#like i have mALcolm for malcolm and al

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[death---dealer]

51 with caesar?

51. Slow Dancing. Song. "Wait here." Caesar told you, sauntering himself into the actual gas station itself as you were left to relish in the remnants of humanity.

The smile on your face was... Different than anything that Caesar had seen from you and it was hard to pull away. He tried to recollect moments of the past, finding it difficult to pinpoint as you were swept away by the sound of music. Not rhythmic or chanting like the banging the Colony supplied during supple ceremonies, a way to entrance delight and delectation, but... Actual... Music.

Tears bristled around the corner of your eyes as you were unable to look away from the '76' of the gas station. Malcolm and crew were able to successfully get the power back on, something Caesar knew you would not believe until you actually saw it with your own eyes, up close. Caesar was rather well versed in music, his eyes watching through the shattered window as you drifted forwards a bit, your feet pressing into the ground with every beat that was made through the dim speaker. Loud enough to be enjoyed for at least a mile wide radius. He knew what Will, Caroline and Charles enjoyed and given the time to reflect, he would choose Charles' classic music over anything else. And luckily for the King of Apes, there was a CD just for that in the abandoned gas station, along with another pile of more rock, pop and even some disco. Things he did not enjoy himself, but knew that Will and Caroline did. "Have you heard anything so beautiful before?" You whispered quietly, your eyes flashing like neon as Caesar finally emerged from the building. "I--- I haven't heard music like this in so long, I al-almost forgot what it sounded like." Your voice drew into a gasp as you hummed to the familiar tune. Clair de Lune. It was like you were sifting in a dream, your feet felt suddenly weightless as you pressed yourself against your mate, letting your forehead rest against his own for only a moment, Caesar bracing himself for a split second upon the impact you gave him before his green eyes slid shut and he accepted the form of affection without a word. There was nothing that he needed to say.

He did this for you - having stayed behind once Malcolm and the other Humans departed, finding the right CD, admittedly getting angry a few times as he tried to figure the actual device out, and then set back home to tell you and to return the next evening.

You were beautiful, he thought to himself, knowledge that was always there but was never at the forefront until he was alone with you. Instead of your usual motion to reach up and cup the sides of his face to bring him in closer, Caesar felt your arms tangle around his neck and you were suddenly flush against him, chest to chest. He could feel the rapid nature of his own heart sitting against yours as if they were playing time to the piano notes drifting around the two of you.

Mimicking your actions, Caesar hoisted you against him by positioning his arms around your waist, holding onto you by the small of your back and controlling your entire being, which you were more than willing to relinquish. The gasp you gave him at his touch made him wish the music would stop right then and there so he could just listen to you breathing instead, but as you placed your head into the crook of his neck, admiring the always present musk, conifer and river that dance from his scent alone, he digressed. "Don't suppose you know how to slow dance." You joked quietly, getting a mouth full of his fur without worry as you adjusted your head to look at the side of his face. While still intimidating and large, his features did soften just a touch at your words, feeling a slight movement of swaying.

"Raise... by Humans." He muttered, letting himself fall into your hair and take in the smell that was so familiar to him know that he occasionally took advantage of its blossoming fragrance when he was busy, "Do know..." You chuckled at that, eyes sliding shut as he rocked your bodies back in forth, nuzzling a bit further into his neck. Tears began falling from your closed eyelids, down the scape of your face and to get trapped against his fur, "Do Chimps not know how to keep rhythm?" Caesar felt a chortle hit the back of his throat, "Not very... well." "Good enough for me."

[autolabrum]

Watched A Complete Unknown.

Before I get into it, the more important review is that of my parents (with which I concur): the music's really good and that its wildly unfair to present Pete Seeger singing Wimoweh and expect the audience to not sing along. So, if you like Dylan or 60's folk music, it's at least a lot of fun.

As a movie though, it basically fails. There are two parallel histories being told: that of Bob Dylan's career progression in the 60's and how it relates to the entrenched folk elements represented by the Newport Festival and Pete Seeger, and that of the United States and the omnipresent and constant political and social turmoil. Occasionally the relation between the two narratives seems almost as if it's being seriously presented: a flash of Woody Guthrie's This machine kills fascists sticker, Sylvie Russo taking Dylan to a civil rights speech, archive footage of Dylan at the March on Washington, Alan Lomax scoffing not primarily at an electric blues band but at a white electric blues band, one of Dylan's band mates complaining that music has to change because they shot Malcolm X immediately followed by Al Grossman lecturing Pete Seeger that "there's more to sing about than just justice", the workman's band playing immediately before Dylan's final set. Beyond these vague allusions to folk as a real socio-political object though, the movie is essentially uninterested in the real world motivations of its characters. Seeger comes closest to elaborating the actual context of the music he cares about with his parable of the tablespoon brigade, but even then its couched in vagueries and gestures but for a movie with single digit lines spoken by Black characters even this falls completely flat. This really got on my nerves, to make a movie about folk music and to allude to the extremely important political context of the movement, but to not have anything at all to say about how it interacts with Dylan's relationship to music, and in doing so to basically completely omit any real motivation for why the main character is even conflicted about the two different styles outside of essentially saying that he likes the way one sounds better than the other. Impressive performances and great music unfortunately cannot make up for a character who, as advertised in the title, is even after watching the film a complete unknown.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

This is Yonatan Shimriz. He's the brother of Alon, one of the 3 Israeli hostages kidnapped by Hamas, and accidentally killed by the IDF due to mistakenly thinking they're terrorists. Yonatan also survived with his family the massacre of Oct 7. And he just had a baby boy. Life WILL win, despite those who think they have the right to take it away.

It's been announced today that Israel has hired Prof. Malcolm Shaw, a Jewish British law professor, who specializes in the field of human rights and territorial disputes, to represent it at the International Court of Justice in the Hague. He's one of 4 lawyers that will represent Israel.

If I hadn't verified this is true through several news sources, I would not have believed this scenario. Terrorists fired an RPG at an IDF helicopter in Gaza, missed it, and ended up hitting a medical clinic in kibbutz Nirim, inside Israel, though as you might imagine, it's very close to the border. This is what the clinic looks like after the hit:

Lebanon has filed a complaint with the UN Security Council, blaming Israel for killing Saleh al-Arouri on its territory. Because harboring a senior Hamas terrorist, responsible for the murders of countless Israeli civilians, is not an issue, apparently. Lebanon charges that this is the biggest escalation between it and Israel since 2006 (the Second Lebanon War). They have no issue with Lebanon violating UN resolution 1701, which put an end to that war, conditioned on Hezbollah not being present anywhere between the Litani river and Lebanon's border with Israel (of course Hezbollah has been, and has been firing rockets at Israel from this area). Then again, the UN has done nothing to enforce that part of resolution 1701, so I guess if they don't care, why should the terrorists?

After I posted yesterday that the most likely scenario for who caused the blasts in Iran that killed 84 people is ISIS, the terrorist organization did take responsibility for the terrorist attack. Guess who Iran is still blaming for the attack, and swearing revenge against? The Jewish state. This is what antisemitism looks like. Well. It's one of its many looks.

On a different note, I wanted to see what the American media said about Claudine Gay's resignation, and I was horrified to hear that it's all painted in terms of liberals vs conservatives. Here's the thing, that may be completely true, but I just don't care. Antisemitism is a real issue, and the way the resignation is talked about, it's like the safety of Jewish students is nothing. Antisemitism is just a tool, and sometimes one political camp uses it against its rival, while at other times, that happens in the opposite direction. But it's like Jews are not even a part of the conversation. IDK, maybe it's because I'm an outsider, but the way Jews don't seem to matter even when antisemitism is supposedly finally being discussed, is truly startling. I'm in the middle of an active war zone, and I'm honestly sat here, worried for Jews abroad.

After a lot of work to gather information about their fate, the last 3 Israeli men missing since Oct 7 are now defined as hostages, which brings the total number of those kidnapped to 136, including bodies, and Israelis kidnapped before the massacre (2 living men and 2 bodies). There's one more missing Israeli woman, whose fate is still to be determined. We're 3 months into this nightmare, and there are still so many question marks. Even with those defined as murdered or kidnapped at a certain point, we've seen that sometimes there's new info, which changes what we believe happened to them.

And here's an example for the latter. This is 38 years old Tamir Adar.

Until yesterday, he was believed to be held hostage in Gaza. As new information was gathered, it was determined that he had been murdered on Oct 7. Tamir is the grandson of Holocaust survivor Yafa Adar, who was herself kidnapped, and released in the hostage deal. His body is still being held by the terrorists. Yafa herself was filmed as she was being taken to Gaza, holding her head up, and not crying. In an interview she gave after her release, she said that she refused to cry, because she wanted her family to be proud of her if they saw the footage. She also said that she's still not free, because her grandson is still in Gaza. I can't imagine what Yafa and her family feel after the news about Tamir's fate. May his memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[oh2e]

A (long) Collection of TTOI Quotes

He’s as useless as a marzipan dildo

I’m going to have to mop up a hurricane of piss here

He and Hewitt are tight as arse cheeks

‘How fucked am I? On the fuckometre?’ ‘Oh 12’ ‘yeah 12’ ‘out of what?’ ‘50’ ‘oh…. mine was out of 10’

Tiny little dick the size of a bookie’s biro

There’s no time to go home I’ll pass myself on the way back in

I can only cook with what I’m given. You give me Hugh Abbot I’ll give you bangers and mash, you give me Jerry from home office then I can raise it to fucking risotto and scallops

I am king of remembering my own password

‘Shagging your way to the top is it?’ ‘Yes well I’m not Scottish so I’ve got to get in somehow’

How much shit is on the menu and what flavour is it?

‘What do you want Malcolm’ ‘Two bits of tit. Two titties.’

Come the fuck in or fuck the fuck off

“What about just firing him at a wall from a cannon?” “I know we force feed him a mixture of garlic and Dettol in cup a soup” “What about the old red hot poker up the arse?” “I’d like to nail him to a tree through the head and watch lice slowing crawl over his body eating off all the flesh”

“Has security checked this [plant]?” “For little terrorists?”

This is the problem with the public - they’re fucking horrible

Not only was it a shit idea to ruin my holiday, it was a shit idea you stole from the government to ruin my holiday

Ah that’s like smoking dead skin that is

You’re the fucking shittest James Bond ever - you’re David Fucking Niven!

You’re like a sweaty octopus trying to unhook a bra

You take the piss outta [Al] Jolson again and I will remove your iPod from its tiny nano sheath and push it up your cock! Then I’ll plug some speakers up your arse and put it onto shuffle with my fucking fist

I thought you said no one reads these except political obsessives and mad Christians in wheelchairs but loads of people read mine

“I am not the story here” “Well no you kind of are though Malcolm, they spelled your name right and everything”

Come with me before I put your nuts in a book and squeeze them so hard that they come out like pressed fucking flowers

You’re The Ben….Ben Nevis…Bentally Ill…

Tickety fuckity boo

“Anyone seen Jamie?” “Oh don’t tell me he’s gone feral cos he was fucking terrifying when you had him on the leash.”

I’d love to stay and talk to you but I’d rather have type 2 diabetes

Mr Baby New Potato Head

It sucks cock so deep the bell end is wearing your appendix as a little hat

This is an operations room so unless you want your tonsils out by keyhole surgery from this key here, piss off!

Cliff Fucking Lawton! Nice. Was the Cilit Bang man not available?

To a guy who loses it so bad he needs a sat nav to find his own nipples

I’m feeling about as up to date as a Gregorian calendar

“You couldn’t organise a bum rape in a barracks.” “Au contraire”

You’re about as secure as a hymen in a south London comprehensive

Stop fucking blinking or I will take your optic nerve and fucking strangle you with it

Hanging round like a couple of school secretaries in the summer holidays

It’s like a prostate consultant’s waiting room in here

You will be sorry you inflatable cock!

I am going to have your intestines as a skipping rope and your lungs sundried and turned into a fucking waistcoat

Or will Dan Miller pull his scalp off and use it as an oven glove?

Enough of the pleasantries let’s just oil up and get fucking

A towel rail shouldn’t take up a whole wall, that’s not a towel rail it’s a climbing frame.

I’ve got a to-do list here longer than a fucking Leonard Cohan song

More on my plate than a spinster at a wedding

The only other candidate is my left bollock with a fucking smiley face drawn on it

Feels a bit like my head’s made entirely of smoke alarms

Fuck the Is and fist the Ts

May as well ask what I think of skirting boards, I’m sure we need them but I don’t know why

“No no I didn’t say that” “Well you sort of did with your face”

Let me row back a little bit, perhaps all the way back to the boathouse

She’s not bent either in the sense of being corrupt or being gay and by the way that’s an incredibly homophobic headline you massive poof

Omnishambles, from bean to cup you fuck up

I’m on my way to wipe my arse on pictures of Nick Robinson

“And I’m not doing terribly am I?” [Malcolm looking out the opposite window] “I love the way they’ve sandblasted here. It looks so clean.”

No no, don’t get up - I’m not viagra

He’s a fucking knitted scarf, he’s a balaclava.

The only thing John Duggan is doing here is depriving a village somewhere of a twat

You write almost entirely in generic meaningless buzzwords don’t you?

I will tear your fucking skin off, I will wear it to your mother’s birthday party, I will rub your nuts up and down her leg while whistling Bohemian Fucking Rhapsody

She’s behaving like a squirrel in a pedal bin.

Or I’ll have to tear my eyelids off and scrunch them up into fucking earplugs

I’m flypaper for dickheads

I think you’re wrong Malcolm you’re like a sultana in a salad

Sorry I can’t make espresso but I’ve made this so thick and black it’ll be like drinking fucking plimsoles

Well fuck a pot noodle. Sam, prepare my horse. I ride to DoSAC

The only fucking vibe you need to worry about is the one your wife hides in her knicker drawer

See you later and remember my door is always locked

* Tintin’s sexy sister to Ollie

What I really need is to shoot you all in the back of the head FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. but I can’t because it’s illegal.

I reserve this level of anger for when I’m flying Ryanair

As about a strong defence as ‘the fertiliser in my homemade bomb was organic’!

She’s a fart in a frock and we both want her wafted out of here

She’s going to have to fall on her sword, which means that we’re going to have to stick one in the ground, trip her up onto it and get someone jump up and down on her back for ten minutes

She’s going to kick her own head in which’ll be easy because she does yoga

I’m looking for Mr Oliver Reeder? He looks a bit like a Quentin Blake illustration

“Is she fucked?” “Like Caligula’s favourite watermelon.”

Can I bring you a shot glass? And some bleach?

You can’t look a gift corpse in the mouth

“It’s over the fat lady’s singing” “No she’s not, the fat man from the go compare advert is talking”

I’ve got my cock out, it’s covered in breadcrumbs and the fucking pigeons are circling

Have I just stepped through a portal into a sausage machine because this is making mincemeat out of my head

Sit there and ogle me like a page three girl

I’m as busy as a two-twatted hooker

Now I have to step in your shoes but after you’ve shat in them

I don’t just take this fucking job home you know. I take this fucking job home, it ties me to the bed and it fucking fucks me from arsehole to breakfast then it wakes me up in the morning with a cupful of piss flung in my face then slaps me about the chops to make sure I’m awake enough to kick me in the fucking bollocks. This job has taken me in every hole in my fucking body.

Everything is fine I’m like lube at a funeral

If you pull off again I’m going to stick the meter so far down your throat you’ll be able to tell the price of your next shit

You closeted regency homosexual

It’s been a bit like renovating an old, old house. You can take out a sexist beam here, a callous window there, replace the odd homophobic roof tile, but after a while you realise […] the foundations are built on what I can only describe as a solid bed of cunts.

Shit in the couscous

[latibulater]

Please share more about your future au. Idk what specifically I am just intigued to hear about it bc god knows what the Ventures are going to do or be like in like 5/10 years time

YASSS YAY I LOVE U

Winter, 2012, Ventech tower goes crashing up and down.

Spring, 2013, Rusty, Billy, Pete, and Vatred are arrested for the whole debacle. Brock, Dean, and Hank stay at Bobbi St. Simone's ranch for a while. Malcolm is severely pissed that his arch is in jail.

Winter, 2013, Malcolm and Sheila create the legal case getting the four of them out of prison and Rusty is genuinely touched that the Monarch got him out of jail.

Spring, 2014, Rusty restarts Ventech/Venture Industries in Colorado with Billy , Pete, and new CEO Wyatt Watt having equal stakes. Billy and Pete hire assistants, Valerie Wahl and George Oon.  

Summer, 2014, Shore Leave and Al elope and open up a gay bar called The Genie.

Fall, 2014, Rusty goes back to school to finish his degree. Dean and Jared have been dating for some time at this point and Rusty does NOT like Jared anymore.

Winter, 2014, W3V Enterprises benefit drag show at Shore Leave and Al's place. Jared, Dean, Hank, Brock, Rusty, Billy, Pete, Wyatt, the assistants, and Hatred all participate. Orpheus and Twilight and Gathers all come out to watch. Hunter surprises everyone and announces her name as Jean. Dean drops out of school and gets a job at the Genie.

Spring, 2015, Dean begins to help out with the drag shows and find himself really enjoying it to the point he starts questioning things about himself. Hank officially opens HankCo. a subsidiary of Wave (he employs Dermott and Ben).

Winter, 2015 Dean transitions to Liz and she and Jared break-up amicably. Hank is nearly assassinated and gets his own personal bodyguard hired, who falls in love with Hank.

Spring, 2016, Liz starts dating Billy's lab assistant, Valerie

Winter, 2016, at an awards ceremony, Hank is caught in an explosion and suffering injuries similar to the original 6yo Rusty. Hank gets cool replacement parts instead of natural looking ones. The saboteur is Brock's Greek daughter, M.I.A., and is in a Red Room like situation.

Spring, 2017 Rusty turns 57 and is almost done his Masters and starts cloning himself to speed things up

Spring, 2018, Rusty bombs his thesis presentation because of the cloning bullshit and ends up having to re-do the entire year.

Summer, 2018, Liz and her girlfriend accidentally get pregnant.

Winter, 2018, Dr. Z dies and Johnny asks Rusty to go with him to the funeral.

Spring, 2019, Dawn Wahl is born to Liz and Valerie Wahl

Summer, 2019, Rocket Impossible is hired as Doc's assistant.

Winter, 2020, The Captain, Sally Impossible, and Action Jonny get married, as one of the first legal polyamorous weddings.

Spring, 2021, Jean Gathers passes away of natural causes, and Brock is completely depressed.

Spring, 2022, Rocket is officially a full-time hero and can't work for W3VE anymore, so Rusty ends up hiring Dermott as his lab tech.

Spring, 2023, Hank transitions to Stephanie at age 35, and Hatred croaks.

Winter, 2024, Rusty's granddaughter turns 5. Triana, Liz, and Rocket find out from a power mishap about the truth of Rusty's first death

Summer, 2026, Jefferson and Orpheus get married. Liz becomes a published author having written about a fictionalized version of her family's life

Winter, 2027, Brock and Rusty get engaged at Malcolm and Sheila's 20th anniversary party, completely upstaging the Monarchs

Summer, 2028, the Guild of Calamitous Intent send Rusty a very nice wedding gift and Brock a very nice peace offering. Malcolm gets revenge by him and Sheila proposing to Gary. Gary flips out afterward.

Winter, 2030 Pete's long-term assistant George Oon is murdered and there's a whole mystery

Summer, 2034, Ben dies in a car accident and Dermott loses his lower legs. Dermott pulls out old letters Ben wrote explaining to Rusty, he can find out about his first death and why Ben helped Jonas.

Spring, 2035, Stephanie and Gary begin dating, Gary is still involved with Sheila and Malcolm, but it's an open relationship

Winter, 2035, Sheila is assassinated, Malcolm loses his mind, and Gary and Stephanie very amicably break-up. Stephanie stays with her dads for a few weeks. Liz, her wife and daughter also drop by. Liz's daughter is 16 going on 17 and wants to become an adventurer in her own right and Liz is unsuccessful in dissuading her.

Spring, 2040, Malcolm and Rusty get trapped in an elevator and he tells Rusty about being the Blue Morpho

Winter, 2045, Malcolm dies of heart failure.

Spring, 2052, Sheila comes back to life with the PROBLEM machine

Spring, 2061, at 94 years old, Rusty and Brock (93) choose to die together via lethal injection as their quality of life has severely declined and they want to leave happy.

and this is just copy-pasted from my word doc so it has hints to other things not explained LOL. this is a future au where im trying to have things make sense as much as possible and i feel like could possibly happen if the show continued which is why i went with brusty

[benevolentcalamity]

Dragon (Maythyr) x Female!Reader [3/3]

Now, I do believe Maythyr may be the husbando I wanted him to be, which makes me very happy. So as a special treat, you guys get the special third part! Now you can fuck him. :D

My special, loving regards to my dear friend Chelsea, without whom this would’ve never been remembered.

Enjoy!

Warning: This fic contains smut, pregnancy, and references to parental alcoholism.

CURTAINS!

You remember it well, even moreso than the day you discovered him for the first time.

Maythyr had earned your father's respect and your mother's gentlehearted approval. Not just because of him clearly being a seasoned warrior, but his accolades through his time - some of them more ambiguous due to him being a dragon in disguise - as well as the good words of praise in the letters he brought. Those were surely just to stroke his own ego, but he had the knowledge of human societal customs to know he could walk the walk and provide proof of his footprints.

Now to be honest, your father is indeed the 'what you do to my daughter, I do to you' kind, which may also be why you would have men lined out the door for you if not for him. Then again that's likely so that anybody that can get past him is worthy of even breathing your air... Which is a fair improvement when he's been drinking.

After a hearty dinner with them, during which Maythyr spoke - rather happily in fact - of his recent campaign in the north. Luckily for him his armor implied what his words did not: he was from the northern kingdoms, defending them. He would go on to whisper to you that he was actually just usurping them, but he didn't have it in him to displease your parents in such a way or give them cause for concern.

Once all was said and done, he knelt before your parents - something he himself said he'd only ever do for you - and asked for your hand in marriage. After a bombarding of questions that would make the most patient of sages enraged, he received their blessing.

At first, you have admitted it confused you. By all rights, Maythyr didn't have to - he could've just swooped you up and gotten you the easy way. But in his words, the easy way was doing it 'properly' to minimize the amount of people that would be upset with him down to the boys that would chase your hips if you weren't careful. And besides, to just do that would undo all the hard work he put in to ‘appear’... well, human.

So to the village itself, he is a living legend. To you, he’s the Dragon God of War.

Now that the recap is just about over, the little extra pages that don’t mean anything will be flipped to this current moment.

The ceremony was planned admittedly quickly, as Maythyr agreed to marry you in the village. Not to say he had plans of taking you elsewhere far away - he did, you know, he just doesn’t mention it - but it wouldn’t be fair for him to have received their blessing and not witnessed the two of you together. It’s the sort of thing that kills a dragon inside, but according to him it stopped being the sort of thing that bothers him centuries ago. Actually he said decades, but you humor him.

So you’re standing here, in a white gown, as your mother gives the final touches on your hair.

“And not to worry, sweetheart,” She softly assures, tucking some stray strands back into your ‘do. “I’ll make sure [dad’s name] doesn’t drink too much.”

“I am concerned, mom, that he’s been drinking too much lately,” You frown. “It’s one thing to have some ale to take the anxious edge off, but to drink almost a full pint every couple days...”

“Believe me, it worries me as well.” She sweetly kisses your cheek. “But not to worry, Malcolm-” the village elder- “and the others will be watching him carefully.”

It is true. Your dad’s a very cheery drunk, it’s true, but he’s long forgotten what it’s like to be clearheaded and sober. When last you asked when he’d been sober, he simply pulled you into a hug and said you had beautiful eyes. Either he had no idea what you asked him, or he did know and just decided not to burden you with the truth. Whatever it is, it’ll eventually tear this family apart.

But for now, you’ll be assured everyone will make sure he’s not as drunk. Though you are brought back from those concerns when she softly nudges your arm.

“You just concentrate on Maythyr. Today is the day for both of you - nothing else matters, alright?” She finishes straightening everything out. “I’m so proud right now... My baby’s found someone!” Now it’s your turn to prevent the waterworks. “No, no... Sorry, I lost myself for a moment. Are you ready?”

You smile.

“Let’s do this.”

___

Now, considering this is a mountain village, it would be forgiven - expected, even - to not have a simple chapel. However, you lot are lucky, considering a few clergymen became a congregation, and finally with the help of donations one was erected. A huge one was unwanted, unnecessary, and so it’s a quaint building with the stained glass and angelic statues to signify the love you all poured into it. The presence of God is strong there.

Once you’re at the doors, that’s when dad hurries over. You sigh in admitted relief upon seeing his skin crystal clear and not a stagger in his step.

“Thanks, dad,” You say softly as he loops your hand into his arm, to which he gives a squeeze.

“I’m not missing a day like this,” He replies, kissing the side of your head - and undoing some of your mom’s handiwork. “Oops.”

“He won’t notice some stray hairs,” You chuckle. “... Alright, let’s do this.”

As if on cue, the doors open with a resounding, somewhat elegant ‘creak’. Rows of people dressed to the nines stand up, making a perfect aisle. Swallowing, you walk in perfect tandem with your father, nodding at some of the happy faces so that your frayed nerves will begin to calm down.

Once you look up again, there’s a breathtaking sight.

Maythyr’s abandoned his armor. Instead some deep black and white flowing robes teasing his chest a bit - you would swoon if he wasn’t wearing pants - blow in the faint breezes. His hair pouring down his back as the mountain streams, he looks right out of a fantasy novel from once upon a time. Sharply lined sapphire eyes crinkle in unfiltered happiness at the sight of you.

Wordlessly dad kisses your cheek, passing your hand to Maythyr’s awaiting one, and you stand opposite your dragon. With his touch, cradling your hands with utter delicacy, your troubles and anxieties melt to the wind, and for a moment you don’t even register anymore the music being played at the far side.

“I bid you all welcome,” The pastor greets. “We are gathered here today to witness and celebrate one of life’s greatest moments, which shall unite [Name] [Last Name] and Knight Maythyr-” Oh, that’s right, Maythyr neglected a last name- “in matrimony.”

Blinking, you note some figures outside each window, and lean in, which Maythyr reciprocates as the pastor continues. “Maythyr, do you know them?” You whisper.

He nods, keeping his voice down. “They are my fellows.” A wink; they’re dragons too. “I gathered them during my campaign, and about commanded them to bear witness and protect us.”

“Us, you mean... well, myself,” You chortle, and it only gets worse when he chuckles in affirmation. “You do think of everything.”

“To be expected from a god of war such as I, my dear.” He sneaks a tap to your nose. “I’m more marvelous than you think.”

“Try me,” You smile, earning a suggestive smirk before you straighten your backs in unison, continuing to listen to the sermon.

“-And who choose to spend the rest of their lives together.” The pastor looks between you two with a playful scolding look. “This ceremony does not birth a new relationship between the pair of you, nor are old ties forgotten and cast into nothingness. Rather, it is the binding of your two hearts, two souls, that your love may become whole, overcoming every trial and obstacle life shall bring, and join you as one in the eyes of the gods.”

“Alvis!” A hushed voice from the dark corners by the door perks up your ears. “You idiot! That’s your cue!”

Chortling, you watch as a scarlet haired man, clearly a bit boggled, elegantly steps through the aisle, a pillow in his hands. For a moment he gives Maythyr an annoyed glance completely ignored, long ears twitching as he hands the pillow to the pastor, whom unfolds the fabric atop it. Once his work is done he retreats behind Maythyr, folding his hands before his stomach.

... Ah?

Maythyr taps your one hand in reply - a message that he will explain later - before having to break from you to receive one of the rings. It’s a fine iron, as opposed to the traditional gold. To you it means more, for reasons you’ll find words for soon, and to Maythyr it’s a symbolism of your silent, pure, and true acceptance of his being a dragon. It melts his prideful countenance, if for a moment, and clearly he’s having to restrain himself from kissing you right there.

Not yet.

“Maythyr, if you would put this ring on [Name]’s finger and repeat after me.” Maythyr follows the pastor’s instructions, slipping your ring on and clasping that hand in both of his. “I, Maythyr, do eternally swear.”

“I, Maythyr, do eternally swear.”

“That I shall take thee as my wife.”

“That I shall take thee as my wife.”

“To have and to hold.”

“To have and to hold.”

“Through sickness and in health.”

“Through sickness and in health.” His adam’s apple bounces with a restrained chortle of irony, which you respond to with narrowing your eyes playfully.

“I will give to you my hand and my heart.”

“I will give to you my hand and my heart.”

“T’il death do us part.”

“T’il death do us part.”

You hear mom choking up beside you in the front, but then you’re taken from the sound by the pastor handing you the other ring.

“[Name], if you would put this ring on Maythyr’s finger and repeat after me.”

You nod, slipping the ring onto his finger, clasping his hand in both of yours this time. Man, you feel so small.

“I, [Name], do eternally swear.”

“I, [Name], do eternally swear.”

“That I shall take thee as my husband.”

“That I shall take thee as my husband.”

“To have and to hold.”

“To have and to hold.”

“Through sickness and in health.”

“Through sickness and in health.”

“I will give to you my hand and my heart.”

“I will give to you my hand and my heart.”

“T’il death do us part.”

“T’il death do us part.”

Turning pink, you allow Maythyr to return your hands into comfortably resting inside his, and the sun slowly lights up the room more and more.

“If anyone has just cause for these two not to be joined in union...” The pastor’s voice turns a bit low. “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

Nervously, you turn your eyes to the congregation. Your blood runs cold, if for a moment, when dad’s hands twitch ever so slightly. As if noticing your worries, he meets your eyes, giving you a reassuring smile. Simpering, you return your attention to Maythyr, and he gives your hands a soft squeeze.

“Well, then.” The pastor’s voice is jovial once more. “By the power vested in me, I declare [Name] and Maythyr husband and wife.” He then smiles. “Kiss your bride, Maythyr.”

Without the slightest hesitation, Maythyr reaches up to cup your face, pulling you into a deep kiss. There’s cheering, there’s clapping, even some whistling going on, but you don’t care. Deep inside, there’s a stirring feeling, perhaps even a liberating one; like your soul is being warmed by a gentle fire. There’s also a sensation like something kind of poking you, but you choose to ignore that one.

At last... at long last, you’ll be together now.

__

Now this is you we’re talking about - there is no way you, a beloved part of this village, aren’t getting an absolute party  for your wedding. Matter of fact, Maythyr too was all about it, and so before you knew it there were lanterns, song, and dance lighting up the fading dusk. Not to mention the delicious food lining every corner of the venue - even the not-that-hidden dragons Maythyr invited are digging it.

One leg a bit sore from your one dance with your dad, you watch from the punch line - Grizelda’s secret - as he downs his first drink, in the general view of the village elders as promised. Well, at least he’ll be supervised...

A pair of arms loops around your waist, and you smile, reassured, leaning back into Maythyr’s chest.

“I’ll say one thing,” He murmurs, sending chills down your back. “You humans very much know how to throw a party.”

You chortle. “What, dragons don’t dance?” You tease, nudging his arm.

“Our only ‘dance’ is in combat, love.” He gives your ear a nip. “... Elsewhere, too.” The connotations aren’t unnoticed.

Biting your lip, you tilt your head back to meet his eyes properly, him softly toying with the stray strands of hair. “Maythyr.”

“Mmm?” He nuzzles the side of your head.

“My parents must be allowed to see us,” You mention. “I know you don’t like visitors, but... I don’t want to lose my family.”

“... Very well.” He’s a bit begrudging - the generic nature of a dragon being possessive - but his voice doesn’t express it that well. You can detect it all the same. “You are my treasure, but more importantly you are my mate; consider your wishes mine as well.”

You flutter inside, smiling a bit. “And our children, too... How many kids do you want, Maythyr?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, by the gods-!” You playfully smack his forearm, to which he pulls your cheek, the two of you erupting in fits of laughter as his other hand goes and tickles your belly for a moment.

“Come, now.” He starts leading you back towards the party. “If you’re not at all spent, I think it’s time they learned how to dip.”

“Maythyyyyyr!”

The both of you look, and your dad is stumbling over, tanker in hand, giving your new husband some kind of eye. A stinkeye? Can he even give those when he’s almost drunk as all fuck?

At the flick of a wrist, Maythyr readopts the cordial nature he greeted him with when he came back to get you when he promised to. With a smile, the natural growl in his voice is turned way low, and he again appears human even to you for a moment.

“Hello, father,” He greets. “Ah, it is okay to call you father, right?”

“Yes...” Dad drawls. “But you better understand one thing.”

Maythyr crosses his arms, tilting his head feigning an innocent stare.

“What you do to my daughter...” As he swigs his tanker, you notice people keeping their eyes on him. “I do to you.”

Worriedly, you look towards Maythyr, and-

Oh.

Flip-flopping from his innocent expression, his lips stretch into a smile too big for his face, narrowing his eyes and raising his eyebrows before wiggling them. A provocative, suggestive expression, indeed. One that double dog dares your dad to live up to it. An amused snort-hum leaves him, almost leaking fire, but dad’s already so drunk he wouldn’t be able to tell.

Realizing how Maythyr had silently twisted his words, a cold sweat perspires from dad’s face, and he starts stammering in an attempt to backtrack so his new son will stop looking at him like that. He’s drowned out, promptly, by the howling laughter of whoever could understand what was going on. Leaving the kids attending in the dark, the lot of you seemingly reignite the party, and the dancing continues as old Malcom leads dad away to sober up or throw up - one of the two.

“And just so you know,” You remember Maythyr whispering once it’s time for the lanterns to go out, having slipped you into the shadows to steal a kiss. “There’s only one thing dragons are better at than fighting. Do you dare to hazard a guess?”

You grinned.

“You’re on.

___

“A-aah!”

The palace in Arktikania, where the snow masks rotting kills and the howling wind carries song but mutes screams and moans. Dragons under Maythyr’s command as their god of war fly to and fro, fresh from reconnaissance or campaigning. But none dare disturb the palace’s uppermost rooms apart from the throne at the apex.

Why? Well...

“Hnnhhh...” Maythyr purrs, massaging the soft skin of your breasts. “Such a good girl...” Pulling one into his mouth, he sucks hungrily, watching your reactions as you struggle to keep balanced.

The proper answer to Maythyr’s question is on full display. After some non-permanent goodbyes, he took you up here to give you a proper wedding consummation. At least, that was kind of his words - his actual words were a whoooole lot hungrier. Not that they bear repeating, mostly because it’s the sort of thing he rather stay with you.

Both hands tangling into his hair, you arch your back a bit, feeling his other hand slipping down between your legs. Your naked body is protected from the climate by the insulating fabrics that curtain the bed. It’s by no means a small one, considering he also likes sleeping as his dragon self still, so there’s plenty of room for these little games. And being a creature known for being able to rage on for years if they must, well... you’ll be feeling this one when it ends. If you even want it to.

“Maythyr... Ah...” You moan, your head lolling back a bit as you feel his fingers slip into your folds. Wasting no time ‘hooking’ you in with one, his hips grind up into your legs, his lips curling into a smile whilst sucking.

All too soon he breaks from you, lifting you up and plopping you onto your back with ease. Just as you think to complain he lifts your hips, looping his arms around your thighs and pressing them against his ears. An uneven gasp rips from you as his forked tongue laps up your wetness.

“Gh-ah! M-Maythyr-!” You squeak, hands flying back towards his hair.

Like an answer to your prayers, he fully presses his face into your arousal, tongue sliding inside you with ease. Arching into him, your grip on his hair tightens, only seeming to egg him on. As though wanting to see how far you can go his pace quickens, and outside you he nips and sucks where he is able. Every nook and vein is licked and sucked with ravenous greed, and only when he opens his eyes once more and meets your pleading stare do you realize he intends to do more than just absolutely nail you.

An almost devilish grin cements this, before he plasters himself to you once more, going full-force inside you. The tips of his tongue about wrap around your sweet spot, wriggling it until a pulsing inferno bubbles in your hips. Your vision is flooding with the very stars, and your breath is wrenched from you as your heat begins to clamp down and pulsate around him.

“A... Aahh... Ah...!” You let out, before finally your orgasm takes hold. “Aaaaahhh!”

His tongue pulls out, but like a drunkard he’s gulping down all the ambrosia seeping from your trembling pussy, savoring it like a fine wine. Once you’ve given all you’re able right now, he lowers your hips once more,  moving upwards so he can kiss you. Not caring that you can taste yourself on him, you allow your tongue to be wrapped up and played with, his hands holding your head and hips grinding into yours.

Eventually, he pulls away, moving down and nipping at your neck. “I just can’t get enough of you, treasure...” He purrs, both hands caressing your breasts. “Mmm... You’re so warm, my dear... And wet.” He chuckles. “You’re so eager to be this dragon’s prize, aren’t you?”

Sitting up, he spreads your legs widely, nipping at your ankles. Unrestrained, he stares hungrily at the visible clenching.

Finally, you can bear it no longer. “P-please...” You whimper.

He snickers, nibbling at your shins. “Please what, lovely?”

Unsure if you can even hang onto your dignity at this rate, you plead, “Please, Maythyr-! Fuck me!”

His smile doesn’t falter, instead dripping with a beast no longer to be restrained. “Good girl.” Leaning forward, he pushes your knees up to your chest, hovering  so his cock teases your heat. Biting his lip in concentration - by the gods if that isn’t the sexiest thing he does - he loops his arms through your shoulders, parting his thighs to better split your legs.

Wanting to savor this, he nips your lips as he pushes inside, rumbling deep in his chest as his cock effortlessly melds into you. Moving one hand to your belly he rubs the resulting bulge with a chuckle. Once the discomfort fades, you nod, and almost abandoning restraint he’s pumping in and out of you, as if intending to mold you into his cock’s shape.

“Ahhh... Ahh... Aaaah!” You moan, arching up into him as your hands claw at his back. “M-Maythyr-! Aaah!” Stars only begin glittering your vision when he pulls your legs up into his arms, pushing your hips up so he can get even deeper. With each thrust pounding every good spot you’re left mewling, crying out, thankful for every protection around you two. He won’t care about you screaming his name into the arctic winds - matter of fact he’d aim for it. But right now, he’d rather just have this.

“Nngh...” He grunts. “Heh, if I knew you were this good, I’d have figured out a human form the first time you came to me in the mountain.”

You can’t even answer him; any attempt at words just comes out as a squeal or a moan - which he is definitely doing on purpose. After all, he did promise you the night of your life... And it’s hardly past midnight-!

“A-ah?” Something feels different.

Opening your eyes, you watch as Maythyr... shifts, kind of. His black scales become more prominent on his neck and cheeks, eyes more serpentine like his full dragon form. Inside you his cock grows larger, even seeming to change its shape a bit, and you squeak, walls clamping down and pulsing around it. The base of his shapeshifted cock swells, like a bubble, squeezing against your pussy hungrily.

Swallowing, you dare look down, and-

“Oh, by the gods...” You swoon. “M-Maythyr, you’re knotted-!”

“I know...” He groans, pushing it against you impatiently. “... Can you take it all?”

Not even hesitating, you have your legs in a higher position, ready and willing without taking anything else into account. You don’t care how sore you get or how your body has to contort; you need all of his cock. Right now.

“Give  it to me...” You quiver as he begins thrusting again. “Please...”

He leans down, licking up your neck to your jaw. “Very well... My sweet, good girl, I’ll pump you so full you won’t be able to walk for until our babies are born.”

And without a shadow of hesitation he does just that. Every thrust of his cock, his knot squeezes ever so much more, wanting to be inside you. The way your nails scratch the hardened skin of his back eggs him on, perspiration shining his face as his cock nails you until you’re seeing stars. Only occasionally does he swallow your screams with his tongue, which you respond to by desperately clutching his head.

Fuuuck... You moan as your own tongue is subdued and wrapped up, feeling the bubbling heat in your hips once again...

“I-I’m going to...” You breathe, and- “A-AAAAH!”

Almost unceremoniously, the knot pops right inside you, and that’s when Maythyr is at last at the apex. Much like he would as his fully shifted self, he throws his head back, roaring a mighty roar, and before you know it he’s cumming once; twice; a whopping six times with a driving thrust. Even then there’s still more coming out of him, the knot emptying shamelessly into your womb.

Arching, your orgasm has the combined fluids flooding down your skin and to the bed, hanging onto Maythyr as though you’ll die if you let go of him. When at last the tremors of orgasm cease, and the knot is emptied, the both of you collapse.

Falling down behind you, he wraps you up in his arms as his body is once again fully human. Nuzzling into your back, he’s too fatigued for a witty comment or even some risque implication of the morning’s activities. Instead, he’s silent for a moment, caressing your body delicately and embracing you, peppering your skin with kisses.

Nudging you so you open your eyes, he hovers over you a bit, both hands interlocked under your back. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Barely mustering the strength, you nod, reaching up with trembling fingers and caressing the apple of his mocha cheek. Snorting with palpable adoration, he catches your hand in his, kissing the heel and nipping a bit at your wrist.

That’s when you see the same expression he gave on your wedding. A gentle, endearing smile meant only for you, the only proof of his softness.

“... I love you,” He murmurs, lowering down to kiss your lips. “Ah... By the gods, I love you...”

The blizzard outside is silent once more.

___

Beyond thankful that you still are able to, you’re whiling away the quiet hours with your lyre. You’ve gotten so big you can hardly move, what with the babies seeming to multiply in your belly. Nevermind a bowl or a plate, an entire banquet could fit on it, which is a joke you’ve made many a time every meal you share with your husband.

Speaking of him, he yawns, readjusting so his wing continues to shield you as his tail locks it in place. Chortling, you crane your neck to look at him properly, his one eye peeking open once he senses your gaze.

“How are you feeling, love?” He asks, to which you smile.

“I feel like I could pop any day now, honestly, but even I know it won’t be for a time... As much as it looks like it.” Your fingers don’t even miss a string; you suppose you’re still as adept as ever.

“And that is why I’ve sent Alvis to the west in my stead.” The redhead from the wedding; one of his most trusted war generals. “I do not care the severity of matters overseas - t’is my duty as a husband and a father to be here.”

Your smile only grows. “You’ll be a good one, I’m sure.”

“Yes, I will be. And with a treasure like you as my wife and their mother... Hah, they will be this world’s greatest beings.” And there is that classic Maythyr confidence, along with a puff of his soft chest.

“Speaking of, what names should we give them?” You tilt your head. “You haven’t forgotten about that, right?”

“Of course not. Hmmm... Why not a girl’s name, first? Make that a few. I think... Valka, Lymeria, Rosarion... Yorshka?”

“Those are lovely, Maythyr. And for a boy... Hmmm... Tyr, Egil, Ragarruss?”

“Wonderful.” He moves his head so he can nuzzle you, only slightly obstructing your music. “We’ll revisit the storybooks you love so much when next you feel like walking, we’ll have an entire list then. For now, is there anything you need, or you would like? Are you hungry?”

Simpering, you lean back into his belly, the warmth helping you to relax your back. “Hmmm... I have missed mama’s chocolate cake these days.”

His head snaps back with a laugh, and along a warm snort he nuzzles you once more. “Very well.”

[democratthatlovesguns]

The Markets ARE SOARING

This must mean there's a lot of confidence in the upcoming Trump administration, right?

NO! YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!

YES, I MADE A LOT OF MONEY FROM MY "REINVESTMENT" IN BITCOIN AND YES I MADE A LOT MORE MONEY FROM SWITCHING TO A MORE TRUMP-FAVORED INDEX.

THAT IS ALL THAT HAPPENED.

REMEMBER HOW BITCOIN GIANTS AND PEOPLE LIKE WARREN BUFFET WERE SELLING LARGE PORTIONS OF THEIR STOCK, BEFORE THE ELECTION? IT WAS NOT BECAUSE THEY FEARED THE MARKETS UNDER HARRIS; IT WAS BECAUSE THAT IS A TRIED AND TRUE INVESTMENT STRATEGY - OLDER THAN THE FUCKING ROMANS!

YOU THINK IT WAS A COINCIDENCE, OR THAT ELON WAS SO MOVED BY THE ATTEMPT ON TRUMP'S LIFE, THAT ELON WAITED TO ENDORSE TRUMP UNTIL AFTER HE WAS SHOT? HOW FUCKING STUPID CAN YOU BE? REMEMBER THAT $120 MILLION ELON USED TO BUY THE PRESIDENCY FOR TRUMP? IT'S NOT POSSIBLE FOR YOU TO FORGET, BECAUSE IT JUST HAPPENED A MOMENT AGO - YOU CAN'T ALL BE DORI! YES, IT WAS THE EASIEST GAMBLE ELON HAS EVER MADE - HE TRIED TO MAKE IT SEEM HARD, BUT IT WAS NOT. HE MADE 250 TIMES THOSE $120 MILLION, ON THE FIRST DAY.

HE'S NOT SMART AND DEFINITELY NOT SMARTER THAN ANYONE ELSE, HE IS A SIMPLY A CALLOUS OPPORTUNIST - JUST LIKE JEFF BEZOS AND KEVIN O'LEARY - AT THE RIGHT PLACE AT THE RIGHT TIME (SEE: MALCOLM GLADWELL).

THINK ABOUT IT?

IF YOU WERE ABOUT TO BET A DOLLAR FROM A COIN TOSS AND YOU KNEW THAT THE COIN HAD 90% CHANCE OF LANDING ON YOUR CHOICE, WOULD YOU PUT A DOLLAR IN THE POT TO MAKE $250? NO SHIT! YOU'D BE THE DUMBEST SHIT AROUND IF YOU DIDN'T!

AND NO, FROM THOSE $30 BILLION ELON MADE, NOT A SINGLE DIME WILL EVER TRICKLE DOWN TO YOU DUMB FUCKS HE BOUGHT, TO VOTE FOR DONALD TRUMP. YOU HAVE ONLY YOURSELVES TO BLAME; WE WARNED YOU ELON WAS FINGERING YOUR ASSHOLES AS HE SMILED AND SHOOK YOUR HANDS!

BUT "NO" WE'RE SOCIALIST CUNTS, FUCK US, RIGHT?

WE WANTED YOU TO KEEP SOCIAL SECURITY, WE WANTED YOU TO HAVE JOBS THAT PAY YOU A LIVING FUCKING WAGE WITHOUT WORKING YOU 100 HOURS EVERY WEEK, WE WANTED YOU TO GET THE MEDICAL CARE YOU NEED REGARDLESS OF HOW MUCH PERSONAL WEALTH YOU HAVE ACCUMULATED. TAYLOR SWIFT, BEYONCE, ET AL BEGGED YOU TO TAX THEM SO WE COULD AFFORD THIS FOR EVERYONE. BUT FUCK US, RIGHT? WE'RE SUCH HORRIBLE SOCIALIST CUNTS.

I GUESS WHAT I AM TRYING TO SAY IS THANK YOU ... I MADE ENOUGH FOR A NICE, LONG VACATION.

I THINK I'LL WAIT TO LEAVE UNTIL YOU DUMBASSES START COMPLAINING THAT COMMODITY PRICES ARE RISING INSTEAD OF DROPPING FROM TRUMP'S TARIFFS, JUST SO I CAN SAVOR MY VACATION A LITTLE MORE.

[jbuffyangel]

The Canary: Arrow 2x05 Review (League of Assassins)

Yeesh there is a lot of Lance drama in the beginning of Season 2. We finally get the backstory on Sara, but it’s the spectacular Oliver and Laurel scene that has me cackling.

Let's dig in...

Sara Lance

They reshot the whole pilot scene between Oliver and Sara only this time, we see what happens to Sara after the boat sinks and she’s swept out to sea. How this woman did not get hypothermia from only wearing a bra and underwear in the North China Sea is beyond me.

This scene just incenses me.  It irks the absolute crap out of me when Sara says, “Laurel is gonna kill me.” Sara says it like she’s borrowing Laurel’s sweater without asking. YOU ARE SLEEPING WITH HER BOYFRIEND.  This destroys a relationship. She’s not going to kill you, but she will absolutely cut contact with you, Sara.

I know he’s pre-island Ollie and he’s just the absolute worst, but the smarmy “Your sister will never know” as he climbs on top of Sara is just so disgusting. I cannot fathom why people would ever want Laurel to be with Oliver after what he did. Forgive him, fine. Date him? Absolutely not.

Okay, the rage is dying down. Hopefully this is the last time we have to watch this scene.

Sara is staying at the Queen mansion, which doesn’t see very covert, but with Moira in jail and Thea sleeping at Roy’s all the time it actually is a good place for Sara to crash. Better than a clock tower at least.

Oliver is still trying to convince Sara to let her family know that she’s alive, but she’s not convinced all family members *cough*Laurel*cough* will be happy to see her. Sara asks Oliver if he ever got back together with Laurel after he returned home.

Oliver: We tried. It’s too much.

Sara: Some things are better left in the past.

After The Gambit sinks, Sara is floating on a door similar to Rose in Titanic when she’s picked up by the freighter.

Source: saralances

We’re all going to pretend the canary landing right next to Sara is not the most obvious foreshadowing in the world. For anyone questioning if Arrow is making Sara their OG Canary – there’s your answer. You know - if the suit, wicked fight skills and sonic weapon didn’t answer it for you already.

The color of the Canary is important though. It’s yellow. Not black. Arrow is drawing a clear distinction between the two. This is an origin story. It’s not Green Arrow and Black Canary. It’s The Arrow and The Canary.

Sara is thrown in a cage on the freighter, similar to Oliver’s current predicament, but Dr. Ivo protects her from the crew members.  He tells Sara he is going to save the human race and invites her to help, so I can only conclude we’re going with Stockholm syndrome in the flashbacks. A twenty something college kid would have very little to offer a mad scientist.

However, Sara’s reticence to return to her family is not related to whatever happened on the island, but rather who she became and what she did to survive AFTER the island. We’re just about to get some details when a man dressed exactly like Malcolm Merlyn comes crashing through a window.  Oliver and Sara fight him, but before we can get any answers the man disappears. This is getting annoying. WILL SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN SOMETHING?

Oliver introduces Sara to his team and we get the iconic first meeting between Sara and Felicity.

Source: oliversmoak

Sara does not want Team Arrow to find the assailant however. She knows exactly who he is. 

Sara: He’s called Al Ow-al, “The First.” And he’s a member of the League of Assassins.

Oliver has a very strong reaction to this revelation so we can deduce Sara didn’t join the Girl Scouts. The League is, you guessed it, a bunch of assassins who kill and vanish like ghost - previously thought to be an urban legend by Diggle. The League rescued Sara after the island, remade her into an assassin and she swore them her allegiance.

Sara left after she killed a local diplomat in Guyana and his children found his body the next morning. She didn’t want to be a murderer anymore, but now The League is coming after her.

Source: laurelscanary

Felicity’s humor and compassion put Sara at ease after her horrifying confession and this is why I love this character.  There’s no judgment from Felicity. She sees Sara for what she is – a person in pain, even if Sara doesn’t see herself that way. Not unlike how Felicity looks at Oliver. And just like Oliver, Sara Lance is SMOAKED.

Source: smoakamell

After Felicity finds Al Ow-al, Sara and Oliver argue about whose fight it is. Sara isn't used to playing with others, but you'd think she'd understand basic strength in numbers. This is the guy who trained Malcolm Merlyn. He stops an arrow with his bare hand while his back was turned!

Al Ow-al: The child of Ra’s Al Ghul awaits your return.

I know who Ra’s Al Ghul is from my Batman days, but in Arrow's world he has a kid. A kid who sent Al Ow-al  to collect Sara alive or dead. This is getting complicated. Is there like an employment flow chart we can follow for the League of Assassins?

Oliver: The League of Assassins. Why wouldn’t she tell me what happened to her all those years?

Diggle: Probably the same reason you didn’t tell us what happened to you on the island.

Wow. This is stunning lack of self awareness. Oliver, in case you haven’t noticed, Sara is the girl version of you.

The League has threatened Sara’s family, so Oliver keeps watch over Laurel. Felicity calls Detective Lance to convince him to leave town - while promising Sara to not reveal she's alive.

Source: @noone-seesyou-likeido

Unfortunately, Lance does not listen to Felicity, so Sara decides her secret is not more important than her father’s life. Finally, she is seeing some sense. Diggle, ever the loyal solider, offers to go with as back up, but Sara continues to have this thing about fighting on her own. I guess being an assassin is a solitary job. This does give us one of the best bad ass Sara Lance speeches ever, however.

Sara: Dig, you may be a three tour Special Forces veteran, but I was trained by the people that make the Special Forces look like a kindergarten class. So step aside or get put down.

The reunion between Lance and Sara is all we hoped it could be. It’s not every day your kid comes back from the dead, but Paul Blackthorne does a phenomenal job of moving from shock and disbelief to overwhelming joy.

Source: laurelscanary

Quentin wants answers, but he’s careful not to spook Sara who is still reticent to give details. They go through the nuclear bomb that was set off in their family (the divorce, the alcoholism).  Sara apologizes for the damage she caused, but Quentin insists he was to blame, which is more proof he is a really good dad.

He can clearly see his daughter has changed. She speaks Chinese now and is ready to fight to the death with a butter knife. He pieces together Sara is the woman in black; she knows Felicity, The Arrow and is wrapped up in this League that’s after both of them. How this man has not put together Oliver Queen is The Arrow I will never understand.

Quentin: If these assassins, if they hadn't shown up, would you have ever let us know that you were alive?

Sara: No.

Well, at least she’s honest. Sara promises Lance that she never forgot who she was or him despite staying away for so many years.

Source: OILVERSQUEEN

She takes her father to the clock tower which she’s outfitted with booby traps for when the League comes for them both. Sara and Lance hold their own against the assassins, but when The Arrow arrives they achieve the upper hand. Sara has no problem breaking Al Ow-al’s neck, but allows one assassin to live to warn Ra’s Al Ghul.

Sara: Tell Ra’s Al Ghul that my family is off limits. His quarrel is with me.

She is ashamed to show Quentin who she has become – a killer.

Source:  sohpiabush 

But Quentin feels only pride. How little children understand the depth of a parent’s love. We have already forgiven anything you’ve done or may do the moment you are born.

Quentin: I think you’re a survivor. I think you’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever known. You’re my daughter.

Sara leaves town to lead the League away from her family and Quentin agrees to keep her secret. He will not tell either Laurel or Dinah that Sara is alive because it would get them killed… or something.  The logic is not logical, but I don’t really care. They’ll hold the “Laurel finds out Sara is alive” card for May sweeps.

Source: @laurelscanary

This is not the last we will see of Sara Lance. The Canary’s story is just getting started.

Oliver and Diggle

Despite Oliver's spectacularly hypocritical statement about Sara and honesty, there is serious emotional growth this episode. Oliver making this statement about forgiveness a year ago would have been unthinkable. He did not return home with any hope of being forgiven or even welcomed back. I'm going to give the Lance family a shoutout because they had the most to be angry about with Oliver. He asked both Laurel and Quentin for forgiveness and they each have extended olive branches at various time. Hell, Laurel was ready to get back together with him. So, the fact he's able to offer the same hope to Sara is really a full circle moment.

Source:  anissagraces

Oliver beginning to believe he is worthy of forgiveness is a direct result of the many hours of therapy with Diggle and Felicity. He is finally starting to really hear them. That's why this moment with Diggle at the end of the episode is truly note worthy.

Source: NUGETAE

Diggle should have this date embroidered on a pillow because it's not often Oliver will admit he was right. But Oliver is not done yet.

Source: COPHINES

He breaks out some Russian vodka and confesses to Diggle he was not always on the island the five years he was gone. Oliver is ready to unburden some of the secrets he works so hard to keep buried.

Source: laurelscanary

Oliver is able to see his own demons reflected in Sara and it finally connects the dots for him. He doesn't have to remain isolated in the world like Sara. Oliver can see Diggle (and Felicity) reaching out to him and he FINALLY reaches back. This is monumental character growth.

Sara: You three are quite the team.

Diggle: We have our moments.

Why Diggle and not Felicity? I think it's easier for Oliver to tell his war stories to another solider. He also doesn't have any fuzzy bunny feelings towards John, which makes things simpler between them. But every time Oliver opens the door to the past, and shares his pain, he is one step closer to the future he truly deserves.

Laurel Lance

Laurel is sitting second chair in Moira Queen’s prosecution, which is actually an INSANE CONFLICT OF INTEREST. Marc Guggenheim, you are a lawyer sir. What is this nonsense?  

Never fear! Laurel has used all her pull to get Moira a plea deal - life with the possibility of parole. Understandably the Queen family isn’t thrilled. It’s either life or the death penalty.  Laurel even discussing Moira’s case with Oliver is improper ex parte contact. She should be excluded from the case and sanctioned, but this is Arrow and that’s never going to happen.

In the middle of all of this, Oliver continues to ask if Laurel is okay. She is trying to kill your mother, Oliver. I feel how this is impacting Laurel shouldn’t really be your top concern. He is so exhausting around her. Take the hint, my dude. She doesn’t want your help and I’m tired of you two having the same fight episode after episode.

But this episode is not just another round of the same old some old. No, my friends this is a very special episode because it contains one of the best Laurel and Oliver scenes to ever grace our television. Oliver needs to protect Laurel from the League of Assassins, so he takes her out to dinner. Then he walks Laurel back to her apartment (because assassins) but she thinks he’s come up for a very different reason.

And OLIVER REJECTS HER.  The way I cackled.

I’m going straight to hell, but I don’t care. This moment is glorious. First of all, Laurel did not have a drink at dinner, so she can’t blame the booze and pills. She just flat out reads the situation wrong. Oliver apologizes for sending a mix signal, but he’s a bit confused. Didn’t they decide they shouldn’t be together out of respect for Tommy? Yes, Oliver. Yes you did. WHAT ABOUT TOMMY, LAUREL?!! This woman did not deserve that man.

Source: ILOVEKCASSIDY

Me:

Oliver promises Laurel he will never leave her and has certainly made every effort to help her, but it is the capacity in which he will stay in her life that is really in question. This moment is HUGE in terms of where Oliver is at emotionally. He is drawing a firm line in the sand. There was a time when Oliver would’ve welcomed Laurel trying to climb him like a tree no matter the circumstance, but not anymore. He clearly states that he cares about Laurel but only as a friend. His concern has no romantic undertone to it.

The balance of power in their relationship has always been tipped toward Laurel. This is the first time it feels like a more even playing field. Instead of Laurel rejecting Oliver – he is rejecting her and for a very good reason. Oliver is not stoned on pills and he remembers they don’t work. They tried to go back and it failed. Oliver has not interest in trying again. For the first time, Oliver is looking forward.  

And Laurel, cemented in the past and alone her in apartment, takes some pills.

Stray Thoughts

This secret Moira is keeping is a real humdinger if she’s ok with life with the possibility of parole.

Oliver and Thea promise Moira that she will not lose them no matter the secret. Sure Jan.

"Gee I didn't get you a bag of dirt." Bless this cupcake.

Where did Sara get her suit?

Malcolm Merlyn is also a member of The League of Assassins.

"Oliver’s lucky to have you both as friends. He hasn’t always had the best of luck in that area." Sara’s not so casual remarks about Slade and Shado are friggin ominous. It’s time to get real nervous about the flashbacks.

“You think because you are the beloved that you will be granted your freedom?” We all know who Sara’s beloved is and I’m very much looking forward to her arrival.

"Pain and I came to a little understanding a few years back." Sara takes a licking but keeps on kicking. This is such a bad ass line. The episode is chalk full of them. I love the OG Canary.

Listen to the Watchover podcast reaction to 2x05!!

If you’d like to support the blog, please buy me a cup of tea!

Disclaimer: Any gifs on the blog are not mine. If you would like a gif removed from my reviews, please message me!

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Halloween II (Zombie, 2009)

This went down for me on this rewatch. I actually didn't get to this when it came out, mostly because I wasn't really going to see horror movies in theatres at that point and my horror fandom was mostly geared towards older movies (although the periodic free previews of the Scream Channel I took advantage of meant that I was getting a reasonably wide range of the genre's flavours beyond the obvious classics). And as a result I'd accepted the party line around the remake wave and Rob Zombie (neither were viewed with much warmth in the now defunct Rotten Tomatoes forums which I frequented at the time) and assumed it wasn't worth my time. So that when I did eventually watch it a few years later, once its reputation had started to build a little, I was pleasantly surprised that this had a much weirder style than one would have expected from a 2000s horror movie, had maybe something of an Italian influence in its incoherence, and that Zombie brought his own ideas to the material instead of offering warmed over slasher beats.

And I guess those things are still true, but I guess I gelled less to the combined effect this time around. On one hand, Zombie realizes his attempts to deconstruct and psychoanalyze Michael Myers in the preceding instalment were in vain (the best it came up with was that Myers grew up in a trailer park, which I assume has it's ups and downs but likely isn't justification for mass murder) and correcting by evoking Myers' mental state through narrative and visual incoherence makes some amount of sense. But on a narrative level, I find this too stop and start to really work as horror.

And on a visual level, the heavy grain and gloomy colour scheme he bathes much of this on I found pretty unpleasant to look at. I suppose he relied on a lot of grain in The Devil's Rejects as well, but there it cohered nicely with the warmer colours into a Kentucky Fried sheen that suited the grindhouse atmosphere nicely. (That's not blood and viscera, that's just ketchup and fries. This is making me hungry, time to go for some Mary Brown's.) Here, the visual texture reminds me of Slipknot, which is not a favourable comparison, and the fact that the movie does produce its share of striking images emphasizes how much worse the rest of it looks. Zombie is pulling a lot of his influences into it as he often does, but more of this plays like a straightforward take on the aesthetics he parodied with his Woolite commercial than I remembered. And the aggressive cutting takes some of the impact out of the violence.

Anyway, it sounds like I'm being really harsh on this, but I do still like this, just noticeably less than I used to. I will still go to bat for the performances, particularly Malcolm McDowell's slimy take on Loomis (his talkshow segment with Weird Al and Chris Hardwick is very funny) and Brad Dourif's warm, fatherly Sheriff Brackett. And I remember people being very hard on Scout Taylor-Compton, something I'm going to chalk up at least partially to the misogyny (there's a tendency to treat young actresses as a punching bag when people don't like a movie that was especially pronounced in those days). But I thought she was quite good in this, providing a nice, sympathetic centre to a movie that seems determined not to hold together.

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[talshiargirlfriend]

Pure silliness! Inspired by recent discussions.

The Gag Gift - on ao3

“Whatcha got there?” Trip asked as he peered over T’Pol’s shoulder at the parcel on the desk.

“I believe we have received a wedding gift.” T’Pol frowned slightly as she removed the tissue paper. Her eyebrows shot up as she lifted a pair of pale blue silk boxer shorts with MRS TUCKER embroidered across the rear.

“Oh my god!” Trip laughed. “Who sent that? Travis? Nah, it's gotta be Malcolm.”

“The card is signed ‘With best wishes for a long and prosperous marriage. Love, Hoshi Sato and Malcolm Reed.’” T’Pol read.

“Ooh, they’re joint card official, huh? Good for them,” Trip smiled.

Wordlessly T’Pol lifted a second pair of boxers embroidered MR T’POL.

“Hey, that’s me!” Trip beamed. “I am Mr T’Pol.”

She looked at him with fond exasperation, “You know that’s not how Vulcan naming conventions work.”

“Well, you married a human and I’m quite happy to be Mr T’Pol, so you’ll just have to live with it.”

“I’ll try to manage.”

“That’s my girl,” he grinned.

“Is it not somewhat unusual even by human standards to gift one’s friends undergarments?” she asked dryly.

Trip chuckled, “Yeah, it’s supposed to be funny. It’s a gag gift.”

T’Pol tilted her head, “Demonstration of affection by provoking mild embarrassment.”

“That’s pretty much it,” Trip agreed.

“Is…?” T’Pol faltered slightly before deciding. “We are not expected to actually wear these items.”

Maybe Trip’s grandma had been right when she said he had a streak of the devil in him because he simply could not help himself. He put on his charming face, “I’m game if you are.”

T’Pol studied him appraisingly and then nodded once, “You’d look good in Triaxian silk.”

Trip laughed and squeezed her shoulder. “I had no idea how funny you were back then! I just wanted a reaction…. I really wanted your attention.”

“And now you have it,” she kissed him softly.

-----------------------------------------------

Trip sat on the bed in his silk boxers feeling more than a little ridiculous. He was gonna get Malcolm for this.

Nevermind that it was his own damn fault. His inability to resist goading T’Pol had landed him in this situation. And this garment.

But still. Mr Gag Gift had it coming. He was gonna get Malcolm for this.

Trip rubbed a hand over the bedcover anxiously and tried to arrange himself to look at least somewhat dignified. He crossed and then uncrossed his legs. Well... just north of pathetic would have to suffice. He was gonna get Malcom for this.

He smiled when he heard her footsteps and looked up as his T’Pol entered the room.

She somehow managed to look dignified as she met his eye. She wore an expression of challenge along with the silly little boxer shorts. And nothing else.

God damn.

He was gonna get Malcolm something really nice for this.

-----------------------------------------------

Trip reached up to accept the incoming call without looking at the screen.

“Captain Tucker!” he could hear his friend’s grin before he saw it.

“Malcolm! It’s good to hear from you. Did you get the Andorian ale I sent?”

Malcolm wiggled the bottle of blue liquid. “I did, and I am just about to pour myself a glass. Join me?”

Trip raised his coffee cup in a salute, “Cheers!”

“Cheers, mate! And how is Mrs Tucker?”

“She’s great, but I’d like to see you call her that to her face.”

“I confess, I may not be brave enough for that, but I hope to see you both soon.”

They both drank to that sentiment.

“You know… I feel a little bad. This is an awfully nice bottle to acknowledge a gag gift.”

Trip looked at him sternly, “Just say ‘thank you,’ Malcolm.”

Reed’s eyes widened, “You’re not telling me you actually-!”

“I’m not telling you anything at all.” Trip smirked.

“Trip, you sly dog…” Malcolm grinned slowly.

“Hey! Stop picturing my wife in her underwear and enjoy your drink.”

“Your wife! My god. You really love saying that, don’t you?”

Trip smiled shyly into his coffee, “I really do.”

A door chime sounded.

“I’ll not keep you from duty, Captain. Stay safe, my friend.”

“You too, Mal.”

[suekreandtheidiots]

Wee introduction post!

SO. Let's go.

I'm starting this blog with a little overview of the OCs who are most present in my head these days. I (more or less) recently drew a shiny line up that I still like, after all, so why not use it?

I tried to get their heights somewhat right, give or take a few inches... I'll put their heights into the descriptions, too, though, for anyone (like me) who cares about these details. :)

Avery Constance St. James (*April 1st 1995 in New York City, USA; 5'2 ft / 1,57 m): a small but fierce pharmacist who lost her heart to an irresistably lively Irishman in 2022 (who refused to give it back), and who now juggles being a loving mama and thriving in her usual chaos.

Daryl Louis McKenna (*February 6th 1993 in Galway, Ireland; 5'9 ft / 1,75 m): rockstar scientist (biochemistry) and former drug abusing idiot who recently got engaged to Avery - a special lady he just happened to find when he wasn't looking, and who unexpectedly found his greatest joy in fatherhood.

Dexter Linus St. James (*August 11th 2023, in New York City, USA): a tiny Irish-American hybrid - the son of Daryl and Avery. Named after Dexter from Dexter's Laboratory and Linus Pauling.

Orla Deirdre O'Connell (*October 28th 1992 in Galway, Ireland; 5'9 ft / 1,75 m): an eccentric tattoo artist who appreciates the most beautiful things in life and who believes in love and classic romance like no other. Grew up with three brothers - Malachy (*1980-2006), Kieran (*1985) and her twin Declan, and thus handles life like a lady, but never without the appropriate dash of assertiveness.

Michael Theodore "Mick" O'Loughlin (*December 22nd 1992 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 6'5 ft / 1,96 m): a tall and elvenlike fella who stems from an ancient bloodline of highly fascinating individuals and who may have a supernatural streak to him. Motor mechanic in everyday life and a curious and whimsical guy overall, with soulful green eyes that effortlessly see behind the things others would not even dare to question.

Alistair Lachlan "Ali/Al" Abbott (*May 28th 1993 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 6'4 ft / 1,93 m): an eccentric weirdo, very charming and always a little clueless, with a heart of gold. A former rising football star who had to give up that particular dream to an unfortunate injury, and a surprise teenage dad who loves his friends and longs to meet the love of his life; who waits tables in a restaurant by day and woos ladies - who are willing to pay for his services - by night.

Lancelot Malcolm "Lance" Abbott (*July 27th 1988 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 5'4 ft / 1,63 m): a true force of nature, a capable internist, strong-willed and assertive (some would say stubborn) confident and outspoken, sometimes on the brink of being plain rude. An intelligent and complex person who may be a pain in the arse at times, but who knows what is right and important in life... such as suppressing some long lasting issues, ah, haha, oh well.

Maisie Rose Boyd (*June 11th 2011 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 5'0 ft / 1,52 m): the surprise love child of teenage parents Ali Abbott and Nessa Boyd, who is growing into a sweet and caring young lady these days.

Vanessa Christine "Nessa/Ness" Boyd (*January 14th 1993 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 5'2 ft / 1,57 m): a young and smart psychology graduate who is eager to finally start her career that she had to postpone due to becoming a mother at only eighteen. Gentle and kind, but also very straightforward, never taking crap from anyone and showing bluntness in just the right moments.

Caroline Miriam "Carrie" Anderson (*August 2nd 1987 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 5'4 ft / 1,63 m): a somewhat restless soul, always looking for something while never quite knowing what that something is. One hell of a doctor. Caring, not making any differences between people,and eager to look behind a facade... and entertaining the thought of running her own practice soon!

Dallas Ariston Gray (*October 22nd 1987 in Glasgow, Scotland; 6'4 ft / 1,93 m): a half-Greek, hunkalicious metal lord with a voice from both heaven and hell, a primary school teacher, musician and not quite your average nice guy from next door - the unhingedness may be subtle, but it's so, so there.

Fiona Annabel "Fi" Christie (*March 4th 1994 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 6'0 ft / 1,82 m): a truly delightful creature with many talents, drawing people in with her... everything. A hairdresser and make up artist, a dancer (classic ballet, jazz, as well as adult entertainment) and a gentle soul. Her optimism may make her look naive at times, but

Jean Melissa "Melissa" Carter (*June 1st 1985 in Calgary, Canada; 6'3 ft / 1,90 m): a creative director at a local ad agency... who clicks on suspicious links in spam mails and who forgets to check whether she has enough gas before she drives distances… and strands in the middle of nowhere. May seem scatterbrained but is incredibly loveable and the apple of the eye of her wife, Donna.

Donna Yvaine Christie (*January 3rd 1985 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 5'9 ft / 1,74 m): older and slightly (read as: not so slightly) overbearing sister of Fiona. Has her heart at the right spot but is also used to success and getting what she wants, which makes her a little insensitive and even tactless at times; still often fails to understand that "not doing things her way" isn’t necessarily the same as "doing things the wrong way".

Graeme "Sully" Sullivan (*September 7th 1986 in Perth, Scotland; 5'11 ft /1,80 m): an incredibly creative person all around who has known his goal pretty early in life - making the world a brighter, more colourful place! Owner of a tattoo studio in town - "The Den Of Tallulah Banks" - which isn’t just a tattoo studio, but also a place where creatives can get together and local artists from town can exhibit their works without paying annoying fees.

Hallie Henderson (*April 2nd 1988 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 5'7 ft / 1,70 m): a music journalist, writing for the popular UK/Ireland based magazine "Grot Spot". Interested in pretty much anything, believes in people. Very gentle and caring... and just a little bit weird. Loves life but doesn't close her eyes to the crappy aspects of it. A realistic optimist who is far from naive but maybe a bit too forgiving sometimes.

Jett Jones (*January 15th 1984, in Newcastle Upon Tyne, England; 6'2 ft / 1,87 m): Hallie's friend and fellow Grot Spot writer. A Geordie beauty who never met her real parents but couldn't care less, as the lovely Joneses raised her well. Outspoken and blunt, appears to be afraid of nothing. Never refills the office coffee pot and would most likely survive a zombie apocalypse. Treasures her heart and shares her real name with hardly anybody.

---

And, as a bonus...

1984

Craig Diarmid Abbott (*October 8th 1962 in Liverpool, England | † June 2006 in Aberdeen, Scotland; 6'4 ft / 1,92 m)

Sofia Elena Jacinta Abbott, nee Thomson (*February 11th 1956 in Mexico City, Mexico; 5'8 ft / 1,73 m)

... parents of Lance and Ali, who have their own story back in the eighties!

***

[margraviate-of-headcanonburg]

Hi, I’m Margrave, and if canon is usually a ball of yarn and the fics are the cardigans, then the Countryhumans fanon + Hetalia canon are sheep whom I have sheared and spun their outer layers into my own combined, entirely handmade yarn.

My personal universe of hcs is more like a mash-up of CH and Hetalia traits, though I’d never watched or read hetalia canon up until just recently (and only clip compilations). When I was 12-15 I was hyperfixated on CH, but my interaction with it was limited to wattpad and youtube. Out of the inevitable following history and geography hyperfixations I created my own universe, which was then heavily influenced by some Hetalia blogs over here. 3 years later some songs just pulled me back down into the thick of my CH world and now I’m here to make it everyone else’s problem. If this stuff actually garners interest then perhaps someday I’ll make a masterlist of my great city of Headcanonburg. If you wanna know more than don’t be afraid to ask :D

‘FC’ = First Citizen, the title that al of the nations hold in their countries (equiv. to calling leaders ‘president’ or ‘PM’)

Some TAGS

[note: the ‘Aldwin Family’ refers to Arthur/Britain, Jack/Aussie, Mora/Kiwi, Matthew/Canada, Alfred/America, Haishen/Hong Kong, Mira/Marianne/France (married to arthur), William/England, Malcolm/Scotland, and Gwyneth/Wales]

Headcanonburg - HCs

Nations of Twitter - My series of FC shenanigans on social media

lmfao - funny things

pretty art - RB’d artwork

Alfred Fitzgerald - everything to do with America

the snarky immortals table - things for the FCs as a whole or the UN as a group

security council of idiots - things for the western allies/NATO as a group

Current SHIPS

FrUK (m/f), NedPan (m/m, one deceased), EstiFin (m/m), AusHun (m/f, amicably divorced), PruFritz (m/m, one deceased, shoutout dani) InTan (m/m, india/bhutan) SovAme* (m/m, one deceased) (*clandestine-open-relationship-lovers-friends to clandestine-open-relationship-lovers-enemies)

[UNDER THE CUT IS THE FAMILY TREES I DESIGNED MYSELF AND BASE ALL OF MY OWN CHARACTERS OFF OF. These are ones I’ve currently made and which are continuously in development as I research and brainstorm headcanons; they’ve already been updated/edited many times. Once there are more than 10 I will make separate posts and a masterlist for them. There are multiple layers—grey lines mean adoption—but I’ll leave those to the separate posts]

[townsenddecades]

1329 – Day 2 – Townsend Farm

The Townsends are neither invited to Annette’s wedding – peasant kin may be tolerated, but it doesn’t need to be seen – nor do they bother the Chevaliers in their grief. They send some vegetables and other goods as a sign of their sympathy and have Malcolm offer their condolences, but that is all they do.

They don’t have time for more, truth be told. Summer is coming to an end, which means it’s harvest time. Once again, all hands on the farm are needed to bring in their bounty before the weather can ruin it. Even Malcolm’s meetings with his lady love have to stop for a while; as sympathetic as his parents are to young love, it’s much less important than their family’s livelihood.

As always, Benjamin and the children do most of the work on the fields. Benedict and Malika help out on some days, but most of the time, all the latter does in regard to the harvest is to make sure the farm workers receive good rations of ale and supper. She takes over caring for the chickens, too, just so Adeline has more time to toil on the field.

Luckily for them all, the harvest is a success. They have had better years, but the wheat sells well, as do the other vegetables they harvested. There isn’t much they can make into nectar, sadly – they will have to wait for the autumn harvest for that – but their earnings will be enough to pay off their tallage.

Which means that it is time to celebrate, to rest, and to prepare for the fall sowing. A good, even a decent harvest is always a reason to celebrate for the community, and the summer harvest with its warm nights especially. They have a gathering on the tourney ground near Tovar with their neighbours to enjoy the bounty and be merry.

But they appreciate the quiet time after that, too. Things will change soon enough. It can only be a matter of time before Malcolm announces his intention to marry the young woman he is so obviously besotted with, and Amye will need to marry sooner or later, too.

Accordingly, Benjamin does his best to spend time with his daughter, already a young woman, even if it is just quietly crafting together. He doesn’t know what is coming, but he knows that good times can be fleeting.

Despite how foolish his parents might think youthful attachment, Malcolm truly misses seeing Hawise while they are kept apart by the harvest. The two of them are sneaking an hour or two to meet almost daily now, so not seeing each other for more than a week is harder than one might think. And even before that, their visits had decreased due to his aunt and uncle’s grieving.

His heart leaps at seeing her wait for him in their usual spot by the river when he returns there as soon as he finally has time again, and judging by how widely she smiles when he trots towards her, she feels the same.

“I though you’d forgotten all about me!”, she greets him cheerfully. “Or worse, found another nice lass while harvesting.”

He snorts. “I’ve known the girls I met at the harvest all my life, so that’s hardly likely.”

“One never knows. Did the harvest at least turn out well?”

“Well enough. My parents are glad, of course. But I’m just relieved that it’s over now so we can see each other again.”

She smiles even more brightly at that, in a way that makes Malcolm’s stomach erupt in a fluttery, warm feeling that reminds him faintly of butterflies or birds. He has been certain that he is in love with her for a while, but these small signs that she might feel the same are still more precious than anything else for him. You should tell her. She is a beautiful girl, witty, charming. If he doesn’t make a serious bid for her, someone else will beat him to it sooner or later.

“And how are you faring? How are Sir Robert and Lady Chevalier?”, he asks, before he can do something rash and foolish. He can’t come out and simply ask her to be his wife. Or, well. He could if he knew with certainty that she expects him to. But he doesn’t.

Her face instantly saddens, but that isn’t unexpected. “They are…trying to keep their heads up”, she answers finally. “I think they are starting to believe the Watcher has put a curse on them. I feel so sorry for them, but of course, I can’t say much. It isn’t my place.”

“And how are you feeling?”

“He was a precious babe”, she answers, with a sigh. “But that has never saved any peasant or serf child. Why should it save those of high lords and ladies?”

“My, Hawise, you almost sound rebellious.”

“I’m not!”, she says forcefully. “I didn’t want any of their children to die. They grieve just like us. I just think we are more accustomed to life’s hardships than them noble folk are, sometimes. But it still makes me sad.”

“But there’s still life. I’m sure my uncle and Lady Chevalier will have a living son, in time.”

“Maybe.” She sighs and looks out over the river. “But it won’t bring the children they lost back. And it makes me wonder what hardships will be in my future. I don’t think I could bear burying my children.”

“Maybe you’ll be fortunate. Some people never lose a child at all. And even if you do…” He takes his hand in hers. “On our farm, we’ve always had each other in times of grief. That doesn’t make it hurt less, but it’s…good to face such things as a family.”

She smiles a little at that. “I will have to take your word for that. When my parents died, I was left all alone. But life on your farm sounds…safe, at least.”

“Do you think you would like to be part of that?”

It is only when her eyes widen that he realizes what he said. So much for approaching the subject carefully.

“Is this an offer of marriage?”, she asks, face unreadable.

“No. Yes.” He sighs. “I don’t know. A plea to court you, maybe? I didn’t plan to ask you now.”

Finally, there is an emotion on her face: a twinkle of amusement, which swells into quiet laughter. Oh Watcher, she thinks it’s a joke.He is on the verge of devolving into a very fractured, even more embarrassing explanation, when she shakes her head and presses his hand, which is still firmly holding hers. “It would have been a strange proposal, in any event. Just a moment ago, we were talking about the children taken by the Watcher.”

He can’t help giving an embarrassed laugh at that. “At least you would have known I wasn’t simply telling you things, then?”

“Yes, there’s that.” She cocks her head and stares at him intently. “So, you mean it? You want me to be part of your life on the farm?”

“Yes. I do. I don’t know if it’s too soon, but…I’ve wanted you to be part of my family for a while now. If you want that, too.”

If he had thought her smile beautiful before, he knows now that he was wrong. The way she smiles now can’t compare to anything else. “Oh Malcolm. Yes, of course yes.”

He can hardly believe his luck to have her actually say ‘yes’ to this bumbling proposal, but Hawise seems just as excited as him. It hurts a little to tell her that although he wishes to court her seriously, he can’t yet promise her marriage – he needs to talk to his parents first, and she will need to reach an agreement with his aunt and uncle. She is not a serf, but they are relying on her as their maid.

But he doesn’t think either side will raise objections. They may need to change some things on their farm, but his parents will likely be ecstatic about another pair of helping hands, especially if Amye should indeed find a husband of her own soon.

He may not have planned his proposal, but he still feels as light as if he were treading on air as he walks home, after exchanging some more kisses and embraces with an equally happy Hawise.

Previous: 1329, Day 2, Part 2/3 <--> Next: 1329, Day 3

[jantostolemyheart]

Fic #7

Title: Cry For Absolution

Fandom: Torchwood, Arrow

Characters: Ianto Jones, Malcolm Merlyn

Pairing: Ianto/Malcolm

Status: complete

Fic is inspired by one @professeurm wrote

Yes the title is a Ghost reference, no not a songfic

It was the second time Malcolm woke from a nightmare. Thankfully he hadn't tried to strangle Ianto again, but he didn't want to risk it, or worse. He sat up, watching the man beside him sleep. Ianto looked so young, so innocent - he was almost 30 but he had that face that made you look younger than you were. Malcolm sighed softly, and carefully got up from the bed. He knew it was a mistake to stay over, Ianto would only end up hurt. His earlier nightmare proved that.

He was buttoning up his jacket when he felt Ianto come up behind him. "Cariad? What are you doing?"

Malcolm turned to face him. "It was a mistake to stay overnight. I nearly killed you, I keep having nightmares and I'm not willing to risk one of them actually killing you." He moved to the door, but Ianto put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"You don't have to go." His voice was soft, the vestiges of sleep still evident.

"Yes, I do." Malcolm was gentle yet firm.

Ianto frowned. "Go, then." Malcolm stroked Ianto's cheek gently, kissed him on the forehead before opening the door to leave. Ianto didn't watch, heading back to his room, and Malcolm left.

He did not let Malcolm see the tears that were falling fast and hard. He'd been a fool to fall for Malcolm Merlyn, but still, he didn't regret it.

Walking to his car, he didn't let any emotions show on his face. He couldn't have anyone see he was weak. However, he couldn't hold on any longer during the drive home, and the tears silently streamed down his cheeks. It hurt to leave Ianto. The only person he had loved like this since Rebecca died. He had sworn to never fall in love again. One night stands? A short fling? Sure, no emotions attached. Falling in love hadn't been an option, but then he met Ianto Jones. That sweet, quiet Welshman, who had come to him for a job. He had referred him to Palmer Tech instead, and the young man had fit in quite successfully there.

They had met once more at a function, and continued to meet up in their free time. This time was the first night they had spent together. It amazed Malcolm to no end how someone could know everything about him, what he'd done, and still want him. He had no idea if Ianto loved him too, the Welshman was also skilled at hiding his emotions. Taking a deep breath, he headed to his room. It would be better this way. Safer. At least, that's what he tried to convince himself.

Days later, when he was looking out his office window, Malcolm saw the smoke signal. The League. Fuck. He left the building as quickly as possible, changing into the outfit he had worn in his League years. Going as fast as he dared without getting in legal trouble, he reached the location of the signal. Ra's Al Ghul greeted him, a smug expression on his face. "So glad you could make it, Al Saher."

"What do you want from me?" He demanded of Ra's.

"I believe I have something of yours. Do you recognize this man?" A hooded League member dragged Ianto forward. His arms and legs were tied, he was gagged, and his face bloodied. Malcolm let out a soft gasp. Ra's smiled. So he was right, this youngster was important to Al Saher. "What have you done to him? What do you want?"

"Oh, I want you to suffer. You have broken the League's code of conduct when you carried out that undertaking. You must be punished, yet immediate death is too good for you, Al Saher. You were once my right-hand man, yet you will not have the luxury of my mercy. You will watch as your beloved suffers, and then you will too."

A rough hand shoved Malcolm down to his knees, holding him firmly in place. "Why hurt him? Why not just take me back with you to Nanda Parbat, and leave him out of this? Ianto is innocent in all of this. I am the one you want, not him!"

"Be silent and face your punishment with dignity, Al Saher. He lost all hope of being innocent once he built a relationship with you. You will be silent, and you will watch your beloved suffer. Taking his place would do nothing. He will still be punished for your crimes."

Malcolm tried to break free, to pull his beaten and battered boyfriend into his arms to protect him. He couldn't move, though. He head five of the assassins holding him down. Ra's really meant business. He was powerless to stop everything, and was forced to watch as Ra's further beat the man he loved. Once Ra's had had his fill, he drew his sword and slid it into Ianto's chest, straight through his heart, and Ianto slumped over. Malcolm screamed.

"I will allow you a few moments with your beloved, and then it will be your turn." He motioned for the members to let go of Malcolm and give them space.

"No no no no no!" Malcolm sobbed, kneeling next to Ianto's body. He untied Ianto and removed the gag, cradled him close. "I'm sorry, Ianto, I'm so sorry-"

He felt a hand against his chest. "I love you, Cariad-"

Ianto's eyes closed, and he was gone. Malcolm could only sit there, frozen. The man he loved was gone. The man who could love monsters.