonder what he meant. Was he flirting with you? You shook your head, finishing your own cigarette. If he was, clearly just after a quick fuck with a costar.. but he wasn't like that, was he?

[wormstacheangel]

reminder I am watching The Nanny and I can't help but write scenes as destiel. So here is my second one. I think this one is a bit more sitcom, especially towards the end :) This is for episode 1x11.

wc: 1.7k

The kids have been having a hard time with the one night they don’t have Dean to tuck them in. Whatever Cas did, the kids would correct him and tell him Dean did it this way or did it that way. He simply couldn’t get it right. Even Claire was missing Dean, showing her fear of losing the one person who finally got her to be less angry at the world.

After finally getting the kids to bed, Cas walks into the kitchen to find Balthazar lounging around in his robe with a drink in one hand and scrolling through movie reviews with the other. Cas stands over his shoulder, trying to read it, but his eyes gaze over, not caring enough but still, he sighs.

“Would you like a drink, sir?” Balthazar sounded exasperated with him already, even if he has only been in the room for less than a minute.

“Please.” Cas fetches a cup and holds it out for Balthazar to pour some whiskey into it. He has been feeling restless all night but can’t pinpoint the reason why. “You know, Mr. Winchester would have loved talking about horrible movies with you.”

“Yes. I know.”

“I wonder how he is.”

“I’m sure he is enjoying his date, sir.” Balthazar takes a sip of his drink as he keeps his eyes on the screen in front of him.

Cas walks over to stand by the kitchen island. He already undid his tie, undid his top four buttons, and he can’t imagine how his hair looked after pacing the living room for a good 20 minutes.

He swirled his drink before downing the whole thing in one gulp.

“Or he can be having a miserable time, sir. The man was a mortician, after all. I don’t think that would fit Mr. Winchester’s happy-go-lucky attitude very well.”

Cas perks up at that, feeling his chest warm-up — probably because of the drink actually— as he stands up straighter with a hopeful grin. “You think so?”

“Have I ever wronged you, sir?”

“You’re right, Balthazar! He would never like that-that depressing man.” Cas smile grows. “Cause you know, the kids, they would miss him very much if he left.”

Balthazar shuts his laptop as he rolls his eyes, “For god’s sake, sir! It’s only the first-!” He looks at Cas’s stunned expression before slowly falling back in his chair, a cheeky smile on his face. “I mean, with all due respect, sir.”

“Yes.” Cas sighs, ignoring the outburst. “I think you’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?”

“Maybe a tad bit, sir.”

A chuckle came out of his mouth as Cas opens the trash can and plucks out the bag to throw it outside. He walks towards the back door as he says, “I didn’t see anything between them anyways. I’m sure it’ll be fine!”

Cas pulls the back door open only to find Dean and his date making out. Leaving Cas standing there stunned and fumbling, not knowing if he should break them apart or close the door.

“I don’t see anything between them either, sir.” Balthazar joked as they both watched Dean press closer to his date. Unaware of their audience. Balthazar was the one to finally close the door, taking the bag of trash away from Cas, as he leads him towards the stairs. “I believe it’s time for you to go to bed, Mr. Novak.”

“Yes. Yes. You’re probably right.” Cas shook his head, hoping to erase that image away like an etch a sketch, but he still saw Dean’s mouth being sucked on. “Goodnight.”

“Night, sir.”

(More Under The Cut)

In the morning, Cas somehow convinced himself—Balthazar was only half-listening to his words anyways— to talk to Dean about the rules of the house. It had to be done. He didn’t want Dean to bring home strange people to his home, where his children lived. He didn’t want to see—or better yet— he didn’t want his kids to see Dean bring people into his room.

What kind of example will that present to them? Not a very good one.

He knocks at the door and quickly gets an answer to come in; Dean never hesitates to have any of the kids in his room. Cas would usually find them all curled up in Dean’s bed watching cartoons on a Sunday morning.

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester.” Cas poked his head into the room first, and that enough stopped him short. Dean looked like he was getting ready to go out.

Dean is dressed in a comfortable-looking robe, no shirt, and he’s assuming no pants by the fact that he can see a peek of his thighs from the slit in the front.

“Morning, Mr. Novak. What can I do for you?” Dean turned back to the mirror, a small smile stretched across his lips as he continued to fix his hair.

“I just wanted to talk about your um—You know we have rules in this house, and I just wanted to make sure you know them.”

“Oh, I think you have me confused with Claire. She’s two doors down.” Dean teased.

“No. No, this is about your date. About you having dates. And-And having…dates.” Cas sighed the last word, unable to get the word he wants out without his whole body warming up. “Anyways,” He cleared his throat. “The rules of the house with me-”

“Oh, with you? Gosh, maybe I should have read the fine print better.” Dean teased, winking at him through his reflection as he ran his hands through his growing hair.

“No. Not like that!”

“Let me get this straight.” Dean turns to face Cas before practically strutting over to Cas, half-dressed in a semi-open robe. Cas eyes struggle not to travel on the man before him. “We are talking about having sex in my room.”

“Well, not-not us. Not we.” Cas nervous gestures between them, noticing his hand hit Dean’s bare chest in the process because they were standing so damn close.

“We already covered that.” Dean winks at him again, making Cas’s heart race. “Don’t worry, Mr. Novak, I won’t do anything to show a bad example for the children.”

“Good.” Cas stuffs his hands in his pockets as he rocks on his heels. “Yes. Good. Okay!”

“Okay.” Dean turns back to the mirror.

“Where are you going anyways?” That sounded way too demanding. “If I may ask?”

“Well, if you must know. I got another date. We’re meeting for lunch.”

“Again?”

“Yeah. Well, I gotta eat.”

“Of course. Well, have fun, Mr. Winchester.”

“Thank you, Mr. Novak. Nice chat.”

Cas makes his way out of the room, bumping on furniture as he went.

Cas walks into the kitchen that same afternoon to find Dean sitting on the kitchen counter, shoveling ice cream into his mouth. Cas quickly rushes over to take the spoon away from him.

“Mr. Winchester! You are lactose intolerant!”

“Well, I deserve a little bit of ice cream after the crap day I had, and the coconut milk one you got me is still frozen solid!”

“Oh,” Cas puts the ice cream away before walking back to him. “Date didn’t go so well this time? Was it the whole creepy mortician life?”

“No,” Dean sighs, watching as Cas runs the Dean-friendly fudge brownie ice cream under some hot water. “Weirdly enough, I was getting used to the idea.”

“Then, what was wrong with him?” Cas hands Dean a spoon, and they both dig into the still hard ice cream, but they can still scape a few bits off. Cas tried not to follow the way Dean’s tongue pokes out and licks at the spoon.

“He was a clown.” Dean sighs, spinning the spoon in his hand before aggressively digging at the pint of ice cream.

“In what way?”

“In a clown way.”

“What-?”

“Red nose! Big shoes! You want me to google it for you?” Cas looks stunned by the outburst. But it clicks; he means an actual fucken clown. He tried not to laugh as Dean let out a defeated sigh. “Sorry. I just thought…I just thought I finally found someone. You know? I’m 30. I should have found someone already.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. But I’m sure you will. You’ll find someone special who won’t honk their nose at you.” Cas bops Dean’s nose, it’s awkward, but Dean still chuckles when he pushes Cas’s hand away.

The atmosphere around them was warm and comforting, something he wishes to drown in. But in a respectable boss-and-employee-who-lives-with-him kind of way. The smile they share fades a little as they look away, and then Dean jumps off the counter with a yawn.

“I’m gonna head to bed now. Goodnight, Mr. Novak.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Winchester.”

And just like that, they are back to professionals.

The following day, Dean is in the room talking to Sam about his dating life.

“You just think the perfect person is gonna knock at your door yelling out ‘there you are! I found you!’”

“Oh, there you are.” Cas walks in, neither Sam nor Dean notices the coincidence, holding out two different ties. “What tie should I wear? Blue or yellow?”

“Blue. Goes great with your eyes.” Dean turns around to tie the tie nicely around Cas’s neck. Sam gave them no attention as it was an action that happens regularly.

When he was done, he fixes Cas’s collar and pats his shoulder before telling him he looks good.

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

Cas walks out of the room while Dean continues to get ready as he talks. “I just want a person who actually respects and values my opinions, not just my pretty face.”

“Ah, sorry to bother you again, Mr. Winchester,” Cas walks back in. “but I do value your opinion. Should I wear the gold cufflinks or the silver?”

“Gold is a classic. But make sure it’s those nice ones Claire picked out for you. She’ll love to see them.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you! That would be great.” Cas walks out of the room with a grateful smile.

Sam is still flipping through Dean’s magazine collection as he sighs, “Yeah, Dean, that’s never going to happen. You should have just dated the damn clown,”

“And what? Never see you again cause you’ll be scared my boyfriend is in full makeup? No, thank you. Now let’s go before we’re late to the damn game.”

[gotnofucks]

Prometheus

Pairing: August Walker x Reader

Summary: You disappoint August and must make up for it.

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Smut, dom/sub themes, language, 18+ ONLY

A/N: This is my entry for the Happy Hoelidays Challenge by @donutloverxo @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817 . You guys are all fucking amazing and I adore you! I chose the prompt “Kissing under the mistletoe” but with a twist. And honestly, this whole fic is a mess. But I hope you’ll find something worthwhile here.

Masterlist

Our love story will not be found in romance books. People like him and I, we don’t exist in rose tinted pages with flowery scents. We are found within the darker pages of horror books, where our love is written with blood and pain, where it’s ghastly stunning in its dangerous beauty. But I promise you, it’s no less beautiful than the walks in a meadow or cuddles in the bed.

We bleed and cry, from eyes and heart. We drown each other deep and deeper still, only to pull back above the surface as we’re about to die. That gulp of air, that’s sweeter than any other, if simply because it’s the one that has us clinging to life.

I like to think that I am Prometheus, and he is my Eagle, sent by the gods to devour me day after day, letting me writhe under him. It’s pain beyond anything, but what most don’t understand is that I need that pain to feel alive. But what if one day Prometheus was left hanging alone, liver intact and no eagle to eat him out?

That would be torture.

I am being tortured.

The whip in his hand cracked on skin and I choked on a sob. The sharp swish of the whip parted the air again and crashed on the skin with precise intervals, creating a crisscross of welts like a painter does his design. The blue in his eyes was clouded by the deep, boiling waves of anger and disappointment.

I could take his anger, but never his disappointment.

His anger meant punishment, it meant retribution. His disappointment meant distance, it meant betrayal. And here I was, Prometheus who disappointed his eagle and now watched that beak bite on someone else’s liver.

She took his hits gracefully, only small whimpers escaping her as his whip landed on her bottom. They left marks on her skin, but they seared my heart. People say nothing hurts more than being punished this brutally. They know nothing. Nothing of the pain of watching someone else take your pain, your punishment. People don’t know the torture of being tied down and being made to watch your master pour his anger into someone else.

I closed my eyes at the scene, incapable of watching more. It was more than my heart could take. I had promised to take his love and his hate, his sweetness and his poison. And to have someone else cry under him, wear marks on her body that should have decorated me left me more broken than any of his toys would have done.

“Please sir” I begged, “No more.”

His eyes were on me the entire time, even as he had someone else at his mercy. He cocked his head to the side, looking at me naked and tied up, balancing on my knees. He came closer and lifted his booted leg to part my thighs with it, an unreadable look in his eyes.

“Melly, leave.” He ordered the other girl. She swiftly got up and left without a word, just happy to be of service when required. I raised my eyes to his, pleading, begging. His large hand traced the curve of my cheek before dropping to the collar on my neck, playing with the charm that dangled on the front.

AW’s Princess

“I should take this away” August said, and I jerked as if I had been electrocuted. I shook my head, hair falling away from the elastic that secured them. He couldn’t take away my collar. No, he simply couldn’t.

“Please, no sir. I am sorry.” I sobbed.

To me, this collar was a symbol of ownership. Of being claimed by August Walker, being his. I would never trade this for a wedding ring, for this was more sacred to me. It sat on my neck, over my pulse, beating with the blood that pumped under it and reminded me that every breath I take belongs to him. That I chose to surrender my life living at his feet.

“What are you sorry about, Princess?” He asked me. Before I could answer, he was walking away to pull from his drawer a bowl and his trusted vibrator, and the sight of it made my thighs tremble.

“I am sorry for lying to you sir.” I replied. He hummed, coming to kneel before me, placing the bowl between my parted thighs and opening me wide with two fingers. I gasped, mouth parted as he touched me most intimately, his fingers that easily pulled the trigger of a gun running gently along my spongy walls to create an explosion no less than a gun shot.

He followed every pant that fell from my mouth, observed every twitch that showed on my face and drank in the fluttering of my lashes. Whenever I would turn my face he would tut, forcing me to look at him.

“How did it feel when I hit Melly instead of you?” He asked me, and slowly started to insert the vibrator inside me. I sucked in a breath, wincing at the stretch before answering.

“It hurt sir, it hurt so much.” I whimpered, tears shining in my eyes before dropping to my cheeks.

August leans back once the vibrator is completely in me, my juices dripping out from around it. Cupping my face gently, he brushed a soft kiss on my forehead, like the brush of angel wings and the slightest nip of Death’s scythe at once.

“You hurt me too.” He whispered. The darkness in his eyes had me shivering, both from fear and arousal. Being with August felt like standing on a cliff, every moment terrified that a strong gust of wind would have me pummeling to the ground. But when one wants to fly, even falling becomes a kink. How long does the fall last, and when you do hit the ground, how good does it hurt?

It hurts like heaven.

“You will fill this bowl with your cream” He ordered, “You will drip into it, and as you do, you’ll tell me where you went wrong. Apologize to me like you mean it, give me a reason to have you at my feet.”

He started unbuttoning himself and with every new inch of him revealed to my hungry eyes, I dripped. I clenched around the vibrating toy inside me, moaning softly. This is how completely he owned me. The eagle was going away, and it was up to Prometheus to seduce him to come back, to convince him to eat that liver one more time, that the taste it worth it.

“I am sorry sir, I lied to you. I didn’t tell you where I was going.” I started. He continued undressing, languidly tossing aside his clothes to unveil the scarred flesh underneath. I could tell every battle he’d ever fought by tracing the hardened marks over his body. Sometimes when he would let me, I’d trace the scars of his heart too, feeling the hurt and loss that lingered in their ridges.

“Where did you tell me you were going, Princess?” He asked me, sitting naked in front of me on a chair. Easy, confident.

“To the movies with my friends.” I lowered my eyes, ashamed of myself for lying to a man who can see through anyone and anything.

“And where did you actually go?”

I bit my lip, knowing I had disappointed him. He required nothing from me but trust and honesty.

“To see my family.” I whispered.

He shook his head, a sneer curling under his mustache. His gaze bore into me with a force that had me gushing in the bowl and he scoffed. The control he had on my body without even touching it was almost embarrassing. He got up to stand in front of me, his hard length so near to my face if I poke my tongue out, I’d be able to lick him.

“Your family” He spat the word like it was poison. “Why don’t I like it when you go meet with them Princess?”

“Because only you’re allowed to hurt me sir.” I answered.

August was not a nice man, he was not someone you mess with. He got off on pain and terror, on instigating fear in those around him. But when it came to me, only he is allowed to hurt me. He will whip me and spank me, tie me and choke me, but woe betide anyone who so much as hurt a hair on my head. Which is why I didn’t tell him I was meeting my family.

Every meeting with them came out the same way. Me in tears after a shouting match. For someone who had never managed to quite fit in anywhere, my only solace was August’s arms. And those arms would pound anyone to pulp if I cried tears that were put in my eyes by anyone but him. Fucked up? Maybe.

“Why did you go?” He asked, brushing the tip of his cock on my face, smearing his cum and marking me. The natural musk of him filled my nose and I leaned forward to have a taste when he moved away, wagging a finger in warning.

“It was Christmas.” I pathetically said.

August smirks, his eyes falling on the bowl between my legs that had collected my slick. He exhaled, kneeling before me and pulling out the vibrator with a pop, instead replacing it with his fingers that had me struggling in my restraints.

“And you thought I wouldn’t celebrate Christmas with you?” He asked me and flicked his fingers on my hardened nub that had me cumming into the bowl. His name was like a chant on my lips and I begged him to set me free, to hold me again.

He took away the bowl and put it on the bedside table, coming back to finally release me from the ropes that bound me. Carefully picking me, he dropped me on the bed and smirked nastily.

“I even got us mistletoe. I was going to hang it on the door and surprise you with it, but since you’ve chosen to be a bitch today, I’ve found another place for it.” Saying this he pulled out a bundle of mistletoe and held it over his cock, looking expectantly at me.

“W-what?” I sputtered.

“You’re supposed to kiss it sweetheart” He mocked and came closer, slapping me across the face with his dick. I blinked at him before licking my lips and taking him in my mouth. His familiar taste and thickness made me feel at home, and I sucked and slurped, trying to show him how sorry I truly was.

His hand tangled in my hair and pulled me along, bobbing me up and down his length, one hand still dangling the mistletoe over my head. I relaxed my body, letting him guide me as he wanted. My love was my apology, and this was my repentance.

“I had planned a fun night with you” He snarked, sitting deep inside my throat, “I got you a fucking tree and presents. Thought we’d watch a movie. But all that romantic bullshit doesn’t work for us, does it?”

His pace increased as did my moans. I held onto his thick thighs that had more than once choked me. He may have all the power over me, but I reveled in that just the same.

“We don’t make love beside the fireplace darling, we burn ourselves in the fireplace, surrounded by the flames of passion and lust that run in you and me.”

His words heated me up and I doubled my efforts, taking him deeper and looking into his eyes, letting him speak to my soul as he owned my body. He tensed and twitched, warmth pooling in my mouth and down my throat and I smiled when he pulled away. My jaw ached a little, but pain was an old friend.

“That was quite a kiss” I said, and he chuckled, pushing me down to lie on my back.

“It’s not over by a long shot.” He said and taking the bowl with my cum he dripped my essence over my bare chest and belly. My skin broke out into gooseflesh as the cold liquid hit me but just as soon it was followed by the warmth of his tongue, sucking me, tasting me.

This is what being worshiped felt like. In chains and in pain, and yet the object of desire and love. When one slap meets your cheek, the following caress feels just that much softer.

August rolled on his back, smearing the rest of my cum over his own chest. I leaned over him, tongue gliding through his hair and veins, dipping into deep scars and damaged tissues. His voice rose in a crescendo, cock hardening again and as I licked, I climbed over him, aligning myself and bringing him home with one thrust.

“Fuck” He whispered, mouth meeting mine in a kiss, sinful and dirty. He kissed me like the Angel of Death serving me the elixir of life. I bounced on him, rode him like he was the stairwell that would take me to heaven. His smell, his taste, the feeling of his rippling flesh and the dominance in his eyes set fire to my veins. I clamped hard on him, sliding my damp body over his as I crashed and fell apart.

His hips kept pushing up, going hard enough as if trying to come out of the other end. Nails dug into the flesh of my thighs as he kept me steady over him, pumping into me until I felt him release inside. We fell into a tangle of limbs, a sheet lazily pulled over my bruised body. That was the thing with August, when he hurt me it left a mark on the outside, but never inside.

“I love you” He softly panted in the crook of my neck. I turned over and clung to him, pulling him close in my embrace. Prometheus needed his Eagle to feel alive, and the Eagle needed Prometheus to sustain. Neither is complete without the other.

“I love you too”

 Permanent Tags: @what-is-your-wish​ @shooting-star-love​ @stanmysoul​ @sweeterthanthis​ @muralskins​ @rayofdawnworld​ @just-one-ordinary-fangirl​ @donutloverxo​ @angrythingstarlight​ @rockyrogers​ @slothspaghettiwrites​ @nerdygirl8203​ @firebolt99 

Henry : @agniavateira​

[quicksilverownsmysoul]

13 Going on 30 pt.1

A Peter Maximoff x reader fanfiction based off the movie 13 going on 30.

Summary:  You are so excited when the most popular girl in your school agrees to come to your 13th birthday party. But after a cruel prank you find yourself wishing that you were popular and older. By some miracle your wish is granted but isn’t as wonderful as it seems. You turn out to be a major jerk and you don't even talk to your best friend Peter anymore. Can you fix everything and get back to normal or are you stuck living like this forever 

Warnings: Angst and some suggestive content. But it’s mostly pure fluff. (Also peter has no powers in this and some scenes will be changed to better fit Peter and so I can be creative with it!)

Word Count: 2759

I am so excited to share this fic with y’all! 13 going on 30 is one of my favorite comfort movies and I thought that adding Peter Maximoff to it would make it even better. 

It was 1987 and your birthday party was next week. You were so excited you could barely contain yourself. You were turning 13, you were finally becoming a teenager. It was time to abandon all childish things and live a life of adventure and romance. One that all the movies told you was guaranteed once you became a teenager. You were writing in your notebook during lunch checking off the things you had already gotten for your birthday party. “Balloons, check. Party favors, check. The cutest outfit, check!” 

“Your best friend in the whole world who is getting you the best present. Check!” Peter added as he sat down across from you, dropping his lunch tray down on the table. You just rolled our eyes at him.“So I was thinking for this year we should go to the arcade then get ice cream.” Peter muttered his mouth full of the school’s signature sloppy joe sandwich. “Cause if I eat too much ice cream before we play that dance game you love, I'm gonna get sick again.” Some of the sandwich meat dripped out of the corner of his mouth. You handed him a napkin to wipe it, not even disgusted at this point. 

You and Peter had been best friends since birth. You had lived right next to each other as kids and you had done everything together. Learning how to walk, the loss of your first tooth, the first day of school. Always together no matter what. That’s what made you so nervous to tell him what was on your mind. “Actually, I was thinking of having a party this year.” You gave him a nervous smile. 

“What?!” He choked out in the midst of a coughing fit having nearly choked on his milk. Kids turned around to look at him and you shushed him. ”Peter stop shouting.” You scolded through gritted teeth. 

 He spoke up again this time, his voice back to it’s normal level. “But it’s always just us.”

You winced, you had figured he was going to respond like this. “I know, I know. But hear me out.” Peter sat back in his chair, arms crossed. “Lucy said she’d come to the party this year, and she’d bring Dylan! You know how much I like him.” You gushed and Peter narrowed his eyes at you. 

“How did you convince the most popular girl in school to come to your party?”

“Way harsh peter.” You reached over to his tray attempting to steal one of his fries. His hand slapped yours away. “You make it sound like she doesn't even know I exist.”

“That’s exactly what I’m implying, you and I are at the bottom of the social food chain and you know it.” He pushed his chair back even further, now only balancing on two legs. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” You defended. 

He held your gaze with narrowed eyes as you tired your best to maintain eye contact. The minute you looked away he knew he had you. “I know you're lying (y/n). When you can’t look me in the eye you’re hiding something. Spill it.” 

You muttered really quickly. “Imayormaynothavedoneherhomeworkforthepastmonth.” 

He gave you an exasperated look. “What?”

“I said I may or may not have done her homework for the past month.”

He gave you a disapproving look. “Don’t look at me like that. “ You pouted. “It was the only way she was going to bring Dylan.” 

“I don't even know why you want that guy at your party. Or Lucy for that matter. They’re all a bunch of jerks.” Peter got up to put his tray away. You shoved your notebook back into your bag and got up to follow him. 

“You don’t even know them Peter.”

“Neither do you.” You frowned at him before turning on your heel and walking away from him. “(y/n) wait.” You sped up and he sped up with you. He caught up to you and grabbed your arm. You refused to look at him. 

Peter’s harsh look softened and his grip on your arm loosed. “Look.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “ I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

You gave him a soft smile. “I won’t especially not with my best friend around.” You bumped your shoulder into his. He returned your smile after a while and your face lit up. “It’s going to be fun!” 

“If you say so.”

On the day of your party you couldn't even sit still for a single second. Pacing by the front door waiting for Lucy and her friends to arrive. The doorbell rang and you threw open the door, but your smile dropped when you saw it was just Peter. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Geez, it's good to see you too.” He pushed his way into your house as you closed the door behind him. 

“Sorry I just thought it was Lucy.”

“And you were disappointed when it was me.” He joked making himself at home on your couch.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“No, I get it. Suddenly you get new friends and I’m old news. Hung out to dry. Dead and buried without a moment to grieve.” He milked his performance trying to make you feel guilty. You sat down next to him knocking his feet off your mother’s coffee table. 

“Shut up.” You laughed, he watched you and smiled. You noticed the keyboard strapped to his chest and groaned. “Did you have to bring your keyboard?”

“Duh. It’s part of your gift.” 

“I hope that’s not all you got me.”

“Hey!” He mocked being hurt by your words. “And it’s not by the way.” He sat up and made his way to your front door. “I gotta go get it, I left it on your doorstep.” He opened the door and was gone for a minute, making you anxious with anticipation. He poked his head through the doorway and a sweet smile plastered on his lips. “Close your eyes.”

You quickly covered your eyes with your hands. You heard Peter’s sneakers shuffling as he made his way closer to you. “No peeking.”

“I’m not!”

“Yes you are, I can see you looking through the slits of your fingers.” You giggled at the accusation and squeezed your eyes even tighter. You felt the couch dip from his weight as he sat back down next to you. You feel his hands close around yours, and the small action making you blush. He carefully removed your hands from your eyes. “Ta-da!” 

Sitting on the coffee table front of you was a huge handmade pink doll house. “I decided to make you your own (y/n) dream house.” Your eyes widened taking it all in. It was beautiful.

“Petey did you make all this?” You asked, heart swelling at the sweet action. 

“Yeah,” He admitted a little embarrassed. He scooted closer to the table. “See that’s you in your bubble bath. Reading your favorite magazine” It was a Barbie doll with a picture of your face tape on it. You giggled.” And there’s your room with the giant closet you’ve always wanted and a huge stereo collection. I know how much you love music. And there’s that bum Rick Springfield, sitting on the couch.” As you took in all the details you fell even more in love with the house. Peter had put so much time into this and you adored it.

 “And uh, there’s me.” He smiled sheepishly. A picture of him was glued to a piece of cardboard. His picture was making that ‘I’m watching you’ gesture at Rick Springfield. “I’m making sure that creep keeps his hands to himself. He’s only here for his musical talents, nothing else.” You smiled at him. He smiled back and for a second you could have sworn he glanced down at your lips. “Oh! I almost forgot.” He pulled out a red packet and shook it lightly. “Wishing dust.” 

You scooted closer to him so you guys could read the package together. “It says wishing dust knows what’s in your heart of hearts. They’ll make all your dreams come true.” He whispered the last part, his eyes cast downward as you watched him rip open the package. He stood up and sprinkled the dust down on the house. You watched in wonder as all the different colors rained down together and decorated the whole house in a pretty shimmer. Your eyes met his and you could feel yourself tearing up. He was so sweet and he didn't even know how much this meant to you. 

Just then the doorbell rang and you jumped to your feet. “They’re here!” You wiped away the tears that threatened to fall really quickly before dashing to the door.

“Yay.” Peter cheered sarcastically. You ignored him and sprinted to open the door. Lucy was there along with her friends and Dylan in the back. She was wearing a neon pink dress, the same one you had begged your mom to buy you last week. She had said no obviously. 

“Hi Lucy! Thanks for coming!” She just gave you a tight smile and let herself in. She looked around your living room and a sneer made its way to her face when she saw Peter on your couch fiddling with his keyboard. 

“Sup Freak.” Lucy shot Peter a sickly sweet smile.

“Sup slut.” Peter replied, mirroring her smile. You felt your mouth open in shock and shot him a deadly look. Lucy just pressed on trying to get a reaction out of Peter.

“I see your hair is still as gray and as ugly as ever.”

“At least my hair is naturally this color. From the look of your roots you should really look into getting a better stylist. You ain’t fooling anybody honey.” 

They continued to glare at each other until Lucy finally broke away from his gaze and turned to face you. “Where is this party happening anyway.” 

“It’s um downstairs, in the basement.” You motioned towards it, Lucy and her friends made their way down the steps. Peter followed them carrying your dollhouse, but you held your arm out to stop him. “What was that? Why were you being such a jerk?” 

“She started it!” 

You huffed. “I know, but it’s my party so please try to be nice to her.” He opened his mouth to say something but then decided against it. He pushed past your arm and went down the stairs to the basement. Taking two at a time. 

“So this is it.” Lucy picked at the neon colored table cloth. You didn't know what to say as she looked around. “What are we going to do anyway?”

“Well we could play twister, Peter is really good at it.” Peter gave a small salute in acknowledgement as they glanced towards him. “Or we could watch a movie.”’ You said excitedly, making your way over to the VHS rack.” I have a lot of good ones.``

“Lame.” Lucy announced and her friends echoed in agreement. 

You felt embarrassed of thinking that they would enjoy such childish things. “Why don't we play a new game?” Lucy suggested.

“What kind of game?” Peter asked, suspicion laced in his tone.

“A fun one.” She made her way towards you and placed her hand on your shoulder as she turned to address Peter. “Not that you would know anything about fun Maximoff.”

“Not that you would know anything about fun.” Peter mocked back in a high pitched tone.

  “Real mature.” Peter stuck his tongue out at her.

She turned back to you. “Let’s play seven minutes in heaven.” She leaned in even closer. “You can go first (y/n), and I think you’ll like who you get.” She glanced back and you followed her gaze towards Dylan. He shot you a smile and you felt yourself blush. 

All of a sudden you heard your mom. “(y/n)!” Your mother yelled down the stairs. “Your cake is here come and get it!”

“Peter go get it.” Lucy commanded.

“What? No.” He scoffed. You met his gaze and shot him a pleading look. “Fine.” He put the dollhouse away in your closet on the top shelf and made his way to the stairs. “Thanks Petey.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Lucy took off her scarf from around her neck and placed it over your eyes, knotting it tightly in the back. She led you towards the closet and you felt your heart rate pick up. You could hear the giggles of her friends as they closed the door. You stood there in the darkness waiting for Dylan to come in. It had been a while since Lucy had led you to the closet, you sat down putting your arms around your knees hugging them close. 

Peter came back down the stairs carrying your cake, as he was coming down Lucy was going up the stairs, her friends trailing behind her. “Hey where are you going?” 

She didn't answer, just smiled at him placing a hand on his shoulder. “(y/n) is waiting for you in the closet.” He gave her a confused look, he didn't know he was part of this game. Lucy and her friends continued up the steps, Dylan swiped your cake with his finger smearing the icing and eating it. Peter yanked it away and continued down into the basement. Madonna was playing softly in the background, he put the cake on the table and made his way to the closet, opening the door. He saw you sitting there  on the floor, you upon hearing the door squeak open were smiling up at him. “I didn't think you were going to come.”

He nervously smiled back at you and sat down on the floor across from you. You reached your hands out towards him. “Where are you?” He let his hands find yours, fingers intertwined in one another. He had held your hand before but this time it felt so different. He saw you lean in and he did the same. He was inches away from your lips when you whispered. “Oh Dylan.” He pulled back abruptly. 

“It’s not Dylan, It’s Peter.” You yanked your hands away from his and tore the scarf away from your eyes.

 “What are you doing here?” You felt panic take over you. “Where is Dylan?”

“He left. They all did, no one is here.” You stood up and saw that Peter was right. Your snack table stood untouched and Lucy, and Dylan were no where to be found. You immediately turned on Peter. “What did you do?” 

Peter looked at you in disbelief. “Nothing!”

“Yes you did!” You were screaming at him at this point.

“I just went to get your cake!” He screamed back. 

“Get out.” you whispered. Peter looked at you, clearly hurt that you were pushing him away. “GET OUT!” You screamed as you pushed him out of the closet. 

“(y/n) wait!” He tried holding the door open as you desperately tried shutting it. “(y/n) let me talk to you!” 

“Peter stop.” You cried. 

“(y/n)-”

“No!” You managed to shut the door and lock it. You sat back down on the floor and put the blindfold back over your eyes.

“(y/n) Please!” You could hear Peter on the other side of the door even with your hands covering your ears. “Please come out!”

“I hate you!” You screamed as his voice stopped. 

“You don’t mean that.” He muttered, tears of his own threatening to spill.

“Yes I do! I hate you! I hate me! I hate everything!” You were so angry and embarrassed and that you really thought Lucy was your friend. And that you were going to get to kiss Dylan.

“(y/n) what are you talking about?”

“I want to be thirty!” You wailed through your tears.

“Just let me play you this song.” Peter yelled back. He slung his keyboard over his head and started to mess with it trying to find the right key. “It’ll make you feel better!” 

You ignored him continuing to cry. “I wanna be thirty! I wanna be thirty and flirty and thriving.” You swing your head back shaking the shelf behind you. The wishing dust from the dollhouse fell down all around you but you didn't even notice. You could faintly hear Peter playing some tune on his keyboard but you ignored it. Just muttering through your tears over and over how you wanted to be thirty, flirty and thriving. At the moment you wanted to be anywhere but there.

[astranva]

Dad!Harry having all daughters and all of them are either doing his hair or putting makeup on him while asking him silly questions about himself 😙

Title: Beautiful Chaos

Word Count: 1.9k

Category: dad!harry fluff

Warnings: Not proofread but none other than that.

That was lovely to write, too, my heart is about to buRST although I couldn’t find a suitable photo for the Instagram post I add at the end oops

There were a lot of things that your husband, Harry, enjoyed. Like, you spooning him after a long day at work, like smelling your coconut scent through the house, and like the fact that he was a father of 3 healthy girls.

Perla, Emerald, and Ruby were 3 girls whom Harry could go to hell and back for, not to mention you, but it had always been like that since the moment he met you.

Perla, being 7 years old, frequently took pride in her “big sister” title, wearing it like a sash around her and especially at her school and around her friends. Out of her sisters, she was the most protective of her family and it was something that had never failed to make you and Harry melt.

Harry even often found himself going on his phone, watching a video he had discreetly recorded when she was only 2. She was sitting on one of the kitchen stools, her eyes following your every move as you made her a sandwich with your baby bump showing, in your 9th month.

“careful, mummy.”

“Mummy, careful!”

“Thank you, mummy. Thank you, little baby.”

She had said during the video, adding a kiss to your bump after her last sentence.

Then Emerald came into the world, and Harry sometimes found himself wondering if his heart had doubled its size to fit all the love he had for his family.

Being 5, Emerald – or Emma as you all frequently called her – was quiet. She was a collected, flexible child who enjoyed art. Harry’s music? She would be listening carefully to it, saying comments that not all 5-year-olds would say;

“I like the piano here.”

“Uncle Mitch did a great job here!”

“Daddy, the bass is so low.”

And it only made sense that yours and Harry’s phones were full of pictures of her with her toy guitar around her shoulders, strumming as she cutely sang Harry’s songs or even some Fleetwood Mac into her green microphone.

And then came your youngest, being 3 – Ruby.

Ruby was a funny and hyperactive child. No hairstyle could sit still for her and more often than not, she sat with messy and chaotic brown hair, clothes a little disheveled. She was definitely more of a risk-taker than her sisters.

You remember only months ago at the beginning of the year, before the pandemic outbreak, when you and Harry were visiting a friend of yours from work and they had a big dog, a Great Dane, Perla and Emerald hiding behind you and Harry as they saw the dog but Ruby thrashed in Harry’s arms, demanding he put her down so she can “play with the puppy.”

And the one time you were at Anne’s, Ruby had curiously poked Dusty’s stomach, which the cat didn’t like to defend itself, it scratched 2-year-old Ruby’s hand.

Everyone stared in shock, waiting for Ruby to break down and cry but were surprised when she stared at her hand with a frown before looking at Dusty who walked off,

“Sorry!” She had only shouted at the cat before standing and grabbing a grape to eat.

With the pandemic outbreak, your family of 5 was quarantined in your London home. Refusing to leave the house unless it was absolutely necessary, you had guided your daughters to understanding how important it was to wear a face mask while outside because it was their duty towards all people, you and Harry included.

But with the pandemic, you and Harry were busy at creating ways that would keep the kids busy as well. From movie nights to activities, you both had tried to keep the kids entertained as well as aware of what was going on as best as you could.

It was one day when everything was just slow-paced, quiet, and chill. Harry had shaved his beard and left a mustache, one that your daughters were very amused by and had been all week.

You sat with your laptop on your lap, earphones connected as you watched The Good Place, but keeping the sound low enough for you to hear what your kids were conversing about.

Harry sat beside you, reading a book he had picked up a couple of days ago, his hand behind your back, fingers gently and mindlessly caressing your back, stroking it up and down in a comforting and soothing manner.

Perla and Ruby were sat together, coloring the most recent sketched you had printed them, while Emerald was sat on the floor against your legs, trying to make you and Harry a beaded bracelet from the toy set Harry had gotten her earlier.

“Mummy, does this look nice?” She asked, turning to look at you as she raised a pink-beaded thread string.

You lowered your laptop screen, looking at her. “It looks very nice, baby. Do you want me to tie it?”

“Yes, please.” She stood, handing you the string and watching you in awe as you did as if you were doing pure magic. You tied it in the way you had learned years ago, when friendship bracelets were a thing, making sure that it can get tighter or looser, however the wearer wanted.

“There you go.”

“Thank you, Mummy.” She grinned as she took it before moving to Harry, attempting to climb him which earned her a giggle from him as he helped her up, putting his book aside before mentally cursing himself because he didn’t know where he stopped.

“Look! I made you this!” Emerald grinned as she handed Harry the bracelet, watching excitedly and waiting for his reaction.

Harry gasped dramatically, “Woooow!” He looked at the bracelet lovingly, feeling like his heart was about to burst as he put it on, vowing to never take it off to himself. “I love it, Em. Thank you so much, baby.”

Emerald grinned bashfully, raising her shoulders closer to her cheeks as she did, Harry grabbing her to press a kiss against her hairline.

You watched with pure love, show long forgotten as you paused and gave your full attention to the scene.

Noticing what was going on, your oldest and youngest paused their coloring to approach you and look at their dad’s new jewelry.

“Good job, Em. Can you make me one?” Your oldest, Perla, asked excitedly as she eyed the bracelet before grinning at her shorter sister, who excitedly nodded at her.

“Me, too!” Ruby chimed, “But blue!”

“First, Mummy,” Emerald pointed at you, “Then Per,” she pointed at her older sister, “Then Rube.”

“Starting a business, aren’t you?” Harry joked, bringing her close to his chest as he playfully gnawed on her cheek, smiling as she squealed out in laughter.

As if the idea had been in her mind for a while, Perla suddenly blurted out a question:

“Daddy, can I put makeup on you?”

You grinned, looking at Harry and waiting for his reply.

He looked at you quickly before moving back to Perla, “I don’t see why not. Go on, get the stuff you need.”

“Ruby, you think we can paint daddy’s nails?” You asked your youngest with an excited grin, hearing your husband laugh.

Ruby nodded with a squeal, holding your hand as you stood up before Perla ran in front of you, you and Ruby following her as you ran towards yours and Harry’s room to get the stuff needed.

“Blue!” Ruby pointed at the blue nail polish bottle while Perla stood with your makeup bag, “And pink.”

“Yellow, too,” Perla added.

“How about we take the whole thing.” You chuckled as you gathered the box in your hands, walking behind your squealing, excited daughters.

At the sight of you, Emerald lit up, “I’ll do daddy’s hair!”

“You girls are giving Daddy a whole makeover, huh?” Harry laughed lovingly, welcoming all the attention.

You sat on Harry’s right, Ruby on his left with the blue nail polish bottle in her hand as she sat on her stomach with Harry’s hand waiting for her. Perla sat on Harry’s lap while Emerald climbed and seated herself on Harry’s shoulders, scrunchie around her wrist as she played with Harry’s hair.

Harry would have been lying if he said he didn’t enjoy how everything was right there and then. His wife was painting his nails in pink, pastel yellow, and baby blue while his 3-year-old was having her go with his other hand, getting polish on his cuticles but trying nonetheless. His oldest daughter brushing his cheeks with her mom’s blush brush, while his 5-year-old was gently pulling on his hair.

“Okay, done,” Perla closed the blush before moving to choose a lipstick, ending up with your red Mac one and opening it, “Daddy, do like that.” She instructed, puckering her lips. So Harry did, looking up as he did and trying to stifle his giggles as she put on lipstick on his puckered lips, “Okay, no more.” So he set his lips back, Perla continuing on applying the vibrant red color.

You hunched a little forward, a smile making its way to your lips, “Looking beautiful, baby.”

He hummed, his chest shaking with laughter as he felt the lipstick above his upper lip before Perla pulled back and looked back in the bag to apply anything more. He looked at you as you painted the last nail in pink, keeping only his middle finger’s nail in pastel yellow while his thumb and index were in baby blue, his ring and pinky’s being in pink. “Feeling so, too.” He said as he closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows, letting out a sigh of contentment for emphasis, overly dramatic, making you laugh.

It was 20 minutes later when his girls were done with their work and pushed him towards him and his wife’s bedroom, where they had a full-body length mirror.

He looked absolutely chaotic, and he loved everything about it. While his hair stuck in all directions, some lockets were collected by Emerald’s peach-colored scrunchie, one hand was nicely painted – which was painted by his wife – while the other was an absolute mess of blue but you can spot the attempt and it was nothing a nail polish remover couldn’t fix, his eyelids having some glitter on them, red lipstick nicely put except for a smudge right above his upper lip, cheeks too pink.

“What do you think?” Perla asked excitedly.

“Wow!” Harry breathed out, moving closer to the mirror, “I look glamorous!” He put his hands up in a peace sign, puckering his lips and popping up a leg as he posed, making his family laugh.

“Wait, let’s take a picture.” You grinned, raising your phone up as everyone got into a spot; Emerald had her arm thrown on Ruby’s shoulders as she smiled, Ruby sticking her tongue out, Perla choosing to sit down in front of her sisters, crossing her legs as she grinned with her eyes closed. You stood behind the hugging sisters, against Harry’s chest. Harry wrapped one arm around your shoulders from the back, the other around your waist as he smiled into the mirror, his head leaning down to press his cheek against yours. You held your phone with one hand, the other reaching up to hold on to Harry’s arm around you as you grinned before taking the picture.

“Let’s frame that.” Harry whispered to you in bliss, looking at the photo from behind you before moving to wrap both arms around your waist, “Thank you, love. For making me the happiest man alive.”

[joshjacksons]

Joshua Jackson interview with "Mr Porter" (2021)

Minutes before Mr Joshua Jackson joins me in a booth for a Friday afternoon drink at a vibey hotel bar in Santa Monica, he’s confronted by his past. Or rather, a woman in her early twenties who is binge-watching Dawson’s Creek, the teen show about a close-knit group of high-school friends coming of age in a sleepy American town, which made Jackson incredibly famous between 1998 and 2003. The series, which also made household names of Ms Michelle Williams and Ms Katie Holmes, went off air 18 years ago, but is now streaming on Netflix, to the bemusement of Jackson, who played lovable rogue Pacey Witter. “This girl was like, ‘Are you...?’ And I’m like, ‘Yes, I am. He got old. I’m sorry to break it to you,’” he says, before ordering an iced tea and a charcuterie board to tide him over until dinner time. “It always surprises me when young people say they’ve just got into Dawson’s Creek. I’m like, ‘Is it a costume drama to you? Do you feel like you’re watching a historical documentary?’”

The idea of a Friends-style reunion episode or a Sex And The City revival feels equally far-fetched to Canadian-born Jackson, now 43 and wearing it well in a pale green linen shirt and tailored linen trousers by Oliver Spencer that complement his fading brown hair and Cali-tanned skin.

“I don’t know why you’d want to [bring it back],” he says. “Nobody needs to know what those characters are doing in middle age. We left them in a nice place. Nobody needs to see that Pacey’s back hurts. I don’t think we need that update.”

And Jackson doesn’t need Dawson’s Creek. From Mr JJ Abrams’ sci-fi series Fringe (2008-2013) to the Golden Globe award-winning The Affair (2014-2019), from Ms Ava DuVernay’s ground-breaking true-crime drama When They See Us (2019) to the recent Ms Reese Witherspoon and Ms Kerry Washington-produced Little Fires Everywhere (2020), he has commanded the small screen – with a collection of dynamic and diverse work – ever since.

His latest role as Mr Christopher Duntsch, the Texas surgeon convicted of gross malpractice when 33 of his patients were left seriously injured after he operated on them and two of them died, in chilling Peacock crime drama Dr Death, is only stepping his career up another gear.

“I’ve never played anyone irredeemable before,” says Jackson, who is joined in the eight-part series (based on the 2018 Wondery podcast of the same name) by Messrs Christian Slater and Alec Baldwin. “He is charming, gregarious and has a high-level intellect, but he’s also a misogynist, probably a sociopath, certainly a narcissist and a complete incompetent who is incapable of seeing himself.”

If Duntsch is terrifying, then Jackson’s portrayal is even more so. The artist formerly known as Pacey is virtually unrecognisable (thanks to prosthetics) in the opening scene, but the real challenge for Jackson was allowing himself to view someone who is so “spectacularly evil” as a human being in order to walk in his shoes. “It’s a more damning portrayal of the man to make him into a human being, rather than just make him the bad guy,” he says. “He really believes he’s the hero, he’s the genius and that he’s the victim, so once I got past my own judgment, all the other things fell into place.”

Jackson might have his pick of stellar roles – and challenges – now, but it has not happened by accident. Take it from someone who has been in the business since landing his first job aged 14 in Disney’s live-action movie series The Mighty Ducks, opposite Brat Pack alumnus Mr Emilio Estevez.

“You try to make it look like it happens accidentally,” he says, “but there is no way to do this and not be ambitious. I’d say I’m extremely ambitious because I’ve been doing this cutthroat job for nearly 30 years. I’m in the pay-off phase of my career now. One of the benefits of surviving for as long as I have is you get to learn from your own mistakes.”

Such as? “I wouldn’t say, ‘I wish I hadn’t done that,’ because it all becomes bricks in a path, but [after Dawson’s Creek] I was not choosy enough about the things I was doing. You get stuck. You start trying to perform the performance you think people are hoping to see you do. I was so used to working all the time that I just worked all the time. There was definitely a conscious moment in my mid-twenties when I realised I wasn’t really enjoying the work that I was doing. My manager at the time just said, ‘Take a breath. You’re burnt out.’”

The turning point came in 2005, when Jackson was offered a role in the two-hander Mr David Mamet play A Life In The Theatre, opposite Sir Patrick Stewart. “God bless him, Patrick could have made my life miserable because I had no idea what I was doing, ” he says. “I hadn’t been on stage since I was a kid and now I was in the West End in over my head. But it reminded me that I actually enjoyed being an actor, that it’s not about the red carpet or travelling around the world. What I really enjoy is working on good material with good people.”

It’s no surprise Jackson’s time on Dawson’s Creek led to a career crisis. From the ages of 19 to 24, he lived with his fellow cast mates in Wilmington, North Carolina, filming day in, day out, in an arrangement he likens to college. “You get to the end and they’re like, ‘Here’s your degree. Go live now. You’re an adult. Go out into the world,’” he says.

But most graduates don’t have to deal with global fame. “It’s transitory. You’re only ever cool for a moment and then you become much less cool. I was always pretty dubious about flatterers,” he says, recalling a time he was stung in London in the mid-2000s. “I went on a date in Hyde Park with a woman whose name I will not use – she was socialite-famous – and she was acting completely bizarre, looking over her shoulder the whole time. I came to find out that she had hired a photographer to follow us through the park and gave a whole story to the tabloids about how I was going to meet her family.”

It was his growing fortune, rather than fame, that caused Jackson the most anxiety. “Suddenly, at 19 years old, I was making more in a week than most of my friends’ parents would make in a year,” he says. “It was lovely to have the money, but it was that feeling of nobody is worth that kind of money. You feel like a fraud and it took me a long time to forgive myself for not being the thing that I was perceived as.”

Born in Vancouver, but raised in Topanga, California, until he was eight (before moving back to Vancouver following his parents’ divorce), Jackson bought his childhood home in 2001 and lives in it today with his wife, British Queen & Slim actor Ms Jodie Turner-Smith, and their 15-month-old daughter.

“My father unfortunately was not a good father or a husband and exited the scene, but that house in Topanga was where everything felt simple, so it was a very healing thing for me to do,” he says. Fast-forward to 2021 and his baby daughter now sleeps in her father’s childhood bedroom. “There was a mural of a dragon on the wall in that room that I couldn’t believe was still there, years later. The owner [who sold him the house] said, ‘I knew it meant a lot to somebody and that they were going to come back for it some day.’”

Becoming a first-time parent during a pandemic sounds stressful, but it afforded Jackson months at home with his wife and child that his normal work schedule wouldn’t have allowed.

“I now recognise how perverse the way that we have set up our society is,” he says. “There is not a father I know who works a regular job who didn’t go back to the office a week later. It’s robbing that man of the opportunity to bond with his child and spend time with his partner.”

Despite his obvious career ambitions, fatherhood has changed Jackson’s priorities in “every possible way”, he says. “It’s 100 per cent changed how I approach my work and my life. That has been made so clear to me in this past year. For me to feel good about what I’m doing day to day, my family has to be the central focus.

“There are plenty of things left for me to do, but now the thing that gets me excited is experiencing the world through my daughter’s eyes. I can’t wait to take her scuba diving. I can’t wait to take her skiing. I can’t wait to read a great book with her. I’m not worried at all she’ll be a wallflower. She’s been a character from the word go.”

Jackson met Turner-Smith, 34, two days after his 40th birthday. He had been single since his 10-year relationship with German actress Ms Diane Kruger ended in 2016. “I was not looking to fall in love again or meet the mother of my child, but life has other plans for you,” he says.

The couple met at a party. Turner-Smith was wearing the same The Future Is Female Ejaculation T-shirt Ms Tessa Thompson’s character, Detroit, wears in the 2018 film Sorry To Bother You. “That’s what I used to break the ice. I shouted, ‘Detroit!’ across the room. Not the smoothest thing I’ve ever done, but it worked. We were pretty much inseparable from the word go. It was a whirlwind romance and I can tell my daughter I literally saw her mother across a room and thought, ‘I have to be next to this woman.’”

A self-confessed “useless” shopper, Jackson gives his wife full credit for his current wardrobe. He is jewellery-free, apart from a wedding band and a gold signet “JJ” ring on his little finger (a present from his wife), and discovered tailored sweatsuits (by Stampd and Reigning Champ) in the pandemic.

“Jodie has influence in the way that a wonderful wife encourages you, through love, to dress well. She was like, ‘We’re going to throw away all the sweatpants from your past and I’m going to get you some that actually make you look like an adult male and you will still feel comfortable around the house,’ and I’m like, ‘What an amazing idea!’ Who knew you could get sweatsuits that actually look good on your body?”

Jackson’s style has evolved, he says, “from slovenly teen to it’s-nice-when-your-clothes-actually-fit-you”. The penny dropped after he auditioned for his former co-star Estevez, who was directing the 2006 Mr Robert Kennedy biopic Bobby. He said to me, ‘You only got this job because I know you. You came in here to play a very well-put together 1960s political operative and you’re wearing jeans and a hoodie.’

“I had to grow up a little bit. We are very much raised in Canada to never, ever show off, so it took me a while to recognise it’s OK to look good when you go out.”

Still, when you’ve grown up in front of the camera, “every pimple literally documented”, and lived (very successfully) to tell the tale, you can probably be forgiven for the odd fashion faux pas.

“I wore a silk Ascot to an event once in Paris and I still have nightmares about it,” he says. “I looked like Fred from Scooby Doo, but you live and learn.”

[shyficwriter]

Temporary Home: Chapter 8

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Prank war engaged, who will win? Also, Yondu helps you with a little problem, Peter wants to watch another movie, and Rocket finally gets a surprise. Lots of fluff.

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: Slight sadness because I wrote out the whole Rocket seeing a real raccoon scene, then realized it didn't fit with the direction of this chapter, and now I have to save it for a future one. Poo. Also, for my records, this is day 10 of the Guardians living with reader. Also, Also: I love all the little replies you guys leave for me on this fic! This is a sideblog, so I can't reply to them in the notes, but I just want to let you guys know I love and appreciate them so much!!!!

Word Count: 5,561

You woke up a little nervous, Yondu's warning having gotten to you a bit. You couldn't remember the last time you pulled a prank, and now he's told you that you might have accidentally started a war with Kraglin and Peter? Just what you needed. Great.

The first thing you did, aside from seeing that Mantis was still asleep, was check yourself and your bed over to make sure they hadn't left any surprise pranks for you in your sleep. You even checked your reflection in your phone just in case one of them could have managed to draw on your face while you were sleeping, even though you knew that would be ridiculous... or was it?

Okay, so maybe you were more than a little nervous.

It didn't take long for you to scold yourself. Why should you be nervous? This was your home, you had the advantage. You weren't going to hide like some scared child from some pranks. As you got dressed you told yourself that you'd prepare yourself for anything they had coming your way. Shut it down. Nip it in the bud. Besides, what if Yondu was wrong? Maybe they wouldn't even to anything at all.

You'd barely finished that thought when Peter jump-scared you the second you opened your bedroom door, causing you to reflexively punch him in the face.

"Ow! Dude!" he complained, hands up to his nose and checking it for blood. Luckily there wasn't any.

You cover your mouth, both in horror and trying to mask your humor at the belated karmic justice for the door incident. "I- I really want to say sorry... but I suppose you had that coming..." you say, swallowing your laughter and making your way around him to escape into the bathroom.

Well, that confirmed Yondu was right... You should probably start thinking of some ways to either prank back or defend yourself. If they wanted a war, you'd be ready.

***

You fancied toast again for breakfast and that's when Kraglin struck, using your previous night's admission against you. He spidered his fingers over your sides while your back was turned. You didn't even know he had been in the kitchen, but you sure as hell felt the tickly sparks of electricity that jolted through your body and made you drop the knife as you spasmed under his attack with an embarrassing squeal.

He stopped almost as quickly as he started, doubled over and slapping his knee in laughter. "Oh! That's just too good!" he teased.

You look at him with narrowed eyes, noticing Peter standing not too far off, looking pleased. "So that's how it's going to be, huh?" you say, more of a statement that a question.

The guys only ginned in response and you turned back to your toast.

"I see," you say cooly.

War it was.

***

After you ate you thought you'd make a trip to the attic. You knew you might have an asset or two up there that would prove useful. One such being, a big old rubber spider, another being a whoopie cushion.

You pocketed the whoopie cushion for now, but, seeing as you were the only one upstairs at the moment, you took your opportunity to slip into the room Peter and Gamora shared and leave the spider under Peter's blanket. You hadn't been in that room since it became Peter and Gamora's, but you were able to suss out which bed was his easy enough. You had a feeling it was the one that was only half-assed made-up. Also, his jacket was laying on top of it.

You made your way out as quietly as you had entered and made your way downstairs, but not before grabbing a bath towel from the bathroom closet.

Once downstairs, you searched for Gamora, finding her washing up a dish she used for breakfast.

"Hey," you say, "Can I ask you a favor."

Gamora dried the dish, saying, "As a general rule I don't get involved in any mischief Peter gets up to." She knew Peter was wont to get into prank wars and after last night it honestly didn't surprise her that he might have chosen to start one against you out of boredom. Naturally, she just assumed you were coming to her to make him back off.

"Oh, no. It's nothing like that," you clarify, then quieter, "I was hoping I could ask if you would be willing to keep Rocket busy and downstairs for a bit?"

Gamora looked at you with a raised eyebrow. How unexpected. Why would you need that?

You realized this would go better if you told her the reason. "Here, I'll show you something," you say, inviting her to follow you out to the shed.

Once inside you revealed to her what you had been working on, but she only looked at you in confusion, probably because the bed frame hadn't been assembled yet. You had planned to wrap the pieces in the towel for transport and assemble the frame in the room, and you told Gamora as such.

"I made Rocket a bed frame. You know, since he keeps complaining about the crib," you say, not wanting to sound too much like you cared.

Gamora now added surprise to the confusion on her face, "But why do you need me to keep him busy?" If this was a peace offering, like she assumed it was, then why would you not just tell Rocket about it? She knew that he would surely be grateful to get out of that crib he was always complaining about.

"So I can get these pieces upstairs and put the frame together in his room," you say, stacking the pieces onto the towel.

Understanding came over Gamora's face. "Oh. You want to surprise him." She sounded a bit surprised, which was understandable considering how you and Rocket clearly didn't get along.

You paused, giving her an apprehensive look. "Not exactly."

She tilted her head slightly, an eyebrow raised.

"I'm just going to put it together... and uh... leave it."

Gamora stared you down for a bit before a slight smirk formed on her lips. "You do realize he'll likely ask where it came from, right?"

You make a face and return to rolling the bed pieces in the towel. "Not my problem. So will you keep him busy?" You finish and turn to look at her. "Please? It shouldn't take long, I just need maybe ten minutes, fifteen tops."

Gamora smiled and shook her head, beginning to wonder if Peter might actually be right that you were a bit shy. "Sure, I'll see what I can do," Gamora said with a smile.

Together you walk back towards the house, and you reach the door just in time to see it open as Rocket and Kraglin walked outside.

You freeze for just a second. This wasn't part of the plan, but maybe you could work with it. Outside was even better than just downstairs, right?

"What you got there?" Rocket asked suspiciously.

Kraglin also looked suspiciously at the bundle in your arms, although for a different reason, wondering if it could possibly be something used for a revenge prank.

You kept your face calm and collected, and simply said, "Nothing." with a shrug as you went to walk through the door, exchanging a brief look with Gamora, signaling that she should make sure he stayed outside until you could finish. She seemed to understand.

Rocket and Kraglin also shared a look, and next thing you knew Kraglin was following after and offering to help you carry the bundle and Gamora was making up something she wanted to discuss with Rocket to keep him outside.

"I don't need any help," you say nonchalantly as Kraglin shut the door behind the two of you.

"I bet. Wouldn't want me ruining any revenge pranks... would ya?" he smirked.

You look at him unamused. "This isn't anything like that. Go mind your own business." You start to turn to leave the kitchen and Kraglin takes the opportunity with your arms being occupied to wiggle a finger in your ribs.

You jerk, nearly drop your bundle, and glare at him, hissing, "Don't you dare!"

Kraglin chuckled and folded his arms. "Then why don't you show me what ya got wrapped up in that-there bundle?"

You roll your eyes. "You're such a child." you scold, before nodding toward the door and telling him to follow you if he wants to know so bad. You could have opened the bundle on the table, but you needed to be quick. You couldn't dilly-dally with showing him there and now.

You led your unwanted sidekick up the stairs and to the room Rocket slept in and knelt to lay the bundle on the floor to unwrap it. You turn back to him and say, "It's a bed frame- and we didn't have this conversation."

"Ya made the rat a bed?" Kraglin said, with just as much surprise as Gamora had when she was told. He ignored the oddity of you instructing him to forget the conversation, for now. "Thought ya two hated each other?"

You break his gaze. "I got bored. Don't read too much into it," you say, starting to fit the frame pieces to the headboard. "I just have to put the pieces together real quick, and now that you seen what it is, you can leave me alone to get it done, 'kay? Good." You were grateful you had done a test fit and all the screw-holes were now pre-drilled as you quickly spun them into place with the screwdriver you pulled from your pocket.

Kraglin didn't leave. He just stared at you putting the pieces together for a bit. Those bed pieces didn't look like they were thrown together last minute in a fit of boredom- it all actually looked decently made. He had a feeling that this must have been what you'd been running off to do in that shed over the past few days. "Ya know, I'm startin' to think ya don't actually dislike us as much as you let on."

You paused to give him a look briefly before turning back to work. "That would be reading too much into it," you say, attaching the frame to the footboard.

A chuckle could be heard in Kraglin's voice as he said, "Whatever ya say, ma'am."

You ignore him, turning the last twist on the final screw and placing the bed slats to hold the mattress. You stood with the intent to transfer the crib mattress over when you paused to look around. There was the double bed, where you assumed Drax slept, and the crib, where you knew Rocket slept. Where did Groot sleep if there was only two beds?

You turn to Kraglin, who for some reason still hadn't left you be yet, and asked him. "There was only two beds in here, where does the little one sleep?"

Kraglin shrugged. "I dunno. I think he just curls up with one of the others 'cause he's so little.

You nod thoughtfully. Your intent had been to transfer the mattress and put the crib back away in the attic to get it out of the way, but now you reconsidered. Might as well give the kid the option to his own bed... but that would require another mattress...

"I'll be back." You tell Kraglin, briskly walking past him towards your own room. If you remembered correctly, there was a spare in the attic. An old one that never got thrown out due to mostly laziness and forgetfulness. You retrieved it, knowing exactly which corner you'd find it in, and while you were there, decided to grab a small folded blanket and a sheet for good measure.

You rolled all this tightly together for the trip down the stairs and returned to a confused Kraglin. You threw everything on the frame, the mattress expanding back to life once you released it. You quickly fitted the sheet and shook the blanket open, floating it over the bed. You then retrieved the towel and your screwdriver from the floor, looked to Kraglin and said. "Done." and began to walk towards the door, shooing Kraglin on your way out. You hadn't thought to look for another pillow while you were in the attic, but the raccoon could survive without one for now. After all, there hadn't been one in the crib so he wouldn't be missing much. Not that you super cared or anything.

Kraglin kept looking at you strangely. "So, ya gonna go tell him now?" he asked, walking backwards for a bit while you made your way towards the end of the hall.

"Nope," you say, ditching the towel in the bathroom and then heading for the stairs. You were going to go find Gamora so she'd know she no longer needed to keep Rocket distracted.

"Is it a surprise?" he asked.

"Nope."

Kraglin followed you down the stairs. "Then why aren't ya-"

You stop on the stairs and look at him sharply. "You ask too many questions. Don't make it a bigger deal than it is, 'kay?"

Kraglin frowned, but stopped bothering you as you made your way downstairs. You ditched him in the hall and made your way to the back door. You open it just long enough to catch Gamora's eye and signal to her that her services were no longer needed. You close the door back up and turn around, jumping out of your skin to find that you had indeed, not ditched Kraglin in the hall.

"The hell, man!"

Kraglin laughed, apparently delighted with startling you, and excused himself around you to head outside.

You frown at his retreating form and decided it'd be better to not hover around the door yourself, thinking you might give the house a good dusting to occupy yourself.

***

After cleaning the house and a quick lunch you decided your garden could use a good tending, so you grabbed your earbuds and made your way to the back door.

You weren't exactly sure what made you look up, probably Yondu's warning about that the guys might boobytrap your doorways with water buckets, but when you looked up you spotted the biggest spider resting right above the doorframe and you froze.

You weren't scared or anything... spiders, at least giant ass ones like the one above the door, just tended to freak you out a little... Ok, maybe more than a little. The irony wasn't lost on you either that you had just hidden a rubber spider in Peter's bed that morning.

Yondu, who you hadn't spotted at the table when you walked in as you were preoccupied with finding a song title, saw you freeze and tilted his head. He then saw you take a hesitant step back from the door and decided to ask, "Whatcha doing?"

You startled at the unexpected voice and turned to him. Slightly blushing you said, "Um, nothing. Just-uh, thought I'd go tend the garden." You considered going to use the front door instead but worried it might look a bit odd.

Yondu took a sip from his water and set his glass down. "Ya know, pretty sure you'll get outside quicker if ya walk towards the door. Not sure how far you'll get backin' away from it."

You blushed a bit harder. "Yeah- uh right." Your eyes flitted back to the spider and you visibly jumped a step back as it scurried quickly about 20cm up the wall.

"What was that?" Yondu asked, "What ya look so nervous for?" He started to stand from the table. Was there something outside? Was there someone outside? If so, why not say it?

You could feel the blush creep down your neck and you let out a nervous chuckle. "Um- it's nothing. Really." You couldn't help but glance back at the spider, and regretted it.

Yondu followed your gaze as he walked over and chuckled, relieved it was only a creepy crawly and not that they had all been discovered. He wasn't in the mood to fight a bunch of assholes today. He was, however, always in the mood to tease. "Ya scared of that little thing?"

"No! I- uh.. just wasn't expecting... it."

Putting his hands on his hips, Yondu grinned and shook his head. "My mistake then. Wouldn't wanna keep you from your garden." He clapped you on the back and looked at you expectantly, a hint of humor in his eyes as he nodded towards the door.

"Yeah..." you say, however you hesitated, looking up at the spider.

After a moment Yondu speaks up, laughter in his voice. "Can't do it, can ya?"

You give him a sharp look. "I can!"

"Alright then. Enjoy the fresh air. It's behind that door in case ya forgot." The mirth in his eyes told you he was enjoying this.

You look back up to the spider. You could do this. You start to take a step closer to the door when suddenly Yondu cries out, "Watch out! I think it jumped!" while mimicking a running spider with his hand over the top of your head, making you jump right out of your skin and smack at his hand (which you totally knew wasn't the spider...) with a shrill squeak.

Yondu starts laughing at your reaction and you cover your face in embarrassment. When his laughter dies down you give him a mournful look.

"Jackass." you mutter, arms crossed over your chest and face red from embarrassment.

Yondu rolls his eyes, mirth still present on his face, and he whistles.

It happened so quick you weren't sure you had really seen it.

A whistle. A flash of red. The sound of something cracking into the plaster. Another whistle. He caught an object in his hand; the arrow you'd see strapped to his leg all the time for no discernible reason. He wiped the tip against the rubbish bin before placing it back in its holster.

You blinked. "What the hell was that?" Did he just- move that arrow... with his mind?? Or was it with that metal mohawk thing? It had streaks of red light glowing through it for a moment there.

Yondu just grinned. "Took care of yer little problem so ya could stop yer scared fidgeting and get out the door," he said with a laugh, not really answering your question.

You blushed again but before you could protest he looked to where the spider had been and winced. "Hmm. Might have overestimated the toughness of yer wall there though..."

You follow his gaze to see that his arrow had left a small crack and a chip in the old plaster where he had killed the spider. You turn back to him. "I think that could be forgiven, if you can agree there's no reason to mention it again..."

Mirth crinkled his eyes as he got the hint. You didn't want to advertise that you were scared of the 'creepy crawly.' Was almost cute if he was honest. Reminded him of Peter when the boy was younger. "I'll take that as a 'thank you,'" he said with a cheeky wink as he walked out of the kitchen and left you to your business.

You mumbled out a, "Hmm... yeah," and rubbed the back of your head as you made your way out the door.

***

Later that day Peter came to you and asked if you wanted to join the others to watch another movie. He had found another movie from when he was a kid, The Princess Bride, and he was excited to watch it.

You curbed your suspicion that he might be setting up for a prank and agreed to watch the movie, having nothing else to do.

You walked into the sitting room while Peter walked off to find the others and found Mantis already in there waiting, sitting on the floor in front of the sofa with Groot. Gamora and Yondu were also waiting, but they hadn't sat down yet, instead they were standing by the TV looking at the DVD case and discussing how they hadn't expected Peter to be into this type of movie, clearly assuming it was a fairytale love story rather than the comedy that it also was. Looking about and seeing that Kraglin and Peter didn't seem to be coming back yet, you thought this might be a decent time to break out that whoopee cushion.

You pull it out of your pocket and with a quick breath blew it up, garnering the attention of Gamora and Yondu, who gave you funny looks. You quickly stuff the whoopee cushion under the sofa cushion furthest left and take a seat next to Mantis on the floor, furthest to the right. You look up to them nonchalantly, your expression saying, 'What? I didn't see anything. Didn't do anything either.'

A faint smirk played over Yondu's lips but neither of them said anything. Gamora, because she wasn't going to involve herself, and Yondu, because he ain't a narc. Mantis and Groot, however, gave you confused looks, but you just put your fingers to you lips in a 'shush' gesture and Mantis's eyes lit up, correctly assuming you were playing a practical joke, and she loved practical jokes.

Soon after the rest filed in. You were asked by Peter why you were on the floor when there was room on the couch, and you flippantly answered, "Didn't feel like being pestered like last time," giving him a pointed look.

He almost looked guilty but then just waved you off and sat next to Gamora. More room on the couch then. No skin off his nose.

Like last time, Yondu and Drax took the armchairs, and Rocket settled in on the other side of Mantis. Kraglin was the last to sit and you bit your tongue to keep a straight face and look uninterested as you side-eyed to watch him sit.

It went off just as you expected. A loud fart noise as he sat on the far end of the couch, earning loud laughter from Drax, Rocket, and Peter. Mantis and Groot giggled adorably while Yondu snickered and Gamora only reacted in mild surprise, likely having not realized what the object you placed below the cushion would do.

Kraglin tried to deny it, but Peter only laughed harder and said, "Yeah right! The hole you just ripped in the couch says otherwise!"

Drax then spoke through his laughter that you weren't going to be happy that Kraglin damaged the couch, only for Peter to tell him that it was just an expression.

You start to shake your head at Kraglin, give him an unimpressed look to sell your innocence, when you were startled by the blue tint to his face.

"Uh..." you say, moving to a kneeling position, "Are you alright?"

"Hah. Very funny." Kraglin said, looking annoyed and standing and pulling the whoopee cushion from beneath the sofa cushion. "Ya really think I don't know what these are? Pete had like a million of these."

"No, really. You're starting to turn blue, are you having any trouble breathing or anything?" you ask. He was acting fine, but you knew turning blue couldn't be good.

Peter, seeing you were genuinely concerned, decided to fill you in. "Oh, don't worry about him. He's just embarrassed he still fell for that." He laughed and punched a grumpy looking Kraglin in the arm.

You raised an eyebrow.

Peter clarified, "His blood is blue, not red like ours. He's fine."

"Alright then..." you say, hesitantly sitting back down. You hear Kraglin state he's keeping the whoopee cushion and you roll your eyes at him as Peter finally started the movie.

You hadn't seen this one in a long time, and you honestly barely remembered anything aside from a few funny quotes and the fact that you knew you had enjoyed it. The last thing you expected was for the movie to make you feel things.

You were doing pretty good until the man in black and Princess Buttercup began to talk about her lost love, and you kept it together until the line, "Death cannot stop true love, it can only delay it awhile."

Then you got up to leave the room.

"Want us to pause it for you?" asked Peter.

"Nope," came your answer.

No one thought anything of it, until they heard you go upstairs and you didn't return.

After about 15 minutes Yondu got the sense you weren't coming back, and he briefly wondered why before his sleepy eyes closed, falling asleep during this movie as well.

He had been waiting up the past few nights to try and catch you sneaking out at night, but each night he never heard or saw you leave, because you didn't. Needless to say this made him a little sleepy, but at least with no crew to manage or ship to run he was free to take naps, even if Peter did tease him that he was getting old for falling asleep through the movie.

Rocket, however, was cursing himself. And you. He had just been about to slip out when you beat him to it. He wasn't enjoying the movie that much, and he had realized that this might be the first chance in three days to sneak up to the attic when everyone was occupied, and you just had to go and ruin it by flaking out on the movie partway through. Rude.

They finished the movie without you and you mostly stayed in your room the rest of the night aside for a bit when you came down to grab something quick for a late supper.

You were in the kitchen having just finished the sandwich you had made when Peter came in for a snack.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hey," you say back, pulling down a small glass for some juice.

"Saw you didn't come back to the movie earlier."

"Yeah?" You didn't meet his gaze as he opened a packet of that space food and sat down. "Seen it."

Peter nearly chuckled, "Well, yeah. I'd think so, it was yours."

You shrug. "Just didn't feel like finishing it."

"Hmmm..." came Peter's response. His tone annoyed you, like he was about to suggest there was an ulterior reason for you skipping out on the movie without a word. Just because he would have been right didn't mean you liked it.

You walk to the fridge to pour some juice and have the thought that you might spruce it up with a splash of vodka, which you kept in the freezer. You pull the bottle and gesture it to Peter, asking if he'd like some. He shook his head and you just poured some into your own glass and went to return the bottle to the freezer. When you did you spotted a small forgotten bag of ice you must have purchased awhile back. It was open, and you got an idea. Sneaking one of the chunks you hid it in your hand and closed the freezer.

You leaned against the counter and sipped your, now alcoholic, juice.

"Nice one with the whoopee cushion today. Good to see you have a sense of humor." Peter smiled.

You shrug. You kept the hand with the ice folded across your body and tucked under the elbow of the arm holding your juice, trying to keep it natural looking.

"If you want, maybe you and I could call a truce, and combine our efforts against Kraglin."

You smirk behind your glass. Either this was a trap, or he wasn't very loyal to his friend. You placed your bets on the former. "I think you're just afraid I might accidentally punch you in the face again if you keep it up."

Peter rubbed the back of his head and laughed, "Well, there may be that... but I do think if we combined our efforts..."

He didn't get to finish that sentence. You had downed the last bit of your juice and started to walk his way while he talked. As you passed behind him you quickly dropped the chunk of ice down the back of his shirt and then even more quickly scurried away as he seized up and gasped from the cold.

You snickered as you heard him squeak, "Ah! Cold! Cold!" on your way out and only spared a glance back at the door to see him abandon contorting his arms behind him to try and grab the offending ice in favor of resorting to hopping out of the chair and doing a funny little dance to shake the ice out.

Once he was free of the ice he caught your gaze and an evil grin passed over his lips as he bend down to grab the ice from the floor.

Your eyes widened and you fled up the stairs, hearing him call out, "Get back here!"

You made it to your room just in time to shut the door and flick the lock before he could have his revenge. You could hear laughter in his voice as he said, "And to think I offered a truce!"

"You didn't mean it!" you called back through the door.

Peter laughed and said, "Well I definitely don't mean it now!" You were right. He hadn't meant it. He was going to try and convince you to pull a prank on Kraglin that they would then turn back on you, but clearly you weren't going to fall for that. He heard you laugh at his statement and shook his head before walking back down the stairs.

At least he had made you laugh.

***

After an hour you decided it was probably safe to leave your room to shower for bed. Also, Mantis was knocking at the door and you had to let her in anyway.

You had just finished your shower and were heading back to your room when a high shriek could be heard from Peter and Gamora's room. The others peeked out from their respective bedrooms to see what the commotion was. Rocket came up the stairs saying, "Thought I heard Quill screaming like a girl, what happened?"

On cue the door to Peter and Gamora's room opened and out came Peter holding the rubber spider by one leg.

The two of you lock eyes across the landing. Your eyes widen slightly and you flatten your lips.

"Any idea how this ended up in my bed?" he asked, looking pointedly at you and waving the toy back and forth.

Shaking your head, you say, "Nope. No idea."

Peter narrowed his eyes but smirked. "Oh really?"

You began walking toward the safety of your room. "Not a clue. Total mystery. Night."

You could hear snickers behind you as open the door, and hear Peter shout after you, "I'm keeping this!" as you shut your bedroom door behind you.

***

Rocket had a surprise waiting for him when he decided to go to bed that night, having walked into the bedroom with little Groot asleep on his shoulder.

He looked at the new bed in confusion. He wanted to ask Drax where it came from, but the big guy was already asleep, and he knew better than to wake him if he didn't want accidentally punched in Drax's startled waking.

He hopped up to the crib and laid Groot down to sleep before inspecting the new bed, sniffing it and checking under the sheets. He didn't really know what he was looking for, but looking couldn't hurt.

Eventually, when he could find nothing wrong with it, he decided to settle in. Better than sleeping in a crib. He could ask where it came from in the morning.

***

The house was dark and quiet, and Yondu was considering giving up on trying to catch you sneaking out again, at least for tonight. After all, you hadn't in several days, what's the chance you would tonight? Might as well sleep.

Then he heard it. The tiniest creak of a door. Then barely audible steps down the stairs.

He stood from his bed as quietly as he could, and made his way over to the door he had left cracked in hopes of being better able to hear when you'd leave.

He peered out, but only just saw the top of your head dip below the floor as you descended.

He waited a moment, wanting to give a little space so as to not risk you hearing him follow. Opening the bedroom door slowly, he made his way out into the hall and to the stairs. He could see in the dark better than a Terran, but still moved carefully as he quietly made his way down the steps.

He stopped less than halfway down, having barely caught sight of you sitting on the hall bench to pull your boots on, and there he waited, out of sight in the dark, until you stood and grabbed a jacket.

He made his way quickly and quietly down the rest of the stairs and just caught you as you were opening the back door.

He stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his chest with a triumphant grin at having finally caught you before you could leave. He tilted his chin up and asked;

"So where ya sneaking off to?"

[gedankenspaziergang]

Diversmagazin Interview  Translation

Diversmagazin released an interview with director Sarah Blaßkiewitz and Head-Writer Jasmina Wesolowski today. Read it here in German.

Jasmina (she/her), DRUCK writer since season four and head writer since season six together with Jonas Lindt. In a writers Room with Paulina Lorenz and Raquel Kishori Dukpa (Jünglinge)

Sarah (she/her) director of the last four episodes from season six

I’m leaving out the general introductory questions.

Alicia: Can you talk about the writing process? And what’s the most important thing for you while writing and telling stories?

Jasmina: We especially wanted the profound exchange with young adults who represent our protagonists. For season six we had the challenge that we wanted to tell the lovestory of a Gambian-German girl and a Vietnamese-German girl, perspectives that aren’t represented in the writer’s room. That’s why we talked a lot to research partners, to make up for our lack of knowledge/ experience, but we also talked to the actors and actresses.

Alicia: Why do different directors work on DRUCK?

Sarah: We try to produce as much in real-time as possible. And of course, we have to pre-produce but still have to work [overlappingly]. While one director is already in the editing phase, the next one already starts to shoot. Another reason is of course, that this way, also in the writer’s room, there’s more space for diversity.

 Alicia: It’s similar to the writer’s room. You’re also dividing the writing of scenes between different people. … Are you working together with racism and LGBTQIA+ experts?

Jasmina: I think we all have blind spots and that it’s absolutely impossible to end up with a perfect result. It was an important first step, that the Jünglinge collective joined. They are big advocates for queer BIPoc representation in German media. They were always present for feedback loops and made all of us, crew, actors and actresses, participate in an anti-racism workshop. We were lucky to have the brilliant author and anti-racism trainer Arpana Berndt, who advised us on these topics. On top of that, we did a lot of research on different topics. I think now it should be the only way to produce movies and shows this way, with an intensive research phase. This way you don’t appropriate the stories of others and also don’t tell inauthentic stories or, in the worst case, use hurtful clichés/stereotypes. It was helpful and needed that Black perspectives were present also behind the camera – Sara as a director, but also in the social media team, make-up department or costume design. But we are also aware that more can be done.

Sarah: It’s important to me to highlight the make-up and costume design department. When I, an afro-German person, joined this project and met other afro-German women in those departments, who can relate to me, the character of Fatou and Ava, I was really glad. I can say from many years of experience that that’s not a given.

 Alicia: How about experts on LGBTQIA+ issues?

Jasmina: To talk a bit about the process: We were set on Fatou being a lesbian pretty early on, and that was already discussed in the earlier writer’s room, where that perspective wasn’t present yet. In the beginning, those were loose ideas, and we had to implement them with the casting. The casting team Raquel Kishori Dupka, Melek Yaparak and Angelika Buschina worked closely with the directors and contacted different institutions and specifically asked for actors and actresses who could be queer. At this age this is of course a super sensitive topic. You don’t want to force young people to [define themselves/come out]. It’s a huge challenge to handle that with care and it was extremely important that the Jünglinge collective was part of the casting process.

But also, apart from the casting process, we profited a lot from the queer people in the writer’s room in the cast.

Sarah: For my part I asked the authors and queer people “What would you like? What is nice? What hurts? What’s important? Or what have I never seen before?” And then I put those different experiences into the different scenes. On top you of course need common sense (?) to portray something that you haven’t experienced yourself.

 Jasmin: I just thought of a small really beautiful example: How Fatou was given these rainbow socks as a Christmas present. You immediately notice, that was the idea of a queer person who knows what non-queer parents give to their kids as gifts. The fans notice: Queer people were in the writer’s room. Or “Ah, these actresses know, what they’re doing.“ And those are the small things that make a difference.

 Alicia: For sure! In DRUCK you notice that queer people were part of this in really subtle ways, and that [resulted] in really nice fan-moments. I can confirm that.

Right now, the community is discussing the conflict between Mailin and Ava a lot. What role does that conflict play for you and what does it teach us?

 Sarah: I’m editing the last episodes right now, so I really feel it, also because you already see the reactions online.

For me, the conflict is important because it shows over a long period of time, that not everything is always only good or only bad. That it takes a lot of time, patience and confrontation to understand all nuances of that kind of conflict.

That Ava could be prevented to outright say what’s bothering her, because we’re talking about a really serious trauma of exclusion. How do you even tell people really personal stuff when you were bullied for years? And now we have that conflict, that seemingly takes forever, and you’re always asking yourself: “Why aren’t they talking to each other?” But it’s only in real time that you realize how hurtful this conflict is. How hurtful it is what they experience. What racism means, and also what it means to [deal] with that topic as a white  German girl. And I think it’s really important that everyone is going through that with this season. That takes time and sometimes hurts. And you don’t always understand Ava and you don’t always understand Mailin. When we really [dedicate ourselves to understand this conflict] then I think, we can experience what for example a person like me experienced their whole adolescence. I’m not saying I was bullied my whole adolescence, and maybe it wasn’t because of the color of my skin, but because of something else. But that went on for half a year. After being bullied in school for half a year you’re not up for school and your classmates anymore. And you don’t talk to them anymore. And if people realize that because of this season then I’m glad. I think it’s really touching that this conflict takes up so much space.

 Jasmina: I found it really interesting what you said about the nuances, because it was a real process for me to learn how many facets this conflict has. And especially that us white people, who grow up in a society with structural racism, have a particular idea about what racism means. And that’s not a detailed and uncritical perspective of that topic: As soon as you call me racist, I feel attacked and start defending myself.

The role that this conflict played for us was to show how incredibly exhausting it is as a Person of Color, to always have to deal with these problems and that there’s a kind of fatigue, that you don’t want to talk (or should want to talk) about certain topics anymore, especially if you have other things going on in your life on top of it.

On the other hand, we have Mailin, who has a strong desire to understand. She’s not aware of her privileges as a white girl. We want to take this journey together, when she starts to realize things and when she goes through different stages; until she understands, what it is really about. We also have an arc there that isn’t finished. Because in real life, you have to deal with some topics over and over again. We think it’s especially important to show that it’s not the job of Black people to explain racism to their white  friends. By now, they have all the resources to educate themselves and to talk with other white people about this topic, to unburden Black people.

 Alicia: That’s really interesting! The lovestory of Kieu My and Fatou is an important part of season six, which many queer young adults love. How is the relationship between Fatou and Kieu My representative for a generation?

Sarah: I can actually also see it in an older generation. When I send the cuddle clip of Kieu My and Fatou to my grandpa, he says “Wow, how amazing that a Viet-German and a Afro-German girl are lying in bed together, talk in German and are in a relationship.” This generation hopefully isn’t alone anymore, for example in the sense of: being the only Afro-German person in a small city. That changed and now we see it in that second and third generation. And that’s why it shows me something very real and beautiful.

 Alicia: Which scene are you really proud of and why?

Sarah: My favorite scene, and one I’m really proud of and that was really important concerning the pressure of school, was with the main character Fatou. It’s about a path of finding yourself from Fatou and a [Reinigungsmoment] with her brother. Two people, who know each other from the moment of their birth, are sitting together. When I read that scene I thought yes, I can relate, I can feel that, and when we shot that, a world opened for me. And that was partly because of the music, which was decided before we shot this scene. Then we shot it and it was fucking cold, but we shot it again and again but every time we really felt it like the first time. And when I now watch that scene while editing, it really is the perfect moment. Every facial expression is perfect, every reaction. And that’s that kind of truthful (?) moment you’re looking for as an actor, actress, director or author. When everything fits.

 (There’s a script for every social media part, What’s App Chats and ideas for social media stories. )

 Alicia: When can we expect the next season and what will it be about?

Jasmina: For now, DRUCK is finished and we have to wait how it will continue. Fingers are crossed and of course we’re hoping for a new season.

[Note by me: We‘re not gonna spiral, Jünglinge looked for more writers, Black writers, on facebook a while ago. Nothing is safe but they probably don’t want to make any promises]

[aeondeug]

So while I was reading GtN and HtN I occasionally stopped to be like “Wow, it’s great how these can be just so gay!” And like. That is really great. Super great. I love that about them. But I also remember at least once stopping and going “Wow, it’s great that there’s no homophobia here!” And like at the time I just kind of nodded along to myself. Around when I just finished GtN, I remember being very fond of the bit after the book with like the guy explaining like. The deal with necro/cav relationships in The Media and throughout history and how actually none of these things have ever been romance. This is just a pure relationship, unaffected by naughty things like ROMANCE. WHY DOES EVERYTHING NEED TO BE ROMANCE?! shouts the author of this paper. And I laughed at this. Because it reminded me a lot of people who do this shit with queer love. They do it with history and just go “Why does Sappho have to be gay, why can’t she just have passionate feelings for her BFFs”. Which is mindbogglingly stupid to me and anyone who has so much as LOOKED at some of the poem fragments. But like people do say that shit. And they do this a lot over like queer anything in fiction unless it like punches you in the face with rainbows immediately. “Why do Bubblegum and Marceline have to be gay? They’re just friends!” is a take that I legitimately saw on the day of the finale. And not just once. I saw it a few times. And I’ve seen that happen over so many ships in so many things, whether or not the ships end up canon. “Why does it have to be gay?” and the specific sort of outrage over it I’ve seen in essay length posts is just common, and that sort of outrage reads very similar to the argument that dude made about necro/cav relationships. It reads like that and close enough so that I made a joke about it even. I didn’t think too, too much on this at first though because I mean. We have Abigail and Magnus. They’re right there. A man and a woman, a husband and a wife. So like I was able to simultaneously go “omg it’s just like those why can’t they just be friends WHY DOES IT NEED TO BE GAY people” and also “wow it’s nice that there are spooky negative queer experiences of SADNESS here”. Which has got me thinking. Ok. So we have that essay. Now what else do we have in the books? I suppose could point at the entirety of Gideon and Harrow’s just furious refusal to admit that they might actually be in love with one another. Even though it appears to be obvious to literally everyone else in the galaxy. And is obvious to the readers. Hell, Gideon even has a moment of feeling like she needs to tell Harrow something the day before she dies. Something which is heavily romance coded, I don’t know the word for it. But like a “Wow I feel a need to tell them something and it’ll be my last shot” before a death just kind of always reads “It was an ‘I love you’. They needed to say it and didn’t get a chance”. So we’ve got that and, specifically, we’ve got their outrage at the suggestions. Gideon stresses that she’s JUST Harrow’s cav. And she’s very fucking insistent on that. Part of the why is that she knows Harrow is in love with a fucking dead girl in a casket but like. It just hits a certain way. There’s also Harrow’s just repeated disgust she expresses towards the concept of necro/cav relationships. She needs to explain away to herself that like, well, Abigail and Magnus were ALREADY married before he was named her cavalier primary so maybe that makes it fine. And even then she’s not like super duper comfy with the idea. A taboo has been broken, Harrow feels, and she needs to get really rules lawery to find any comfort with that. Other small things that feel of note to me here are the nature of the ways we know that these two are gay outside of like. Their weird thing for one another. With Gideon we’re introduced to it basically immediately with her joke about titty mags. Harrow specifically makes a comment at some point that some of the magazines Gideon gets are very gross, yes. Her interest in women is explicitly made sexual from the get go, and the idea that The Gays are just weird sex fiends and there is no love there is a frequent one. With Harrow meanwhile we know because she says she’s in love with the girl in the Locked Tomb. Who is very much dead. A thing that is fucky enough that like there is an entire song and dance about “GIDEON THE FIRST IS MAKING OUT WITH A CORPSE??????” and how Harrow is a hypocrite for being so offended by that all. Also the girl is behind the door. She is something that isn’t supposed to be seen or known about or, heaven forbid, woken up. That is all the ultimate taboo and Harrow not only fucking broke that but she looked at the girl and went “Wow I’m in love” on the spot. So we have this collection of things that could be read as some sort of metaphor for like...The taboo nature of queer love. “Why can’t they just be friends?” and issues of purity and the lack thereof. And we have characters who are very clearly in love but who can’t just admit that because they think there’s something fucking wrong with that. Gideon’s JUST her cav and Harrow is also in love with a dead chick. We also have Magnus and Abigail around who are just like. Happily married and fine with things regarding their whole necro/cav aesthetic. Ianthe doesn’t seem to give a shit that Gideon’s into Harrow at all. There’s a fondness for necro/cav relationships enough that there’s an entire romance genre centered on them and like characters in the cast are fond of those, some of them. Things appear to be Fine, at least as far as their friends are concerned. Maybe the asshole writing the essay that kicked this pondering off would have an issue and a stuffy old grandma would pitch a fit. But like their friends don’t have a problem with necro/cav shit. But we still very much have Gideon and Harrow being “Well no. We’re just a necromancer and their cavalier. GOD.” Now part of what got me thinking about this is that I recently decided to start watching Bly Manor. Because fuck it we haven’t yet. And specifically part of why is I remember seeing an analysis of it done by Rowan Ellis which had this bit where like the argument that “Bly Manor proves you can do queer stories without homophobia being a part of it!” is brought up and like...Ellis is like “Ok but we very much do just lock a queer woman in a literal closet while she screams to be let out”. And lo and behold in the first episode we very much do just lock a queer woman in a literal closet while she screams to be let out. In an episode showing that she’s like just unable to go back home for...some reason. And that she has some sort of difficulty with her relationship with her mother. No, the show is not having the character literally go “Wow I sure am in the closet and I kind of fucking hate that woe is me I am so gay”. But figuratively? It’s all over the place in that first episode. I’m not sure about the others because I haven’t watched them, but it is there in the very first one. And that’s something horror does very well. It takes things that are scary and uncomfortable and bundles them up in shades of metaphor. It hides them from  you by showing you the thing cleverly disguised. Maybe you do not notice it the first time through perhaps. Maybe you felt that a certain thing like the closet scene resonated very hard with you and you’re not sure why. But you perhaps don’t consciously go “Aha! It is the horror of being closeted!” Upon looking back on it or back through it though you might notice it. And be like “Oh that was there. Holy fuck.” Now maybe you’re also someone who isn’t like. Comfortable. With straightforward depictions of specifically queer suffering. Maybe it’s just too scary. But with this show hiding it in a metaphor you got to sit through that. You got to be brave enough to sit through a very, very scary thing. And afterwords you go to think about it. This is the power of metaphor and it’s something horror has been very, very good at doing for ages. Maybe racism or homophobia or whatever else is too nerve wracking for you to look at face on in media, but maybe you can watch a movie or a show where the horror of those things are very much there but cloaked in metaphor. And so maybe we are getting that with Gideon and Harrow’s weird issues around how “taboo” their feelings are. Two people who are just unwilling to believe that it might be that thing, in part because that thing is “taboo”. Except instead of the taboo being literally “They’re lesbians, Harold,” it’s instead cloaked in a comforting metaphor of necro/cav relationships and some dude who is really fucking offended at people’s space ao3 fanfictions about his historical favs. Which is important because every fucking scrap of anything one gets is an argument. It can’t just be that they’re in love. It’s that you must PROVE it and some asshole with a degree or just a bone to pick is going to come by and be like “WHY CAN’T THEY JUST BE A NECRO AND A CAV” about it all. And like I’m someone who���s known they’re into other women for a long while now. At least half my life. We have conquered that hurdle. But we haven’t entirely unpacked all the weird little societal bullshit that is still in there. Hiding. Lurking. And that societal bullshit specifically frames that sort of love as something gross and taboo and “Why Can’t They Just Be Friends?”. With that last thing hurting a lot. I’ve constantly run across people going “Why can’t they just be friends?” or going “They just have a sisterly relationship!” about things I shipped. Even when those things involved shit like the characters kissing on screen or mentioning that they’ve been dating in a sequel series. I can’t simply like my ships. I can’t simply see myself in romance. Because my sort of love is so taboo that it is, in itself, a debate. Maybe being shown the thing cleverly disguised as another thing might help me unpack that. At the very least it helps me look at it. When it’s something that hurts a lot to this day.

[caw4brandon]

My Fragmented Nostalgia Over Animorphs

The late 1990s is a rather odd decade for kids and teens. 

Everything is groovy and has a rather trippy taste to it when you look at things as children of the 2000s. Its strange how not too long ago, there was a trend where the internet was looking back at what was great and what wasn’t and I would argue, most of us here on Tumblr think very fondly about the 1990s.

We are after all, the kids who lived in-between that age.

Where computers start to lose weight and get thinner, where phones changed from buttons to screens and where camera films become memory cards, so on and so on...

As a child with relatively young parents, I would catch on with media through my parents about shows and movies from the 90s while the rest of the world moves forward. It happens from time to time but Its always good to look at things from simpler days. When your diary is but a book with a locket instead of a website blog or that your daily activities involve bike riding, game arcades, bowling and libraries.

The things we consume as kids, teens or college students can sometimes be time sensitive and very personal. Sometimes, nonsensical to kids of today and today’s topic is of such. Let’s talk about Katherine Alice Applegate’s hit children's book series;

- Everyone is in really Big Trouble -

Yeah. Even you.

Classified as the third most successful series of all time. <Animorphs> follows five main characters; Jake, Marco, Cassie, Rachel, Tobias and an alien; Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill (Ax for short). These kids (and the alien) have the ability to transform into any animal they acquire. Calling themselves "Animorphs" (a made up word for "animal morphers") 

As a group, the team goes on various missions, battling a parasitic race of alien slugs called; Yeerks that can take any living creature as a host by entering and merging with their brain lead by their ruthless leader; Visser Three.

In case if you need a visual, this is what the covers look like. 

From Top left to bottom right: Jake, Marco, Tobais, Rachel, Cassie and Ax. 

The cover will show one of the members of Animorphs morphing into a particular animal which when flipped will show a full scene.

In total, the series consists of 54 books and includes 10 companion books (the Animorphs Chronicles and Megamorphs books), and 2 gamebooks, not fitting into the continuity (the Alternamorphs books).

For a series that is about kicking alien slug ass, becoming animals and everyday teen stuff on the side like school, family/siblings, crushes and gadgets. The series also contains many heavy themes and like; dehumanization, sanity, morality, innocence, leadership, horror, war, freedom, family, and growing up. 

You know, ole edgy teen stuff.

- Join The Fight -

Join The Sanctuary...We are gathering...

Personal history, I first got into <Animorphs> When I was about twelve. A dumb bright eyed kid who likes to visit his local school library and be surrounded by old books and quiet people. The first book I found was #The Discovery in my school library. At the time, I thought the cover looked creepy and cool at the same time. With help from the internet, I managed to find the complete list of the series as well as some history regarding the series.

A nasty habit of mine is that, I like to binge and because the series as a whole has a linear progression. I had to find the whole collection, start from the first and so on. Here’s the problem, it was very scattered and incomplete with a bunch of heavily skipped parts that made absolutely no sense for a newcomer like me.

Thankfully, I managed to find the earliest books in vintage book stores, buy them and read them in fragments. In fact, here’s my personal collection that I manage to get. See? Fragments...

While not completely understanding some of the more “time sensitive” pop culture references, (although, I do sort of knew some later) It was an absolute blast reading about the adventures that the kids get into. Deep sea traveling, going underground, joining online forums of people who are aware of the Yeerks, fighting other aliens aside from the slugs, alternative universes and so on.

Lots of strange concepts and plots, which to each to its own. Still very fun and very interesting. I also remember searching for websites and early fan pages where I would find these minigames about flying Tobais; The red-tailed hawk (long story) to rescue the team and stuff like that.

While my experience is, still incomplete. I was able to assemble the pieces in forums like, the Animorphs Facebook Page by reading up on fan theories, discussions and memes. 

In these groups, I’ve made some “kinda...sorta...” friends while learning a lot more about the fandom itself and fandom culture in general. I also get to catch on to what the writer, Mrs. Applegate is up to. Official updates and all. The best part was, I get to interact with people from all walks of life with different interest aside from just <Animorphs> Though I never went as far as to add them, I do engage under the comments and it was the easiest conversation I had.

- It’s All in Your Hands -

There's only US...

You know, I’m kind of glad that the memories of <Animorphs> still live inside of me despite having not read the books after I went to college. Aside from their rather strange concepts and compelling characters. The series has some very clever alien designs. Creatures like The Andalites, The Taxxons, The Hork-Bajir, The Chee and many more. At the time, these aliens looked unique rather than creepy and it certainly was one reason why the series peaked my interest. 

While reading some of my own collection, I was also made aware that there was an attempt by Nickelodeon for a live-action show under the same name with the same characters that ran from 1998 to 1999. 

Starring; Shawn Ashmore (Yes, X-Men’s Iceman) as Jake, Nadia-Leigh Nascimento as Cassie, Boris Cabrera as Marco, Brooke Nevin as Rachel and Christopher Ralph as Tobais. 

While short lived, it was a monumental moment for the fandom. Very recently, (wait, nevermind. It was in 2020) there was a graphic novel illustrated based on the first book; The Invasion and talks about adapting the others in the future.

Officially made work aside, some of the members from within the group are super talented and they made up some of my early internet experiences by posting fan-made trailers of the thing. Here’s one right here...[Animorphs 300] 

There are also fanfictions and fan art to keep the fandom burning and murmurs of a potential second attempt of rekindling the series with updates. There’s also this looming hope that some producer out there will find the merits of this series and adapt it into a film, a show or anything aside from just being a book because it truly deserves more recognition. 

Of course, any fandom would wish for their favorite series to be made on the big screen or even on the small screens but, seeing how they adapted stuff like <Percy Jackson> and <Artemis Fowl>. You see where I’m getting at? No?

Look, I’m going to level with you. I hope they DON’T do it because it functions best as a book series. the various narratives is one of the strengths of the series and adapting that into a show/movie would be highly difficult. But, with the right person in charge. Anything is possible.

As a fan who experienced the series in fragments. I would say its a series that I can still pick up to this day and enjoy. Some of the themes still hold up to today’s age and I highly recommend <Animorphs> for anyone who is looking for some good ole angsty teen stuff with saving the planet on the side. 

Good news, the series is getting updated and it truly is an exciting time to be an Animorph fan. With that said, I’ll end with handing over the bright blue morphing cube and say this to you...

“It’s all in YOUR hands~”

Thanks for Reading

- B -

[linalilia]

Top 5 books? (can be manga too!)

thanks for sparing me, taruchi, because this one really made me THINK.

okay, so the problem is that i remember that i DID love books a lot as a kid, but i genuinely don't remember what some of them were called? so yeah, some of these books won't have names, but only plot descriptions ;w;

man, i wish i could read more, i really do, but i just.. can't find what fits me? also i can easily predict what happens and then the story becomes too boring for me.. at first i thought that i just can't focus on books anymore, but i think it's more because reading doesn't feel as exciting as it used to be when i was younger? i keep searching for book recommendations, but then i go through the list and i just.. yeah, it would be easier to find what fits me IF I EVEN KNEW WHAT I LIKE JDKLSLDJD. some people say that you should look at what movies and games you like, so that you can figure out what books you will probably like, but i doubt that i'll be able to find something similar..

okay, sorry for rambling, here's some books that i liked when i was a kid + some mangas that i enjoy!

ever after high books. (i can't choose only one, i remember having a whole collection of them AND I LIKED THEM ALL SO MUCH I ENJOYED THEM A LOT MORE THAN THE ACTUAL SHOW. the characters just felt so real and i could understand them better? ALSO THE COVER ART WAS SO GOOD IT WAS SO PRETTY)

2. munou na nana. (at first i thought that it was nothing special, but I WAS SO WRONG. i enjoyed it a lot, there's also an anime adaptation and i liked it, but yeah, manga is still definitely better)

3. houseki no kuni. (let's just say that it was HARD for me to get used to the art style because i watched the anime first and i was surprised to find out how "simple" the manga's art style actually looks. but the story?? the characters?? it's SO GOOD i kin some characters too haha)

4. kakegurui. (sometimes you just have to watch pretty girls gamble <3 okay, okay, jokes aside, i really do like kakegurui a lot! the gambling scenes always make me feel excited, though I ALWAYS GET SO CONFUSED WHEN THEY EXPLAIN THE RULES. MY HEAD GETS SO EMPTY)

5. how to train your dragon (book series) (okay, tbh i didn't really like the movies that much, they were fine, but nothing too special for me. so when i was younger, i saw the original book and was a bit skeptical about it, because younger me was obsessed with "cute and feminine stuff", but still got it. and i?? actually really liked it for some reason?? in fact, i liked it so much that i got ALL of the books. it took me several years to collect them all, but i did. and i'm proud of myself. don't ask me the plot details, i'm just proud of myself for collecting all of those books, BECAUSE THERE WAS A LOT OF THEM)

honorable mentions:

a huge book of fairytales that i loved as a kid, it had so many stories and all of them were from different countries and younger me enjoyed finding similarities in those stories, like "oh, these countries have similar fairytales, but they're also so different!" and it made me get more interested in other cultures :)

i also remember suddenly getting obsessed with witches when i was like 8 and i collected so many books about them! however, i remember being into two book series about witches and i wasn't able to find the last book from the first series and i got disappointed in the second one because of the unnecessary friends to lovers plot. I DIDN'T CARE ABOUT ROMANCE, I WANTED POTIONS, BROOMS, MAGIC, NOT THIS STUFF.

i also really liked fantasy books in general? but again, i liked more "cute" ones, like about princesses or those that had royal themes!

[poetrusicperry]

the poets and their fav marvel characters/movies !!!

ok honestly i have no idea if any of this makes sense lol but i hope it’s comprehendible. also i have not had the time or resources to watch any of the new mcu era, which is why i didn’t include any of it. and if you have any other ideas of which characters and movies the poets would like comment them bc i want to see what you guys think hehe !! <3 sending love and hugs to anyone who needs it (and anyone who doesn’t, too)

neil: neil adores comic books. he used to sneak them when he was younger, taking breaks from his summer school homework to read them (he has a stash in his room that his father still hasn’t found). there is no doubt in my mind that neil wouldn’t be head over heels for spiderman, are you kidding ?? most definitely tried to climb walls or hang upside down when he was little. desperately wishes he could come up with his own chemical equation for web fluid. he’d completely immerse himself in the fact that there are three different eras to depict and analyze, too, having a very heated debate with charlie and meeks about who the best spiderman is. also really wants to reenact the upside down kiss with todd

neil’s fav movies (he can’t pick a fav) would be: the og spiderman, the amazing spiderman, and spiderman: homecoming (likes spiderman: 3 purely for shits and gigs)

todd: i feel like todd really likes comics (would spend his summers collecting them and reading in his room while his parents took jeff to sports camps/summer camps). he’d love scarlet witch because todd really loves to see her character growth through the films (coming to understand her powers and utilizing them accordingly), and also just admires how badass she is (”she’s so powerful and she doesn’t even know it until she faces hardship. oh, i love her so much”). upon hearing this explanation, neil couldn’t contain a smile because todd doesn’t even realize that he’s the exact same way (’: todd also likes bucky because he’s “so cool” and his metal arm is “sick” hehe (and he really loves the bond that bucky and steve have)

todd’s fav movie would probably be captain america: tfa because he likes seeing young steve rogers of course, but also because todd admires his strength (sees himself in pre-serum steve and hopes that one day he will become his own version of post-serum steve (: ). also like avengers: aou bc that’s when he’s really first introduced to scarlet witch (watches the post-credit scene from captain america: tws just to see wanda and pietro)

charlie: charlie never really read comic books, but he loves the mcu !! first of all, charlie can’t decide anything ever, so why would picking his fav superhero be any different; peter quill, iron man, or black widow. he’d like peter quill because “he’s unapologetically himself and completely hilarious,” and would absolutely dress as starlord for halloween at least once (probably more than once). as for iron man, charlie just likes how cool tony stark is and how he invented a suit that could fly (”there are so many likable qualities about him !!” he’d say, to which cameron would reply, “like what, the fact that he’s a womanizer, a pompous ass, or that he’s seemingly too smart for his own good ?” and charlie would just smirk, “all of the above”). for black widow, it’d be pretty simple (“she’s so badass. i can’t tell if i want to do her or be her”). claims his honorary mentions would be korg, rocket, and groot

charlie’s fav movies are guardians of the galaxy vol. 1 and vol. 2 because they’re “fun.” likes thor: ragnarok because it also has fun vibes.

meeks: meeks LOVES comic books to begin with, and collects them avidly, but dr. strange and the entire idea surrounding his powers/strengths ?? the ability to bend time ?? if that doesn't sound right up meeks’ alley, idk what does. there are clearly a lot of things that meeks will geek out over unapologetically, but dr. strange is one of those things that he just will not shut up about, ever (”it’s just so AWESOME”). desperately wishes that sling rings were real. also gushes with todd about bucky’s metal arm, going off on a tangent about the science behind the “rigidity flexibility ratio.” can also go on for hours about the quantum realm (:

therefore, meeks’ favorite mcu film is dr. strange and he would be completely eager and buzzing for dr. strange in the multiverse of madness. also likes antman (:

pitts: also a comic book geek hehe. and i'm sensing that pitts really likes thor. thor is pretty much just a dorky, goofy tall dude (like pitts, just with... a lot bigger biceps LOL). finds a lot of the same things funny in the movies that thor laughs at. getting into thor gets him into norse mythology, where he’d spend hours searching for/reading books on it at the welton library (meeks would have to come find him because he’d been gone for that long). wishes he could grow facial hair that nicely, and even attempted to once, but charlie shut that down real quick HAHA (”i'm not going to stop making fun of how ridiculous you look until you shave”). becomes a huge einstein rosen bridge geek, learning all there is to learn about that (and norse everything).

pitts’ favorite movie is thor: ragnarok (”it’s the best out of the three”), and he really doesn’t enjoy thor: the dark world (almost has a vendetta against it, “why did they feel the need to dye his beard and his eyebrows ??”)

cameron: surprisingly knows a lot about comics and the mcu ? his fav character is captain america due to steve rogers’ unflinching morals and standards (cameron began to to veer a teeny tiny bit away from cap, though, when he began to rebel in captain america: civil war, but he still loves him). really likes the historical aspect behind captain america (wwii and the 1940s). he and pitts absolutely had a meltdown when steve lifted mjolnir and almost got kicked out of the movie theater for their reaction (”NO FUCKING WAY, NO FUCKING WAY !! I KNEW IT. PITTSIE, I KNEW IT !!” which is super uncharacteristic for cameron, but he doesn’t fuck around when it comes to cap). got in an actual argument with charlie after captain america: civil war arguing that tony was in the wrong (”steve was doing the right thing because he was following his moral code !! even if he was breaking rules, it still made sense,” and charlie would just laugh, “you say that, but i was just following my moral code when i made the phone call to god and you didn’t find that funny,” “you’re an idiot, charlie”). also really likes nebula bc he relates to her in the fact that she never felt like she belonged/fit in.

his father served in wwii, so captain america: tfa has a really special place in his heart (he’s seen it so many times he can cite the movie as it goes along)

knox: knox knows the least about superheroes/comics, but still likes to tag along to the movies when the poets go to a premiere. he really likes black widow (”she’s just really pretty, okay?”) and hulk (”he just smashes stuff, HAHA ! how awesome is that ??”). even though he’s not very knowledgable about the mcu or marvel itself, he loves to listen to meeks about everything. almost always asks questions throughout the entirety of the movie (”knox, shut up, we’ll explain after it’s over !!”). thanos really freaked him out tbh; the idea of something like the snap happening dialed his whole “carpe diem” thing to eleven lol. 

knox’s fav movie is the first avengers because the amount of conflict isn’t as bad as the other avengers movies (”i like seeing them work together, it makes me sad when they argue and disagree).