#he’s a very jolly lad

[cupophrogs]

You should draw. Uh. The first thing you think of when you read "happy"

Have a silly little clown!

[gallusrostromegalus]

How many people (and who) have accidently sent nudes to the group chat?

One guy tried to digitally flash the Gotei-13 by "accidentally" sending pictures of his genitals to the groupchat with every female member directly @'d, and then pretended to flail around in "OH NO! I HAVE NO IDEA HOW THIS HAPPENED! OH NO! DON'T LOOK I'M SO EMBARRASSED!!" instead of deleting them.

Unfortunately for him, his antics drew the attention of "Single Father Whose Young Child Was Just Exposed To Unwanted Penis" and "Former Best and Most Expensive Whore In The Rukongai Who WILL Tell You About It At Length and girth" Zaraki Kenpachi, who had recently discovered how to use Admin Privileges.

Zaraki promptly locked all Minors out of the main chat, Locked The Offender in, gave everyone an "Opt-out-until-all-clear" link, declared it "Hornyposting Hours" until further notice, and kicked off the Sausage party with images of his own "Sword of Heaven".

As one might imagine, the offender did not compare favorably.

Zaraki then Very Benevolently offered the offender "Constructive Criticism" about the shape, size and twenty-two other characteristics of the offender's genitals, along with suggestions about Best Possible Use and Alternative Techniques to develop, "because you're going to need to".

Chat immediately descended into a Bacchanalia of Dicks, Tits, Ass, and even some exceptionally bold Pussy, cheerfully looking to shame the offender and perhaps catch the attention of The Sword Of Heaven's Wielder. DMs were exchanged, Exceptionally Nuanced discussion of sexuality and consent was had, terrible jokes were jokes made, Memes were created (including the "GOT ANOTHER ONE LADS" Bisexual Zaraki flag), and a Jolly Good Time was had by all (save one) until about 9PM when Zaraki declared that it was a school night and he had to go to bed, go bother the Ninth if you want a hornychat.

Tousen, who works nights to get the papers out in the morning, waking up to the sound of his pager going off like a string of fireworks: "...I'm going back to bed."

[greentrickster]

Group of ye olden pirates having a jolly drinking night on their ship, music, rum, 'the sea is the only woman I've ever truly loved' jokes, dancing, the lot. And partway through, one of them downs half his mug of rum, slams it on the table, and says,

"All right, you know what? Fuck it. Does anyone on this ship actually like getting it on with women? Because I don't and I've never seen any of you actually head off with any of the lassies in port and I'm tired of pretending."

And the party grinds to a halt as the entire crew is accidentally forced out of the closet they've all been... less hiding, more lurking in for years, because, as it turns out, no, no one is straight on this ship.

Also, before anyone asks, yes, this includes the ship itself, because while all ships are traditionally referred to as 'she', they're all actually gender-fluid and influenced by the crew's own preferences. Meaning that, while the majority of ships are actually female-presenting nonbianary (though they use none of these terms, as it's ye olden times, meaning they use the ye olden times equivalent terms), this ship is, in fact, very, very male. A thing his crew learns a few months after their own discovery about each other due to a run-in with a sea witch.

They commission him a new figurehead after learning this, because none of them (ship included) may know the term 'transsexual', but he's a fine, handsome ship who's carried them through many a storm and many a battle, and it doesn't feel right to have him presenting a lassie's face to the world when he's a lad, now does it?

(Thanks to the sea witch, the ship gets to make a few requests for his new figurehead. These include a full mustache and beard and fantastic abs. The entire crew agrees it's nice to be sailing on a ship with good taste.)

[bigfan-fanfic]

The Most Powerful Thing in the World (Mage!Reader x Henry Mills)

Sequel to Pay My Price

Eventually you did have to return to Storybrooke

It had been quite a while, and Henry was missing his mothers, most certainly.

"Your moms... you think they'll like me?"

"They've known you since we were kids."

"Yeah, but... you know what I mean."

"You've been my boyfriend since we were sixteen."

"Okay, fair. I do like them, anyhow. Hopefully nothing changes."

So through the realms you travel until your feet touch asphalt and you inhale the familiar scent of Granny's diner.

"Henry!" His mothers cry immediately, rushing him in a hug.

Emma grins. "Hey, kid! Your hair is pink!"

Henry chuckles. "Yeah, it's a little bit of a curse."

Regina frowns, tilting her head. "A curse? Well, why hasn't Y/N helped lift it?"

"Because I cast it." You chuckle fondly, enduring a bear hug from Emma.

They look at you, eyebrows raised.

"Henry here thought the best way to deal with a strigoi in one of the Woods was to charge in there sword flashing. After I saved his butt, I cursed him with bright hair so he knows how much he stands out."

"I mean, it's a little unorthodox, but it gets the job done." Regina muttered.

"Mom!" Henry protested.

You giggle and nuzzle his cheek. "You know just how to lift the spell."

"Fine, fine. I promise to be more... willing to be discreet."

"Thank you." You kiss him, and a rainbow wave of light spreads from you two, restoring Henry's hair to its natural dark hue.

Emma looks between you two. "So... you two do this often? Little curses and such?"

"Yeah. We're being careful, Mom. It's just... sometimes I can get a little ahead of myself. You remember."

"Yeah." Emma chuckles in spite of herself.

"And Y/N's hexes make me think and remember to be more mindful. Besides, they're never harmful, just memorable. Much like my prince."

You blush. "Your prince, am I?"

Henry smirks. "Moms, we'll catch up for dinner? I think my boyfriend and I need to see to our apartment."

Emma and Regina get the Charmings and Hook together a little later.

"Wow. Henry and his boyfriend are... much more confident." Snow laughs softly.

"I'll say. I caught them snogging on the Jolly Roger. It's been a while since I've had to chase a lovebird off me ship."

David raises an eyebrow. "I thought pirates were all for loving on the ship."

"Yeah, when it's the crew, not a pair of wild young ones."

"So is Henry not part of your crew?" Emma teases.

Hook sighs, realizing he's been trapped. David high fives his daughter.

"Y/N's also taken my teachings to heart and become quite the magician." Regina noticed. "I'm not sure how I feel about their... exuberant hexing."

Emma smirked. "It's... well, I won't say every young love goes through it, but similar. I like that they keep things fresh."

Snow smiles. "Henry's a good man. And he's about to make a fine king. Y/N's good for him, to keep him grounded and centered."

"Yeah, the lad needs someone to make sure he doesn't get too big for his sails."

"That reminds me, has anyone given the kid the shovel talk yet?" David chuckles.

Snow shoots him a look, then smirks. "If anyone's gonna need a shovel talk, it's Henry."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Regina says, offended, before Emma interrupts.

"Let's just get ready for a family dinner. I'm not spoiling anything, but... I'm pretty sure Henry's planning to ask a very important question."

And the group moves as one to set the table at Regina's house, eager to greet Henry and you...

And to welcome you to their family, officially.

[thegildedbee]

Journey: May 30 Prompt from @calaisreno

This latest chapter and the previous ones are here at ao3.

(I'm a bit distant at this point from May, I know! . . . and there's one more prompt still to go, but then I'll finally be caught up with everyone else :-) ..................................................... As the train moves through the wintered fields, stations shuttered long ago flicker past, punctuated bits of expired time. An hour out from London, they begin to slow on the approach to Swindon, coming to a stop in a four-minute flurry of going and coming. Gathered round the door are a dozen or so lads in football kit with red dragons across their chests, waiting for the woman and the little boy who had been a few seats down from John to step off from the carriage. They scramble aboard, noisily pleased with having won their match, bringing in a blast of cold air that reaches in and chills John underneath his neck. They muck about as they jostle each other, eventually more or less coordinating their sprawls amongst extra rows of seats beyond what's necessary, some of them popping up to take selfies and shoot videos.

A faint smile whispers and shuts in an instant across John’s face at their exuberance, and he plugs his earphones into his mobile. He dithers about what to listen to, finally settling on a playlist that comes up after he types “welsh music” into the search bar, and then closes his eyes and slackens against the back of his seat as the train pulls away from the station and they resume their journey.

He’s vaguely bemused by young people's social media, especially their attachment to filming their lives; quite different from people his age, who've never been much fussed about having a camera to hand. He does regret, though, that he doesn’t have many photos of Sherlock; he always felt he needed to be surreptitious about taking shots, as if doing it in plain view would disturb their balancing act as flatmates. There are two amongst the small number that he likes very much: one of Sherlock facing the window while playing his violin, sunlight bringing out coppery glints in his dark curls; a second of him laid out on the sofa, allegedly in his mind palace, but actually taking a kip like an ordinary mortal. He doesn’t think Sherlock knew that he had a small set of photos – they were transferred to his laptop and sequestered several levels down inside a folder titled “Household Chores”– but since the git seemed to think that whatever was John’s, was his as well, he wouldn’t be surprised if somehow Sherlock had come across them one day when he was poking his nose about where he shouldn’t.

That thought begets another (didSherlockevertakeanypicturesofJohn?) although he decides to duck out from under that one straight off and leave it behind.

As the soft, plaintive reverberations of a pavane-like harp play inside his head, he recalls with chagrin how he jollied Sherlock into attending the media events that occurred in that last span of their time together. Clients had wanted to thank Sherlock for his successful efforts on their behalf: the rub was that they wanted to do so in front of the press. There was an auction house director for whom he’d retrieved a stolen painting worth nearly two million quid, and the big cheese banker who had been kidnapped, and then rescued by the detective.

The amount of interest Sherlock had in attending these: nil.

But he eventually complied, as he usually did when John asked him to do something; that hadn’t meant, however, that he’d play nicely. He had been cuttingly deductive, peevishly stating at the first event that the gift box held out to him contained diamond cufflinks – adding dismissively, “all my cuffs have buttons!” – and offering a similar pronouncement at the second, giving the box a shake and sharing the reveal – “tie pin!" – adding dismissively: “I don’t wear ties.”

John had intervened, correcting and redirecting Sherlock to concede to propriety and conform to convention, saying pointedly to the auction house director: “He means thank you,” to which Sherlock had snarked, “Do I?” to be countered by John pushing back: "Just say it.” In the second event he just gave it up as a bad job, and . . . shushed him.

The regular way of their world, right? Sherlock being an arse, John trying to save his arse.

As time had passed, however, John had begun to think that his attitude had been flirting at condescension, in a way that hadn’t been there at the start of their work together. When had he shifted to focusing on Sherlock as being deficient as a human being in social situations, as opposed to seeing Sherlock’s idiosyncrasies as indicative of degrees of comfort (or not) with those he perceived as outsiders?

To be fair, Sherlock’s disdain for the gifts was defensible: he didn’t sport the posh affectation of cufflinks for every day; nor had he ever been seen to wear a tie. If it was “the thought that counts,” then the thought appeared to be that, beyond his utility, Sherlock-as-individual was a human-as-null-placeholder.

In being thrust into the spotlight, abetted by John, Sherlock had been diverted from his own circumspect path, onto the one controlled by the ravening press, where it was they who decided on the right of way, whether there was safe passage to be had, and, if so, at what cost.

What if, in running interference in a way that placed John close to the side of propriety and conformity, he’d instead put his thumb on the scale for Sherlock?

It might have gone perhaps something like this: [Sherlock speaks] [John: subtle nudge, subtle nudge] [John (sotto voce): “What a wanker, eh?”] [Sherlock smiles at John] [John smiles at Sherlock] [John and Sherlock are pleased with themselves, and each other, two-of-a-kind people who laugh together at crime scenes, without giving a hang about proper decorum] [Sherlock feigns politeness] [Social order is maintained . . . a bit].

And, actually, for whose benefit were these thank-you events? Looking back with a skeptical eye, John sees them now as highlighting the givers: it was the poncy auction house director and the illustrious banker who were preening in front of the cameras – Sherlock was a pretext, surplus to requirements. Neither of the worthies needed to stage a press availability to thank Sherlock: appreciation could have been conveyed privately.

The simp of an art dealer, smarmily posing beside the “masterpiece by Turner,” with Sherlock off to the other side, while the public relations cameraman snapped images suitable for public distribution. Turning that skeptical eye on the whole scenario, the painting would now command likely a doubled sold-at-auction price, given the publicity and the story surrounding it having juiced up the intangibles that make up any artwork’s value on the open market.

The self-important banker, posed on the stairs within the embrace of his loving family – several steps higher than the detective, turfing him out onto the pavement. The journos gossiping that Mr. Something-or-Other-in-the-City was ready to climb the greasy pole, to one day get himself slotted in as Chancellor of the Exchequer, a launching pad for Prime Minister, as Major, Brown, and Sunak had done. Among the side effects of the kidnapping as media spectacle had been the boost it had given to the financier’s perceived significance, valor, and . . . name recognition.

John’s mind is expletive-strewn as he speculates how it was that these Sherlockian triumphs were choreographed by the hand of the consulting criminal, who likely pulled off a doubled win: had he inveigled the auction house to allow its painting to be stolen, and the aspiring government minister to allow himself to be kidnapped? (And therefore pocketed a tidy fee for the planning and execution of these gambits?) These events set in motion by him toward achieving the objective of setting up Sherlock to be sucked into the publicity maelstrom, as the “hero detective” became giddily glorified by the press? The bastard had probably even conspired with the unscrupulous publishing baron, Magnussen, to stage-manage the journalistic hue and cry to his specifications.

The ramping up of the press frenzy was the piece de resistance: all the fawning adulation naming Sherlock as a hero pivoted on using the Met as a foil, painting them as hapless and ineffectual, turning the table upside down by portraying them as the true amateurs, and Sherlock as a professional disguised as an amateur. Sherlock's overnight overnight celebrity ensured that his detractors at Scotland Yard would become ever more enraged at Sherlock’s existence, increasing their seething resentment and desire to take him down. The deerstalker was the Yard’s I.O.U.

John allows that he may be on the verge of losing himself in the land of the paranoid, but he wonders if Moriarty even stage-managed the thank-you events himself, through a word in the ear of those in charge, ensuring the planting of certain details. To wit, Moriarty, in his Vivienne Westwoods and beyond-bespokes: his shirts were fastened with cufflinks, his always-tied-up self flaunted tie pins. Moriarty knew that eventually Sherlock would wonder if these two data points were taunts that meant Moriarty was lurking just beyond view. And Moriarty would have felt as blissed-out at Sherlock’s sartorial humiliation as his target would have felt beleaguered, cursed as he was forevermore to be crowned by the misbegotten deerstalker in press photos.

He suspects now that Moriarty had drilled down into John’s psychology with a cleverness equal to his emotional profiling of the public, the press, and the Met, and had foreseen that he could steer John into unknowingly working with him, prompting him into facilitating Sherlock being fed into the maw of the beast by providing a platform that tapped into John’s desire to see Sherlock get his due in public.

As twisted as the maggot was, he seemed to know more about John’s and Sherlock’s emotional landscapes than perhaps they did themselves.

What had Moriarty known about John and Sherlock, the each of them? What had Moriarty known about the two of them together? And when? And why had they been blindsided?

............................... p.s. The shooting script at the BBC for S2E3 uses the term "auction house" at one point, and I've used that tiny blip for my between-the-lines jumping off point use of "canon" here, in case anyone wonders :-)

......................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

.............................................................................

[nrdmssgs]

Can you do a soap fic where a new girl gets transferred and she’s also a sergeant and she’s short and really bitchy, soap flirts with her and she never fails to reply within an insult or a snarky comment?

Masterlist Pairing: SoapXReader TWs: no AN: I took forever, I know, sorry.

The first thing, you thought of, seeing how people gather around Soap, how attentively they catch every bit of phrase covered with thick accent, how eager are they to become part of the next mischief, his mind plotting, is a Kelpie. By no means you were superstitious, but you remember well, what your granny told you: these Scottish demons are nothing but deception, temptation and constant shapeshift, hiding under calm water surface and dragging anyone, reckless enough to trust them, to the depths of cold northern lakes.

You had enough of 'shape-shifters': you were fed up with friendly looking lads, being all sweet around you, only to find out your soft spots and use them against you. So when his smile sparkles too close to your secluded corner of a bar counter - you frown automatically

"Oi, wee-one, what are you doing here all alone, while all the fun happens elsewhere?" That shit eating grin is too familiar. It only portends lies and mockery.

"Daydreaming of your smooches, Sergeant." You know, this man will start flirting with you today sooner or later: after all, he always does. So instead of fearing it coming - you decide on leading this train wreck.

"A'm sa-a-a-a-ae flattered." Johnny can speak British, very much so, when he needs it. But he must be too used to everyone falling for his accent. So he decides to torture your fogged mind with his gibberish.

"And a`m sa-a-a-a-ae lying." You can't hold back a little aping to make this moment even more harsh for him. But that'll teach him.

From your very first day on the base, this man decided, that his holy duty from now on was to haunt you with his flirtatious comments and stupid jokes. You ignored him once, then twice... on his fifth 'strike' you decided, you had enough and fought back. None of Johnny's line remained unanswered by you ever since.

Your rebuffs usually helped for some time. Today it won you fifteen minutes of peace. Because after that Soaps face reappears on the horizon with a jolly 'Anyway, Sg, hae any plans for t`night?'

"Oh, I have one plan, buddy. The first part of it is to not share the other part with the people, I don't want anywhere around me. So lemme guess, this is the moment, you are asking me about the second part?" You talk loud enough, so that not only Johnny, but the whole group of dumbheads enamored by him, hears you.

"I guess, nae, but if you want me to... What's with the second part?" Slowly but surely the damned accent leaves his speech.

"I can't, love, I'm tied up by the first part." Any person, not familiar with Soap would shame you for such a strong reaction. But you knew better, and soon he only proved you right.

"So someone is into restraining? Ah kin just happen tae know a thing or twa aboot this..." You are in mere seconds from snapping right back at him, but he manages to switch your attention to some completely unrelated question.

And just like that you lose concentration for a moment only to find yourself walking down the street with MacTavish and his company. His speech is all honey and velvet with notes of cheerful laughter. Man shouldn't possess so much charm - it is simply unfair. Yet, here he is - all bubbly and so tempting and warm.

Your group turns onto a quiet road, lit by one streetlamp. "Hey, look up!" calls the voice of one of the soldiers, and you lift your head. There is a soda can on the flat lid of the lantern. God only knows how it got there. You're not even surprised when Johnny asks right next to your ear who's ready to knock down the can on the first try. You just turn to him and clarify, “If I do this, can I ask you for anything?”

Soap nods enthusiastically, and before he can add something about the fact that you can always ask him for anything and without any bets, you pick up a pebble from the pavement.

"Watch and learn, Sergeant." You smirk and throw a pebble. The sound of an empty can hitting the asphalt echoes down the street.

Others cheer your victory, when Johnny leans closer and nods with a face of a defeated one.

"Sae what shuid it be, darlin'?"

That smirk. He is trying to look happy even after he lost. Lying scoundrel. Oh, you'll wipe that smirk off his face.

"You seem very proud of your country?" You can't help, but smile, as Soap nods and moves even closer, invading your personal space. So you go on.

"And very proud of that hairstyle of yours... How about we combine your two biggest sources of pride, Johnny." Some soldiers start getting your idea and you hear a few muffled laughs. But Soap doesn't get it till you specify, "Lets paint this mohawk. Blue and white sounds patriotic enough for you, MacTavish?"

If anyone asked you to name the highlight of that day - it was it. Shining smile disappearing from Soaps face, his head ducking, his eyes looking for something under his own boots. He looked lost... But only for a moment.

"Aye. Will need yer help though, wee-one."

For some time, you forget about this evening. Work and duty are quite effective at helping you to put aside any life outside debriefs, trainings and missions. That is, however, only until one late evening, when Soap appears on the threshold of your room with a towel and a pair of tubes of hair dye.

"Sergeant MacTavish keeps his word. Always." These words you hear from a tiny bathroom, where you wash your hands.

He welcomes your return to your room with a bare torso. You try to not look, but one brief glance is enough for his sculpted six-pack, ribs covered with a thin web of scars and tanned broad shoulders to be forever ingrained in your memory. Scoundrel. Seducer. Kelpie. You turn away almost immediately.

"Out of my room. Now!"

"Naw-naw-naw-naw, ye got me wrong! Ah juist dinnae want ma tshirt to get goosed!" He started babbling as quickly as if his life depended on it. So you take a deep breath and nod.

"Ok-ok, calm down!" You come closer to him and brush your fingers through Johnny's dark hair, trying to understand, where should you begin.

It's so strange to see his face not somewhere above, not even on your eye level, but somewhere below. For the first time, you notice the faint freckles on his face, the dark edges of his incredibly blue eyes, the small wrinkles. That all brings you a very strange thought: maybe there are people out there, who know soft and vulnerable Johnny, maybe there are people, whom he will never fail, never betray. You personally can't have a luxury of trusting your colleagues so much as to let them be close to you. But maybe there are people, that trust these eyes and find comfort in these arms.

Your hands fall down. "You know what, Johnny, consider the deed done... To hell ruining your hair, your self-esteem. Forget, we even had this bet, it's stupid."

"Whaaa? Naw, bonnie, it is hilarious! I want this! With ye only! And ah trust ye." He catches your hands and eagerly places them back into his surprisingly soft hair, making sure, your fingers drown in the mohawk fully and touch his scalp. There is not a single note of mockery in his voice - only plea to keep going and trust, endless trust in you - the person, who always had a few sharp words ready for any his attempt to approach you.

You feel guilt stinging you from the inside.

"Ok, I'll do it. But I must warn you - I don't have a single idea, what am I doing. And this will probably turn out ugly."

Soap only keeps nodding, not looking away from your eyes for a moment. His eyes shine with obedience and anticipation.

Not knowing it yet, you are slowly drowning in deep waters, dragged by a Scottish demon. Your very own Kelpie.

[wufflesvetinari]

ok here is a 1k-word preview of Astarion Holiday Son-in-Law Simulator (it will be choose-your-own-adventure once complete and posted to my ao3)

-

You are ULDER RAVENGARD. 

You have safeguarded your city against dragon cultists, Bhaalist incursions, the many-headed hydra of organized crime, and—not a year past—the absurdly apocalyptic attack of the ELDER BRAIN. You withstood the fall of Elturel; survived the Absolute’s parasitic presence in your very soul.

Your maids are fucking giggling at you. 

They flit from room to room, hanging the holly garlands and blown glass baubles traditional of the upcoming MIDWINTER festivities. They paint red stripes on wooden Canes of Frost to symbolize the aging of the year. They pose an effigy of Hroth’s surprisingly jolly and generous servant Saint Claw on the upper landing, a nod to the coming month of Alturiak, known as the Claw of Winter. 

It’s the kind of exquisite holiday detailing expected of Ravengard Manor, home of current Grand Duke WYLL RAVENGARD. Soon to host Baldur’s Gate prestigious MIDWINTER’S EVE BALL. 

But you are ULDER RAVENGARD, and the maids whisper behind their hands when you pass.

Surely this is ASTARION’s doing.

Your son is completely besotted with his fiance, but you can’t figure out the appeal. And the feeling appears mutual: the lad’s taken an inexplicable disliking to you.

Certainly not due to any action of your own.

He communicates to you chiefly in cutting remarks or cheerful anecdotes about killing people. He makes no effort to hide his fangs when lounging about the formal events you host, and he said something deeply heinous about Lady Gemilia’s parrot mere moments before you would have clinched her financial support for the Fist’s new armory. 

He’s spoiled, and petty, and seems chiefly concerned with draining the Ravengard coffers. You are, frankly, at your wit’s fucking end.

You corner a butler about the giggling servants and he mumbles something about the Duke-Consort-To-Be’s generosity with the staff: with the contents of the Ravengard wine cellars, but also—more importantly—with idle gossip. 

With stories gleaned from the new Grand Duke about his father’s youthful indiscretions. Something about the Blushing Mermaid, a monk, and a redcap. 

This cannot stand.

But you are a mature adult—a politician!—who can control his wrathful urges. Surely Astarion can be brought to heel if approached with respect and an open mind. 

Or perhaps it would be wiser to approach Wyll with your concerns. Astarion would certainly accept correction from his fiance.

>DISCUSS YOUR CONCERNS WITH ASTARION LIKE A MATURE ADULT POLITICIAN

>DISCUSS YOUR CONCERNS WITH WYLL LIKE A MATURE ADULT POLITICIAN

***

>DISCUSS YOUR CONCERNS WITH ASTARION LIKE A MATURE ADULT POLITICIAN

You seek out your future son-in-law after evening falls. He’s lounging about in the darkened greenhouse, sharing a bottle of wine with SNIDE-WHITE-BRAID. 

Snide-White-Braid is one of Wyll’s little friends from that time he saved Baldur’s Gate and also the world. You do not remember her name, but she is frequently in your house drinking your wine. She is either the cleric or the wizard, and you are terrified of having a full conversation with her in case you guess wrong.

Tactically, you ignore her. 

“Ah, Astarion!” you say, as though you frequently visit your greenhouse at night and have only caught him here by chance. “I was hoping to have a word.”

��You were,” Astarion says lightly. He stretches out like a cat on the—you believe the contraption is called a lawn chair, and he had it shipped in from Waterdeep at full expense. He blinks at you languidly. “Well, go on, then.”

You glance at Snide-White-Braid, who raises a dark eyebrow at you. 

“Alone?” you try.

Astarion sighs, a perfect picture of put-upon luxury, and Snide-White-Braid hums in a distinctly judgemental way before leaving the greenhouse. She takes the wine bottle with her. It is, of course, one of the good years. You will not see it again.

Business-like, you sit on the lawn chair beside him. You pick a disarming opening gambit. “Astarion, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“The wrong foot?” Astarion says, pressing an offended hand to his chest. “Whatever do you mean, father dearest?”

You fight back a full-body shudder. “Don’t—please don’t call me that.”

Astarion shrugs and sips his wine. He continues to recline, leaving you looking awkward and stiff in comparison. 

“I mean that we are very different people,” you try valiantly. “And I can respect difference. Wyll clearly cares about you—”

“Of course he does!” Astarion flutters his eyelashes, and you grow distinctly uneasy. “And he cares so much about you, as well. Even after…well, you know. All that unpleasantness between the two of you.”

“Er,” you say eloquently, your unease only growing. “Yes.” 

“So of course, I have to play nice,” Astarion says, grinning over his glass. “You needn’t fear any aggression from me. Why, I’m just happy to call you family.”

You flounder. “That’s…good to hear? Perhaps, then, we could discuss some smaller matters of—”

“By the way,” Astarion says silkily, placing his glass on the greenhouse floor. “Ser Augustus won’t be coming to the MIDWINTER’S EVE BALL after all. His invitation got mixed up in the mail somehow—instead he received the rather scathing meeting minutes from the Planning Council’s discussion of his budget indiscretions.”

Astarion covers his mouth with his hand, the picture of scandalized. 

You breathe deeply. He’s trying to bait you, the gods know why. But for Wyll’s sake—for your own dignity—you can’t let him.

“The MIDWINTER’S EVE BALL is an important political event,” you tell him calmly. “For Wyll especially, as the new Grand Duke. Ser Augustus’s presence would have been a boon to him.”

“Or at least to the Flaming Fists’ new armory fund,” Astarion says, examining his nails. “Pity.” 

You grit your teeth. “Anything else you’d like to tell me?”

“I’ve changed the main course to venison.”

“Venison? I—Astarion, I am organizing this event. On my son’s behalf.”

“And your son,” Astarion says, his eyes flashing, “prefers venison.”

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Don’t give into his petty games. Don’t let him drag you down into some insane secret war. 

“Be that as it may, venison is a commoner’s dish. I can provide better for him.”

Astarion looks at you coolly. He reaches down to run a finger over the rim of his wine glass.

“Can you?” he says.

He’s not talking about the venison anymore. This is abundantly clear. You see the distaste in his eyes—the dismissal—and embarrassment washes through you.

It’s quickly replaced by rage. How dare he judge your mistakes, when anyone can see that Astarion is a mistake Wyll is in the midst of making? It’s a father’s duty to correct mistakes.

The INSANE SECRET WAR is declared without a word between you.

You lean forward in your chair, eyes alight. “It’s good that we’re getting along so well, for Wyll’s sake. I’d hate for him to sense any discord between us.”

“Quite,” Astarion agrees with a smile. “That sweet man has enough on his mind. You have my word he will never notice an inkling of a problem.” 

“Then we are agreed,” you say.

The TERMS OF ENGAGEMENT are set. Wyll will never learn of the SECRET WAR. The war that, on your honor, Astarion will lose.

Your honor levels are not inconsiderable.

[https-genesis]

nightmare on elm street | 141 x gn! reader

Sypnosis; The rookie is... strange.

Contents; swearing, reader is a psychopath lmao, drabble

there's something unsettling about you.

sure, ghost wore a mask adorned with a well drawn human skull on it, konig from KorTac towered over every man in his squad and others, alexandro from los vaquiros' iron will was unmatched.

you weren't the biggest. you weren't the fastest nor the smartest.

you weren't as big and bad as the other soldiers. so what made you have such an uncomfortable aura?

your sickeningly sweet smile that seemed to stretch to your ears made ghost squint. the way you tiptoed into rooms with not even a sound suprised even konig. the way you managed to guess what alexandro was gonna say before it even left his mouth made him shudder.

☆

it was late. maybe 11:35 at night, most of the squadron was asleep. ghost was never much of a sleeper - not knowing what could attack while he was at his most vulnerable brought back bad memories. he sat quietly outside his tent, joint loosely tucked between his unmasked lips.

"hi ghost."

the latter shot up from his idle position on his stool to pull his mask up after throwing his blunt somewhere further along.

"fuckin' 'ell. ya scared me, rookie."

you grinned. that awful, god forsaken grin. it made your face contort into something strange - almost scary. the smile felt like it came out of one of those trashy horror movies from the 90's. he could tell your cheeks strained from how large it was, and he shifted in his seat.

your head tilted to the side and a silence took over you before you answered.

"sorry, ghost." your smile didn't falter and ghost felt his skin crawl.

"'m headed back. go too." his reply was rushed and he couldn't muster up the courage to look into your eyes again.

☆

working with the 141 was a pleasure in disguise. konig was shy, anxious too, and his almost seven foot tall frame didn't do him much of a favor. but even though his rough exterior frightened others, they didn't seem to even bat an eye at him. most of them, at least.

captain price was speaking to everyone and his gaze seemed drawn to konig. like he was watching something. surveilling it.

then price shifted his eyes to him again - rather, behind him, and he paused. within the silence he could make out slow breathing from behind him.

"I'm listening, captain. don't worry."

konig jumped and turned to your figure standing oddly still. your eyes already were scouting his features and even though his mask was heavy on his face, he felt as though you could see right through it. he felt sweat pool at his forehead

"sorry for scaring you." you smiled, and walked further into the room.

ghost whispered to him.

"weird lad, that one."

he can agree on that.

☆

it was rare for alexandro to say he loved his job, but in moments like this, where his hand brushed the drink in his hand ( probably vodka, maybe whiskey, who knows? ) and he could hear the laughter of his squadron behind him, he felt content. after a successful mission, los vaquiros and the 141 decided to have a jolly frolic at the pub in town. that's what soap said.

alexandros feet tapped the stool lightly to the rhythm of the music until price's voice brought him back.

"ya okay, mate?" soap whispered to him. "ya good enough to drive back?" he grinned, and alexandro chuckled.

"yeah, si. i don't feel like drinking, I guess." he turns his body towards the scottish man, and sighs. complaining to a very much not sober johnny doesnt sound appealing. somebody takes the empty seat next to him but he doesnt bother to turn.

"you've had a rough week, huh? it's hard being a soldier, but you'll get used to it." your voice. the 141's infiltration operator. the ... strange one.

alexandro turns to your face already staring back at him. it's unsettling, and the little alcohol in his stomach stirs inside him.

"oh, I forgot. you've been in here for a while, haven't you?" his browns connect in his frown. did you not know who he was? or did you not care? or were you trying to spite him?

how did you know him? he never talked to you before.

"guess so." alexandro never felt like that before. like prey. like a lamb staring a lion into its eye.

you didn't speak much after that. you stared at the group of men playing darts and chuckled when one of them almost got hit.

who are you?

A/N; this sucks lol

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Christmas Reruns 2024–Day 28: New York Christmas Serenade (2/4)

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t!  One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia.  A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns.  So here you go!  Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Word Count: 1453

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 29 30 31

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

CS Genre: Canon Divergence (missing year between 3a and 3b)

Killian felt an unaccustomed stab of nervousness flow through him as he walked the steps leading toward Swan’s abode.  He knew very little of what was transpiring in Storybrooke, only that the kingdom had once again been transported to the Land Without Magic via a curse and they needed the savior. 

Much was riding on Killian’s success in restoring Emma’s memories, and he felt the weight of the responsibility placed upon his shoulders.  While he’d have traded away the Jolly and done all in his power to find Swan simply for her own sake, the fact that her parents were counting on him spurred him on even more.  It had been centuries since he’d truly belonged anywhere and he had no intention of mucking this up.

Truthfully it was a minor miracle she’d invited him to spend the evening with her and the lad at all, but from what he’d gathered as he’d wandered the streets of this strange place called “New York” Christmas was a time for miracles.

Taking a deep breath, Killian raised his artificial hand and wrapped on her apartment door promptly at 7:00 pm.  He tapped his fingers against his leg as he waited, and then suddenly the door was opened and she stood there and literally took his breath away.  She wore a soft green sweater that brought out her eyes, jeans and brown boots, her hair was pulled back into a soft pony tail.

“You’re stunning, love,” he said in wonder—almost reverence.  His heart rate picked up as he saw her color prettily at the compliment.  If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Emma Swan was flustered by his presence in her home.

“Thanks,” she said, “you look pretty good yourself.”

Killian looked down at his black jeans, his blue button down shirt and his leather jacket, glad he’d thought to find attire more suitable to his environs. 

“Aye, well..” he said, giving her a flirtatious grin, “I have been called dashingly handsome, love.”

She rolled her eyes but laughed softly, breathily.  Killian leaned toward her, drawn to her, wishing nothing more than to repeat their mind-blowing kiss on Neverland.  For a moment, Emma leaned forward, lifted her head.  Was she actually going to allow him to kiss her?

“Hey guys, are you coming in soon?” came Henry’s voice from the kitchen, “I’m starving.”

And with that the spell was over.  Emma took a healthy step back, held onto the door and waved him in.  “Yeah, um…” she said, “come in.  Dinner’s ready.”

Killian obliged, shedding his jacket and placing it on the rack beside the door.  He looked around in interest, admiring the large, open feel of the apartment, impressed with the large, well decorated pine tree in the corner near the windows, enjoying the delectable aromas wafting in from the kitchen.

“It smells tasty, love,” Killian said, taking the seat Henry indicated at the head of the table.  “Did you prepare our meal yourself.”

Henry laughed.  “Mom doesn’t cook; especially on Christmas!  Of any day of the year, we ought to at least have edible food on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”

“Excuse me?” Emma said feigning great offense.  “You better watch yourself, Kid.  Santa’s still watching.  Don’t want to get on the naughty list.”

Henry grinned.  “Hey, I’m only telling the truth.  I’d say being honest ought to keep me on the nice list.  But seriously, Killian, we had our dinner catered from this little Italian place down the street.  They have the best spaghetti and meatballs you’ve ever eaten!”

Killian smiled at the playful ribbing between mother and son.  Though he knew his Swan would wish to have her memories and know the truth, he was grateful to the Queen for giving her and the lad such pleasant memories and such a close relationship in their false life.

“I’ve no doubt but that you’re right, Henry,” Killian said, taking the bowl of long, thin pasta Swan passed him. He placed a healthy serving on his place, and then topped it with the red sauce placed before him on the table.  “As it happens, this is the first time I’ve ever consumed this particular dish.”

Both Swan and her lad stopped what they were doing and shot him astonished looks.  “You’ve never eaten spaghetti and meatballs before?” Henry asked.

“Not even once.”

“Well are you in for a Christmas treat!” Henry assured him as he began to eat with typical preteen gusto.

And as Killian ate his meal of spaghetti and meatballs, salad and garlic bread, he had to admit the lad was correct—although whether it was the deliciousness of the food or the pleasantness of the company he enjoyed most was a matter for some debate.  As the evening continued, Swan lost the last hint of her nervous awkwardness and began talking and laughing with him—far more open than she’d ever before been in his presence.

After dinner, Killian followed the lad into the living room to choose a movie for the evening, after which came a ritual that left Henry nearly writhing in excitement.

“We open most of our gifts on Christmas morning,” Emma told Killian as Henry rushed toward the tree, carefully picking up each of the brightly wrapped packages which bore his name, shaking them, looking them over, weighing them in his hands, “but a few years ago, the kid talked me into starting a Swan family tradition of him getting one of his presents on Christmas Eve.  Choose carefully, kid.”

And suddenly, with the mention of gifts for the occasion of Christmas, Killian came up with a plan.  What if he was able to jog the lad’s memories?  With Henry on his side, perhaps the two of them could find a way to remind Emma who she truly was.

Killian grinned as Henry opened his chosen gift.  The lad’s enthusiasm and exuberance were contagious.

“The video game I wanted!” Henry said as soon as the bright, colorful paper was ripped away.  “Thanks mom!  This is great!”

Emma ruffled his hair.  “No problem kid,” she said.  “And just you wait.  You may be an expert at the other games, but I’m determined I’m going to beat you at this one!”

“Sounds like a challenge to me, lad,” Killian said teasingly, reaching over to playfully squeeze Swan’s shoulder from her perch beside him on the couch.  “Are you going to let it go unanswered?”

“No way!” Henry said.  “You’ll see, mom!  You may be good catching real bad guys, but I’ve got the video bad guys quaking in their boots!  Can I play it now?  Please?”

Before Emma could answer, Killian put a up his artificial hand.  “Just a moment, lad,” he said.  “If you please, I have my own gifts to bestow.”

“Killian,” Emma said, looking over at him, “you didn’t need to…”

“Nonsense, love,” he answered.  “You were so kind as to allow me to share your holiday.  The least I can do is offer a few small tokens of my gratitude.”

“Seriously, we don’t expect…” Emma began again, but this time she was interrupted by her son.

“Did you bring me something?” he asked Killian, stepping up to him.

“Indeed I did, lad,” Killian said, reaching for his satchel.  “If I don’t miss my guess, you have the heart of a true believer.  The truest believer, even.  I thought perhaps you might find joy in perusing the stories of other heroes and believers.”

With a flourish, Killian pulled Henry’s old storybook from his bag and presented it to the boy.  It was this book that had ignited Henry’s belief the first time.  Was it possible the item would do the trick for a second time?

Henry accepted the offering, muttering a quick “Thank you,” before peering in confusion at the tome.

“A storybook?” Henry asked, brow furrowed.

“Aye,” Killian said, “a storybook, but I hope you’ll find it so very much more.  Go on lad, open it.”

Killian watched eagerly as Henry opened the book to the story of his grandparents.  He hadn’t long to wait.  Henry couldn’t have read more than a paragraph before his eyes got wide as saucers and he quickly looked up at Killian.

“Hook!” he said slowly.  “I…I remember!”

Waves of relief covered Killian like a blanket.  He may still have quite the uphill task in front of him, but for the first time since finding his beloved Swan in her apartment home, Killian knew without a doubt that he would.

–Up next: Emma wakes up on Christmas morning—and ends up spending a very pleasant full day with both her son and the pirate she doesn’t yet remember she had feelings for.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[captain-dville]

(I decided to you a present back lol)

*there's a knock on jonnys door. When he opens the door its the toy. It salutes and offers jonny a hat; holding said hat out with both hands fully extended.*

@just-a-jolly-wooden-lad

( @just-a-jolly-wooden-lad )

*Jonny looks as though someone has just handed him a bag of animal waste. He very reluctantly takes the hat from the soldier as if it might bite him, holding it awkwardly between his hands.*

"Hell's this for- you getting rid of your spare clothes?"

*He knows exactly what's happening and hates it.*

[as-i-watch]

We got a trailer lads!

I have many thoughts but overall, positively excited by this

Roger's Intro thats a win in my book

The mutiny joke was actually funny to me so thats promising

Kudos to keeping true to the source material (ex: Luffy in the Barrell, the jolly roger, etc)

Really happy to see Kuro and Merry from the Syrup Village Arc (i feared it was gonna get cropped out)

BUGGY - the actor gave it all, another win

SANJI - Taz really captured him, the way he moves and smiles, he really has a Sanji presence imo

THAT SAID i was not expecting Sanji to have a brithish accent

Also the few kicks we get to see...dont look the best

The sets and costumes are amazing tho, still get blown away by every new peak we get

Zoro's fight scenes look cool :3

The cgi not to good but not too bad either (my bar was really low tho so dont come at me)

Those shots of the whole crew in a line up give me chills its so cool

MIHAWK - im running up my walls over this guy omfg i love him

KOBY - its ridiculous how much they nail this kid, he looks like an ai made a irl vertion of the anime charecter wtf

ARLONG PARK ZORO'S SHIRT BRAINROT (you know its one of my fav looks for my boy so i am very happy)

Im not saying this adaptation is perfect but i think i has potential. Hopefully it will be good enough to overlook its flaws or lacking, which im sure there will be, but i really hope the end result is good, i really want it to be good

Sure, it wont be perfect but at least you can tell the people that made this show CARED and that is a plus

[mickmundy]

demoman headcanon thread! a kind anon on twitter asked if i had any thoughts on him, and since he is one of my favorite mercs... i definitely do! :-) i hope you enjoy! <3

demo is one of the most selfless of the mercs! he's smart, capable and just because he has a great sense of humor doesn't mean he's stupid! he's just as fun to party with as he is to make bombs with... either way, the chemistry is explosive!

speaking of weird science, i don't think there can be any science party without demo! he'd undoubtedly have SO much in common with medic and engineer, and would converse with them often about what they're all working on!

tavish is a great one to have around, no matter who you ask. he adjusts himself around who he's hanging out with: a rowdy night out with scout and solly? he's in! a quiet night around a campfire with engineer and sniper? of course!

quick to forgive. gah, there are other things to worry about in life! water under the bridge and so on! just don't make it a habit, lad! he's a generous spirit and isn't above settling things with a good talk... or a fight! ha!

absolutely a great listener. is able to give you honest advice, or crack a joke to lighten the mood and make you laugh! that said, he loves making people laugh. i think he likes it best when everyone's having a good time! always has a quip or a fun anecdote or story to share with people!

workaholic! but that can be said for a lot of the mercs. takes a lot of pride in what he does and takes his job very seriously! don't let his good sense of humor fool you into thinking he's unprofessional!

prefers to be the one helping, not the one needing help! i think he'd be quick to divert attention away from himself if the conversation got Too personal for him. is Reluctant to accept help, but not unwilling, and will always be grateful!

when he's comforting someone, he always seems to know the perfect balance of humor, a gentle touch, and good advice. you might have a good cry with him, but he'll make sure you leave with a laugh!

big on family/loyalty. values the team's lives as his own and will do anything he can to make himself useful! i think he and sniper became their closest after his parents died; demo checked in on him often once they returned back to the base, and sniper never forgot his kindness.

i think he loves literature! i have a running headcanon that spy, heavy, engineer and demo all meet up for a book club meeting every so often! ^_^ enjoys fiction and nonfiction pretty equally, but knows a great deal about mythology of all kinds!!

puts a lot on himself. wants to make his family proud, do right by his mom and make sure everyone is taken care of. very sensitive to the needs of those around him! he's a big softie!

i also love to think about him playing piano... him and spy love playing classical tunes together, or if he's hanging around medic, they'd absolutely make some ruckus with dueling pianos!! HEH

briefly mentioned above, but is a very talented chemist. frequently consults with sniper (natural remedies) and medic (clinical killing tips) and engineer (manmade remedies and killing tips). knows a decent amount about respawn technology and engineer's sentry technology too!

is very touchy-feely. will always greet you with a clap on the back or a tousle of the hair or a smack upside the back of your head (if you're scout!) and a jolly laugh! very warm, rough hands... he knows when to give a tender pat or a loving whack!

loves tropical birds! teaches his macaw how to talk and swear at the mercs!! calls archimedes 'archie' (to which medic gives a Frown. he names his birds with intention!)... even though ol' archie enjoys his company very much! :-)

isn't a great driver, but can sail a boat blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back (according to him)! he can drive the mercs home from a long night at the bar without a problem, but on long road trips he prefers if someone else takes the wheel... preferably sniper!

has very low spice tolerance. the other mercs have been trying to build him up over time with some decent success though! but all in all he'll always prefer the flavor of his own traditional dishes!

the other mercs have fun pranking him with really spicy foods. once he puts out the fire in his mouth, he thinks it's pretty funny and gives them credit for being able to trick him!

talks with his hands and often slams them down on the table (or his own thighs) when talking! very animated, always a joy to listen to whether he's yelling at you or laughing with you!

very social, but can also enjoy some alone time now and then. greasy food, a comfortable chair and his comfy pants are great company sometimes... with a bottle of his favorite scrumpy of course! even if he prefers to share his "quiet time" with someone else, too!

often converses with sniper and engineer about parental hangups and living up to what their families raised them to be like. they take it hard, but he loves his family, even if being a demoman isn't always easy!

demo's a liquor connoisseur, but not just for the taste! it's all about chemistry! he can taste a drink and be able to break down its composition down to the real nitty gritty... and recite it to you if you ask!

can always tell when spy cooks with wine, and exactly what type and how much! sometimes spy tries to throw him off, but tavish's instinct is never wrong! can taste something and break down the exact makeup of it, which spy and heavy appreciate when they cook!

[theodoresgirl]

Tavern Waitress Killian Jones x Fem!Tavern worker!Reader

A/N: I was daydreaming about this all day, and I've recently had a huge obsession with this man. Idk who let him be this fine tbh. 

Once upon a Time, Long before Storybrooke. There was a small village in the Enchantix Forest where a tavern was being run by a family. F/N was the tavern’s owner, But his wife, and their sons helped out everyday or when they could. He also had a daughter from an affair, Though the Affair isn’t known about. She also spends most of her time in the tavern. 

Y/n learned to help around the tavern at a young age, She started out cleaning up until she was old enough to handle drinks. Which started when she was around 16, maybe 18. She was also very pretty, And with where she worked she was new to the comments and the glances she would get. 

Y/n was whipping down one of the big tables in the back corner of the tavern. She was humming a tune to one of the shanties she’s heard over the years. She looked over at the door after hearing a big group of rough looking men walk into the tavern. They were loud and sounded harsh. One of them looked around and his eyes landed on her and the empty table was just big enough for his crew. 

Her eyes were back at the table, She finished wiping the table down and putting the rag in the apron when a shiny silver hook lays on the table. ``This table taken love?`` A male voice asks her, in a musky tone, Something out of a fairy-tale. Y/n blushes at the sound of his voice and looks up to meet his piercing blue eyes, All she could see were the ocean waves in them. 

``I-its open.. W-what can I get you guys?`` She shudders a bit before collecting herself as they sit down. ``Rum for all my men love.`` The male with the hook smiled. ``Coming right up ?`` She turns her head slightly asking for his name or something to call this fine pirate. ``Captain Killian Jones, or Captain Hook`` When he says the last part he lifts up his hook. Y/n nods and laughs a bit at the name choice ``No idea if that was a pun, but darling you're funny. I’ll go get that rum.`` She smiles before counting all the men and going back behind the bar to start pouring the drinks. ``y/n`` one of her brothers called out from over the bar, She looked up pouring the last of the rum. `` Those are pirates Be careful.`` He whispers helping her put the beer steins on two separate trays. `` Yeah, I know. And you should know my response is.`` She stares at him just giving him a look. ``Adventure blah blah blah.`` He shook his head, ``Everything around them gets poisoned. It's your funeral or sleeping spell.`` 

She rolled her eyes at his comment, Wasn’t the first time her brother tried to warn her. Even in an asshole way. She lifts one of the trays and walks it over to the table and hands the drinks on that tray out before going to get the second tray to do the same thing again. ``There we have it, Rum for everyone. Enjoy lads`` She smiles humming softly. The man smirks at her enthusiasm ``Thank you love. Keep em coming too.`` Killian bows his head to her before taking a sip of the rum. ``Will do captain`` she turns around and walks back to the bar to re wipe it down.

—

A few hours later, and a few rounds of drinks later Killian’s crew had headed back to the old Jolly Roger and he stayed behind for some more drinks and the pretty faces.  

Killian finds himself at the bar in the tavern watching y/n go around serving everyone else. He waves his hook and calls for her even after one of her brothers goes over to Killian and asks if he needs a refill. She makes her way over to the bar grabbing the bottle of rum with a smile on her face. She pours more rum into his beer stein, Killian had a shameless smirk on his face watching her. 

`` It could be the few shots i’ve done or are you fond of me?`` She asked, learning on the bar looking into his eyes, Piercing blue eyes, how he was blessed with them would be a question for the gods surely. ``Is it that obvious?`` `` Well I’m sure everyone has noticed your eyes not leaving me, or you not letting anyone refill your drink but-`` Killian cuts her off `` you? You’re smart love`` 

She chuckles softly and shakes her head. ``Yeah? Is that you or the rum talking daring?`` He takes a sip of the rum ``Could be both, But you could also find out`` He smirks. She blinks not really surprised about what he said but if he meant it. ``Oh?-``

``What time do you get off love?`` He finishes the rum he had in his beer stein. ``I am off whenever I wanna be off`` She smiles and raises an eyebrow curiously. ``Are you good with ships?`` He asked. ``Would you believe it if i said i’ve hardly ever left these four walls?`` She leaned in and whispered, smiling softly. ``I wouldn’t believe it but, I could show you what's outside these 4 walls`` He takes one of her hands in his good hand and kisses it. 

``Could you really?`` She blushes at the contact, and is tempted. Y/n’s father wouldn't stop her if she wanted to leave. He may be upset but he’ll get over it sometime. Killian nods, grabbing her other hand and places a kiss on it as well. ``I could show you the sea.``

[leiflitter]

felix before oxford and ollie before oxford head canons plz… u know who this is by now 😋❤️

Let's go my lil buddy!

Felix!

Boarding school, obvi, all boys. Absolutely the people's princess of the place. Had lads lining up around the block to carry his bags for him and all that. Occasionally got off with someone or other, but he was, again, a princess and so it wasn't him doing stuff to them, it was Felix not having to use his own hand.

Ton of school clubs and extracurriculars, but mostly ones he could just fuck about at.

Forced to play rugby, but they couldn't make him care.

Major, major stoner and totally got away with it. Felix Catton smoking a joint on the sports field? Teachers simply do not see it.

Tons of really stupid hijinks. Proper Jolly Hockey Sticks prank stuff. Buckets of water balanced on doors, itching powder, the works.

Summer Hols were for chasing girls. Sometimes he'd have a "girlfriend" for a while, which mostly means he got letters with cheeky photos. He did not share them, but some did get appropriated from time to time.

Absolutely went on a Gap Year around Europe and is very lucky he didn't get some sort of STI while he was shagging his way around the continent.

Venetia always tried to get with his mates and it was always so fucking annoying because uh, hello? Get your own friends Venetia we're trying to watch American Pie? Fuck off?

Oliver

Literally the most invisible kid in the school, on purpose. People don't even really remember him much.

Also did a bunch of extracurricular stuff, but for things like Helping In The Library and Science Club. A few of them he was the only member, because it meant he could avoid going home.

Always secretly wanted to be in the school plays but never went for it.

Got shoved around a bit by the fifa lads and the popular girls occasionally would ask him pointed questions and find the answer hilarious.

One of the fifa lads called him a bender in year 8 and somehow it became like... common knowledge that Oliver Quick Likes Dick. Nobody actually really was invested in it, but it rhymes and it obviously wound him up.

He was always Oliver. Never Ollie.

His sisters pretended they weren't related to him, although they were both nearing the end of secondary school when he started attending.

His eyesight isn't that bad, which is good when people keep stealing your glasses when you're in P.E. and hiding them.

Most of the teachers really liked him except for the P.E. Sports Lad Teachers and the one really grumpy Design Tech teacher.

Complete loner. No friends. No birthday parties. Lived through books and just wanted his own space.

[writers-in-moominvalley]

You might have gotten an ask like this before but I think it's unfair how snufkin often gets misrepresented in moomin media/fandom as either a deus ex machina type of wise traveler whos never wrong, or some sort of awkward teen who's "scared of socializing" could you perhaps analyze the nuances in his character?

I held off on answering this ask for a bit because Snufkin has honestly become such a nebulous character to me after a while that I barely have the motivation to properly discuss him. But now I've finally come to the right mindset to talk about his character;

Snufkin was... A few things in the books. A few very different things, actually.

His character is very notably different between the first half of the books (Comet in Moominland through Moominpappa's Memoirs) and the second half of the books (Moominsummer Madness through Moominvalley in November). These 2 eras of Snufkin make for an interesting character to ponder about even if he isn't as prominent as other characters (ironic, considering he's the first character anyone would know of when entering the fandom and is practically its figurehead)

Snufkin in his first era was... A very regular child with a much happier disposition, he tended to kick the shins of those who are about to say something they shouldn't and had very strange preferences and lifestyle but he was still very much a child unburdened by having to socialize or talk to people. He became quick friends with Moomintroll not because he exemplified an ideal that Moomintroll hoped for - but because he was so gosh-darn friendly and fun to be around.

He claimed himself a tramp and a poet when first meeting Moomintroll and Sniff and tried very dearly to be of help to them along the journey, even consoling Sniff when his plan to nab some garnets went awry, and he continues to be a good-natured fellow and a quick thinker throughout Finn Family Moomintroll. In Moominpappa's Memoirs he was absolutely mesmerized by the idea of his father and wanted to learn as much as he could about him, and arguably taking to idolizing him for both their similarities and simply how cool and punk he considered him.

Snufkin was also a story-teller throughout and contained more wisdom in his self than even some of the adults likely due to his traveling making him accumulate stories and practical knowledge that others wouldn't even think to explore.

Much of Snufkin's "tragedy" boils down to being orphaned so young that he didn't even imagine having parents of his own, thinking that he just came to existence in some basket one day and was found by some unknown "they", whoever they are, but that tragedy is quickly resolved as he reunites with his family in the epilogue of Moominpappa's Memoirs. He also took to traveling out of Moominvalley with great eagerness, it was more of a sudden decision and he didn't seem apologetic about it at all - he wanted so much to go somewhere new again, he was excited!

And it wasn't a goodbye forever, he promised to return in the spring when everyone was going to wake up. Perhaps he found that hibernation just wasn't for him and would rather take the lonely but exciting alternative, who knows! He's just a jolly little lad!

But then came Moominsummer Madness where we are presented with a more mature Snufkin, suddenly taking after his father with his smoking and anti-park terrorism but also after his mother with his care for an impossible amount of children. Although he didn't ring as excitable in tone as before, he still had conviction and a small sense of whimsy in him, he still cared deeply and wanted to be kind and it was almost too easy for him to take on a very parental role for the Woodies. He also still exhibited his greater knowledge of the world through knowing exactly what a play is and how it works.

We lack him in Moominland Midwinter, but he becomes a very romantic subject in Moomintroll's mind, reading his letter a bit too many times and imagining what it's like in the south - even declaring to go and meet him before the reality of winter hits him in the face. Those thoughts are very sporadic and short-lived however, as he has everything about the foreign land of Winter to worry about.

We then have the luxury of having 3 whole chapters mainly featuring Snufkin, The Spring Tune, The Last Dragon in the World and Cedric, all of which place him on the higher ground, whether as a philosophical authority or someone to be impressed. He's clearly depicted as a more closed-off character, much different than the younger Snufkin we knew in the first half of the series.

Where he was excited to make new friends who've stumbled onto his camp in Comet in Moominland, he's totally apprehensive of a Creep invading his space. Where he tried to help make Sniff feel better by looking on the bright side of things and relented when Sniff countered him with his real lament in Comet in Moominland, he lectures to him a story and is too stubborn to stop it when Sniff is clearly disinterested and keeps interjecting.

Finally, Moominvalley in November made him very... Restless in his need for isolation. He hated or atleast disliked these people he was stuck with without even knowing them properly, he freaks out at the sight of signs that only tell the name of Moominhouse and he felt watched by the others even in the safety of his tent. But he grew out of it, his main motif was his harmonica and he kept playing and playing and playing it throughout the book, he became an inspiration to the Fillyjonk, he was a partner in Mymble's act during the party, he helped the Hemulen sail his boat for the first time.

He learned to coexist with new people again. After a long time of getting too used to a family as understanding as the Moomins, he finally formed new bonds with new people, and when the snow came it was his time to depart as the second-to-last person left in the Valley, even if he never got to see the Moomins that time. Toft pondered if Snufkin understood that Toft was meant to be the only one to greet the Moomins upon their return, or even that he understood even more than that.

Snufkin is still a kind person through it all, an unwilling inspiration to others now too, but even when he's become so terribly closed off from others he still makes the choice to help and make the right choice in the end.

He's changed a great deal throughout the books, but his integrity remains all the same.

-

Snufkin in the comics, on the other hand...

Is just kind of there? For about... 4 comics out of the 21 that Tove made?

I mean, not to diminish him, he's still spoken about as though he's Moomintroll's best friend in The Conscientious Moomins but he lacks any stay them. In Moomin and the Brigands and Moomin in Family Life (literally the first 2 comics of the strip), he seems very similar to how he was in the first half of the books, he's very quirky and happy to lend a paw whenever he should. He spouts about using money to plant trees all Lorax-like and barely helps in Moomintroll and Sniff's endeavors (he's characterized as more of a nuisance in Brigands, really), and he becomes an object to impress for Moominpappa because of Moominpappa's emphasis on wanting exciting things to happen in the comics. Snufkin's still a wise guy but he left before we got much of him.

And then we have the Conscientious Moomins and Moomin and the Golden Tail where he's characterized more familiarly to anyone who's watched the 90s series, Moomintroll goes to him whenever he needs advice or to 'get away from it all', and he's super willing to help others with jobs even if he and his lifestyle doesn't fit into the conscientious life. In Golden Tail he keeps asking Moomintroll to fish with him and he becomes the one source of normalcy in the story before being torn away because Moomintroll's fame is interfering with even his friendships. Snufkin is characterized as a support mechanism in these comics.

He's very likeable as a character but like almost everyone else in the comics, he's Not That Deep, Bro.

-

I think the reason why Snufkin gets characterized as dues ex machina who solves problems most of the time is because those adaptations lean into him being The Smart One With Outside Knowledge a bit too hard, however when you look at the 90s series as a whole his characterization there is only seemingly not-good because the series has an overall problem of not letting its characters express themselves, and he gets involved in much more stories than he actually was in the source material so I could hazard a guess that the writers - based on not only Tove's Snufkin but also Lars' Snufkin which continued Contentious/Golden Tail Snufkin's characterization - would reason that since Snufkin was Like That in the comics then he could easily also be like that in their own stories.

Shin Mūmin made an egregious use of the Snufkin-ex-machina card because they aged him up and they reshaped him into a traveling and helpful loner archetype who knows what he's doing 99% of the time, however they did what the 90s series couldn't and actually made him emotional which very much saves his character in my eyes.

Moominvalley 2019 started Snufkin's character in Tales From Moominvalley aswell as Moominsummer Madness and that pretty much dictated his personality for the rest of the show. Because Moomintroll was meant to be a teenager who acted like he did in the comic alot, I could easily believe that the writers also trying to rein Snufkin in by making him more relatable or more like a real teenager. Perhaps they also wanted to stray from Snufkin's previous characterization as a deus-ex-machina character and Gary Sue by going into the other end of the spectrum, but given how Moominvalley2019 is with the rest of the cast... It ended up a little too much.

While I admit Snufkin is a very interesting character and I can see how he's good enough to be a fan favorite, I don't have any plans on delving into him much further when there's other things that interest me. As I said, he's become a nebulous character to me - and no matter how much I read or watch about him in the source and licensed material and get happy to see him, there's always going to be that half of my brain that keeps reminding me about his fans and how fanon has took hold of him that there's really nothing but indifference whenever I think about delving into his character.

I wrote most of this based on memory with some occasional checking so I may have gotten some things wrong, and even when I read or watch stuff with him in it, my attention usually goes to things other than him. It's not because of an inherent fault in his character, really, it's just a tragedy of the fandom tainting my enjoyment of him in general. So... Let this be my one full-length analysis of him.

[sholiofic]

If you're still taking prompts for Biggles - then Bertie, Algy and Fritz on a hunting weekend in Chedcombe? Maybe make it a casefic where there's robbers/spies/murderers? I imagine Fritz being a very skilled horseman, like his uncle :D

I am back to answer fic prompts! This is a LOVELY prompt, and I don't have a full story in my head for it, but have a little snippet of their weekend <3

--

Fritz had been uncertain and shy about the weekend's invitation, but after a slightly awkward car ride and even more awkward introduction to the Chedcombe staff, he was charmed immediately by the horses.

"We've a quiet old lass in the stables here, Lady is her name, you might enjoy her," Bertie suggested, while Fritz was making friends with all the horses, petting and talking to them.

"Oh, but I like this one very much," Fritz said, stroking a silky equine nose. "He's beautiful. I would very much like to ride him. What is his name, please?"

"That's Jupiter, old boy, he might be a bit much for a novice rider, but let's see if he's been getting his daily gallop, what?"

The groom saddled the horses for them. Fritz listened avidly to Bertie's explanations, mounted with a little awkwardness but sat his saddle proudly, adjusting his grip on the reins swiftly at a word from Bertie.

"Let's walk him round a bit, what? Good form, lad," Bertie said happily. "You've ridden before?"

"Only a little. There wasn't much opportunity back home."

"Chip off the old block, I say," Bertie declared, and Fritz flushed and ducked his head. Meanwhile, Algy mounted up on the blue roan hunter he had selected for himself. After a few more turns round the paddock and some corrections to Fritz's seat, Bertie announced them ready for the gallops -- or the walking trails, at least.

"Chip off the old block, what?" Bertie repeated to Algy as they rode behind Fritz, who sat upright and natural, holding the rein self-consciously but with a relaxed grip. Several of the dogs from Bertie's kennels coursed alongside. The well-trained horses danced only a little at the dogs' presence, and Fritz, reacting almost instinctively, tugged his horse back under control when it began to prance.

"Exactly what we all hoped for," Algy said dryly, but he said it quietly, so that Fritz couldn't hear. 

"I told you the lad's a natural. Jolly old Biggles doesn't know what he's missing."

"Jolly old Biggles would be bored off his head in an hour and driving the rest of us up the wall by evening."

Bertie laughed. "Right there with you, right with you. The Chief and Ginger will most likely have found an entire smuggler's den of criminals by the time we're back. Not to speak of old Erich--"

"Let's not speak of him, then," Algy said between his teeth.

But whatever Biggles, Ginger, and (regrettably, in Algy's eyes) von Stalhein might have been getting up to back in London, the Chedcombe parkland and forest lay golden-green and lovely in the afternoon sun. They flushed a pair of foxes, but Bertie called back the dogs -- "Just a married couple on a stroll, let's give 'em a little space" -- and they ended up walking the horses down to a lovely pond with ducks paddling about and pheasants on the far grass. It was a soul-soothing place after all they'd been through, and Fritz looked delighted.