#joan is a boy name

[oh-no-i-got-obsessed-again]

As a French person, Y E S

collecting joan of arcs like they are my little pokemon team

[sircolinmorgan]

[magpie-trove]

🗓

[heavencasteel420]

I’m also going to partially defend Jennifer as a name for gender-swapped Jonathan, on the basis that, while it was already popular in 1967, it wouldn’t be the juggernaut that it would become just a few years later. Joyce didn’t have the internet and probably didn’t have a baby name book or even a wide social circle, so she probably wouldn’t realize that it was even that popular (#10 that year for girls). I read an article a while back that looked at the Jennifer explosion, and it said that initially parents thought of it as smart and romantic and a little unusual. My main reservation about Jennifer is that that would be at least a few Jennifers at Hawkins High, and I genuinely believe that it would dull her notoriety if every time someone talked about her they had to be like, “No, I’m talking about weird Jennifer. Jennifer Byers. Not glasses Jennifer. Yeah, glasses Jennifer is kind of weird, too, but…”

[wimbledon2008]

okay yes obviously this is rmcf we'll have eight more of these before the season starts but more importantly who the fuck is this they???

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

Can I request a fluffy Eddie × Chrissy long fic where it's Christmas and they are having a great time at their home and opening presents and just when Eddie thinks that they have finished opening presents, Chrissy says that there is one more for him and that she has to go get it. Chrissy leaves the room for a second and comes back with a wrapped box and Eddie looks at her confused and asks her what it is and she tells him he's going to have to open it and see. Eddie notices that she seems nervous and slowly opens it and when he does, inside is a positive pregnancy test and a sonagram picture and a little onesie is inside that says Daddy’s Little Rockstar ❤️on it?

"Ta-Da! I present to you the famous Munson Family Christmas Tree Pancakes! Now, with extra sprinkles and syrup!" Eddie sat the plate of sugar in front of his fiancé with a grin, joining her on the couch in front of their small Christmas tree. It was still dark out despite being almost eight am.

"Ugh, babe, it's too early for this much sugar." Chrissy giggled as she looked over the red and green gooey mess Eddie laid before her. "Are your famous pancakes always this sweet?"

"Yep. Just the way you are." Eddie placed a quick kiss on Chrissy's cheek as he said this. "Wayne used to make these for me every Christmas morning when I was little. At first, I think he just did it to cheer me up when dad went back to prison. But then it became a tradition. And I will be extremely offended if you don't eat my foody embodiment of love." With the roll of her eyes, Chrissy grabbed the fork Eddie was holding out and scooped some of the pancake in her mouth. She paused, slowly taking another bite before letting out a pleased noise.

"Not bad. Although, I think I feel a new cavity forming. Think you used enough sugar?"

"You can never use too much sugar on Christmas." Eddie replied as his leg bounced excitedly. He kept sending side glances to the small pile of gifts under the tree less than a foot away. She didn't have to be psychic to know what he wanted as she quickly set her plate aside and pulled out a gift wrapped in light gray paper.

"Ready to open presents?"

"Yes!"

Her brother and Wayne wouldn't be over for another two hours. There was a reasonable chance that Eddie could explode from excitement if they didn't start now. Chrissy barely contained a laugh as Eddie attempted not to look too giddy when he accepted the gift from her. It didn't work as, much like a piranha to meat, her fiancé tore at the paper with excitement. Opening the cardboard box, Eddie frowned when he was greeted by a slightly smaller cardboard box inside.

"Ugh...what...?"

"Go on! Open it!" Chrissy giggled as Eddie pulled out the tiny box. He stared at it for a moment before pulling the top off the pink box. The former cheerleader watched as a look of shock crossed her fiancé's face. He turned to the blonde, mouth agape.

"You're...?"

"Mmm-hmm! Go on, there's something else!" Chrissy nodded happily. The shock disappeared from Eddie's face and was quickly replaced by excitement. He pulled out the sonogram of their now three month old baby to reveal a black and red onesie underneath. It read ''Daddy's Little Rockstar.''

"Oh my God..." Eddie rarely cried, but the look of overwhelming joy that crossed his face made it almost impossible for the man to bite back his tears.

"So...do you like it?" Chrissy asked with a small smile. Eddie responded with the shake of his head as he leaned over and wrapped her in a hug. The man buried his face in her shoulder as he finally managed to speak.

"It's perfect," he whispered into Chrissy's hair. She leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of Eddie's forehead.

"Just like you." Chrissy replied as she felt Eddie grab her hands. "Merry Christmas, Eddie."

[transholmes]

See this is one of those occasions where I vehemently disagree with the general fandom take.

Imo you put the various Holmeses together and there might be a few biting remarks here and there but they'd quickly settle down in small groups depending on preferences and personalities, but would by and large get on. Though they may have to put in some effort to make sure ACD!Holmes and Richie!Holmes don't blow something up. Out of sheer curiosity mind, not malice.

The Watsons otoh might not get into an actual physical fight but you would be able to cut through the judgey tension with a knife.

i think its hilarious that the fandom has pretty much agreed that if all the versions of holmes met each other, there'd be a MAJOR falling out. but if all the watson's met each other, it'd be a decent, civilized conversation, probably drink some brandy, smoke a cigar, tell war stories, have a jolly good time, etc. i just think the mental image is hilarious

[lampp0start]

Some designs and misc stuff from my satbk bible au!

My boy just wanted a little snack.

Lancelot got that dawg in him. This is phase 1 of 2... This is the one that Arthur can actually fit in bed if you know what I mean. He's pretty big, like twice his normal size.

Arthurlot fankid! She is named after Joan of Arc. Yes Lance gives birth to her, no I will not elaborate yet. She will be getting armor and clothes designed eventually.

Arondight concept sketches, I need to make a clean ref for it.

I have a bunch of sketches and WIPs right now. The top three I will be finishing so they are cropped, you will see them in future posts.

And these are the sneak peeks of sketches for the rest of the three horsemen, Zavok, Metal, and Infinite. It will be quite some time til they are done.

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐DANCE WITH ME

summary — matt can't see the way you dance to your old vinyls, but he can imagine it. he doesn't have to this time when you invite him to dance with you

pairings — matt murdock x oldsoul!reader (established relationship)

pronouns — none

word count — 1439

note — i have a million and one matt murdock ideas half written, but this one is a bit self indulgent :)

LIVING WITH YOU MEANT there was never a complete moment of silence.

not because you were loud, but because you always had your record player spinning. from bob dylan and joan baez to the beach boys to fleetwood mac, the air was never dull. matt could feel the change in the air better than anyone — the mood seemed to lift, your high spirits mixing with the pleasant sounds of calamity, successful in pulling him out of his head and into the moment with you instead.

he'd felt the extensive amount of vinyls you had, he'd bought the shelf for you to store them all on when you moved in after all. the smell of old dust that was impossible to scrub away made it so much more you. he liked that his apartment didn't linger with the scent of antiseptic or bandages, or even that metallic tang of blood on his tongue when he took a breath. matt murdock never thought he could like the subtle texture of dust so much, but he welcomed it with open arms and an open heart.

every day he wished he could see you dance the way he could hear you — the subtle shifts in the air leaving him with just enough description to hang onto, but never enough to satiate.

MATT could hear the music before he heard you, as always. the second he entered the apartment complex, he could usually tell what you were up to based on what you were listening to. tonight it was a record he hadn't heard before, no doubt one of the few he hadn't been around to hear spin on the turntable. he was almost sure he'd heard every single one by now.

the music was louder by the time he got to the door, not loud enough to be heard through the door by the average person, but just loud enough for only him to have a small smile pulling across his lips at the thought of you.

opening the door, he set his cane by the door and removed his jacket. he softly called out your name, "i'm home," he turned the corner, setting himself in the direction of where he could hear you in the kitchen.

with a smile, your humming fell short, dropping the wooden spoon in your hand down onto the counter. "how was work?" you asked him, making your way over to him. he wrapped you up into a warm hug before you got the chance to do so first.

"spent most of the day researching," he answered, raking his fingers through the ends of your hair. "how was your day off, hm?"

you were so comfortable you almost forgot to answer. "good! i cleaned the place up a bit for us . . . bought some more bandages for you," he could almost taste the edge of sadness in your voice, maybe even something bordering the same bitterness a lemon tasted of. he knew you hated fixing him up purely because that meant he got hurt in the first place. your disdain stemmed from all the years you spent growing up listening to anti-war bob dylan, he knew that. you would never turn him away, however. "now i'm making dinner."

matt didn't have to ask what it was — the herbs and spices you had open was a telltale sign you were making that family recipe pasta sauce while the tagliatelle boiled.

you pulled away first, a small skip in your step as you made your way back over to give the pasta a stir in the pot, a gentle ripple of movement a dance across your shoulders, every step in time with the beat.

there was no reason for him to be able to see you to be mesmerised by you. "which one is this?" he asked, turning to face the direction of the music, feeling around for the vinyl's cover on the table beside the record player. it was smooth with a rough edge, much like all the others you had, each weathered with age from the people who owned them before you.

"some of dinah washington's best songs," you answered mindlessly, a warmth flourishing in your cheeks from talking about it. you enjoyed talking about this with anyone, more so matt than anything, much more than you cared to admit. "it was a few bucks in a second hand store, i couldn't resist." it was a few days ago now, and it had taken as long for you to gain the courage to listen to it. you liked what you knew, and it always took longer for you to open up to the idea of something new — only now were you regretting that ( once again ) because dinah's old jazz music was heavenly to your ears.

you moved away from the stovetop once more, the sauce simmering while the pasta boiled, not needing to be touched at all now until the timer went off. matt's head tilted ever so slightly as he followed the soft sound of your socked footsteps, each one closer than the last.

your hands slipped into his, gently pulling him away from the record player and out into the open space between the lounge room and the kitchen. "come dance with me."

he'd never danced with you before, though you had asked almost every single time. he didn't like to dance apparently, but still had the audacity to try and get you to explain the movements to him. dancing wasn't really something you could just explain ( though you were sure he could picture roughly enough with all those senses ) and so you left it. now was your chance if he said yes.

a quiet sound of protest escaped his throat as he had no choice but to follow your direction. "no," he shook his head, his hands loose in yours. still, he wasn't pulling away. "i can't dance, come on . . ."

you just shrugged, shifting only slightly from foot to foot, following the jazzy rhythm. "you just gotta move with the music," you explained. "feel it. i know you can do that . . . i'll guide you."

matt supposed it couldn't hurt just this once. he was stiff, trying to seem completely uninterested as your movements became more fluid, moving his hands for him and hoping it would be enough to encourage him to try it on his own. he refused to let go of your hands.

a few moments of silence as the current song ended drew heavy, and you frowned, unfamiliar with the record. you were letting go of matt's hands in defeat knowing that there would be no use trying to get him to dance now that the moment had passed, but he surprised you by squeezing your hands. he refused to let go. your frown disappeared.

the next song kicked up to fill the void, this one slower than the previous. you were surprised when you looked down to see matt's feet shift, albeit awkwardly. you laughed, a sound that sat beautifully on his ears, showcasing a happiness he had only ever seen in you. "okay, work with me here," you warned, and before he could try and work out what you were doing, you had lifted one set of your connected hands as high as you could.

piecing it together, he held his tongue and spun slowly until he was facing your direction once again. who was he to deny you of your excitement? "gorgeous twirl, my love," you giggled, pulling him close. you wrapped your arms around his neck, and his hands naturally gravitated to sit on your hips.

"never again," he shook his head, but he couldn't help the laugh that tumbled out of him, tangling in with your own. "now this . . ." he trailed off, his head dropping down to rest in the crook of your neck. you kept your mouth shut as you swayed slowly in a soft slow dance, not wanting to spook him now that he was actively participating like he was some kind of small animal. "this i can do."

with his approval on slow dancing — which you couldn't believe had taken this long to find a style of dance he was willing to participate in — keeping you comfortably melting into him, you sighed softly, homely, enjoying every moment in his presence. "this is perfect," you agreed, all in all glad that you could spend such a loving moment with him.

it would only last until the end of the song when you had to check on the pasta, but it was enough, and now you knew exactly how to coax him into dancing with you next time.

[gatheringbones]

[“It was only after I came out as a dyke that, for the first time in my life, I felt ready to celebrate being a girl, and I did. Actually, I overdid. Armed with Esther Newton’s Mother Camp, Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble, and Joan Nestle’s A Restricted Country, I embraced femme. I dressed up in short flowery dresses, pushup bras, satin panties, and lacy stockings. I paid great attention to my long, curly, perfectly-coiffed hair, my glamorous makeup, and especially my pouty lips. I spritzed Lola’s smell on my skin—Estee Lauder’s Private Collection—and painted my nails. I wore all of it with black combat boots and a brilliant sense of irony. I reveled in my girliness, went over the top, learned how to tweeze my eyebrows and line my lips with a lip pencil.

My gender presentation was unmistakable: blatant female sexuality. I was a proud, in-your-face, take-no-prisoners, uppity, don’t-assume-I’m-straight-because-I-wear-lipstick-and-dresses femme dyke. Because femmes are always assumed to be straight or sleeping with men, and I do sleep with men, I made sure to always have a butch on my arm so I’d be read as femme. Even though I was sure I’d be mistaken for straight, the boys took one look at me and steered clear. It was as if I was too much of a woman for them to handle, like I was a handful, and I was. But butch girls love a handful—a handful of tits, a handful of ass, a girl who needs to be handled, a girl who can handle herself.

How I figured out I was a femme had a lot to do with the women I was attracted to and the dynamic between us. When I was in junior high, I used to mess around with a friend of mine named Angela. Angela was one of those girls who developed early; I remember she had big breasts in like sixth grade. We mostly kissed and touched over clothes, and we played out various boy-girl scenarios. I was always the girl—my early femme roots. My favorite of all our little scenes was the one where she was my male boss and I was the secretary. The boss made me have sex with him and told me if I didn’t I would get fired. Now this was all before Clarence Thomas, Anita Hill and the media awareness/obsession with sexual harassment. I remember she’d tell me to suck her dick and push my face unmercifully into her crotch, which smelled amazing,. The drama of it all—the force, the degradation, the power games—really got me off. After that, there was no going back to simplicity. I was hooked on the power.

Jen really epitomized all the girls I was attracted to then and still am. Being with a butch girl, I was valued for my combination of strength and vulnerability, for dressing up, for wanting an arm to hold onto, hips to wrap my legs around, being able to give my body over to her and say, I trust you, I’m yours. My butch loved me in low-cut dresses, appreciated my sexual voraciousness, worshipped my inner slut. I reveled in the fact that I could be strong and submissive all at once. Surrender and still be a feminist. Being a dyke is not just about who I fuck and love, it’s about being a girl who doesn’t play by the rules.

Butch girls don’t play by the rules either, and I love butch girls. Girls with hair so short you can barely slide it between two fingers to hold on. Girls with slick, shiny, barbershop haircuts and shirts that button the other way. Girls that swagger. Girls who have dicks made of flesh and silicone and latex and magic. Girls who get stared at in the ladies room, girls who shop in the boy’s department, girls who live every moment looking like they weren’t supposed to. Girls with hands that touch me like they have been touching my body their entire lives. Girls who have big cocks, love blow-jobs, and like to fuck girls hard. Every day, it is the girls that get called Sir that make me catch my breath, the girls with strong jaws that buckle my knees, the girls who are a different gender that make me want to lie down for them.

Someone else said it about me recently and it’s right on target: “She gets off on all different sorts of people sexually, but she falls for butches.” Like the poet who bought her first strap-on with me and then wanted to sleep with it on. The shrink-in-training who got harassed every time she drove down South. She did look so much like a fifteen-year-old boy: blue button-down shirts, neatly-combed blond hair. The ad exec who had names for her dildos and used to love for me to spit-shine her wingtips. The photographer whose face was so mannish she could pass almost anywhere. The writer who wanted a body like Loren Cameron’s. The telephone repairwoman who drove a truck. The cook who had a boy’s name. The academic who got cruised by gay men on Castro Street. The cornfed farmboy from the Heartland with arms so hard and strong you swear they’ve been working the land, not the iron at the gym.

And there’s the one who’s got the James Dean stare down, and dresses like a clean-cut fag, and looks at me like she could look at me forever and never blink or grow tired or move from the spot she’s in. She’s a girl who loves girls like me—girls in velvet bras, girls who want to surrender to her mouth. She’s a girl who isn’t afraid to throw a femme down on the bed and fuck her. Possess her. My kind of girl. This girl is different.”]

tristan taormino, from this girl is different, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[pixelnrd]

Now that they were in Henford, Mac needed to figure out where to search next. They could feel the trail going cold for the first time, unsure of where Margot and Alexandre had come from before their marriages - but they had noted Margot's maiden name, 'Brown'.

Perusing the war memorial situated in the center of town felt like the first clue. They couldn't find anyone by the surname of Dreyfus - but for Brown, there were a few: Bernard, Cecil and Douglas.

Burying themselves in miliary records online, Mac came across the service records for each of the young men listed on the statue. Bernard and Brown - both killed in battle in 1942. Could either of them have been Margot's father, killed when she was young, leaving her a fatherless child?

Then there was Douglas Brown - respected military officer, with marriage records to Joan Eastman. Could this have been Margot's father? Mac felt like they could never know which of the three brothers it was. It was frustrating to have come this far.

The best they could find, however, was a listed address for the deceased boys Bernard and Cecil. A farm, situated in the township of Henford. Mac decided to pursue the address. It was the only clue they had. Maybe they could find out more about where these young men came from.

Mac walked up the long driveway to the beautiful old farmhouse sitting atop the hill. It had clearly been lovingly taken care of for many years by someone. They knocked on the door nervously, hoping that the owner would be amicable.

The man who opened the door was an elderly but friendly farmer, who invited Mac inside almost immediately when they told him of their quest to discover their family history. The inside of the farmhouse was tastefully curated and had been clearly well-preserved.

'This is my kid,' said the farmer, as they walked into the house. Mac was greeted by a person of similar age to them. 'They're home for the holidays to help their old man.'

'Hi, I'm Hugo,' they smiled. Mac smiled back. 'So, are you both part of the Brown family?' they asked.

'Oh no...' said Hugo. 'Our family name is Stratford. I don't actually think we know anyone by Brown at all.'

'Actually...' interjected Hugo's father. 'Perhaps there could be some history worth considering.' He went to a drawer and pulled out a pile of old papers. 'This farm has been in my family for many generations now. But the last time it was sold was in 1946. Maybe these deeds for sale will have what you're finding?'

Mac looked at the dusty yellow papers, reading through the fine handwriting, and gleaned some hope for what they were looking for. There, in the transaction sale for the land, was the name of the previous owner: Theodore Brown.

It was something. A name to go on for next - this Theodore Brown, owner of the farm, father of three sons, only one of whom survived. Their next clue!

[ladykailitha]

The Au Pair Boy Part 1

Surprise!!! I have six chapters of this and really need to start getting it out, so I figured with Act 1 ending last week and my backlog on this and Of Butterflies and Backstrokes (Olympic Swimmer) being so low thanks to me trying to the Halloween themed sequel to Icarus (Metal Band) that I would put this out until I build that back up and lower the amount of backlog this one has.

Summary: Eddie Munson is a in bind, set to go on a three month reunion tour, he is in need of nanny for his twin girls Janice and Joan since his partner, Ethan blew up their lives a year ago. Enter nanny extraordinaire, Steve Harrington. Both men struggle with treading the line between boss/nanny and their strong attraction to each other. Will Eddie learn to trust again? Will Steve realize that he was always meant to be right there by Eddie's side?

~

Eddie hung up the phone with a sigh. He wanted to do the tour, because of course he did. But he also had two very rambunctious little girls now. Eddie was a good dad, but he wasn’t the nurturing kind the way Ethan was. But sometime in the last year, Ethan had changed.

He had grown distant and cold, going as far as yelling at the girls which he never used to do. So Eddie quit producing music to give Ethan some much needed time for himself. Fat lot of good that did.

Because apparently Ethan was banging...well, just about everyone but Eddie’s friends. The pool boy, the guy who delivered their food, the cleaning lady, their personal trainer, hell even the barely legal dog walker got more of his husband’s dick than Eddie did.

Which he didn’t find out, by the way. Ethan had told him after handing him divorce papers and legally renouncing parental rights to Joan and Janice. He threw it in Eddie’s face the numerous affairs he had. The one thing he wouldn’t tell him was why.

Why was Ethan so unhappy when Eddie had done everything right?

He buried his head in hands. Janice and Joan were only four and they had been adopted at birth. They never met the mother and were only told that she didn’t want them and never wanted to see them ever again.

So how could Ethan look at those two little angels and decide the same?

Eddie was heartbroken and not ready to move on. So he had agreed to the tour as a way to cope with the sudden explosion of his life. His friends knew Ethan had left, but they didn’t know the extent of his ex’s destruction.

He thought about taking the girls with him, but they were too little. They wouldn’t have fun and would be more terrified then thrilled. So live-in nanny it was.

Thankfully he had a month to find someone who would cook and clean and watch the girls. Especially after having to fire all of his help in the wake of Ethan’s destruction.

He had this.

~

Eddie did not in fact have this. He only had three more days until he left and he was at his wit’s end. He had rejected candidate after candidate for a myriad of reasons. One only wanted part-time despite the ad before a live in nanny. Another said she was strict disciplinarian and thought spanking was the only way to teach a child. And even another just gave off weird vibes.

So he called the agency one more time.

“You’ve gone through all of our female nannies,” the woman huffed on the other end of the line. “We only have male nannies left, surly you don’t–”

“Just send the best male nanny you’ve got!” Eddie barked. “I don’t care about gender for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m not sure–” the woman protested but Eddie hung up on her.

He didn’t have time to listen to whatever excuse she was going to come up with. He was running out of time before the tour and needed someone. Anyone.

He got a call back five minutes later from another woman telling him that they would be sending over their best male nanny at 2pm if that was acceptable.

He sighed with relief. “Yes, that will be perfect. The girls will be down for their nap then.”

“That’s wonderful, Mr. Munson,” she said cheerfully. “The gentleman we are sending over, his name is Steve Harrington, and I sincerely hope he will be a good fit for you.”

“You and me both,” Eddie sighed again. “You and me both.”

~

When Steve got to the house, he would have liked to have said that he wasn’t impressed because he had seen dozens of large houses and even larger sprawling mansions in his time as a full time nanny, but he was. Very much so.

It wasn’t a gaudy modern monstrosity for starters. It liked a Victorian era manor that had been modernized for living in today. It gave off a spooky vibe, but in a fun way and not a horror movie way. Like the Addams family or the Munsters kind of vibe.

He really dug it.

He went up and knocked on the door. It swung open almost immediately to reveal a pretty, petite woman with sparkling green eyes and strawberry blonde hair. She had a sweet smile.

He knew this wasn’t the mother, the file said that it was a single father of twin girls. A rockstar of some sort, though Steve didn’t recognize the name. This must be some kind of servant or PA or something.

“Hi, I’m Steven Harrington,” he greeted putting out his hand for her to shake. “I have a two o’clock appointment with Eddie Munson about the nanny position.”

Her smile widened, dimpling her cheeks. “Hi, I’m Chrissy Cunningham, I’m Corroded Coffin’s manager. Come on in, he’s waiting for you.”

Steve followed her through the house. It was just as impressive as the outside. It was beautifully decorated in dark browns, reds, and black. God, he hoped he got the job. He could really see himself living here.

She opened the door to the office allowed him to walk through, closing it behind him. Which normally wouldn’t have been a problem for Steve but now he was in a room with the hottest guy he had ever seen in his life and he really didn’t need an erection at a job interview.

Eddie looked up, and yup. Steve was done for. He had the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen outside of a Disney cartoon.

“Mr. Munson?” he said, reaching out for a handshake, mustering up every ounce of professionalism he had. “Steven Harrington, how do you do? You can call me Steve.”

Eddie grinned back. “Hey, Steve. Thanks for coming at such a short notice. I understand you’ve been brought up to speed on everything I’ll be needed you to do?”

Steve crossed his legs and put his hands on his lap. Shit, even his voice was sexy as fuck.

“Yes, I’ll be watching the children twenty-four/seven,” Steve recited dutifully, “with doing all of the cooking and some of the cleaning.”

“That’s right,” Eddie said. “That normally wouldn’t be the case, but I’ve had to recently fire all of my staff. In fact, if you are hired on, you’ll be working with Chrissy over the next couple of months to help bring staff back on. I would be putting a lot of trust in you not to fuck me over.”

Steve nodded. It was a bit like Robin’s period dramas. He would be running the household while Eddie was away.

“Wouldn’t Chrissy be needed on tour with you?” he asked, not sure what her role actually was.

Eddie shook his head. “She usually does, but I need her here to help to get this house running again. It was hard enough trying to explain to the girls why everyone had to leave. Especially their other dad. She just has her own place and a very demanding job. And the other people I trust with my kids are going on tour with me, so...”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Steve said huffing out a chuckle. “I’m willing and able to take the job. There is just one more thing we have to do first.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “I don’t think I offered you the job yet.”

Steve burst out laughing. “No, I don’t suppose you did. But you really should. I’m really good with kids, I’m great cook, my references are impeccable, I have a degree in early child development, and you’re desperately out of time.”

“I noticed that all your previous families had older kids,” Eddie said picking up Steve’s resume. “Can you explain that?”

“Yes,” Steve said with a sigh. “Unfortunately, despite being practically perfect in every way,” Eddie huffed out a small laugh, “if I was a woman I would be the most sought after nanny in the whole god damned state. Even more so if I was older fifty. But because I’m a young man not even thirty yet and all they see is a predator.”

Eddie winced. He held up a finger. He picked up his phone and called the agency. “Hello? Hi Nancy, this is Eddie Munson. Yes, I will be taking Steve Harrington on as my nanny. Thank you so much for sending him over. Can you tell me who it was the first person I spoke to this morning? Yes, yes that’s the one. Kindly inform her that pushing harmful stereotypes only makes you look stupid. Mhmm. Yes. Yes. I want her fired. Thank you. Goodbye.”

Steve looked at him in awe. “Oh wow.”

Eddie grinned at him but before he could open his mouth to say something more, Chrissy poked her head in. “Sorry to disturb you but guess who woke up?”

“Janice?” Eddie replied with a fond smile.

“And guess who woke up her sister because she wanted someone to play with?” Chrissy said.

“Also Janice.” He sighed and turned to Steve. “You want to meet my little monsters?”

Steve smiled and stood up. “That was the one thing I was going to suggest we do before you hire me, is meet the girls. But having met their dad, I can already tell they’re going to be a handful.”

“Hey!” Eddie protested. But Chrissy laughed.

“Come on,” he said grumpily, “let’s go see the munchkins.”

Chrissy opened the door all of the way and Eddie and Steve followed her out. They reached the kitchen and there seating at a table were two of the cutest kids Steve had ever worked for. They both had light, curly brown hair and deep brown eyes, but that was where their similarities ended.

The one of the right had her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail with a denim overalls over a pink shirt. The overalls had a cute pink kangaroo on the pocket on the front. The girl on the left had her hair carefully braided and wore light blue shirt and a black pleated skirt. They were both munching on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

“Meet Janice and Joan,” Eddie said brightly. “Janice is the one on the right and the other is Joan. Janice is the oldest by seven minutes and she never lets Joan forget it.”

Joan stuck her tongue out at her dad around her sandwich and then went back to munching on it. Janice looked over at Steve and cocked her head to the side.

“Who’s that, Daddy?” she asked. And suddenly Steve was struck by how much the little girl acted like her dad.

“Girls,” Eddie said sternly, “do you remember when I said that Daddy was going to be gone for three months and you were going to be looked after by a new friend?”

Joan scrunched her nose and Steve was endeared. “Is he like one of those nannies that were so mean to us?”

“No, of course not, Joanie,” Eddie said, “not a nanny...” He looked to Steve for help.

“I’m what’s called an au pair,” he said brightly. “I’m here to watch over you and do a little of the cooking and cleaning, too. A nanny wouldn’t do that right?”

Joan and Janice shared a glance. And Steve was struck for the first time that they were really were twins. They acted so differently that he had already put them in separate boxes. But they moved in unison as they both shrugged.

“I guess not,” Janice huffed. “Are you going to be fun like Chrissy or strict like Daddy?”

The adults laughed as Steve walked over to the table. “My hope is to be somewhere in the middle. But I guess we’ll just have to see.”

He turned to Eddie and Chrissy. “If it’s all right, I’d like to get started now, give the girls time to get use to my presence while you’re still here, Eddie. That way we can smooth out any real problems before you go.”

Chrissy and Eddie shared a glance.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, “that’ll be fine. Great even. I’ll give you a couple of hours to get your things and come back here. Would you be okay making us dinner?”

Steve beamed at him. “Sure, give me an idea of what you guys like and I’ll find something to make you. Let’s consider it part of the interview.”

Eddie smiled back. “Well I think you have yourself a deal.”

Steve and Eddie shook hands.

This was either going to the best decision of Eddie’s life or his worst. Currently the jury and his brain were still out on that one.

~

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[pattisl0ver]

Joan Ramsey x fem! Reader~

~Enchanted~ Pt.2

A/N- Y’all I am so tired it’s not funny, so this is probably absolute crap, but the voices wouldn’t let me sleep without writing another chapter. Hopefully my writing improves by the next chapter, also, please let me know if you want to see some NSFW in this fic eventually. Obviously this will be a pretty slow burn, but I think I’d like to perhaps have a little spice further down the track.

Enjoy~

The garden outside of the academy had improved immensely since you had started to care for it. Your magick tending to the plants with care. You had noticed the woman next door was still examining your movements. You would catch the woman at her living room window, barely peeking out of the curtains, watching as you tended to the garden. You didn’t want to frighten her away and so you stayed back, letting her watch from afar for around another week before approaching her again.

“Ma’am?.. Do you need a hand at all?” You approach the fence separating the two properties. Your voice was soft, yet loud enough for her to hear and shake her head softly. The woman was picking weeds out of her front yard, though there was hardly any, as she stayed on top of them.

“No thank you. I am quite alright.” She eyed you up and down, taking in your outfit today, some brown slacks and a white blouse. Sensible, she thought.

You nod softly in return, but walk closer to the fence as you speak… “Say, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

The woman blinked and stood up straight, you were right, she had been judging you from afar and yet she hardly even knew you, and you, her, not even her name. “Joan. Joan Ramsey.” She smiled weakly, it was faint, but it still felt like a win in your books.

“Joan…” You tested the name, it felt nice to say… it suited her, beautiful, and yet strong in a way. Leaning on the fence, you tilt your head softly. “Joan, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I apologise for the fact that you felt as though I was coming onto your son, I assure you that was not my intention.”

She eyed you skeptically. “Alright. Your apology is… accepted. But I would still like you to stay away from my boy.” Her voice was stern and yet her tone was not harsh, she was just protective.

“Yes ma’am.” The thought of proving yourself to her flickered again in your mind, your eyes scanning her, searching for something to perhaps help you get closer to her… and there it was, a cross necklace. “You’re catholic?”

She glanced down at her cross necklace and grasped it softly, nodding as she thumbed the gold. “Yes, I am. And you? Not a Satanist I hope.” She takes a half a step back as she awaits your answer. ‘What a silly woman,’ you thought.

You chuckle softly and shake your head. “No Joan, I am not a Satanist. In fact, I’m also catholic, well, I was baptised catholic as a child, however I have to admit I haven’t been to church in years..” Then the idea struck you. “Perhaps, I could join you for a mass?”

Joan’s eyes widened in surprise, and her lips curled into a slight smile. “I- I suppose I could bring you along to my mass this Sunday.”

You had her, this was it, this was how you would get close to her. You nodded. “I’d like that very much Joan.” And so it was.

You met her Sunday morning down at the Church, in a neat, floral dress, wanting to appear your best for her standards. She hummed in approval as she saw you, and led you to her usual spot in the pew chairs. “Come Y/N..” her voice was silky, her hand reaching out not to take yours, but simply to guide you. Taking a seat beside her, you sat closer than what was necessary, to be honest you weren’t sure what you were doing. This woman was obviously straight, right..? And much older than you. Though, to be honest is that really a flaw?

A little while into the sermon, you shifted slightly on the wooden seat, your hand resting in your lap. Your eyes flickered to Joan’s hands, elegantly placed over each other, her nails manicured to perfection. Out of instinct and a rush of boldness, your pinky reached out to brush the edge of her dress. Her eyes glanced down at the movement, she frowned slightly but brushed it off. You knew you should’ve stopped there, god, what the hell were you doing? This is wrong on so many levels, and yet it feels so right… With one sharp breath you move your hand to lie atop of hers, not daring to move it, just letting it rest there, the weight barely relaxing. Joan met your eyes for a split second, her breath hitching. She cleared her throat, and then turned her attention back to the priest. However, she didn’t pull away… and so neither did you. Was this flirting? Was this a friendly gesture? Who knows… You sat there, hand resting over hers, as the sermon continued, part of you praying that it never ends.

Once the mass is over, Joan stands up along with the crowd, her hand slipping out from beneath yours, leading you to filter out of the church. She doesn’t meet your eyes, she doesn’t speak. All the while your mind races. ‘What does this mean?’ ‘Why did I do that?’ Thoughts spiral in your head, clouding reality. You hardly even notice as she says goodbye, leaving you alone again, confused and wanting more as always with her. Who is Joan, and what on earth is she doing to you? Did you hate her, did you want to be her friend, or did you want to love her?… All you knew was that you needed to find out.

[zahri-melitor]

In terms of trying to transplant how Dick’s generation grew up to independent adult heroes onto Tim’s generation, one of the significant issues is that the two groups have very different backstories.

The Fab Five and their generation were largely cared for children with present guardians during their teen years. Their ‘growing up’ rebellion moments were about wanting to establish their own identities separate to their parent/guardian. Then once NTT occurred and new young adult characters were added to it, you had a bunch who were escaping overbearing guardians with expectations the young adult didn’t want to fulfil, and leaving trauma behind.

The Core Four and other 90s heroes, in contrast, were mostly latchkey kids. They had loving but absent parents and parental figures. They were largely expected to grow up and show they were independent in their early teens. The arcs of their stories were not about growing up and finding themselves and ‘be your own person’, but about learning to trust others and interdependency and working together.

Like the shape of a Fab Five story is ‘in my preteens or earlier a Disaster Happened and I was taken in by a hero who cared for me and taught me the business as their sidekick. Then around 18-20 I moved out to live in a sharehouse with my friends as I wanted to find who I was outside of the shadow of being a sidekick’.

While…Tim’s generation largely aren’t sidekicks in the same sense. The shape of THEIR stories are of ‘teenager with largely absent adults is expected to grow up and show emotional maturity too early’. It’s actually notable that Tim, Kon and Bart all have long term story arcs that involve gaining a stable household right near the end.

Kon’s entire solo is the story of how he is neglected and exploited by every adult around him. He doesn’t have parents. He’s Peter Pan, the little boy who cannot grow up, who lives without parental expectation. He’s a celebrity kid exploited by Rex Leech and by CADMUS, who’s expected by those around him to act in an adult manner and held to that standard while simultaneously specifically being underage and not having the right to make his own decisions. His final arc in Superboy is about being so abandoned he doesn’t even have CADMUS to depend on anymore so he has to find an apartment and a job (the building superintendent) and is expected to act and function like an adult in that position. Superboy #59 (FIFTY NINE) is when Kon finally gets his own name. Superboy #100 is ABOUT Kon moving in with Jonathan and Martha Kent and finally having a stable home environment where he can be a child. Heck Kon’s already had a story where he’s ‘married’ and responsible for a kid. He��s had solo space adventures.

Bart’s solo is about Bart and Max learning to be a family together, but also: Bart’s childhood didn’t contain parents. Meloni turns up occasionally through his solo and loves him but also has to disappear away back to the 30th century at the end of each appearance. The final arc of Bart’s solo is about him moving in with Jay and Joan Garrick for more stability, because Max has disappeared (and stays disappeared). And then, post his solo, Bart even already has HAD an arc where he had to grow up and assume the Flash mantle (which went horribly wrong and led to his death).

Tim? Tim’s entire solo is about upheaval and change. The first time he’s expected to behave as an independent hero, not a sidekick, is literally Robin #1 when Azbats kicks him out of the Cave. Jack threatens to send him away to boarding school on multiple occasions and DOES for the Brentwood arc. He loses Jack, he loses Dana, he moves out to be a hero caring for his own city at 16, in Bludhaven post War Games. Bruce’s adoption of Tim was all about giving him back that sense of stability and support so that Tim had people backing him up again in his personal life and not only as a hero. And then he does the ‘leave and get a new identity’ thing during Red Robin.

And Cassie? Cassie starts with a loving mother and her story arc over becoming a hero is about periods of operating on her own. She moves away from her mum to go to Elias School. Due to operating as a hero under her own name she eventually has to come up with the alias of Drusilla Priam to give herself a non-public identity to retreat to (and isn’t living with Helena Sandsmark but renting on her own during this period to protect Helena).

This is a set of characters for whom it makes no narrative sense to tell a story of them growing up by ‘moving out and finding their own identity as separate heroes’ because their entire PAST is about being alone and looking for connections and people to rely upon. They haven’t been looking for their mentors to accept them as independent adults, they’ve been looking to their mentors to be present and work with them.

They have already all BEEN through the steps of moving out (while underage) and learning to look after themselves as nobody else was there to support them. Growing up for them is about learning to trust and be respected for the skills they already have and trusted to know what they’re doing, rather than leaving to show they can operate independently.

And that’s a harder narrative to show, because it’s a less common growth story in our culture. But in the Core Four’s case, I’d argue a lot of the traditional signifiers of adulthood (moving out; moving away for education; taking responsibility for a city on their own; travelling for quests) are things they were already expected to do while still significantly underage, and so sending them through that plot again isn’t showing anything new to allow them growth. What they need is the adults around them to treat them as adults for the things they already can and do do.

[album-tourney]

Current Song list for the tourney, we need at minimum 8 more slots and at most 82 so keep the suggestions coming

American Pie by Don McLean

Annie's Song by John Denver

A Horse with No Name by America

Blister in the Sun by the Violent Femmes

I am a Union Woman by Bobbie McGee

Brave as a Noun by AJJ

Fast Car by Tracy Chapman

Wild World by Cat Stevens

Season of the Witch by Donovan

For What It’s Worth by Buffalo Springfield

Have you ever seen the rain by Creedence Clearwater Revival

Mrs. Robinson By Simon and Garfunkel

Kill the Boy Band by She/Her/Hers

Your Heart is a Muscle the Size Of Your fist by Ramshackle Glory

I ain't Marching Anymore by Phil Ochs

Paradise by John Prine

Strangers by Apes of the State

The Times they are a changing by Bob Dylan

Dream a Little Dream of Me by Cass Elliot

Ballad of a Wobbly by David Rovics

California Dreamin by the Mama's and the Papa's

Lyndon Johnson Told the Nation by Tom Paxton

Ohio by Neil Young

Our House by Crosby, Stills, Nash, And Young

Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell

Loose Lips by Kimya Dawson

Tear the Facists Down by Woody Guthrie

City of New Orleans by Arlo Guthrie

Ballad of Ho Chi Min by Evan MacColl

Puff the Magic Dragon by Peter Paul and Mary

Diamonds and Rust by Joan Baez

Let the Mystery Be by Iris Demont

Little Boxes by Malvina Reynolds

Solidarity Forever by Pete Seegar

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald By Gordon Lightfoot

There is Power in a Union by Billy Bragg

Curses by the Crane Wives

Rule #4 Fish in a Birdcage by Fish in a Birdcage

O Valencia by the Decemberists

House of the Rising Sun by the Animals

War isn't Murder by Jesse Welles

Ho Hey by the Lumineers

Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons

Closer to Fine by the Indigo Girls

Time in a Bottle By Jim Croce

Hurt by Johnny Cash