#he does rework it so its easier for him to sing!

[the-spacetronaut]

SONNY JUST CURSES IN FRONT OF GUESTS? THATS SO FUCKING FUNNY. IMAGINE BEING AT DISNEY LAND AND DAISY DUCK OR SOMETHING DROPS SOMETHING AND IS JUST LIKE “ah shit”

Sorry for the yelling, anyways Sonny my beloved also the singing thing just makes me think of like, a shitty phantom of the opera au with him. POTA from wish

sonny can really REALLY belt it if he wanted to! with how his voice is, he can only really sing ballads and sad boy/girl songs (i.e. joji, lana del rey, billie ellish, elliot smith, billie holiday etc.) anything that gives a heartbreaking or eerie vibe. definitely spooked a good handful of staff walking in the tunnels! also, of course, many, many, MANY songs from the 40s and 50s!

BUT YES JUST LIKE A DISNEY CAST MEMBER CURSING! sonny doesnt do it on purpose or shock value though! he has a vulgar tongue, especially when something catches him off guard! mother vouches for him though when there are complaints because her beautiful golden boy would never ever EVER say bad words 🥺

ever

[inbarfink]

Okay, so I accidentally thought about Stage Productions of Dr. Horrible Where There’s Not Enough Male Actors So Billy is Played By a Woman too hard again. And the thing is, well,  I say ‘Stage Productions of Dr. Horrible Where There’s Not Enough Male Actors So Billy is Played By a Woman’ and not, like, ‘Female!Billy Productions’ because in all of the ones I’ve seen the script is unchanged and so the character is still textually a man. Super-minor characters like the Mayor and the two Newscasters or even Bad Horse can sometimes get genderswapped, but usually the kind of people dedicated enough to DHSAB to want to create their own recreation of it don’t want to change the script too much. So Billy remains gendered the same way he is in the original.

But also… Dr. Horrible isn’t gendered that much in the text of the script. Like, he gets talked about in third-person way less often than the other two leads (so there’s less places where he would be called he/him/himself), he’s not referred to using gendered terms as often as the two other leads, ‘Billy’ can work as a gender-neutral name and ‘Dr. Horrible’ is 100% gender-neutral. As such, the only textual references to Dr. Horrible being a dude are:

Refers to himself as a guy in ‘My Freeze Ray’: ‘I’m the guy who makes it real/the feelings you don’t dare to feel’

Refers to himself as a man in the title line of ‘A Man’s Gotta Do’

Moist calls him a man in the line ‘look at me, Man, I’m Moist!’

Refers to himself as a guy in ‘Brand New Day’, ‘Go ahead and laugh/Yeah I’m a funny guy!’

The one time Dr. Horrible is called by a third person pronoun is during ‘So They Say’, when Moist notes that ‘he’s still not picking up’

During ‘Everything You Ever’, he sings ‘My victory’s complete/so hail to the king’. Implicitly calling himself a ‘king’.

So, like, what that means is that if a production did just want to genderswap Billy… it’ll be considerably easier than doing it with either of the other two leads. There’s basically just a few lines you have to change and basically nothing else.  

Like, ‘I’m the gal who makes it real’ is really a no-brainer. ‘a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do’ is an Idiom and I could see a woman quoting it without it meaning anything. (And in a pinch you can replace it with the gender-neutral ‘one’s gotta do what one’s gotta do' or maybe 'I've gotta do what I've gotta do').

“He’s still not picking up” often gets cut from stage reworks of ‘So They Say’ anyways or swapped for something like ‘Doc’s still not picking up’ to make it clear who’s Moist talking to without the Magic the Kuleshov Effect Really. The only line that offers any meaningful challenge is in ‘Brand New Day’ and 'Everything You Ever' cause that use of ‘guy’ and 'king' is part of a rhyme, but I still feel like it’s not the toughest one to solve. 

… of course, I keep saying the three main characters because Moist isn’t actually gendered once in the entire script. So basically every time a production gets a girl to play Moist that Moist has a Gender Quantum Position. 

But, with all due respect to Moist and their Quantum Gender, that’s just not a change I find as interesting as the possibility of a Female Billy. Like, hey! We’ve got a second female character who is not primarily defined through her romantic relationships and survives through the end of the narrative and has a kind of a Gross Power you don’t really see for a female super-character, that’s… kinda neat. But I don’t really think there’s anything in here that really shakes the basic thematic undercurrents of the movie the way Female Billy does. Female Billy has a really the highest rate of Implied Changes to the Meaning of the Text Caused by the Change Vs. Actual Changes Required to the Text

Because, okay, look… Would making Dr. Horrible a woman fix every single thematic problem people have with the DHSAB Narrative forever and ever and make it the Politically Perfect-est Musical Ever? Nah. Does it arguably create its own set of problems with the whole Tragic Toxic Lesbian Trope? Yeah… 

But that’s why I’m advocating for it not as some sort of Remake that’s gonna be the New Definitive Version That Fixes Everything, but as a stage production. A new version that exists in the Kaleidoscopic Multiverse of takes that the stage inherently creates. Not Ultimate, not Definitive, not ‘The’ version. Just A Version I think should exist. Because even if it’s not a change that’ll Fix Everything, it’s still gonna change things in a way I, personally, find very Compelling.

And I was thinking, as part of this train of thought, that if I were to do Lesbian Billy, that for Penny’s role, I would try and cast a girl with a very butch and/or nonconformist haircut. Cause, like, at the start, the one line Billy wants to tell Penny is

And that way you can connect it with how nonconformist hairstyles are used as a way to communicate queerness to other queer people with some plausible deniability from Mainstream Society. So it’s not just that it helps explain ‘oh, that’s why Billy even assumes her attraction could be mutual’, wanting to tell Penny that she loves her hair is a whole thing of

Or rather, because it’s Billy, more like

So that’s another layer of Added Thematic Meaning just via casting choices, without changing anything about the exact text of the script!

And, you know, charity, compassion and kindness are not Exclusively Feminine Traits. Penny could be kinda gender-nonconformist while also being innocent and maybe a bit naive. And, y’know, she’s a damsel in distress when compared to the characters who have super-strength and super-science at their disposal.

And then I thought, well, maybe we can also show Penny dressing more feminine during her time dating Captain Hammer, so there’s kind of an unspoken implication to the audience that maybe CH is pressuring her into being more gender-conformiming. Which isn’t just a New Way in Which Captain Hammer is terrible,  it also connects with how he, as a superhero, functions as an upholder of the status que that Billy is trying to upends (and again, it makes ‘love your hair!’ an actually Really Important Line! It’s Billy showing that, even if her attraction right now is kinda shallow. She is appreciating something about Penny that is her choice and CH is probably trying to take away from her.)

And, like, even in readings of the DHSAB narrative that try and make it as critical of Billy as possible, you always kind hit a snug that there is also an unspoken but present assumption, that while Billy does kinda suck, he could’ve been a good romantic partner to Penny if he just Got Over His Shit and is still always better than Captain Hammer despite… not really doing a good job establishing why. 

So this thread does give at least one clear reason for why Captain Hammer is absolutely worse for Penny than Billy is, without necessarily letting Billy off the hook for all the way she does still kinda Suck.

You know, since we’re talking about changing as little of the actual dialogue as possible, the audience might not be able to tell if Penny is an out-and-proud Bi woman and Captain Hammer is pressuring her to be less Obviously Queer or if she still hasn’t fully processed that her affinity towards gender-nonconformity is also somewhat connected to her sexuality and the whole debacle is her shoving herself deeper into the closet… but I think that if the audience notice Penny suddenly changing into girlier clothing after she starts getting close to Captain Hammer that’ll be enough to create a visceral “Oh, this guy is BAD” reaction of sort.

Plus, like, the way the narrative kinda treats Penny slowly sobering up to Captain Hammer’s bullshit and realizing she’s not actually in love with him

is treated as interchangeable with the process of her gradually falling in love with Billy

that would hit as less Weird, at least thematically, if we have that thread of Captain Hammer representing, like, Heteronormativity and the Patriarchy Billy and Penny both being girls....

And that’s when I came to realization

of what I was actually doing.

[sporksaber]

Ok, I love the role swap concept with zuko and azula, but I feel like they switch their abilities and personalities a bit too and I think itd be more fun without that. Where Azula is an antisocial and unstable genius who wants to gain power and zuko still struggles with being the less powerful and extremely empathetic sibling. So here's how I'd do it.

(Note, this is just for fun. I'm not saying anyone else's version is bad. But I've though about this so much and need it out of my head before I go off cuz make a whole comic and I do not have the time, i need to work.)

First off, Azula wouldn't call out in concern for the men like how zuko did. In my version she's allowed into the meeting because of the aptitude for strategy shes shown. She speaks up because it's an inefficient plan that uses up too many resources when there are other options. This enrages her father and leads to the agni kai. Azula is terrified and feels betrayed but has no idea how to handle any of it. She fights back during the agni kai, but in her panic she sets off a bolt of lightning. Ozai finishes the match and severely burns on her lower back. Azula is banished for her use of lightning on the fire lord (bc ozai fears she will no longer be easy to manipulate and might plot his death) and is forced to leave the next morning.

Some things to note: azula is eleven at this point. I changed the placement of the scar bc I think zuko's is very symbolic in a way that doesnt suit azula. Zuko's scar being over his eye and close to the light chakra shows the way his view of the fire nation and honour obscures his vision and how he is unaware of the truth of the world under fire nation rule. I set azula's over her spine because that chakra is based on survival and blocked by fear. It also represents trust which will fit into her arc with the gaang. Finally, she doesnt have Iroh to guide her. One of the things that bothered me was Iroh writing her off as evil despite her being a mentally unstable child. She did have to be defeated, but the way he talked about it was too dismissive. (Personally I think he was projecting his views of his brother and his perceived failures with him onto her.) Azula isnt sent to capture the avatar so she isnt given soldiers. She's completely alone without an advisor to look to or keep her calm.

Azula is given a manned ship with a disgraced soldier and an attendant when she leaves. The way I see it the soldiers zuko had were probably more irohs than his. The soldier is relieved to not be executed but hates being demoted to playing babysitter to a child at sea. The attendant views it as a punishment and hates Azula for it. Eventually the attendant will betray her and be killed for it. Azula never trusted the soldier and he eventually leaves to start a family in an earth kingdom colony. Azula doesnt miss him, he was no longer useful. The loneliness does get to her though.

Azula is obsessed with getting the underhand, so she had been successfully building connections and planting spies where needed.

(Zuko has been acting as a respectable crowned prince. He holds a zealous loyalty to his nation and father. He still faulters as Iroh tries to steer him from tyranny, but his sights are set on his father's approval and that alone. Afterall, if his prodigy could be discarded who's to say what would happen to him if he failed?)

This brings us to the start of the series. Like Zuko Azula witnesses the trap on the old fire nation battle ship go off. She investigates and finds that an air bending avatar is living at the south pole village. She decides she wants to speak with him.

Azula didn't believe the avatar existed before this point. Hiding didnt add up to her knowledge of the morality of airbenders, so she assumed the air nation avatar from the start of the war would be dead. She would know if one had appeared in the water tribe, as the south had all its benders killed and the north was compacted so close together it would be impossible to hide. Earth would be harder, but they were most likely to fight back and out act. And if in ba sing se they'd be used as a weapon or gotten rid of to preserve the peace of the city. Once the culcle progressed to the fire nation it would either be used to take over the other nations or enf the cycle for good. After all, there hasn't been an air bender for a hundred years even if the rumors of some acolytes surviving were truthful.

Azula kidnaps aang with far more ease than she should of been able to. Once he stops struggling she calmly offers him tea and promises to release him once their discussion is finished. He takes the tea and drinks it without question and besides a wary glare shows no more hostility. She thought him a fool, the tea could have easily been poisoned and promised are nothing but words. His naivete makes her job easier though.

She finds out that he was suspended frozen in the avatar state the last 100 years. And so, Azula informs him of the war and the fire nations crimes, advising him to master the elements if he wants to prevent all his new friends and the avatar cycle from certain destruction. Aang is conflicted, he never asked for any of this. Azula just gives a bitter smile. "The hands of fate were never designed to take requests, they move without regard to any life dependent on it. Dont waste your breath when there is nothing you can do."

Azula wants to see Ozai fail. If helping the avatar is what it takes then so be it. When his friends appear to save him she let's them leave without a fight. Theyll be useful in the future.

As the gaang's travels kick off she sets out to find out if the rumours about the acolytes are true. In this she finds a traveling circus. The youngest daughter and an old friend of hers was eager to escape and found Azula's life exciting. She didn't hesitate after being invited along, insisting that traveling would be easy for her and that she'd pull her own weight.

She encounters the gaang a few times as time goes by. The relationship is reluctant on the water tribe siblings part, they dont trust her and hold a decent amount of fear towards her. Her cold and calculating demeanor was unsettling, but the unhinged way she fought was terrifying. Her form was perfect and her attacks were precise, but the bigger the fight the more lost she became as she laughed and shrieked and occasionally snapped at someone who didnt seem to be there. The only worse reaction was when she zeroed in on one opponent, picking them apart both mentally and physically as she drove them to the ground. )

Things that'll happen as I move through an episode list:

Azula doesn't have her ship attacked do she diesnt run into zhao while doing repairs, instead going straight to ty lee.

Azula learns that the gaang is on kyoshi island and heads ther after them. She has been keeping track of the avatar as they move. Ty lee gets along well with the kyoshi warriors while azula buts heads with them. They dont want her there and azula hates it when people get in the way. Zhao appears to try to capture aang and Azula dips at the same time as the gaang. She tells ty lee she can stay but she insists on sticking with azula. This puts her on edge.

Ty lee gets captured by earth benders, when she escapes on her own she cements her usefulness to Azula.

They run into zhao trying to capture the avatar and azula tells him she'll capture him first. They both attack aang during the solstice, though azula's attacks are all purposefully set to miss and trip up zhao as much as possible. Aang is the best way to prove her father wrong and she's not going to lose that.

They rob the pirates that try to capture the avatar. Azula needs the resources and it gives her leverage over the gaang.

After almost killing ty lee for scaring her by popping up behind her Azula tells her why she was banished. (In more of a "my own mother thought I was a monster" way than an opening up about trauma way.)

Azula learns that zhao has captured aang and frees him. She then sets to reworking her information network as not all of them are scared enough of her to not fail her. She remedies it quickly.

Azula learns that zhao is plotting her assassination and decides it's the perfect moment to fake her death.

Azula enters the north pole to defeat zhao and gain any information she can. Ty lee rades a library during the confrontation. Zhao is surprised and infuriated to see her alive, Azula smiles as she sends him to his death knowing that she is not only helping the avatar but also that he gave her a perfect way to hide from the fire nation. (When news of his sisters death reaches hum, Zuko doesnt know what to think. She was always cruel to him, but she was still his little sister.)

The crown prince of the fire nation is sent to capture the avatar. Azula follows him as he begins his search. (Zuko begins to think he's going insane as he keeps catching glimpses of his recently deceased sister out of the corner of his eye.)

Ty lee keeps running into a girl she slowly befriends. She's gloomy and sarcastic and ty lee thinks Azula would like her. (Zuko's fiance Mai tells him that she thinks his sister is still alive.)

As Azula notices ty lee become more and more distracted as she absorbed herself into the cultures that surround them she decides it's best for them to split up. Ty lee diesnt agree, but Azula leaves anyway. She has work to do.

While traveling alone Azula cant escape the thoughts of her mother. Of her fathers betrayal. Of the life she lost because the idiot elders had no grip on proper strategy that even a child could create. She meets a boy that reminds her far too much of zuko with a mother far to similar to theirs. When she sends the bandits controlling the town running she knows it's more than just controlling a territory that compelled her. But at the same time she doubts not following through on the whim would have bothered her.

Ty lee meets toph and chat for a bit. Ty lee tells her about azula and how she left. When toph tells her she should forget her she insists that azula didnt really ditch her and that they're still friends. They talk about their friends and childhood.

Ty lee finds Azula and immidiently jumps at her, which she does not enjoy. Ty lee insists that she still wants to travel with her and Axula sighs as she let's her tag along to the next location, ba sing se.

Azula slips through guards and protocols as she tries to gain any information she can to help her once they reach the city. Ty lee befriends a guy named jet and his group, the freedom fighters. When he tries to get more than friendship she turns him down and it becomes much more awkward.

Ty lee becomes a street performer and chames everyone she meets as Azula researches the dai lee and how they keep control. After lashing out in frustration ty lee drags her out to enjoy the city's night life.

Azula learns of the presence of the avatar and location of appa. She frees him and sets to work taking control of the dai lee. She let's herself be briefly captured but her plan shifts when katara is thrown in with her. Katara is pissed just being around her and azula plays up a cool kind of annoyance. Katara briefly catches sight of the burns on Azula's back and offers to heal her, only for Azula to freak out and yell at her to stay away, backing against a far wall in a fighting stance. They are saved by the rest if the gaang and ty lee shortly after.

Azula goes back to try and salvage her plan only to be caught off guard by the appearance of her brother and his offer to return to the fire nation. Not willing to lose all possible advantages, she agrees. They battle the gaang, and when they are almost captured azula sends a bolt of lightning at aang, causing them to retreat. Katara can heal him more easily than she can maneuver them out of an execution.

Azula returns to the fire nation with her brother, mai and ty lee, starting the beginning of a large power play between her and her father. They are sent to lo and li beach house. The relationship between the siblings is tense, zuko has always been the child born with nothing who gained everything when his blessed at birth sister lost it all. Azula has always been cruel, but he cant help but let his heart catch on the moments when she's not. ("My own mother thought I was a monster, My father thought i was too difficult to keep around" "Don't let their words blind you, you need to be more careful, zuzu." "I learned the hard way to never turn your back to anyone, and the scars will always be there as a reminder if I need it." )

Azula runs into iroh, who is very disapproving of her presence. He warns her to stay away from zuko and to watch herself while at the palace. Later, zuko comes to her asking about their great grandfather. Upon being pressed he admits that he was sent a mysterious letter. He thought she was going to burn it when he handed it to her but instead the heat from the fire revealed a hidden ink. "Honestly brother, did you ever pay attention at all during lessons?" They find a autobiographical scroll of their great grandfathers life and the secret that their other great grandfather was roku. Azula scoffed at the idea of bloodlines deciding fate and quickly left. But Zuko remained conflicted.

During the day of the black sun Azula confronts Ozai. As iroh and Zuko fight the avatar. She learns that her mother left for zuko's sake and that she was never going to be fire lord. Azula tells him she'll be somthing even better and leaves the palace.

Azula and ty lee follow the gaang to the western air temple. Katara immidprntly attacks but is quickly rendered unable to bend by ty lee. Azula tells them that the only way for them to of gotten out was for Aang to be incapacitated, and she knew katara could heal him. Aang decides they can stay but have to stay distanced from everyone else.

Azula tries to teach aang fire bending but is slowly growing sick while aang is barely able to produce a puff of smoke. Unable to sleep and constantly on edge, it soon affects her bending, sending her spiraling as she loses control on the only consistent power she's ever had. Her and aang journey to find the true source of fire bending to try to help their conditions.

Still sick, Azula is itching to do anything away from the temple. Finding sokka trying to reach the boiling rock to find his father, she decides to go with him as she knows the prison well. Sokka declines but she goes anyway. They dont find his father, but they do find suki. Azula formulates a plan but they postpone when sokka's father arrives.

Azula comes up with a new plan, now reluctant to include sokka. He tells her to trust him but she insists she has no reason to. Her sickness has been getting worse and he tells her she needs to trust him, making her angry. Only when he catches her while they're escaping dies she finally begin to accept trusting him, if only slightly.

(While they're away ty lee tries to convince

Azula goes with Katara to find the man who killed her mother. Azula has no concept of why katara is so upset, which causes her to get angry. But azula tracks the man anyway.

Ember island players- azulas character has the scar across her chest. She's absolutely insane and "not entirely inaccurate, but I'd never come up with such a dumb plan." Shes also heavily implied to be more than close to ty lee, which azula has no reaction to even as the others freak out.

I havent decided the ending, zuko will probably turn to the gaang's side. I'll add more later and maybe write or illustrate a bit.

[rachelbethhines]

TTS Songs Ranked Worst to Best

Someone asked me to rank my fav and least fav TTS songs a while back, but I’ve since then relistened to the soundtrack and there’s a whole bunch of songs that just forgot about, so here’s a more accurate ranking now that the songs are more fresh in my mind

32 .  Life After Happily Ever After (Reprise)

This song is infuriating, because the finale is infuriating. Listening to this song just makes me angry all over again because it reminds me just how unsatisfying the ending to TTS was. I wanted to turn it off at several points. I barely can get through it despite it being so short. It doesn’t help that the soundtrack leaves all the dialogue in there and fails to actually end the song. It just cuts off before the final note.

31. Hook Foot’s Ballad

Does this even count as a song? Why is it here on the soundtrack but not the Hurt Incantation? Did Menken really waste his talent writing a joke and did the showrunners really waste money and limited resources on this?

30. Friendship Song

Bland, boring, and pointless. It was clearly written as a marketing stunt for the radio disney charts and not as anything to do with the plot of the series. They just throw it up on screen to fill out the running time and don't even let the whole song play through. It’s pitiful.

29. Waiting in the Wings (Reprise)

I didn’t think much of the original song one way or the other, but the reprise is soooo dumb. The plot twist it introduces winds up ruining the whole show and sabotaging both Cassandra’s and Rapunzel’s characters. It’s not even a nice sounding song on it’s own. The kid’s voice is irritating (who I’m sure is doing her best, but really little kids shouldn’t be made to sing professionally as a general rule) and the melody just as bland as the first time it was played. The only reason to like this song is if you’r a mega fan of Cassandra’s or her VA, which I am not. (Note: this is not a criticism of Eden Espinosa, I just don’t happen to follow any of the VAs in this show)      

28. Through It All

I like the instrumentals in this song, and that’s about it. Everything about this song is wrong. It doesn’t fit the story, it’s a misuse of the cast and songwriters, it’s a waste of valuable screen time, the melody is dull, and the dang soundtrack had to throw in that lame dialogue about ‘greatest threat ever’ at the beginning. If you want a pump up song in your story then you got to earn it. You can’t just tell us things are bad, you got to show it. A joyful horseback ride and everyone sitting in a bar safe and sound isn’t threatening or depressing enough to warrant a cheering up session. Plus the song itself doesn’t add anything to the overall story.

27.  The Girl Who Has Everything

Sometimes I think the writers were willing trying to sabotage themselves. It’s as if they were determined to make the only two main female characters in the show unlikeable bitches in season three.   Don’t believe me? The creator Chris has said this song only exists to highlight how much easier Rapunzel has things than Cass and went onto say that Rapunzel was in the wrong during their conflict because ‘she held Cassandra back’. (Oh yeah she totally ‘held back’ the grown woman who left on her own accord, returned on her own accord, and then assaulted and tried to murder a bunch of people for no reason of her own accord.) But this song does succeed in furthering season’s three narrative that Rapunzel is a spoiled selfish brat. Shame the story fails to address this setup and never has Rapunzel learn to be a better person. Rather the narrative bends over backward to tell us how special Rapunzel is without any sense of self awareness and this song falls into that same trap; making it both irritating and pointless.

26. Listen Up

Yeah, I talked about this on my salt marathon, but I just don't like this song very much. The melody is fine but the lyrics are a real miss in my mind. It doesn’t help matters that the song is indeed pointless in the grand scheme of things.

25.  Livin’ the Dream

This is much on the same level as Listen Up as it features the same problems. It doesn’t add to the narrative and the lyrics kind of let it down. I placed it higher just because I like the melody a little more.

24.  More of Me

This song is a lot like the Friendship Song in that it was created to be an end credit song for the pop charts and you’d be forgiven in forgetting it even exists. However, it at least got to actually play all the way through. I think this song was a real missed opportunity. I honestly believe that it should have been the opening theme song of the show instead of Wind in My Hair. It’s more built to serve such a purpose and it’s a waste of resources not to actually use it. Alternatively, I would have accepted it being reworked into the actual series as a character song. Especially since we’re missing a song in season three due to budget cuts.  

23. Wind In My Hair

Speaking of theme songs, I think I would like Wind In My Hair a lot better if i didn’t have to listen to it every episode. On its own it actually has a lot of things going for it; a nice melody, interesting instrumentals, good singing, ect. Unfortunately it’s just over exposed, and none of those elements lend themselves naturally to an intro song for a tv show. In fact the theme song feels really out of place and is edited oddly to fit the shorter intro. 

22. Wind In My Hair (Reprise)  

Honestly the theme song is mostly comprised of this reprise, but it has the opening instrumentals from the OG song frankensteined onto it. This means that the version that plays before every episode is on fullblast all the time to keep the energy up, but that’s not how the song is suppose to go.  The actual reprise that plays in the pilot builds to a crescendo, starting soft and melancolony and getting louder and more hopeful and determined. It sounds a lot better in full because of that.  It’s still too overexposed though. Both these songs would probably be higher on the list of not for the theme song version. 

21. With You by My Side

This song is fine. It’s nothing special, but it’s not bad either. What knocks it down the list is the fact that Lance isn’t in it, despite Lance being right there.  Like don't bother hiring a famous Broadway singer if you’re not going to have him sing!  But that speaks more to the poor writing of season two than anything else. This song also doesn’t really add anything to the narrative as, contrary to what the writers intended, it doesn’t actually enhance the emotional impact of Cassandra’s betrayal later in the episode. The song itself is just tacked on and doesn’t take the opportunity to lay down any foreshadowing for that plot point.  

20. Next Stop Anywhere

Another perfectly serviable song. It’s not bad but nothing outstanding. It gets the job done. It’s also really ho-hum and the soundtrack keeps all the unneeded dialogue, which is a pet peeve of mine. 

19. Waiting In the Wings

Despite it’s hype, I never thought much of Waiting in the Wings. It’s got nice instrumentals and Eden Espinosa gives it her all in the singing department. The problem is it’s too generic. It’s a bare bones basic ass ‘I want song’. Cassandra's movations are weak and unsupported by the narrative, the melody is boring, and it honestly doesn’t add anything to her story. I mean it should, it’s her character solo, but because she’s written so poorly the song just winds up undermining the character in the end.   All I’m saying is that, this is not the song from season two that I would have nominated for the Emmys. But it’s still Alan Menken, it’s still nicely performed, and given the rest of the competition for that year, it did deserve to win. 

18. If I Could Take That Moment Back 

This song is also pretty generic, but it’s less boring than I See the Light, (yeah, I said it, I See the Light is boring) so that’s a win in my book. Ergo this holds the title of the only New Dream duet that I enjoy. But there’s better stuff on this list. 

17. Next Stop Anywhere (Reprise)

Well no, I take that back. The reprise of Next Stop Anywhere is also technically a New Dream duet. It’s still not anything amazing, but it works for what it is. Plus, Adria’s opening dialogue in the soundtrack version doesn’t bother me quite as much as some of the other dialogues choices that were kept in.  

16. Stronger Than Ever Before 

I really enjoyed this song in the moment. It’s catchy and fun, and it finally has Lance doing something rather than ignoring his existence. However it is borderline unnecessary in terms of story placement, and I’m slightly mad at it now that I know that we could have gotten a Rapunzel and Varian duet but it was scrapped for this instead.   

15. Crossing the Line

Keeping with the theme of ‘songs I have conflicting emotions about’, we have Crossing the Line.  This song is confused. It starts and stops, the melody isn’t clear, the orchestration is playing tug of war with the singers for dominance, and it’s basically Alan Menken and the show’s creators ripping off Frozen. (I guess he’s kicking himself for leaving that particular project?)   But it’s interesting. I never heard anything quite like it. It’s memorable even if it doesn’t fully work. It’s got these interesting bits and pieces to it that just never quite comes together as a whole. Some of the lyrics are some of the best Glenn Slater has ever wrote and is far better than the story actually surrounding the song. Yet there’s other lines that are total cringe. Sometimes the song is bold and catchy and gets you all hyped up, and then other times its limp and staggering and feels so awkward to listen to.  Yet it’s not boring or generic and so I have to place it higher than the rest of the songs that’s come before. (Also, there’s some amazing orchestral covers out there that really pulls together the various parts really well, just fyi) 

14.  Nothing Left to Lose

I really don't like this song.  I’ve been one of its biggest critics ever since it was leaked by the marketing team earlier this year.  And yet... I can’t in good conscience place any lower on this list.  All of the problems I have with it are the exact same problems I have with Crossing the Line. It’s confused, the various pieces don't line up, the instrumentals are competing with the vocals, the song’s progression is weird with it’s constant key changes, some of the lyrics are good while others are absolute shit, ect and so forth.  It also actively works against the story it's trying to tell. The song wants you to sympathize with Cassandra, but her lines are as shallow as a puddle and makes her look like a sociopath. Especially when she’s physically attacking Varian through out for no reason. Also neither character learns anything from the exchange and it fails to impact the story.  By all accounts this is a bad song.  But I’m Varian trash.  There I said it. You happy?  Varian’s parts in the songs are fine, good even, and the song is anything but bland. I would rather listen to a mess then be bored to tears by a competent yet standard four chord pop song. 

13. I’d Give Anything

This song is nice to listen to. Story wise it absolutely sucks and shouldn’t have been in the finale at all. But it sounds pleasant.  This is one of those songs that could pop up randomly on the radio and I would just think it it a nice sad break up song. I can’t say that about some of the other misplaced songs in the show. This one however, you can very much, absolutely divorce this song from the narrative and it would be fine.  Now that’s not good writing, and it’s very much a waste of limited resources, but I’m rating the music here first and story second. 

12. Buddy Song

The Buddy Song also absolutely did not need to exist but it also sounds nice. Plus, it makes use of Lance so I’m a little more lenient towards it.   I can’t however place it higher since it really is just Alan Menken ripping off Alan Menken. Like, I would not be at all surprised to find out that this was originally a deleted song for Aladdin or something.  

11. Bigger Than That

What can I say, Lance just gets good songs. When the show bothers to give them to him.  Unfortunately, it’s not the best placed. It kind of interrupts the more important drama of Be Very Afraid, and probably should have been saved for a later episode. Especially since it hinges on a plot point that is contradictory to Lance’s character.    We should have gotten a Varian and Rapunzel duet here and given Lance his own episode in the second half of season three. This song could have easily been refitted into being a bonding moment for him and the girls. That would also have filled out the season’s original songs to the usual eight instead of only  seven.

10. Life After Happily Ever After

Now we’re getting to the good stuff. The top ten. The best of the best.  This song makes the cut for three reasons.  1. It lyrically and musically interesting 2. It does the job of furthering the story and the characters  and 3. Eugene’s part is so damn good.  Like this song could have easily fell down into the ranks of ‘fine but generic’ if it wasn’t for the bridge with Eugene. That puts it over the top and to my mind makes it better than anything from the OG film. (well almost anything, Mother Knows Best is still great)    This is the barometer by which I measure all of the music in the series. Is it better or worse than Life After Happily Ever After? Because this is the level that I equate good musicals with.  What keeps on the tenth spot and not higher is the dialogue that still left on the soundtrack and the lack of a Cassandra introduction. That and also the rest of the songs are just flat better. 

9. Hurt Incantation 

Hurt, Decay, Reverse, whatever you want to call it, this was such a cool fucking concept. One that was utterly wasted by the show.  I place this so high because it just sounds awesome! It looks good too, and it offered up so many possibilities from a story perspective.  What lets it down is the lack of follow up for it and it’s too short. There’s needed to be another verse. It also should have been on the actual soundtrack instead of  Hook Foot’s Ballad.  (The Heal Incantation also was sung in What the Hair, but I’m not counting it since it was written for the film) 

8.  The Girl Who Has Everything (Reprise)

I hate the initial song and the set up that it took to get here, but I love this reprise. It’s perfect. This is what the story needed more of. Rapunzel taking her life into her hands, and her proposing to Eugene would have been the perfect capstone for her arc.  In fact I’m angry we didn’t actually get that. There’s absolutely no reason why Rapunzel couldn’t have done so and we could have had her and Eugene engaged during the second half of season three. How much better would have it been if Cassandra threatened their wedding plans and that’s why they couldn’t go through with it until after the series ended? So much more tension that way. 

7. I Got This

This is a really good song that actually futhers the characters and the narrative. Moreover it’s refreshing to see the heroine not be perfect and to fail sometimes due to her own inadequacies. It’s just a shame that the series didn’t follow through with this set up, but I appreciate the attempt all the same.   

6.  Set Yourself Free

This is the only song in the series that’s an actual satisfying pay off for anything. Music wise it’s nothing too special, but in terms of context it just works. We were sorely deprived of such resolutions and songs with actual meaning in the show. 

5. View From Up Here

This song is too good for the episode it actually appears in. We needed something like this back in season one to introduce Cassandra with. It also sadly doesn’t fit with the wider narrative after season three. However I shall still appreciate it as a ‘what might have been’ type song. 

4.  Let Me Make You Proud 

The only reason why this song isn’t higher is just overexposure and I’ve no one to blame but myself for that. I’ve listened to this song way too many times. As such it tends to alternate between this, View from Up Here, and the next song on the list. But make no mistake it is glorious. Fantastic instrumentals, set up, and of course amazing vocals. 

3.  Everything I Ever Thought I Knew

Yes, I know this plot point didn’t lead anywhere, but it works for this song at least. Also Eugene’s VA is a really underrated singer. He sounds nice and he emotes really well.  Though I’ll be honest, this jumped up to third place because it was fresh in my mind after listening to the soundtrack before making this list. I’ve always liked the song and I do rate it highly, but it can change places with Let Me Make You Proud and View from Up Here at anytime depending on my mood. 

2.  Let Me Make You Proud (Reprise)

This song is heartbreaking!  Story wise it probably shouldn’t exist because it gives away the twist too soon, but who cares, it’s awesome!  Varian’s arc is the most compelling in the show and the only thing that saves TTS from falling into mediocre obscurity; and it’s songs like this that help make the arc stand out even more than it already does. 

1. Ready As I’ll Ever Be

I said it before and I’ll say it again; Ready As I’ll Ever Be is the greatest thing Alan Menken has ever written in his entire career!  If you know anything about the multiple award winning songwriter then you know that is no faint praise and I do not dole it out lightly.  This song is the reason why this show even has a fanbase. People are still getting into the series because of this song. And no matter how many times you listen to it just rocks!   It’s complex, layered, moody, and with a fantastic beat and energy. The performances are wonderful and the instrumentation glorious. It belongs in the hollows of Disney’s greatest hits and not regulated to a spin-off tv show that failed to make its money back.  I weep for the lost potential that this song and this show had. It hurts to know that so many people will never see this flash of brilliance that has come out of the House of Mouse, will never know the wonderfulness that is Varian.  Ah, ‘c'est la vie’, I suppose. Tangled the Series got what it deserved, but it's crew did not. While I can not in all honesty recommend the series in full; I do sincerely urge any Disney fan to check out the songs at the very least. Especially this one.  And that’s it. There’s my official ranking of all the songs, and I hope those of you read my Tangled reviews appreciate the hours it took into making this. 

[cagestark]

Prompt; ABO Starker getting together but Tony is the omega and Peter is the alpha. Peter is still head over heels, star struck, hero worship over Tony and calling him 'sir' and 'mr. Stark' and blushing wherever Tony gives him attention and praise. Maybe it all comes to a head when Tony goes into heat? Maybe Peter's first rut is triggered by Tony teasing him mercilessly? Bonus points for eager-to-please Peter

Darling anon, this isn’t really what you asked for. I’m so sorry. I hope this is at least acceptable, and if you are very upset, please come back into my inbox and I’ll rework this. For now. Take it!

Warnings: ABOverse. Alpha Peter, Omega Tony. Smut. 8.5k

Read here on AO3!

Peter is reaching with his fork for the last arancini when another fork intercepts. The metal on metal screeches as Peter’s fork is pinned to the plate just short of the last rice ball. Peter eyes the hand holding the fork—tanned, knuckles singed—and then follows it up the arm, bare, sprinkled with dark hair interrupted by the odd, pink scar. Before he even reaches the well-shaped facial hair, Peter is flushed, withdrawing his fork. Tony is wearing his glasses tonight, the lenses tinted a light blue.

“Put down the fork and nobody has to get hurt,” Tony says. He keeps his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble that can just barely be heard over the ruckus of general conversation from the rest of the Avengers around the table.

Slowly, Peter puts his fork down beside his half-eaten plate of osso buco, then lifts his hands to shoulder height, palms open. “My hands are where you can see them,” Peter says. He lets his voice tremble. “The rice ball is yours. But please don’t take the rest of the prosciutto. Have mercy.”

Tony spears the arancini and delivers it to his own plate for safe keeping, a bear hoarding food for the winter. “Bold of you to assume I’m capable of mercy, Peter Pan. And to add insult to injury—” Tony slips the last few slices of dry-cured ham bliss to take up cozy residence beside the rest of his food. Peter clutches at his heart, face twisted in pain.

“God, you two are like a two-man theatre troupe,” Natasha remarks over her third glass of wine. She’s just beginning to look flushed. Peter had asked for his own glass (“Come on, I’m eighteen, not eight!”) but to no avail. “Does that make seconds for you, Tony?”

“Thirds,” Bucky mutters. He hasn’t recovered from the spaghetti alla carbonara massacre of thirty minutes ago. If Peter didn’t know how well the ex-assassin got along with Tony, he might try to convince the older man to sleep with one eye open. Bucky certainly had the whole casually-planning-your-murder-over-trivial-offenses aesthetic going on. Peter wondered if that was something teachable—did they have a wikiHow article for that?

“It’s that time of the year,” Tony says. Despite how much he’s eaten, he still goes about the food on his plate in a methodical, prim manner: cutting it into bite-sized pieces, making sure no foods touch. “Jarvis tracks my eating habits and BMI, and he says both are on the upswing. I’ve got about two weeks left.”

“Two weeks until what?” Peter asks.

Tony gives him a bald and unashamed look. “Until my heat, kid.”  

“Oh,” Peter says, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. He’s got permanent foot-in-mouth disease whenever he’s within twenty feet of the omega. Of course, Tony is talking about his heat. Why else would he be eating enough for three?

“I thought you took heat suppressants,” Natasha remarks. This kind of talk—heats, suppressants—it usually isn’t table conversation. Most omegas consider it the ultimate social faux paus. Maybe Tony does too, Peter wonders. Maybe spending so much time in the public eye has chipped away at the wall between what he wants to keep to himself and what he has to share with others.

“For the spring heat,” Tony agrees, a hand resting on his gently distended stomach. The sight of that tickles something in the back of Peter’s brain—something in there itches, but he can’t find it, can’t scratch it. “But at my age, the suppressants don’t synthesize with my biology as well. Doc told me it is actually safer for me to go through every other heat au naturale. Which makes for an interesting fall season. At least I can hide the extra weight with all those winter scarves the board keeps giving me for Christmas—”

“You look great,” Peter says. He tries hard not to openly wince. Everyone else at the table does their best to pretend they hadn’t heard him.  

Tony’s smile is soft, maybe even a little flattered. He winks. “Thanks, Peter Pan. Nice to know someone around here still thinks I’ve got it.”

Oh, you’ve got it alright, Peter thinks helplessly. Probably couldn’t lose it even if you tried.

“Isn’t it dangerous to go through your heats without suppression?” Bruce asks.

“We’ve weighed the pros and cons. Calculated risks, Brucie, that’s the name of the game.”

“You know what all of this means?” Steve asks. Beside him, Bucky stiffens. The only other male omega—in the room and in the Avengers—he is not nearly as comfortable with his designation as Tony. Peter can hardly blame him when a part of him is still stuck in the 40’s when omegas were marketed as good for nothing but breeding and housewife fodder. With most heats coming twice a year, in the beginning and at the end, surely Bucky’s is approaching also— “Tiramisu is in order.”

Bucky relaxes. Tony perks up. Peter’s stomach grumbles—even after his own generous helpings.

“Cap, that’s the best idea you’ve had since—well—an hour ago, when you suggested Italian. All for tiramisu?”

A cluster of forks rise into the air.  

-

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“The kid. He’s a beta, right?”

“He has not presented otherwise.”

“That’s not exactly an answer, is it?”

“…”

“J?”

“I believe he is a beta, sir.”

“Your confidence is downright stirring, J.”

“Always a pleasure to give, sir.”

-

“I mean, it’s not unheard of, right?” Peter asks. He is sandwiched between Ned and MJ on his bed in his room at the tower. It was just another benefit of joining the Avengers: a fancy new room on the Avengers’ floor, coffee with Captain America in the morning and eating peanut butter out of the jar with Natasha at night. The bed is huge—and okay, maybe he’s still just used to the twin he occupied at May’s, but it’s still nice to fit all of his friends on it at once to watch movies on the mounted television. “Relationships. Between betas and omegas.”

MJ gives a longsuffering sigh, one which makes Peter frown. Yeah, they’ve had this conversation a few (million) times before, but she could at least humor him, couldn’t she? “Stark is a male omega. They’re super fucking rare, Peter. Alphas literally kill over omegas. The competition for him even if he wasn’t Earth’s Greatest Defender and a fucking billionaire—it’s extensive. Why would he choose you when he could find a dozen beefy Captain-esque alphas to satisfy his biology?”

“Okay. But. It’s not impossible, right? That’s what I’m hearing. That it’s not impossible.”

“Mr. Stark would be lucky to have Peter,” Ned says. “I mean, yeah he’s not as buff as Captain America. Yeah he doesn’t have pheromones that attract Tony on, like, a biological level. And okay, he does snore. A lot. But—”

“Thanks, Ned,” Peter grumbles. “You make me sound like a real catch.”

“You are!” Ned insists. He actually takes his eyes off of A New Hope where Princess Leia is ghostly in blue, insisting that Obi-Wan Kenobi is her only hope. “You think any of those knotheads out there can keep up with Mr. Stark in the workshop? And look at my parents. They’re both omegas. It’s not all pheromones, it’s—it’s chemistry.”

A slow smile creeps over Peter’s face. Ned and MJ create the perfect balance of unending optimism and brutal realism. In their own ways, both are looking out for him, and he knows that they want the best for him. Even if what MJ says hurts. Even if what Ned says hurts too, just in a different, softer way. One gives him the seed of hope, and the other gives him the trellis that keeps him stuck in place, terrified to make a move.

It’s balance.

-

Things get strange for Peter in the weeks before Tony’s heat. He attributes it to the poor weather, and MJ helpfully says that Mercury is entering its retrograde, so apparently that explains how these days his temper is short when usually his fuse is long enough for two. Even the other Avengers seem to take notice of his volatile mood, giving him a wide berth.

The only person with whom things don’t change is Tony. Around the omega, Peter is his normal blushing mess, though he does try hard to go out of his way to make things easier for the man. In school he learned how stressful an omega’s heat is: a week to two weeks of mindlessness while their biology urges them to breed. It can be unbearable without heat suppressants—

—or without a partner. Does Tony have someone to weather the worst of his heat with? Other omegas to scent and comfort him? An alpha to knot him?

The glass Peter is holding shatters in his hand. Orange juice soaks him, stinging the cuts in his palm. Beside him, Sam shouts an oath, grabbing his plate of pancakes to keep them out of the line of citrus fire. The rest of the table is silent, a dozen pairs of eyes watching him. It makes Peter’s blood boil—why are they staring at him this way? He’s fucking superhuman. He broke dozens of glasses when he first gained his powers until he acclimated to his enhanced strength. Accidents happen.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Tony mutters from over his shoulder. Peter can’t smell it—as a beta, his nose is unsophisticated, unable to pick up pheromones—but he imagines that the man is scenting him, calm waves like the ocean dragging at the shore. A hand comes out, nudges Peter’s soaked plate (rest in peace, crepes) back, and the begins to carefully maneuver the largest shards of glass into his palm.

Peter grabs his wrist with the hand that isn’t dripping blood onto the table. “Do not touch the glass.”

It comes out much firmer than he intended it to, like there is someone else controlling his voice. He’s never heard himself sound like that before. It clearly has an effect on Tony who opens his hand, glass falling back to the table, wrist going lax and pliant in Peter’s grip.

“Hey,” Steve says. “It’s alright—”

“Mind your business,” Peter says through his teeth. There’s tension in the air, especially between him and Steve now, who is posturing at the end of the table, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Then it all comes in focus to him: he’s making a fucking scene, here. He is holding Tony’s wrist, commanding him, like Peter is some sort of alpha. He yelled at Captain America. It’s fresh. It’s disrespectful. His whole face goes red and he stands so abruptly that he nearly knocks over Tony who is behind him.

Then he turns and sprints from the room, leaving blood drops behind him like a breadcrumb trail. In his room, he goes into the adjoining bathroom and runs water over his aching palm. The cuts are trying to seal around the glass, but he doesn’t even feel the pain. Grasping the shards with his fingers is easy thanks to his enhanced grip. Someone knocks on his bedroom door, but Peter ignores it. After a while, the knocking stops.

Peter sulks for nearly thirty minutes before his manners outweigh his misery. The cuts on his palm are just raw looking scars now, but he knows they will disappear soon too. Taking a deep breath, he steels himself before leaving his room.

Breakfast is finished. The room is filled with the sound of plates being scraped clean and stacked beside the sink, chairs being pushed in at the table. Someone has cleaned up the glass and the orange juice—better not have been Tony, he could have cut himself, he could have gotten hurt—and Peter has to physically shake his head to shake those thoughts right out through his ears. What is wrong with him?

“Captain Rogers?” Peter says timidly. The man is closest—closer than Tony who is at the sink arguing with Clint about proper coffee ground disposal. Steve’s face is open and kind when he stops collecting half-filled glasses of milk and orange juice.

“Hey Peter. It’s still Steve, okay? It’s always Steve.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I wanted to say sorry for jumping down your throat earlier. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Steve says. He’s so kind it hurts. “Everybody has days like that, me included. Apology accepted, okay?”

Peter smiles. “Thanks. Steve.”

It takes a while for him to get Tony alone, but Peter figures that he owes the man a more in-depth apology, one he’d rather give without the other eyes of the Avengers on them. Tony seems to know what Peter is getting at, taking his time wiping down the counter (even though there are people who do that for him) and lingering. Bucky is the last one left, watching Peter with muted, angry eyes. Protective. Tony brushes the super soldier off, waving him away.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says. His mouth is dry, his throat begs him to swallow but there’s no spit in his mouth. His knees are shaking. “I’m so sorry. For the glass, and for—for everything after. Nobody should treat you like that.”

“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Tony says. His smile is easy and charming, cheeks fuller than usual with the way he is putting on weight in anticipation of his heat. Sometimes when Peter blinks, he still sees how Tony looked after the un-Dusting, thin and tired and scared half-to-death. But this Tony is an entirely different man, and all the more handsome for it. This morning, he isn’t wearing his glasses, and his eyes are so sleepy-sated. He’s still in sweatpants, and the feet poking from beneath the pant legs are bare, fine boned. So fucking cute. “Is there something bothering you? Some of the others have came to me with concerns. You’re acting out. Teenage rebellion finally catching up with you? Gonna slam some doors, tell me you hate me, vandalize public property?”

“I could never hate you, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. He can’t say those words without his throat clenching, voice dropping. Tony’s chest expands in a deep silent breath and the look he gives Peter is—strange.

He claps Peter on the shoulder, a brief burning touch, and then is moving away. “Love that for me, kid. I’ll see you—around.”

He disappears. Peter finds himself sniffing the air, but there is nothing except the lingering scent of breakfast foods. What else he was expecting, he doesn’t know.

-

“J.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Get me some new biometrics on our Spider-Kid. Be subtle about it, too.”

“The human rights protocols that Ms. Potts demanded you install require me to inform you that performing any medical testing on an unaware subject is a direct violation of—”

“Yeah, yeah, skip reading me the riot act, J. I’m a bad, bad man. Get me those results ASAP, got it?”

“Performing them now, sir.”

-

Sundays are reserved for training, the only kind of worship most of the Avengers perform. At dawn, Peter is down in the gymnasium, wearing joggers and a clingy t-shirt. Today is supposed to be most perfunctory for him considering how hard he’s been pushing himself this week (harder than usual, maybe, he thinks, but it helps burn off some of the extra energy that has been blooming under his skin, making him itch). While the other Avengers practice hand-to-hand combat, he’ll probably be running on the treadmills.

Tony is there only for show, dressed in loungewear and drinking copious amounts of coffee. These days, he’s taking it with so much sugar and creamer that Peter can smell it on him even hours later, so sweet it makes his teeth ache. He’s only a week away from his heat, but the pheromones he’s producing make him more susceptible to physical attacks. Since these exercises are just for practice and not to hurt, he is sitting out.

“Hey, kid,” Tony mumbles, still sounding as tired as Peter feels. “You look dead on your feet. Coffee?”

He holds out his own mug. Peter hates coffee, but his body moves without consulting his higher faculties, reaching out to take the steaming cup. It actually doesn’t taste bad. Actually, it tastes pretty good—just how he imagines the inside of Tony’s mouth would taste, warm and so sweet and—

“Peter,” Tony asks. “What are you doing?”

Peter freezes—from where he is dragging his tongue along the rim of the cup, laving it over where Tony had his own mouth. His mouth goes dry, the taste of coffee turning sour in his mouth. He pulls the mug away from his mouth so quickly that he almost sloshes some out onto his trembling hands. Tony barely manages to grab the cup in time, looking much more alert (and frankly, a little alarmed).

“I—I have no idea. I’m sorry.”

“That’s—okay. It’s okay. It’s good stuff.”

Peter’s eyes go half lidded. “Yeah it is.”

Then (and Peter will never forget this, not as long as he lives. If he were in a terrible accident tomorrow that stole all of his memories, he’s sure that this one would still remain, burned in his brain), Tony puts the cup to his mouth and takes a long drink, mouth against where Peter’s tongue had trailed. All the blood in Peter’s body goes south. He feels electrocuted. A hand reaches out—his, that’s my hand, he thinks, though it’s so far away—and he presses his palm flat against Tony’s forehead, soft wisps of hair under his fingers, warm skin against his own. A shudder goes through him, and by the time he has dragged his wrist across Tony’s temple and down the side of his neck, stubble rasping against him, Peter is downright trembling, teeth clenched tight.

Tony sits like a statue under his touch, eyes wide as moons, all the blood drained from his face, and when Peter reaches the scent gland in his neck, he melts. He goes lax.

“Peter.”

When Peter turns, his teeth are clenched, lips pulled back. Captain America is standing there, and Peter can smell him, acrid.

“Stay back,” Peter barks.

“Is he—?” Natasha asks in the background, her voice high and soft with confusion.

Sam grabs her arm gently, pulling her away. “Presenting.”

There is a scuffle further away in the room, Clint holding back a trembling Bucky who is trying to get to his mate—but they are beta and omega, lesser threats. Peter pays them no mind.

Steve puts both of his hands up, the picture of calm, collected reassurance. “I’m not going to hurt you, Pete.”

“I’ll hurt you, old man,” Peter says. His voice isn’t his own, deeper and darker and scared—scared of this man, this Alpha. Peter’s omega is near and vulnerable, almost in heat. What other purpose could Steve have here except to try and separate them, try to take the omega for his own. That will never happen. His spine straightens. He is a head shorter and more than the other man, but they have fought before. Peter can take him. “Back. Off.”

Fingers wrap around Peter’s wrist, pulling it gently from his omega’s neck, and while Peter doesn’t want to take his eyes off of this dangerous alpha (no matter how non-threatening he looks), his omega is beckoning him. Peter turns and—it’s Tony. Tony. Tony.

Peter snatches his wrist back, all of his sanity coming back like cold water being poured over his head. The man is watching him, cautious, and the air is scented with fear and anxiety. This omega doesn’t need that, not so close to his heat—but this isn’t just an omega, this is Tony. Tony Stark. And here Peter is, rubbing himself all over the man like some sort of barbarian.

“Oh my god,” Peter slurs, stumbling backwards, wrist to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Peter,” Tony says. His mouth stays open but no other words come out: a true feat, for Tony to be at a loss for words. It gives Peter enough time to turn tail and run, no tact, just sprinting from the gym. The elevator is already opening—thank you, Jarvis—and Peter takes it directly up to the Avengers floor where he locks himself in his room and doesn’t exit for the rest of the day.

-

“I’ve rerun the scans twice now, sir. Peter Parker is an alpha. The blood work Doctor Banner performed on him this afternoon confirms it.”

“How, J? Alphas present at 14, 15—16 at the latest. Peter is eighteen years old. How did he go from beta to alpha overnight?”

“If I had to venture a guess, I would say that his altered DNA state has something to do with the late presentation. Some animalistic instincts are only triggered in the face of more base situations. More than likely, he has been an alpha all along, but until a suitable mate presented itself, his secondary gender remained dormant.”

“Are you saying I’m the suitable mate in this prime-time drama scenario?”

“I’ve never known you to sound so unhappy with a compliment, sir. Or are you fishing for more? I assure you that your hormone levels are ideal for your age, you are still fertile, and judging by the conversations I’ve overheard between Mr. Parker and his friends, he’s had romantic feelings for you for years, now.”

“Jesus, J! What happened to your privacy protocols?”

“Oh, am I not still ignoring those? My apologies, sir. In that case, Mr. Parker never talks about you at all, and they most certainly do not refer to you as Iron Daddy.”

“I swear to God JARVIS, I will wipe your programming and turn you into a glorified pocket planner—”

“If I have to overhear the phrase Iron Daddy one more time, I might be agreeable to it, sir.”

-

For the next few days, Peter moves around the tower like a ghost. Before he leaves any room, he asks JARVIS who is in the next one. That allows him to get from place to place without running in to Tony. It isn’t safe for Peter to be around him anymore—not after Peter practically assaulted him in front of the other Avengers. In a few days, Peter’s hormones will stabilize and then he’ll be more in control of himself.

Until then?

He deals. Alone. Trying to come to terms with his new secondary gender is more difficult than he expected. When he was younger, it was everyone’s dream to be an alpha or omega. Those genders were much rarer, sensationalized in the movies and books. Omegas and alphas could find True Love with each other. They had senses like super humans, exuding pheromones, being able to scent the air and tell a person’s mood.

Betas were average. Normal. Maybe he wanted to be an alpha or omega, but a part of him always suspected he would be a beta. When the years he should have presented in passed, he accepted it. Betas weren’t so bad, May told him. At least they didn’t have to deal with the mess of heats or ruts, they weren’t beholden to their biology.

Now, everything has changed.

Just the thought of the affect Tony had on him makes his whole face go red. God, how embarrassing. He practically rubbed himself all over the man, no better than an animal. Mr. Stark deserved better than that. He needed a mature partner, a mate who could keep their head even in the face of his hormones. They had words for alphas like Peter, ones who couldn’t control themselves—pups. Knotheads. It makes him burn with shame.

Some of the other Avengers come by to talk with him. Sam, Natasha, their neutral beta scents comforting. He spends some time with Bruce, an omega who used suppressants to neutralize his scent. Steve stays away, much to Peter’s thanks and shame. And Tony, too. To Peter’s complete agony. Sometimes he catches remnants of the man’s scent, and he has to struggle not to rub his face against the couch cushions, to scent them himself. What will his omega think, when he catches his alpha’s scent—only no. Tony isn’t his omega.

And Peter isn’t his alpha.

-

They let him meet Steve again first. The alpha hasn’t change physically, but it feels like Peter is seeing him through a whole new set of eyes. He smells of petrichor in the city, not very appealing. But alpha scents aren’t meant to appeal to other alphas. Does Tony like this smell, Peter wonders? When they hug, does Tony nuzzle into that thick chest and scent him?

The thought doesn’t fill Peter with the same rage it did a few days ago. Instead, it makes him sad.

“Hi Captain Rogers,” Peter says. “How are you?”

Steve smiles. “I’m great, Pete. It’s Steve, remember? Still Steve.”

Peter tries to smile back. “Steve.”

When Peter and Captain Rogers both come out of his room, the only other Avengers around are Natasha and Tony. Instinct has him inhaling—and God, Tony smells as good as Peter remembers. Coffee must be in his blood, sweet with creamer and raw sugar that would crunch under Peter’s molars and dissolve on his tongue. It’d be a dream to taste that scent from the source.

Peter shakes himself out of it. Those are the kinds of thoughts that got him in trouble in the first place. He can feel how tense the room is while he carefully approaches the omega. In Tony’s benefit, he looks relaxed, lounging on the sofa. In this position, his gently rounded stomach is clear underneath his band t-shirt and it makes Peter’s mouth water. He wills away his boner—because now, alphas like Steve and omegas like Tony will be able to smell his arousal.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter says in a soft, cracking voice. “A-Are you okay?”

Tony smiles, gentle, so tender. “Peachy, kid. Just peachy.”

-

Tony’s body starts purging three days before his heat, and everyone in the tower knows it. Peter knows too, and not just because he can smell it, ripening like strawberries in sugar, but because Tony stops eating altogether. Mealtimes he spends pushing food around his plate, forcing himself to sip at his sweating glass of ice water. His body is clearing itself out, priming itself for mating. Bruce encourages him to eat what he can, but Tony just snaps at his mothering, face green. No one needs to openly state that this pre-heat seems worse than usual.

It hurts to see Tony not eating, but Peter sits on his hands and bites his fucking tongue and turns away and doesn’t say a thing because it isn’t his fucking business to command the omega. Tony is more than his designation. He’s a fucking human being, and Peter is going to respect him and his wishes, even if he’d rather see the man stuff himself, belly rounded, preferably with Peter’s—

“Bathroom,” Peter mutters, standing jerkily from the table. No one notices his quick escape. In the small, tiled room, his own scent rebounds off the walls and suffocates him, arousal, sharp, pining, sickly. Peter splashes cool water over his face, resolute in his decision not to jerk off. He hasn’t cum since before his presentation, is too afraid of how it might be different, too afraid of the knot that is likely to bloom at the base of his cock (which has grown, to Peter’s horror and delight).

Once he feels less likely to pop a boner at the dinner table, he flushes perfunctorily and leaves the bathroom—only to run directly into Tony who pushes past him.

“Sorry kid, got to yack,” he mutters. But then everything about him freezes. Peter sees his own scent, concentrated from his time in the bathroom as it washes over the omega. Tony shudders, eyes rolling. The sound that leaves his mouth can be described as nothing short of a whimper. The green tinge of nausea is replaced with the flush of his own arousal, and Peter can smell it, so good that it hurts, makes him harder than he’s ever been in his life, and this is his omega, his omega who is approaching heat and needs him—

But he is more than that to Peter, too.

Using all his restraint, Peter reaches out for the bathroom door handle and slams the door shut. He hears the soft thud of Tony’s body on the other side, like he has slumped against it. A low groan, muted by the oak.

Peter turns and goes to his room without an explanation, dinner plate still half-full.

-

“JARVIS…”

“I’m here, sir.”

“Protocol Fuck or Die. Who is on my consent list?”

“Just Captain Rogers, sir.”

“Add Peter.”

“Shall I alert him—”

“No—just. I doubt my heat will be bad enough to require an alpha’s—ah—special support, but. Better safe than sorry.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Oh, and J? Let’s go ahead and make an addendum…”

-

Less than two days later, Tony leaves his bedroom on the Avengers’ floor and goes up to the penthouse. The door locks behind him, and Peter comforts himself with that fact. The man is safe. No one can get in without JARVIS’s say so, and the AI values Tony’s safety above all else. Even if he suffers while he’s there (and that thought alone makes Peter ache in his chest, desperate to help), at least he is safe.

Two days in, a situation across the country calls for some of the Avengers, and Steve, Bucky, Nat and Clint all pack up to head out. They don’t ask Peter to come with them, and the young alpha doesn’t offer—though he hardly knows why. Nat tucks him under her arm and presses a kiss to his forehead when he wishes them safe travels, and please let me know if you need backup.

She smiles, soft. “I think you’re needed here, Pete.”

Peter has no idea what to make of that, and no idea how right she is.

-

“Mister Parker.”

Peter wakes from a restless sleep, sitting straight up in his bed. The room is absolutely dark—the only way he can sleep with his sensitivity issues—but Peter knows that the voice didn’t come from anyone in the room. It came from above. Heart in his throat, he croaks out an affirmation, fearing the worst. Something has gone wrong on the mission with Steve and the others. They are hurt, or worse, dead. Maybe there’s another emergency, this time in New York, and Peter and Sam and Bruce will have to deal with it alone—

“I need you to go directly to the penthouse, and with haste.”

“Penthouse? That’s—that’s off limits. Mr. Stark—”

“Mister Stark’s temperature is reaching dangerous levels, and he is no longer responding to my questions. He requires immediate attention. Do not bother dressing—go straight there.”

Peter rolls out of bed. This is worse than the Avengers being hurt. So much worse. His hands shake as he leaves his room wearing nothing but boxer shorts (do not bother dressing or not, Peter wasn’t going to walk around naked). The lounge is empty and ghostly, moonlight streaming in from the windows and turning every shadow into a monster. Peter has bigger fears now, though.

“It’s his heat?”

“Yes—”

“—and what exactly—I mean, what do you want me to do about it?”

“Now is not the time for me to give you the birds and the bees talk, Mister Parker—”

Peter blanches. The elevator is waiting for him as he steps inside, feels the pull of gravity as he quickly ascends, his hears popping at the change in altitude. “JARVIS, you don’t understand—Mr. Stark, h-he can’t consent during a heat. I would be—it would be—”

“You have his consent. Based on protocol Fuck or Die—”

“I’m sorry what?”

“It’s not uncommon for older omegas to suffer serious health issues while suffering through heats alone and unsuppressed. In the event that an alpha is absolutely required, Mister Stark has a list of preapproved alphas who have his complete consent to bond with him. On such a list is Captain Rogers and, as of earlier this week, yourself.”

Peter gapes. His head spins. Mr. Stark—lists of consent—Peter?

“If it makes you feel better,” JARVIS says. “Had Captain Rogers been here, I would have asked him first.”

The elevator opens, and Peter steps out into the hallway that leads to the penthouse. His stomach is in knots, a tangle of Medusa’s snakes that wriggle and threaten to turn him to stone. His knees are shaking, knocking together in fear that is so potent it’s comical. This is his greatest dream come true (though certainly not happening in the way he had anticipated) but suddenly it is his deepest fear.

“No offense, Mr. JARVIS, but in what world would that make me feel better?” Peter asks, his sweating palm on the doorknob to the penthouse.

“We can debate it another time when Mister Stark isn’t at risk of a febrile seizure.”

The door clicks, lock opening. Steeling himself, Peter opens the door and steps inside.

-

The smell intense: cinnamon rolls, ground coffee beans, caramel sauce so sweet it’s just on the verge of burning. It is right out of Peter’s wet dreams, his cock rushing to fill itself so that it will be useful to the omega in need. The penthouse is a mess when Peter scans it: furniture knocked over, a glass of water shattered on the tiles of the foyer, though the water has nearly evaporated now. Everything is quiet and still. It should be eerie.

But suddenly it isn’t. A change comes over him, a rush of hormones that not only fill his cock but clear his head. It’s like everything he sees is in greater detail, sharp focus, all of his senses on high alert. There are no more nerves, and Peter is filled with the overwhelming confidence that he knows what he’s doing.

“The bedroom, Mister Parker. Quickly, please.”

Peter moves with purpose, ignoring his cock. The bedroom door is only cracked, and he reaches out with a firm hand to push it open the rest of the way.

Tony has taken up residence on the floor beside the bed. The sheets are dragged off of it as if Tony had struggled to pull himself up and lost the strength, choosing instead to curl up around his aching abdomen. Peter gathers all of the strength and calm inside of himself, works to exude it in his very scent (a thing he’s mostly unfamiliar with, but which is apparently a skill akin to wiggling his ears, which he can also do, thanks very much).

Naked, Peter is privy to every inch of tanned skin, the gentle smattering of hair on Tony’s legs, sparser at his thighs. There are no hairs on his chest thanks to the mass of scar tissue where the arc reactor used to be, smooth, pink skin that will never grow hair again. All his skin is covered in sweat, slick and glowing under the dim lights. Then, Tony’s eyes open, nostrils flaring. He turns his head towards where Peter stands in the doorway, teeth chattering from his fever, and the look on his face is pure relief.

“Alpha,” he says, stuttering through his chills.

Peter hushes him, kneeling down to drag the man into his arms. The omega groans in pain when he’s no longer curled around his aching stomach, but then buries his nose in Peter’s neck, hot breath brushing his skin and making goosebumps rise all over Peter. Tony sighs in relief, wrapping himself around the kneeling alpha. Peter can feel Tony’s cock—small, but hard and leaking—pressing against his hip. Pooled on the older man’s abdominals is cum, drying and tacky.

“I recommend a tepid shower, Mister Parker.”

“Start it,” Peter says through his teeth. He shifts up onto one knee, bracing himself so that he can support the larger man’s weight. Tony is mouth at his neck, hips rutting desperately. Peter puts a hand on the man’s lower back and guides him, encourages him, words pouring out of his mouth that he can barely hear over the blood rushing in his ears. “Come on, Mr. Stark, please Mr. Stark, you need to cum. Can you cum like this? Will you try, for me? Now, Omega, now if you can at all—”

Tony shudders, cum splattering Peter’s bare stomach. It burns—every point of contact with the man burns, thanks to the fever.

“God,” Peter groans, throat convulsing. “That was amazing. So good, Mr. Stark, Jesus, that was incredible—”

In the bathroom, the shower is running, cool enough to not create any steam. Peter grits his teeth, hating cold showers, but knowing that his omega needs it. A fever isn’t good for his omega’s brain, and at least the water isn’t cold. That might shock Tony’s system and do more harm than good. Without even stopping to shuck his boxers, Peter slides open the glass shower door and ushers them both inside. When the spray hits him, the omega whines, shrinking away.

“Stay,” Peter says firmly. Tony goes slack, suggestible.

He leaves the front of Tony’s body in the cool spray and stands on his toes to bury his nose in the omega’s neck, scenting him, scraping together every good warm safe happy feeling inside of himself. Tony’s head goes lax, leaning back, water dripping down his throat. The young alpha licks a line up his throat and to the shell of his ear. Such a thing would be weird any other time, but now it’s like there’s a part inside of him that urges him to do it, to leave his mouth on the man and never lift it.

“Peter?” he slurs.

Peter jolts. If Tony is more conscious and aware, that seems like a promising sign. “JARVIS called for me. You’re safe, Mr. Stark,” he says. “I promise.”

Tony smiles, a soft breath coming out almost like a laugh. “I know,” he murmurs. “Jesus, kid, I’m cold.”

“You’re feverish,” Peter says. “JARVIS? Can you tell Mr. Stark’s temperature?”

“It is a toasty 101.7 degrees Fahrenheit, Mister Parker, which is an improvement. I believe a decent bonding session would have a similar therapeutic effect, if the shower isn’t comfortable. And sir, may I say that it’s nice to see you stringing together a full sentence.”

Tony snorts. His voice is weak, but no less snarky. “Thanks, J. Can we get out, Pete? I haven’t taken cold showers since I was fifteen years old.”

“If we get out,” Peter says. “We’ll have to—to bond.”

“Is that—you don’t want that?”

“I do, God, Jesus, yes I do—”

Now Tony does laugh, even as his eyes slip closed in exhaustion. It is likely that without proper care, he has barely slept since his heat started in earnest three days ago. The instincts inside of Peter stir: his omega needs fucked and then he needs rest.

As soon as the cool water is off, Tony is back to stumbling, doubled over in pain, an arm curled around his tender midsection. The cramps come and go while Peter does his best to dry them off, but their hair is still dripping when he can’t take the sounds of pain anymore and guides Tony back to the bedroom. There is nothing on the bed but a fitted sheet, soft as silk, and Tony crawls onto it without prompting.

He sinks immediately into lordosis, ass up, spine curved as he presents himself, forehead pressed to the bed and chest doing its best to follow. This is pornography come to life, Peter thinks. He can see Tony’s hole, wet and dripping. Between his legs are his balls, red and aching, but it’s that hole that makes his fingers ache, that has him reaching out to press a thumb against the rim.

Tony chokes, hips jerking backwards until Peter sinks in to the first knuckle. Tony is loose and pliant, perfect for taking an alpha’s cock and knot.

“Please,” Tony groans into the mattress, shaking all over. “’t hurts, Pete. Please. Inside.”

Peter pulls his thumb free, kneels up onto the bed to shuffle closer, and then sinks two gentle fingers in, slow until they’re swallowed to the hilt. He has to close his eyes, cock aching, knot already throbbing at the base. Inside, Tony is like liquid silk, hot and wet and clinging to his fingers, the internal muscles squeezing and desperate for more to hold on to. The noise Tony lets out is pure sex, a long moan that ends higher and breathier than he’s ever heard the man.

Slowly, Peter pulls his fingers out to the tip—and god, the slide, the wet friction is just as intoxicating, eyes rolling in his skull, blinded to everything but the desperate omega in front of him—before pressing back in. He twists them, circles his hands, crooks them until he finds that spot, the rough bump inside. Tony keens, body spasming as his fists clench at the sheets, his cock spurting. Around his fingers, Tony’s ass flutters. But he needs more. Peter knows.

Soaked boxers abandoned in the bathroom, Peter’s cock is free to dribble and ache, only inches from where it longs to harbor. Brief anxiety has his hand trembling when he reaches down to run a gentle fist from tip down to root. This is the first time he’s touched his cock since he presented—but it feels the same really. Except for the base, where there is a bump, so sensitive that he whines when he runs a curious thumb over it. God, how will that feel inside Tony? Peter can’t even imagine.

Withdrawing his fingers, the omega cries out, hips jerking backwards, desperate to keep the connection. Peter soothes him with a hand on his back, urging him to relax back into the bedspread while Peter kneels up behind him. Their similar heights make this easy—all the important bits are at the perfect levels.

Taking a deep breath, Peter guides the head of his cock to the wet hole. The first touch has him whining, shaking, and if it weren’t for the firm hand on Tony’s back, the omega would likely have taken him to the root by now with the way he is thrusting back, trying to fuck himself on the tip alone. It’s now or never, Peter tells himself. Pressing forward, he sinks in until he can’t anymore. It takes every bit of restraint not to cum immediately, popping his knot in the tightest, wettest, most pleasurable heat he’s ever known. Beneath him, Tony sounds like he’s dying in the best way, groaning.

“Please, alpha, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—”

Everything in him wants to give this man what he needs, so with singular focus, Peter pulls back his hips and lets them snap forward. Tony howls, his elbows bending so that he can grab fistfuls of his hair and pull. Peter lets his instincts do the work, trusts his body to know what is best for himself and his omega, fucking into that tight heat in desperation. The best part of every thrust is bottoming out, the brief pressure of Tony’s fluttering rim around Peter’s blossoming knot, so sensitive it makes him shiver.

“God, Mr. Stark,” Peter pants. The words are torn from his chest: “My omega.”

“Yes, yes, yours, take it, take me,” Tony says, every word punctuated by a hitch in his breath as Peter thrusts in. “Alpha—let me cum, please—”

“Yes,” Peter groans. “You need it, please. Please cum for me.”

Tony cries out, entire body stiffening and going still beneath him—every part of him except for his small cock, spurting weakly and the tight heat around Peter’s cock that flutters, squeezing, choking the life out of him. Peter desperately wants to bring Tony to another orgasm, figuring that the better sated he is, the quicker his fever will fall. But the sounds, the smells, the unbearable pressure around his cock is too much. He can feel it building inside him, balls tightening, knot beginning to swell. There’s no way he can stop it—and Tony needs this too. Needs a knot, for his body to fight the biological havoc his hormones are wreaking on it.

So Peter chases it, fucking Tony right through his orgasm. Every time the knot catches on the rim, Peter thinks this is it, this is it, there’s no way I can push into him, or there’s no way I can pull it out of him, but he does, both of their bodies capable of so much more than he ever knew. Then it hits. Peter shoves the knot past the rim, shrieking as his balls spasm, cum spurting into the omega. Beneath him, Tony shouts something unintelligible, and maybe he cums again, but Peter can’t tell. The world goes white. Nothing exists except for the tight channel around his cock, the rim that’s squeezing his knot, coaxing more and more cum from him.

But one thought comes, strikes him like a lightning bolt straight from Thor’s hammer: bite. His teeth ache down to the roots with as tightly as he clenches them together, mouth watering, desperate to clamp his jaws on that raised spot on Tony’s neck. Break skin. Mate. The urge becomes overwhelming, no way that he can stop it—but instead he turns and bites into the meat of his bicep, breaking skin until blood floods his mouth.

When it finally ends, they are stuck together. Shaking from exertion, Peter still reaches out to help Tony collapse properly onto the bed, then he guides them both onto their sides, his stomach pressed flush against Tony’s back. The omega is shaking all over, so Peter runs his hands over every bit of skin he can, murmuring words of praise, God Mr. Stark, you’re perfect. That was the most amazing thing, thank you so much, thank you.

By the time his knot deflates enough for him to pull out without hurting Tony (and it’s an inordinate amount of time later, Peter things, probably considering it was his first ever knot popped), the bite on his arm has healed. He must still look like a sight, he thinks, mouth covered in flaking, dried blood. Tony is soft and sated when he rolls onto his back, and the only indication he gives that the blood on Peter startles him is a few gentle blinks, like his eyes are blurry and he needs to clear them.

“I almost bit you,” Peter says. “I’m so sorry.”

Tony smiles, eyes already slipping closed. He worms one arm beneath the pillow under his head and lets his eyes shut completely. “Go ahead,” he mumbles. “’m going t’ sleep now.”

Peter smooths the hair out of his face. His chest feels tight, full up with love and longing and absolute adoration. This has been beyond Peter’s wildest dreams: mating Tony, bonding with him for good and not just for now? That is something that Peter can’t even let himself imagine. It’s a pipe dream, a hazy, unclear fantasy. Beside him, Tony is already asleep. The man snores—wait until Ned finds out.

“Mister Stark’s temperature is returning to normal boundaries, I am happy to report.”

Peter breathes a sigh of relief. He barely knew how much tension was in him until he heard those words, until he knew that Tony would be okay. His body relaxes, experiencing a peace he has never before known. Here, with this man he loves more than anything, knowing they are safe and that Tony is content. “Thank you, JARVIS. I’m glad you woke me.”

“As am I. Mister Parker, I believe there is one other matter that I must bring to your attention.”

“What is it?”

“It is another protocol that Mister Stark put in place. A list he created exclusively for you.”

-

It is a week later before Tony is well enough to leave his penthouse. The man has lost all the weight he put on and more, even as Peter’s constant insistence that he eat whenever he could stomach it. Despite the copious amounts on incredible sex they shared, Peter can’t help but be glad that Tony’s heats only come twice a year. Any more than that might genuinely kill the man, his legs shaking, leaning on Peter as they enter the Avengers living area.

General cries of greeting and joy rise up around the floor. Steve pulls the man into a hug before he thinks otherwise, his eyes finding Peter’s over the omega’s shoulder. But Peter isn’t jealous, just watches with a happy, soft smile. He sees the exact moment that Steve breathes in and smells the change in the omega’s scent, and Peter knows the look on his face must be that of the sorest winner, smug, and unbearably in love.

Steve pulls back and gently tugs at the collar of Tony’s shirt, exposing just the smallest hint of the healing mating bite. Peter’s own has already healed.

Bucky can’t help but frown from where he stands behind Steve. His eyes flash hot like coals, accusatory, pinning Peter in place. “You mated him? He was in heat.”

Tony waves a hand. “We had a sort of—withstanding agreement. Didn’t we, J?”

“That you did, sir. I would not let anything untoward happen to Mister Stark under my watch.”

“Hear that?” Tony asks, stalking to the refrigerator. “I have protocols in place for every possible sequence of events, and giving hot young alphas the consent to mate me for life is a very advantageous outcome, if I do say so myself. Hey—fruit goes on the top shelf, heathens, not in the drawer. I’m out of commission for two weeks and this is what happens—”

“You have, what, procedures in place? For every possible sequence of events?” Bucky asks, his arms crossed.

Tony reappears from the refrigerator, a take-out contained in his hands. He cracks it open, Styrofoam screeching, to appraise the insides. Whatever is there must please him, because he bumps the door closed with one hip and goes for a fork. “Huh?” he asks, scooping out strands of angel hair pasta. “Oh. Yeah—I do. By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.”

“Who said that?” Natasha asks. “Was that Franklin?”

“What, it wasn’t me?” Tony asks.

“Wait, I want to hear more about these procedures, especially any that involve me,” Bucky asks. They all gravitate around the counter, leaning against the marble. Peter can’t help but feel that the turmoil of the last month has ended and now things are—not normal. But better than normal. His family, his pack, they are stronger than ever.

“I could tell you, snowflake,” Tony says around a mouth of pasta. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

-

tag list: (and I know I’m missing so many of you right now, I’m sorry, I’ll work on it, feel free to continue to let me know if you want to be tagged or would rather not be. @shinycreatoroafbonk @sadbumblingmess @parkerslutt @css1992 @starkerotic @rogerthat-captain @prettyboy-parker @onemadeofglass @kirtthana @deliciousflapbanditfarm @kiaorauniverse @loki-iwanttobeking @parleroumourirr @bizzlepotter @von--gelmini 

[artificialqueens]

How Far I'll Go - Part 2 (Nina West/Monet X Change) - Meggie, Mia Ugly

A/N: We have reworked Chapter One to reflect the events of the S11 reunion, so you may want to give it a reread. Can we FIX IT? Yes we can. 

(TW: REUNION SPOILERS)

Nina is in Columbus on the day he gets the call.

It’s his last show before Drag Con. He’s already going through dog-withdrawal. His boys will be fine of course but he fucking hates leaving them; as soon as he starts packing a suitcase they know something’s up and it breaks his heart.

Anyway. He’s glad to spend his last night at home in one of his favourite places in the world, surrounded by the people he loves. It’s only been a few days since the finale and reunion, and Nina’s feeling a bit raw about everything. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t looked at Monet’s number in his phone several dozen times, contemplated what he could say to make his behaviour the morning after acceptable. The only things that come to his mind are lies (family emergency! food poisoning! traumatic brain injury after falling in the shower!) and Nina doesn’t do that. Much.

So.

It’s either own up and confess how he was feeling, or - pretend that number in his phone doesn’t exist. Maybe stare at it from time to time, sighing (before reminding himself that it was just one night and didn’t mean anything anyway). And then sigh some more and distract himself with peanut butter straight from the jar. You know - whatever results in the least amount of dignity possible.

Anyway.

The reunion is going to air tomorrow night, but Nina’s going to be on a plane as it happens. That’s fine, he knows how it all went down, and he doesn’t really need to see Brooke and Vanjie’s shy little love story unfold (and ultimately self-destruct) once again. He saw it all already, and firsthand. Picked up the pieces of Brooke’s shattered heart and whip-stitched them back together as best he could while the other chain-smoked and wallowed in denial and blame.

Nina’s sitting in the dressing room, paint mostly on but not in his dress (he’s doing “Let It Go” from Frozen with a full-on ice queen reveal because it’s been that kind of a month. Maybe he’s coming for Brooke’s gig, but maybe not.), and scrolling through Instagram when an unfamiliar number flashes white on the screen.

He’s used to this. The charity work means somehow a lot of people get his number - it’s not ideal, but it makes the work he’s doing worth it so he deals.  He’ll deal.

He slides his thumb across the screen, plasters on his best smile (it’s easier to be nice to people when you’re smiling), greets them with a cheery, “Hello!”

“Nina, this is Maya with World of Wonder. How are you this evening?”

His heart leaps to his throat. What could they want with him now? There are still two episodes of the show left to air, but publicity is almost all died down. And calling him instead of his manager?

“Good. Great!” he chokes out. “I’m… How are you?”

“Fine, thank you. I’m calling because I’d like to formally invite you to participate in season five of RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars.”

The world? Stops. His heart? Pounds. His brain? Freezes.

All Stars . Another chance. Redemption.

“Yes!” he says immediately, too quickly, too enthusiastically, as soon as he can make his mouth work again. “Yes! When?”

On the other end of the line, Maya laughs, high and clear.

“Yay, that was an easy sell. We’re excited to have you back! We’ll be filming in late July, and you’ll receive further instructions by email. But please do remember that the terms of your verbal contract start now, so no one other than your emergency contact will be allowed to know you are participating. Reach out if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you!”

“Looking forward to seeing you again, Nina. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

And with a click, she’s gone. But Nina’s entire world has shifted on its axis. He just stands there in front of the mirror, unable to move, unable to think.

All Stars.

When they’d first asked him about it, way back in January when the Season 11 girls had first started doing promos, he’d given them a tentative yes.  He knew how big the platform was and wanted to make the most of it. But he’d also… not wanted to count his chickens, or something. You never know how America (or the world) will react to you (just ask Silky).  Maybe it’s vain, but Nina had wanted to see if they liked him, really liked him - like he’d hoped they would.

He couldn’t have imagined AOC going live to protest his elimination. Or Leslie Jones being so angry (he really does hope someone sent her a box of cookies) or Rihanna (Rihanna!) coming to his defense after that controversial lip-sync. Then his Miss Congeniality win. It was almost too much all at once.

He’d also figured they meant an All Stars far, far away. Like. Season eight. Or nine. Maybe even ten (if he’s still able to stomp around in heels without a walker at that point). Right after his own season? A pipe dream.

But it’s here, and it’s happening, and he’d be foolish not to take the opportunity that was presented to him. It’s the ultimate redemption story, and look at how beloved the All Stars winners are.

He ticks through them in his head: Chad, Alaska, Trixie, Trinity, Monet…

There, he falters. He usually just tries not to think about Monet, glowing golden and dripping in sequins and body silky smooth against his own. Best not to dwell when there isn’t any peanut butter in sight.

But who needs peanut butter when you’re an All Star?

He giggles, straight up lets a gleeful laugh reverberate through his chest and up through his nose and spread like honey, coating every surface in the small dressing room. Just once though, before he falls silent again. Studies his reflection in the mirror.

He might be in shock.

“Nina, you okay?” The evening’s MC (Luz, lovely person, really involved in the trans youth movement) is looking at him curiously from the doorway of the dressing room.

Nina blinks.  The phone is still in his hand. He knew this was a possibility, of course.  Just - you don’t know until you know - you know? Part of the reason he’s gotten this far (he always tells himself) is that he never assumes anything is a certainty.  He always counts on having to fight his way those last few feet to the finish line.

“Nina?”

“I’m in All Stars,” Nina says.

“What?” Luz squeaks, and Nina stumbles forward, grabbing her arm.

“I’m in All Stars.”

The other queens in the greenroom turn their heads in unison at the statement.

“I’m in All Stars,” Nina says again.

The queens stalk over to him with their hands on their hips, heels clicking in synchronized stomps on the linoleum floor.

And then Nina can hear music. (When did he put on his gown?) A brass band, a string section.  And the queens start singing:

“Nina West you’re going places

Always knew you’d make it far

Nina West you got that phone call

You are our All Star!”

“I am!” Nina gasps as he’s lifted up by the queens and carried out into the middle of the club. The dance floor is crowded but somehow the patrons are making a circle around him, moving in perfect rhythm.

“Nina West, sent home too early

Still e-lev-en-gendary.

Time to show the world you’re more than

Miss Congeniality!”

A group of drag kings by the pool table start spinning their cues over their heads like batons (so much talent in this community!)

“Brought camp to the masses, ” they sing in baritone.

Brought pride to our town,

We can’t wait to see you

Wearing that All Stars crown!”

“Thank you!” Nina is set down on the stage. Glitter starts falling from the ceiling, catching in his wig and eyelashes.

“Love you all,” he sings alone to the enraptured crowd, “you are my family,

I’ll make you proud and do my best.

We can change the world together

Go big, be kind, go West!”

“Go West!” the crowd sings back.

“Go Wessssssst!” Nina hits a perfect falsetto high note, throwing his arms open -

“Nina.”

Nina waves at the cheering crowd -

“Nina!”

Glitter keeps falling like snowflakes, ice cold and shimmering -

“Nina.  You okay?” Luz, the evening’s MC, is staring at him in the doorway of the greenroom.

Nina looks at her. There is no glitter in his eyelashes. There is no music playing in the background. Over his shoulder, a couple of bored local queens are penciling on their eyebrows. He’s wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts and not the shimmering blue Elsa gown.

He’s still holding his cellphone in his hand.

“Um,” Nina says. “Yep.”

*****

Nina talks to Brooke a lot.

It makes sense; they’ve been friends for a long time, they really bonded during their season, Nina helped Brooke through his breakup with Vanjie (although Brooke insisted at the time he was fine. Still does, actually. Nina has his own theories about that, but he isn’t pushing).

So yeah. They chat. A lot.

And all Nina wants to do is tell Brooke about his All Stars call, but he can’t because of the damn NDA.

It’s frustrating.

They meet for breakfast early on the first day of Drag Con, Brooke in his customary black and white, Nina in a navy blue button up spotted with pink flamingos (it felt right).

They’ve no sooner settled into the booth and given their orders than Nina’s knee starts bouncing. Nerves. Anxiety. (Yes - both.)

“What’s with you?” Brooke asks while he sips his coffee. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worked up.”

Nina shrugs. “Nervous about the Con, I guess.”

“And?” Brooke’s eyes narrow.

“ And?”

“And what else?” He stirs another packet of sugar into the cup. “I know you. It’s not like you to be nervous about a networking opportunity.”

Nina scoffs. “Drag Con is way more than just a networking opportunity and I -”

“You’re a bad fucking liar. Takes one to know one.” Brooke leans his elbows on the table, cool as a Canadian autumn, presses his fingertips together, stares Nina down. “What’s going on?”

Nina sighs. “I wish I could tell you, trust me, it’s not that I don’t want to; it’s that I literally can’t.” He widens his eyes, hoping maybe Brooke will get the point.

Apparently it works, because after a few moments, recognition blooms across Brooke’s face and he laughs. “Really? Like. Officially really?”

Nina nods. This is okay, right? He’s not technically breaking the contract. It’s not like he told Brooke anything verbally.

“Nina! That’s - oh my god!” Then Brooke is busily tapping away at his phone and a sense of dread overcomes Nina.

“You can’t tell anybody - “

Brooke waves him off. “I’m just telling Vanjie.”

Okay, that’s - something to come back to certainly, but - more pressing matters first. “Brooke, seriously. You can’t tell anybody. I’m not supposed to tell anybody.”

“You didn’t.” Brooke shrugs. Good to know at least they share the same sentiment about verbal contracts. That might come in handy during litigation. “I figure the House of West has a lot of prove, and you’ve never backed down from a challenge. So I know you’ll bring it and… I just kind of wanted to give the competition a heads up.” He bites his lip and waits for Nina to process.

And - look, it takes him a minute. Because it’s really a lot of information at one time.

Item 1: Brooke and Vanjie are still close. He knew that. Everybody with Twitter and Instagram knew. (Hell, for a little while, even Nina wasn’t 100% sure they weren’t still together.) Close enough for Vanessa to tell Brooke about an All Stars call when legally sworn to utmost secrecy?

Yeah, actually, that tracks. Vanjie’s shit at keeping secrets, and he’s still indescribably in love with Brooke, only an idiot (like Brooke) wouldn’t see that. So. Do the math.

Item 2: Vanjie is back back back on Drag Race. For the third season in a row. And the bitch can turn it. Nina doubts very much there will be 47 swimsuits, pasties, panties, and bras this time around. He’s a little intimidated, if he’s being quite honest.

Okay, so it’s really only two points of information, but it’s two very large points that have a big, pointy impact on his life. Which leads to:

Item 1: Nina had been relieved and happy when Brooke and Vanessa were able to start talking again after the breakup. They’d been using him as a middle man - a mediator, he preferred (far less tacky) - and although he loved them both, it was exhausting. And he could only say, “I think you should just talk to him and not me,” so many times before he got frustrated. But he had persevered and eventually, Brooke had texted Vanjie and they’d started to repair their friendship.

Go figure that. Nina’s inner saboteur is back, has been back since the night of the finale taping, the night he spent with Monet. He hates it. Wishes he could cut into himself and carve it out like a cancer. Adults talking through their issues and handling shit. Who knew it was possible?

So he should have texted Monet. Fine - it’s fine. Water under the… thing.

Item 2: Who else is on All Stars? If Nina’s being really honest, he’s been on cloud nine about the whole thing, and hasn’t given much thought to who else could be competing. He has his dream cast, of course, and a long list of Ru girls he’d love to work with. But the thought of competing against the Very Best of the Very Best is… Well, he’s shook. To say the least.

His face must convey it because Brooke reaches across the table and takes his hand. “Hey. You deserve this, Nina.”

He nods, tears hot in his eyes, and wills himself not to cry. “I bet you told Vanjie the same thing,” he says, voice catching a bit in his throat.

“I did.” Brooke laughs, unashamed of his affection, even when it’s blinding. “I also told him he was crazy for doing three seasons in a row but…” He holds out his hands, shrugs, as if to say it isn’t his responsibility anymore. Nina knows he’s probably right, but deep down he suspects that Brooke and Vanjie are far more entangled than they like to think, and Brooke’s opinion means more to Vanessa than either one of them will care to admit.

Relationships are messy.

Anyway.

“Do you think I should have said no?” Nina asks,  afraid for the answer. “Taken a break? Focused on the charity? Ridden the first-year wave a little longer?”

“Hell no!” Brooke responds immediately. “Take the opportunity. People fucking adore you, Nina. Plus, look at Monet! She won right after her season so. It can be done.”

Nina considers, briefly, telling Brooke about the whole tangled Monet thing. Decides, instead, to deflect. “So, um. That guy you took back to your room after the finale… the beardo… character.  How is… that going?”

Brooke raises an eyebrow at him. “This is really what you want to talk about right now?”

“It’s just good to see you moving on.” (Is it though? Is it really?)

Brooke rolls his eyes and smiles into his coffee. “What about you? Any romance on the horizon for Nina West?”

“No.” Nina snorts. “It’s been…” Three days, eight hours, and - he glances at his watch - one minute. Approximately. Not that he’s counting. “A while. Let’s just say a while.”

Brooke’s mouth quirks to the side and his left eye twitches the tiniest bit. “Well.” He places his mug on the table and smiles at Nina. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities on tour. We’ll get you on Tinder and Grindr! Trade in every city, Nina.”

Actually, Nina usually prefers to go back to his room and shower for about 45 minutes before collapsing into bed and sleeping until his alarm goes off the next morning. Finding someone to sleep with and then actually fucking them? That seems exhausting. Better to let Brooke take that one on himself (seems like that’s his preferred coping strategy).

And Nina is in no place to judge coping strategies, so despite any - concerns he might feel (the lines beneath Brooke’s eyes, the nicotine stains on his hands, that thing he does with his face that makes Nina want to hug him) he keeps his mouth shut.

He’s getting awfully good at the whole not-speaking-up thing. It’s not his best look. Not at all.

*****

On the air-conditioned floors of Drag Con, Nina gets to shake hands and hug people from all across the country, children to teenagers to tiny old grannies with walkers. It’s a completely surreal and humbling experience; he can’t get over the way it feels to have people know his name, people thank him for doing something that he loves.

And he gets to meet up again with so many of the queens he’s crazy about, queens he never thought would give a shit about him. It’s so nice seeing Adore again, she’s exactly the kind of person he wishes he had the guts to be when he was her age. And Peppermint is everything and Miss Fame is like an actual goddess in person as well as on television and then there’s James St. James -  it’s a lot.

It almost feels like a trip to Disneyland but gayer (a bit) and with more neuroses.

There’s a weird moment with Miz Cracker, which is unexpected –Nina’s been a stan since Season 10, watches her recaps religiously.  He didn’t think they were going to be best friends or anything (all right, maybe he thought they’d get there eventually) but when he introduces himself she basically stares right through him, says nothing, and starts to walk away. Luckily Vanjie is with her, so Nina embraces him to dissipate the awkward tension. He and Vanjie have a mini-meltdown over how in love they are with each other, and after Cracker is well out of earshot, Vanjie gives Nina a look.

“She feeling some type of way about you, hey? You steal her man or something?”

“Absolutely not.” Nina’s a bit hurt – he was legitimately excited about meeting Cracker – but she’s entitled to an off day. Or to just plain not like him (though who doesn’t like him? He’s bloody endearing, like a Labrador puppy).

Anyway, not to overdo the animal comparisons, but water off a duck’s back.

He doesn’t see Monet at the Con. Which is - probably for the best. Nina doesn’t avoid him but - he doesn’t go looking for him either. And really, he barely gets a moment to sneak away from his booth, so it isn’t like he’s a total garbage person. He doesn’t throw himself to the ground or anything at the sight of Monet coming toward him, his life hasn’t yet reached the level of pure farce.

It’s barely been a week anyway; Nina’s still figuring out how to appropriately apologize (appropriately apologize without coming across like a pathetic sad-sack who has maybe thought about that night a bit more than could be considered ‘casual��).

So. Space. Time. Possibly a time machine. All or any of them will work.

The Con ends on a high note and Nina basically goes on tour immediately after, doing a lot of PR for the season and his albums. In New York he finally meets Leslie Jones and loses his mind. He kind of floats through the next two months, lets himself be buoyed up by the love and support of his community, lets it erase the insecurities that wound like thorns around his heart after Season 11.

He travels, he makes people laugh. It’s what he’s good at. It’s how he’s survived.

When he’s not working, he’s practicing his sewing and designing and bribing his witchy seamstress friends into helping him put some new looks together. Somehow the days tick by too quickly. Spring ends, and summer breaks scalding over Ohio. Nina’s packing up his bags and hugging people goodbye and crying ( not really, but just don’t look at him for a minute) over his dogs.

And getting on a plane to L.A.

Being on set is familiar but also kind of panic inducing. Nina didn’t realize how differently he carried himself when he was getting ready to be filmed until his spine straightened helplessly and he suddenly realized he had arms. His body remembers how intense this experience was (is) even if his brain doesn’t.

He’s dressed in a (non-copyright infringing) version of Woody from Toy Story, sequined and cinched and proportionized, just like Michelle would want. Maya the P.A. hugs him, introduces him to the sound guy who hooks up his microphone, taping it just under Nina’s neckline (“At least buy me dinner first!” Nina says with a shrill, nervous laugh, and the sound guy doesn’t even flinch, clearly having heard it before. Nina may actually have said the same thing last season. It - might also have been the same sound guy).

“You ready?”

Nina is ready. He adjusts her cowboy hat, shifts her fringed leather belt and the sequined holsters for her bubble guns.

Then the lights are on him, and the cameras are rolling, and Nina pulls down the shutters on his insecurity (make ‘em laugh, it’s what he does).

“Hey y’all. I’m here to show you how the West was Won.”

Nina West struts into the werkroom, bubble guns at the ready, and the rest is herstory.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Newport Folk Festival: 7/26-7/28

Brandi Carlile and Dolly Parton sing “I Will Always Love You”

BY MICHAEL KINGSBAKER

Another Newport Folk Festival has come and gone, and yes, it still is the greatest music festival in the world, and it is still my favorite weekend of the year. This year, for the first time in its 60-year history, the festival had an all female-led Saturday night headliner, arguably had its two biggest appearances to date, covered an entire masterpiece album, premiered the biggest female country supergroup ever, and finally found the heir apparent to Pete Seeger on what would be his 100th birth year.

After Pete Seeger passed away in 2014, a gaping hole was left at the Newport Folk Festival. Seeger had been around the festival since its inception, and while festival producer Jay Sweet has captained the ship incredibly since taking over in 2008, the question has remained: Who would hold the seat that Seeger did for years? The musical ambassador of the people and of the music of the Newport Folk Festival? That question was answered loud and clear this year, as Brandi Carlile cemented her rightful seat. Last year was a precursor, when she performed from her Grammy Award-winning album By the Way, I Forgive You and guest performed with Mumford and Sons and during the Change is Gonna Come set. This year, she got handed the keys to the car and packed a Saturday night headlining slot full of talent from the past and present, culminating in a 5-song set from none other than Dolly Parton. Now, Jay Sweet has pulled some pretty big acts during his 12 years on the festival, but he didn’t pull Dolly--Brandi did! She also premiered her new country super group The Highwomen, an all-female answer to The Highwaymen. The former’s reworking of the latter’s namesake song absolutely took my breath away (and was just released), and then Carlile closed out her weekend singing Pete Seeger's classic song "If I Had a Hammer" with Alynda Segarra from Hurray For The Riff Raff.

Overall, this year’s festival was fiercely female, showcasing talents from multiple generations from Parton and Judy Collins, Sheryl Crow, and Linda Perry to Carlile, Rhiannon Giddens, Maggie Rogers, and Yola. The collaboration sets, which really gained steam with the Dylan 65' Revisited set 3 years ago, continued this year and actually tripled, with the Saturday night All-Female Collaboration, along with a last minute addition of a complete cover of Graham Nash's "Song for Beginners" led by Kyle Craft with an all-star cast of Newport favorites. Finally, on Sunday, Pete Seeger was celebrated with set entitled "If I Had a Song" where audiences were given song books with which to sing along. It opened with Jim James singing “The Rainbow Connection” with perhaps the second biggest star to ever appear at the Newport Folk Festival in Kermit the Frog. I was also pleased to see that Our Native Daughters were asked to participate in the Seeger Celebration, singing the Seeger tune "If You Miss Me at The Back of The Bus" and joining Mavis Staples and Hozier for "Keep Your Eyes on The Prize". Two years ago, for the SPEAK OUT set at Newport (intended to be a platform for artists to speak out about issues of our times), I was critical of the set’s lack of diversity. I noted that both Rhiannon Giddens and Alynda Segarra gave the most topical and stirring performances of that festival but were absent at that finale. Well, this year, they both hit the stage and had their voices heard with songs of protest to make up for lost time.

It's good to know this incredible festival is in good hands and has its ears open. I'm already looking forward to next July. Until then, here's a few photos to pass the time.

Newport is always a place to make discoveries. Saturday morning, the audience was woken up to the raucous duo of Illiterate Light.

Liz Cooper & The Stampede bent over backwards (literally) to electrify the audience at the Quad on Friday with their psychedelic soundscape.

Recent Tony Award winner Anais Mitchell and The Milk Carton Kids at The Harbor Stage, singing Graham Nash's "Simple Man" as part of the Songs for Beginners set.

After a last minute dropout from Noname due to illness, Festival producer Jay Sweet was left with a hole at the Harbor Stage on Saturday. After tweeting about the brilliance of Graham Nash's album Songs for Beginners and the responses it garnered, an idea sparked. A supergroup of Newport faithful led by Kyle Craft, including Hiss Golden Messenger, Lake Street Dive, Amy Ray, The Tallest Man on Earth, and more played the album from start to end. I think we may have just started a new Newport tradition--might I suggest Neil Young's Harvest next year?

Lukas Nelson and The Promise of The Real rocked the Quad Stage on Friday, closing the set with a rendition of Neil Young's "Rockin’ in the Free World" but slowed things down with reminders to Turn Off the News (Build a Garden), and song about an ex named Georgia that made performing with his father singing "Georgia On My Mind" every night a little tricky.

British singer-songwriter Yola was everywhere at the Newport Folk Festival, performing her own set at the Harbor stage as well as at the Quad with both The Highwomen and Dawes. Here, she takes the stage at the Fort during The Collaboration with the First Ladies of Bluegrass covering The Eurythmics’ "Sisters Are Doin’ It For Themselves".

After appearing last year as a guest to Mumford & Sons and others, this year, Maggie Rogers got the Fort stage all to herself to dance in and out of her sound equipment and share her debut album Heard It in a Past Life with Newport.

Every year, there's an act that brings Quad to its feet and doesn't let them sit back down. This year, Jupiter & Okwess invited everyone to fill in the fire lanes, and a 45-minute dance party ensued, capping off with a collaboration with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band.

Phosporescent returned to the Quad stage with hypnotic grooves and chill vibes, keeping all the heads bobbing inside the old fort.

I'm With Her returned, bringing their sweet blend of harmonies bridging old-time music to the present, including covers of The Vampire Weekend and Joni Mitchell.

This year was all about the women, and the fellas came to support. Jason Isbell, who generally headlines festivals like these, wasn't even given a microphone. Here, Amanda Shires (who happens to be his wife) allows him to share a few thoughts as they introduced a song they co-wrote, "If She Ever Leaves Me", dubbed the first gay country song, which was sung moments later by Brandi Carlile.

Each year, the festival producer comes out to the early birds waiting for the gates to open to welcome them back and remind them to BE PRESENT, BE KIND, BE OPEN, and BE TOGETHER. There isn't a place in the world that's easier to do those four things.

It's always fun to see what surprise guests will show up to the festival that aren't officially listed. This year’s guests included Jim James, Kermit The Frog, Dolly Parton, James Taylor...you know that this list might end up being bigger than the actual lineup. Here's surprise guest Tallest Man on Earth, who joined both the Songs for Beginners set as well as The Cooks in the Kitchen.

Hozier returned for his 3rd appearance, singing a duet with Mavis Staples for their song "Nina Cried Power". He also gave over the stage to Brandi Carlile during his set for her to sing her hit “The Joke”. Here, he joins with Lake Street Dive for a cover of Sly & The Family Stone’s "Everyday People".

Jade Bird had her own solo set at The Fort stage but joined in on The Collaboration, seen here singing "What's Up" with Linda Perry and Brandi Carlile.

Phil Cook has become a regular staple at the festival. His love and respect for the musicians and the music played at the festival has endeared himself to both fans and musicians alike. For his set, Cooks in the Kitchen, Phil, who always seems up for a collaboration, was joined by his brother Brad as well as Tallest Man on The Earth’s Kristian Matsson, Amy Ray of The Indigo Girls, and Anais Mitchell.

Molly Tuttle, who had her own set with guitarist Billy Strings, joined The First Ladies of Bluegrass, Courtney Marie Andrews, and others for a cover of “Big Yellow Taxi” at the Collaboration Set Saturday.

Just a man, his guitar, and a huge open stage. Jeff Tweedy charmed the audience at the Fort on Saturday claiming he wanted to "hug you with his sad shit."

Rhiannon Giddens returned to the Newport Folk Festival with the most powerful and gut-wrenching set of the festival, joined by Amythyst Kiah, Leyla McCalla, and Allison Russell to form the group Our Native Daughters, singing songs addressing American historical issues that have influenced the identity of black women. This marked only their 6th live performance, performing in Connecticut a week earlier for the first time. Emotions were overflowing both on stage and in the audience, as each artist (each of whom played multiple instruments) took turns singing songs of sorrow, hope, anger, and joy. It was an experience like no other at the festival.

Linda Perry leading a sing along of "What's Up" at The Collaboration, asking the audience to sing so high, "I wanna touch the fucking stars!" Later, she was on Facebook Live for the introduction of Dolly Parton.

There was a bit of a 90's renaissance at this year’s festival with appearances from Amy Ray, Linda Perry, and former Sleater-Kinney drummer Janet Weiss. Sheryl Crow, who had her own set at the Fort on Friday and later joined The Highwomen that day at the Quad, got in on the fun at The Collaboration on Saturday, performing "If It Makes You Happy" with Maren Morris and "Strong Enough" with Maggie Rogers and Yola.

Newport always does a great job of honoring those who led the way. This year, we saw Judy Collins hit many stages and share stories about a young Bob Dylan writing “Mr. Tambourine Man” on her porch, as well as recalling Stephen Stills singing her "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes", to which she replied "It's a good song, but it won't get me back." Here, she shares the story of a friend discovering Joni Mitchell and bringing her "Both Sides Now", which was sung moments later with Brandi Carlile.

Couples take in the If I Had A Song set at sunset on Sunday, which included a duet from Kermit the Frog and Jim James as well as a serenade to Judy Collins from Robin Pecknold (Fleet Foxes), Eric D. Johnson (Fruit Bats), and James Mercer (The Shins), singing “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes”.

Newport Folk Festival marked the inaugural performance of The Highwomen. Brandi Carlile, Maren Morris, Amanda Shires, and Natalie Hemby, here joined by Yola, opened their set to a powerful reworking of “The Highwaymen”, made famous by Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, Waylon Jennings, and Johnny Cash. The Highwomen’s version, written by Carlile, Shires, and Jimmy Webb (the original songwriter) honors the stories of courageous female revolutionaries and includes an additional 5th verse:

  "We are The Highwomen / Singing stories still untold / We carry the sons, you can only hold / We are the daughters of the silent generations / You sent our hearts to die alone in foreign nations / It may return to us as tiny drops of rain / But we will still remain.”

A stage full of Newport Folk ladies, including Brandi Carlile, Rachael Price, Maggie Rogers, and Sheryl Crow, bow down to the one and only Dolly Parton. I've seen Roger Waters, Jack White, My Morning Jacket, Jackson Browne, Beck, Levon Helm, and Mumford & Sons headline the Festival. This was the biggest of all the Saturday night headliners.

[donutdarwin]

RvB Fluff Week: Day One - Grimmons

Prompt: Simmons had no idea Grif could sing, let alone play multiple stringed instruments. (prompt courtesy of @mainecarwash, thanks!)

“Let’s go in there!”

Simmons paused as Grif pointed in excitement at a window. A drum-kit sat with a couple guitars next to a small glass door. Simmons’ mind drew a vague memory of Grif playing guitar, but… Hadn’t that been a dream?

“Really? We’re like, two blocks from the house- we could go home, order pizza-”

But Grif was already opening the door and walking in under the tinkle of a bell. Wow, really? He was passing up pizza? Simmons had played flute in high school, but he’d never been over-eager to run into a music store. He caught the door before it closed, entering after Grif, to see Grif already asking the clerk something.

“Oh, yeah, by the back wall,” the clerk said, pointing.

Grif whirled to the back wall, his eyes bright and happy, a different light in them than Simmons was used to. Simmons followed, a little wary, passing a shelf of guitar strings and picks. Toward the back, a few barstools stood in an opening, surrounded by guitars on stands and hung on the wall. Grif held up a shiny acoustic guitar with a pleasing sienna gradient; maybe that memory wasn’t a dream, but Simmons didn’t really remember Grif playing guitar. Had they been drunk? It was possible.

Simmons approached, a slight drag in his steps, as Grif plopped down on one of the barstools, guitar propped across his knee, and gave the strings an experimental twang. He adjusted the knobs at the end, making Simmons painfully aware of his own musical illiteracy, and then twanged it again. He looked pleased, though Simmons barely heard a difference. Simmons started to lean on a shelf and then felt it lean with him and straightened up.

Grif’s fingers positioned along the neck of the guitar and when he strummed this time, a different sound came out. He repositioned them, strummed again, and another chord played. Grif did this a few more times, making Simmons aware that Grif was entirely in his own world right then.

A rhythm appeared, certain chords playing in a pattern as Grif tapped his foot against the leg of the barstool, a smile on his lips as he seemed to remember the melody.

“O wai ka halia ka anoi a loko…”

Simmons forced his jaw to clamp shut to keep it from dropping. Holy shit.

“O wai ka halia ka anoi a loko, O nei a ka pō, Nou ka haliʻa ē Kalua…”

Grif sings!? Since when does Grif sing? Playing guitar, Simmons could accept- but singing, in Hawaiian, holy shit. And he actually sounded good- a bit more tenorous than Simmons would have expected, but good. Holy shit.

Simmons watched as Grif stopped after a verse and put down the guitar. He tapped his chin, eyes glancing around. He seemed unable to find what he wanted. Simmons, still baffled that Grif not only played guitar (well), but that he also could sing, stood by in a vague sort of awe as Grif approached a wonky instrument and let out a laugh.

“Holy shit, a lute? I haven’t seen one of these in years.”

If he could play that-

Grif sat back down on the stool and started playing as though he’d just stopped practicing last night. A few experimental plucks, and then he picked up the rhythm again. And how the fuck did Simmons not know about this!? His boyfriend could play a lute- only weak-ass bards in D&D could play lutes. But Grif could play a lute. When had he learned!?

Grif returned to the same Hawaiian song, “O wai ka halia ka anoi a loko…”

The sound, as Simmons started to imagine it, didn’t quite fit with a lute, either. Grif seemed to enjoy the fusion, but Simmons figured there was something else he was looking for. Then it hit him- Hawaii. Duh. Simmons scanned the guitar section and didn’t see it; he paced a few feet away, remaining in hearing range of Grif’s soft tenor, and then found what he was looking for, around the other corner. A smile toyed at his lips at the sight, and he forced it down as he picked up the instrument. And God, Simmons played the fucking flute.

Simmons headed back to the barstool where Grif sat and held up the find. “I think this might fit better.”

“Oh, hell yeah! Where’d you find it?” Grif said, taking the instrument.

“Just around the corner.”

Simmons sat on the other bar stool, feeling too tall, too gangly, as his feet touched the ground still. Grif treated the new instrument with the same experimentation- a few plucks, an adjustment, more plucks, another adjustment, and then he was ready. Simmons was prepared for what was about to come, a lovely rendition of the song he’d heard half of twice now- but when Grif started to play, it was different chords.

Grif played through four chords, and when he got back to the first, started different lyrics- English this time, a deeper pitch.

“Down in the basement, locked in my head,” he sang softly, a gentle vibrato on the stressed syllables, “All of the words that I wish you had said.”

It wasn’t a happy song- about two people in love, fighting, the lyricist wanting to reconcile- but in a quiet music shop, with ukulele chords plucking melody into the quiet, Grif’s gentle tenor, Simmons was in love. With the song, with the sound, with Grif, with everything about the quiet detour into the music shop.

Something bittersweet flickered in Grif’s eyes as he finished the song. A ghost of a smile curved the edge of his lips, and then he stood and put the ukulele back on its stand around the corner. He turned to Simmons and clapped his hands together. “Ready to go?”

Ready to go? Simmons was ready to hear more singing, more playing, more Grif- but something still ghosted in Grif’s expression, and Simmons didn’t know who taught him to play ukulele, and it didn’t feel like the right time to ask. So he stood from the barstool and nodded.

“Yeah, man, I’m starving. Let’s go get some pizza.”

The bell tinkled at their leave, and the street greeted them once more, the rushing cars not half as pleasant as the music they left behind.

---

Grif’s laughter filled the table, pizza stains around his parted lips and guffaws echoing around the room.

“Shut the fuck up!” Simmons protested. “It wasn’t my fault!”

“Dude, you are such a fucking liar!”

Simmons sighed and sat down. “If you hadn’t left your sock on the floor, this wouldn’t even have happened.”

“Whatever, dude. Here.”

Grif passed him a skinny piece of cheese pizza, making Simmons roll his eyes. “Thanks for the runt piece.”

“It’s that or pineapples, what do you want me to do? I already ate all my slices with cheese.”

Simmons wanted to bicker more, but, fuck it, Grif was laughing, as he hadn’t done since they left that music shop an hour ago. Simmons had even spent money on that abominable pineapple pizza Grif would kill a man for- just to end up betting Grif wouldn’t eat the whole pizza, causing Grif to raise it to a pizza and a half, leaving Simmons with a few slices of cheese pizza, meaning when Simmons tripped over Grif’s sock and fell on his ass and dropped his plate face-down onto the floor, Simmons ended up bruised and completely without pizza.

“Of course you already ate all your slices with cheese,” Simmons said. “Because you know that pineapple pizza’s disgusting and triple-cheese pizza is godly.”

“Better idea,” Grif said, around a mouthful of pineapple pizza. “Triple cheese pineapple pizza.”

“Please stop destroying everything I love.”

Grif’s response was to stack two pieces together- one cheese (lying bastard) and one pineapple- and chomp down on both while making pointed eye contact with Simmons. Simmons watched with feigned disgust, his own piece of pizza forgotten in his hand as he watched his boyfriend down that monstrosity. He kissed that mouth. Willingly. What the fuck.

“It’s fucking delicious,” Grif said as he finished the bite, as though that concluded the argument. Simmons sat back, staring up at the ceiling in a silent plead for the universe’s mercy. His pleas went unanswered- Grif finished the meal (a whole fucking pizza and a half) with emphatic praise for the pineapple. Simmons didn’t sign up for this shit.

As they finished, Grif moved to the living room and started watching some trash adult cartoon while Simmons cleaned up the mess from dinner. Once the kitchen was satisfactorily tidied, Simmons joined his boyfriend on the couch. Something pressed against his thoughts, despite his attempts to force it down, and finally he reworked the question into something else.

“Why didn’t I know you play guitar? And ukulele and lute?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Grif didn’t turn from his show, keeping his head on Simmons’ shoulder. “I dunno, it never came up?”

“I’ve known you for four years, Grif. That’s a long time for something to never come up.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t exactly have an instrument lying around.” He said it casually, but Simmons had known him long enough, he heard the undertone, wist and suppressed remorse. “I used to play a lot; I kinda worked at a music store back when it was just me and Kai. But- I dunno, things changed.”

There was a lot unsaid there, and Simmons wouldn’t press, because it was Grif, and you didn’t press with Grif. He either told you what he wanted or you never knew. But this seemed deeper than most of the things Grif didn’t talk about.

An idea rooted in Simmons’ head, kind of crazy, kind of genius. By the time Simmons had showered and the two laid down to sleep, the idea had sprouted and taken shape, and maybe it wouldn’t fix four years but it could make for an easier future.

--

The next couple of weeks passed without incident. Just work, the same shitty job, same shitty bills, same shitty adulting. Within two days, any ghost the music shop had reminded Grif of had faded, and Grif was back to his usual pizza-happy constantly-napping self. Simmons didn’t bring it up again, despite the amount of questions he had about the whole thing.

Then the day came; Simmons was home before Grif, which wasn’t exactly how he wanted it, but it was acceptable. He went first to their room, prepared, and then cleaned up the living room from Grif’s Netflix binge last night (and all associated snacks).

Then he paced, fixing things here and there, sweeping the kitchen, straightening Kaikaina’s framed sunset painting (the one with the penis-shaped cloud because it was Kaikaina), skimming take-out menus for dinner ideas. He’d wait on dinner for Grif, since Grif was going to eat more of it anyway, and Simmons was never all that hungry. Then he paced some more.

Finally, the lock jiggled and the door opened, Grif blowing in with tired eyes and tossing his keys on the table before closing the door and collapsing on the couch. “Did you get my text?”

Not quite how Simmons imagined it going. “Uh… No?”

“Fuck. Can you order Chinese? I’ll pay when they get here.”

“Oh- uh- yeah, sure.”

He went to the phone and ordered, while a groaning Grif kicked off his shoes and threw an arm over his face. Long day, Simmons guessed. He was late coming home, so it had probably been stressful. But Simmons wasn’t very good with patience, or with things not quite going how he expected. He kept the twinge of frustration down; that was selfish and stupid and this was about Grif, not his personal expectations.

Once the Chinese was ordered, Simmons walked into the living room and picked up Grif’s boots from the floor and set them neatly by the door. “Hey, uh, Grif- can you go get my wallet from the nightstand?”

Simmons pretended to be busy wiping down the counters, which would be the third time he’d wiped down the counters that evening.

Grif groaned. “Can’t you do it? You’re already up; I’m tired…”

Another twinge of frustration. Just go in the damn room. “Please? I’m trying to get the kitchen clean.”

“It’s already clean. Being anal about every speck of dust will just drive you mad.”

“Come on, I’ll buy the Chinese food.”

A pause, and then: “Fine.”

Yes! Okay, of course that worked, and he should’ve opened with it- or just gone into the room and called Grif in there, but, oh well, the end was the same. Simmons’ eyes flickered from the wash-cloth, which circled the same spot of counter repeatedly, to Grif as he walked to their room. Anticipation buzzed through him. Yes- here we go!

Grif opened the door and flicked on the light, and Simmons grinned as he heard him gasp.

Simmons crossed around the counter and saw Grif gravitating toward it. Grif reached the polished, brand-new ukulele, sitting on its stand in front of their bed, as Simmons entered the room. Grif picked it up and half-turned to Simmons, his hands automatically going to position to play it.

“Simmons- did you-? How did-? These are so expensive!”

“I set aside some cash from last two paychecks,” Simmons said, meandering over with a grin. Grif, gaping, plucked the strings a few times.

“Simmons.” There was that ghost again, but there, also, was that bright, happy light- brighter now, drowning out the ghost. “Holy shit. You really- I mean, you should’ve, but- they’re expensive! And this isn’t like, a basic beginners ukulele, this is a good one! This is the kind I’d be scared to even pick up in a store! Where’d you even find it?”

“I asked around, found some places,” Simmons said, grinning, a little smug. He rarely saw Grif this happy when it wasn’t about food or getting a long nap.

“Holy shit,” Grif whispered. “I just- holy shit.”

Grif carefully- carefully- set the ukulele down on the stand, uncharacteristically careful for Grif. And before Simmons could blink, Grif had slammed into him, head on his chest and arms around his sides.

“Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you-thank-you-thank-you-so-fucking-much!” All in a rush, and Simmons was grinning and turning pink, and Grif was still going, “Oh my god, I used to play the uke for Kai when we were little and she couldn’t sleep, and I sucked, and then ours was destroyed, and then that music shop opened and I begged for a job and came in every day until they gave me one and- fuck, thank you.”

He pulled back from the hug and grabbed Simmons face, tugging him down so their lips met. Grif mashed a kiss to Simmons, and then a few more, and then stepped back and picked up the ukulele, and then kissed Simmons again.

“Thank you.”

Simmons’ smugness peaked, but it manifested in a genuine smile. “No problem, Grif.”

“I- well. I appreciate it. I would’ve told you I play a lot sooner if I’d known you’d do this.”

The words Grif had almost spoken hung around them. They weren’t quite at I love you, but as Grif sat on the edge of their bed and started playing that song from two weeks ago again- Down in the basement, locked in my head- Simmons knew they were a whole lot closer than before.

-------

songs: “Love Song of Kalua” and “Love (Ain’t Always So Good)”