#my mom always did this growing up so I associate it with good memories

[bee-a-ts]

my most boomer trait is discovering my Roku has a live TV app this week and getting excited because that means I can watch the local daily morning news broadcast

[halfblood-princes-crown]

Hi this is "severitus with alive Jilly au, unboxing horcrux gone wrong". I'm not going to write this because it will take time and those ideas are basically my good bye letter to this fandom. It's a little painful for me but I know I cannot stay in this fandom anymore. There are obviously more reasons but the main one is because this has been a central part of my childhood and I feel like I just cannot let it be a part of me for an unknown amount of time. I might return to it later in life but this is technically my goodbye to my childhood and me saying hello to adulthood officially (this is also why I'm staying an anon, I don't want to be associated with this fandom anymore, I want a clean break). This took a sad turn, but anyways, returning to the au.

You know the drill, I might also drop in

Bellatrix has a knife to my throat, I don't know what to do, I don't know what to say, I guess I don't have to say anything cuz Ron starts screaming

The rest of the week is kind of a blur everyone is panicking, we're sleeping in the Great hall, my parents come over and for some reason my dad asks what did I do to scare her off and is disappointed to find out I didn't do anything, she just kinda ran away after hearing Ron. My mom is kind of silent, she doesn't say anything, just asks if I got hurt "or something" (why did she say it like that does she not love me anymore?) and they just kind of leave after that, not making sure I was actually okay I wish Auntie or Peter were here instead of them

Snape did make sure I was okay, he gave me a cookie and a awkward head pat. Professor Lupin actually tries to talk to me, I appreciated that, he even offered to tutor me in any spell I wanted and I don't think any of us was expecting me to take up that offer. I had a dream where I couldn't cast a spell, it was called a Patronus and it apparently works against dementors, considering I still can't go outside without hearing children being tortured by a woman in a orphanage (I asked Tom about it and he apparently did grow up in an orphanage and we're his memories, I'm still not sure why am I hearing them but okay, sure, normal Tuesday shit for Harry Potter), I also know that Tom approves of this choice my soul was warmer that usual

Things go of as usual, aunt Petunia actually sends me an owl and that is a big step because usually hates owls.

I may not like being treated like I'm made out of glass by the rest of the school but I gained a new friend, Hermione, she is a little condescending and a little bit too nosey but she is super loyal and is willing to talk about things that Ron isn't ready for yet, like politics and bullies and the unfairness of being put a label on and being expected to act a certain way and how the wizarding world treats those they deam beneath them and how cute Blaise Zabini is and how hot Lavender is becoming. Though she is weirdly against dark magic and I am too, I think, but she takes it to a whole new level and now we are researching dark magic and how negatively it affect our society. I win three to one pro-dark magic.

School goes on and I have a bet with Ron and Hermione about the date of Snape and aunt Petunia's wedding because Spane handed me a letter from my aunt one morning and the Weasley twins said they saw a hickey of Snape's neck. I bet around summer after fifth year and summer before the forth year. Who cares I wasted twenty galleons, I'm rich, especially after my godfather dies.

I master the Patronus charm and leave everyone flabbergasted when I used it spontaneously on a dementor on my way to Herbology.

Somewhere in a tower towering over the school a batty old teacher named Trelawney said in a thousand voices that weren't her own but were: "That boy might as well save himself for Death if he is going to provoke him so, Death always loved a challenge." To bad the only person there to witness that didn't have any idea what that meant and thought that Trelawney was high and made a sexual joke so he laughed, like any 14 year old would, and went back to cleaning fake cristal balls.

The year ended so we went back home and I will spend the first month with my aunt and then head back to my parents. A scream is heard along the train and then another one and another one. Students are running along the hall so I get out of the compartment to see what's going on and a decapitated head (a boy in the year above me, a Hufflepuff), drenched in blood, lands at my feet (the only person who remebers what happens when you peak Death interest the only person who can begin to guess Harry's fate) with a a loud smacking sound and I look up from the blood filled floor and look into the eyes of a faded beauty, Bellatrix fucking Lestrange, in all her twisted glory.

The smiles at me, it's a gentle smile, it's the smile that a mother gives her child when their being endearing or funny, it's surprisingly... fond. "I finally found you again, my beautiful little doll." He grabs my collar with surprising force and forcefully drags me to a corpse filled compartment and the last thing I see before the window shatters behind me is her motherly smile.

'At least I can't lose the bet when I'm dead' is my last thought before pain erupted from my head and my back as hundreds of glass shards find their painfull home in my back.

Sorry for the wait, it took me 45 minutes to write this to make it quality to make up for my drunk ramblings last time, and don't worry, despite the cruelty I'm putting Harry through, he'll survive it somehow, he's a though little cookie.

Love you and your blog! Say hi to your wifey for me!

Oh! Well I’m proud of you for letting go! I’ll miss your asks!

Your idea is so good and I adore it!!! It was great that you put it out there before leaving! It’s very well thought out and I love the plot! You put some good thought into this.

You guys really inspire me to write.

“Thought that Trelawney was high and made a sexual joke, so he laughed” 😭😭 relatable

This ^ had me in tears ngl 🤣🤣🤣 Blaise is cute…and Lavender is hot…no lies here

@moonlightdancer26 my anon says hi ☺️

Miss you 🥹

[orbees]

For @coccolithophore, answering those questions u sent last night for miss kitty!!!!

♥️- best memory

Oh good question several things come to mind w/ this one

Her first time on stage!!! Kitty's always been drawn to the limelight, u could even say its in her blood! not Dia sm, but rosabella, her other mother was a performer!!! More a singer than a dancer but kitty definitely inherited her singing ability :3

kitty took a lot of dance classes in her youth, and they were Always her favorite from the 383838 classes that she took! Kitty had quite the rigorous education growing up. Nothing less for dias princess 😤😤😤

Her first performance was for a ballet class!!! It was here she learned her love for the stage. Dia was there too, Dia was definitely the mom who Always showed up for her kids performances. But it rly stuck with kitty cause dias not much of a cryer but Dia shed a few tears then 🤧 reminded her sm of rosabella then

And speaking of Dia I think making up with her was another one of her treasured memories. It was complicated for a while there but kitty has always loved Dia, and missed her a lot when she was away from home... she just couldn't deal with Dia trying to dictate her life, and so for her to apologize, realize she was wrong, made it a lot easier to move pass that hurt and reunite with someone she loves

beyond thattt gjsngnd unforch I can't count meeting him and nat here because they met in rly. Dire circumstances. Their adventure was pretty grueling too they rly did get their asses kicked 😭 more so than the faerun squad and that's saying something!!! There were good times tho for sure!!! I think everything with leading the revolution against fortune farm is something she looks back on fondly because she felt she rly Accomplished something there, and came into her own as a leader!!!! She's always wanted to stand on her own outside of dias shadow so being able to do something like that was rly important to her.

I think too discovering Ixalan was pretty big for her similar reasons, tho very different ones than nat. She def recognized the academic value but for her it was more personally fulfilling in the sense that it was something she set out to do, and accomplished, and it definitely wasn't something just anyone could do!!!! Oh yeah I'd say saving the world is a pretty good memory too 😹 #girl

🍕- favorite food

Red velvet cake!!!!!

🧠 - what is something you like about this oc?

there's lots I love about kitty!!! Some of it the same as arahana, just that she represents all the memories I made with my Beloved dnd squad 🥰 but also I rly like kittys design and aside from her fucking horns she's rly fun to draw. It helps a lot that she's got that lovecore aesthetic and I am a lovecore bitch. I love how her relationship with Dia & Razul developed 🥺 and the bonds she forged with Nat and Him... her Besties... I've mentioned this b4 but I also rly like that she's so strongly associated with love & romance imagery but struggles a lot w/ intimacy. It's something I def wanna explore more with her. I love her strong sense of will too, especially when it blows up on her face lol some of the most fun I had with kitty was roleplaying her Losing just because she Hates it sm and rly shakes things up for her. She's a great character and one of my faves for sure!!!!

Ty for asking!!!!

[red-eft]

ooo 1-5 for Iriskree and 14-18 for! Adonis ohoo

oo alrighty.. here we Go

warning in advance that i wrote a lot more than i meant to. big oops

Adonis

14. one of your character's embarassing secrets?

one of his secrets is that adonis loooooves sappy stuff like holding hands, cuddling, etc… but growing up as a noble, he was always taught to Never Touch Anyone or to even talk about the desire to do so. as a result, adonis is really touch-starved and too embarrassed to admit it. 

15. who is your character's best friend?

his best friend in the whole world is lorne!! but he's also quite close with ivy and cordelia ^^

16. how does your character feel about their parents?

adonis doesn’t feel great about his parents. his mother died in the same accident that took his heart. his father, soren, did his best to raise adonis well, but was extremely strict and put a lot of pressure on him to become the head of the noble house.

it was all well-intended, but good intentions weren’t enough for adonis to forgive him. and then soren gets killed, so even though adonis eventually does forgive him, he never has the chance to have it mean something to soren :)

(i used to have it so that his father was abusive towards him and adonis killed him, but i’m retconning that because it felt trite and out of character for everyone involved).

17. how does your character feel about their siblings?

he has one sibling- a younger sister. he’s six years older than her. in his story he’s about 20, so she’d be 14. they’re not super close. he loves her, though, and he did his best to protect her from soren's helicopter-parenting/intense pressure. she never really knew her mom. he always told her little stories about her. 

18. a memory that still makes your character angry?

it’s toward the end of his story and it haunts him long after: ivy’s father being killed by ydrenth. no one could stop it from happening. adonis had to watch ivy deal with the same loss he felt when his father was killed. even years later, after ydrenth is long gone, the memory is still enough to make him feel angry.

he's usually only be able to calm down by taking a long walk by himself or by going to his friends to talk about it (lorne, ivy, and cordelia- they're his closest friends and also the only ones that truly understand what happened since they were there as well). if for some reason he can't do either, adonis will turn to less healthy coping mechanisms without a second thought.

----------

Iriskree

1. does your oc have any motifs?

hm.. iriskree’s motifs are the sea/water (rebirth) and the gold etched into his scales (like kintsugi- again, rebirth/being repaired). also lightning (commonly associated with raising the the dead, as seen in frankenstein’s monster movies and minecraft with skeleton horses!). i fucking love motifs honestly

2. describe your character's voice. do they have a voice claim?

his voice is very raspy. it only sounds smooth in the brief moments after he's had some water to drink. other than the raspiness, though, iriskree's voice tends to be very upbeat and cheerful. it’s not deep. i don’t have a voice claim for him yet.

3. is your character an indoor or outdoor person?

iriskree is somewhat outdoorsy! he loves the sea, the beach, and going out sailing (though he’s no deckhand; he just likes to be there lol). but at the same time, he’s not very knowledgeable or enthusiastic about other places like the forest or desert.

4. what is your character's favorite recreational activity?

cooking!! he loves making good food. also he loves getting really high with his friends and laughing about the stupidest shit ever. those two activities go pretty well together actually huh

5. what was your character's dream job as a kid? is it different than what their career ended up being?

hee... iriskree was born in a Very different time than my other post-apoc ocs (~23 years before the apocalypse), so this is an excellent question for him :>

when he was little, iriskree wanted to be a stormcaller! stormcalling was a profession along the southern coast. extreme weather (storms/hurricanes/etc.) devastated the region every few years. stormcallers used their innate weather-focused magic to drive away these storms and prevent too much destruction. 

unfortunately, iriskree had no innate magic, so instead of a stormcaller, he ended up becoming a retail worker. then the world ended and he died. about 300 years later, he was brought back to life by a bored necromancer. iriskree ended up becoming a carver, amateur cartographer, and pickpocket all at once. 

he's not really sure what to do with himself. stormcallers still exist, and he'd still love to be one. thanks to all the excess magic floating around post-apocalypse, anyone can do magic if they try hard enough- except iriskree. since he was born at the time when magic was still rare and contained, and his body doesn't have the adaptations everyone else has evolved* to absorb it, he can't use magic and literally never will. poor guy.

(bonus: dark magic barely has any effect on him because of how his body can't absorb magic. healing incantations, curses, runes, etc.... none of it really works on him. this makes it really funny when he goes up against mages in a fight because their stuff basically just bounces off him)

*i use the term evolved loosely because iirc evolution doesn't work that fast... it's not adaptation either, tho, because adaptations aren't passed down to the next generation. i guess it's weird, fucked up extra-fast evolution as a side effect of dark magic? idk whlsdjflk

[hersheythecure]

.

Thank you for communicating with me. Tha k you for showing me years ago what your suicidal ideation meant. It's your way to tell me we need help. We want the pain to stop.

Reliving horrible moments

Sexuak assaults

Abuse

Emotional and mental abuse

Seeing memories that were hidden from me. My brain is piecing together so much from my time with this man.

All the times I wanted to go to the hospital and he'd convince me not to. I thought he was helping. My brain thinks he was waiting for me to kill myself. All he really did was sit there and observe me. Sometimes he'd hug me and put his hand on my chest so I didn't disappear but mostly just stare. I thought I was too much for him and I'd tell him to leave me. I'd apologize for dragging him into my world. A d he'd say no he wanted to be there. I thought that was love. It was patience. It was wait this out for the bigger payout. I'd what no body said. He was gonna claim we had a suffocation kink and he didn't know I wasn't breathing while fucking me. He would've gotten away with it. We've never used a pillow over my face before. Never. When I told the Columbia county sheriff depot. They said we'll sometimes people do stuff like that as sexual interests. So they would've believed him. I would've been dead. I fucking hate him. This whole system fucking sucks ass. This us how I know there is no God. There is no one coming to save me but me. No one.

Itvwas always just me. Saving myself. If I went to the psychology ward memories would've come back to me. Well if I went to a good psych ward where I felt safe. I would've found out from my brain what was happening. I'm also aware I'm in a tightened state of triggers which can affect the way I perceive and process. I'm glad I've learned what that looks like. I know what's a memory, what's a flashbacks and what's my mind creating scenarios that are plausible. The evidence is the proof. The evidence shows who he is. My body tells me what happened. In detail. When the specific chemical imbalance happens in my body it unlocks every memory of abuse associated with that chemical make up. That has rang true. Atleast every memory that has since been revealed to me.

Childhood memories are locked away. I didn't get those yet. I've walked through teenhood kinda and adulthood kinda. Still many gaps. But as I remember I will journal. Flashbacks are real as fuckkkk and intense.

My job us to allow the stress to come out of my body. Words make them feel like they won't die and be forgotten. So I write for them. Write their pain and show them it mattered. It is real. Like. Fuck.

I just want to hold us. I just wish we had family. A loving and kind and supportive family. That understands mental health. I wish we had more growing up. Wished we weren't so alone. Many people feel this. I wonder if it's at the same capacity that I do.

Remember. We've been getting better each year even though it's still massive. We have yet to process any trauma with professionals. We have yet to begin any treatment due to the fucking politics of this country. It's in all of its systems. It's not your fault. Remember why we fight. We fight to see him grow up. To see him win his first soccer game. To see him smile with his two beaver front teeth. To love him. To hold him when he cries. To encourage him when he's down. To motivate him and pour into him so he never forgets how loved he is when we're no longer here.

I still remember the things my mom said to me. In my moments in the military. Her words would repeat in my mind when I needed them most.

I want to give him as much as possible so he may hear me when he needs me most.

It's going to be okay. We're doing the best we can. I feel our exhaustion.

My brain is overloaded. When I have panic attacks it's not even me. It's not even her. It's our nervous system reacting to the date in time. That's how much trauma can affect the human body. The things you do to people stay with their nervous system. Do fucking better people. Stop being dickheads. Grow the fuck up bro. Go to therapy. Unfuck yourselves.

Okay okay. Breathe. Focus on us. You're upset because people could've been kinder to us and they were not. They hurt our body and our mind. This, anger is comin from that. I'd be angry too. You are valid. Your feelings are valid. I am going to advocate for me. Thank you for sharing.

I see you. I hear you. I love you. I see how brave you've been. I see how strong you are. Let me. Rest and let me. I've got you all. I'm so sorry these things happened to us. I know there's so much more but let's eat the elephant one bite at a time. We want to respect our brains capacity to Harbor us. She's tired. I know you don't have a choice when you come out but let's learn how to minimize while you're here. I believe in you my child. I really do. I've seen you. I know you. You can do this. Muah. Let's start the day. We're going to be late.

[matchluv]

Being unhappy is the new normal. 

As a society, we’ve generalized the term “depression.” We joke about death lightheartedly: “I’m so depressed,” “I want to kill myself,” “I would rather die.” How has our society come to be one where we want to be, and even argue over, who is the busiest, the most stressed out, the one that has the most problems? 

But, after all, we have burdens pushed upon ourselves from such a young age - schoolwork, expectations, social life. Yet we worry more about making unhappiness go away, rather than truly finding happiness. Are we really living life or just trying to slowly delay the inevitable, impending doom that is death? 

***

Our house ran every day like clockwork, always busy and always moving. 

When I was little and we first moved to **, my parents were determined to fill every block of time I had and I did it all. My days became monotonous, each nothing more than a faint memory. My life was consumed by: Mondays, piano; Tuesday, violin; Wednesdays, writing class; Thursdays, ballet; repeat, none of which I particularly enjoyed. I spent the rest of my time reading or doing my homework. Nothing had meaning. I looked at this time as a filler, but a filler for what, exactly? 

I treated life as if it was a sprint rather than a marathon.

Yet, most of my hobbies stuck with me. People told me I was talented, and it became my self-worth. I was nothing without my music. 

During dinner, after the usual “how was your day” s, my mom would tell stories about her childhood. This was one of the few times our busy life paused; my mom would wear a relaxed smile on her face as opposed to yelling at us. My mom had always felt distant. We were locked in a constant stalemate; she never understood me and I never understood her. But during these times, I felt at home. 

“I don’t know how to study for math though!”, “But so many people are smarter than me,” “I’m not good at sports like you”; I knew what my mom would say every time but I didn’t want these moments to end. She told us of her life growing up: going to boarding school, being valedictorian, top of her class, athletic and overachieving. So, being the eldest child, I was expected to perform well academically and live up to my mom’s reputation.

***

I was always called the “teacher's pet” in elementary school. My parents constantly compared me to others: my friends, classmates, peers. Without any self-confidence, my happiness stemmed from praise and compliments. I got perfect grades on all of my assignments, I gave the graduation speech, and I was far ahead of the school curriculum. My peers gave me nicknames as well: “the calculator,” “computer,” and “the smart one”. I managed to keep my perfect record up to sixth grade, but after that, everything fell apart. My grades were slipping far beyond my control. 

If my work wasn’t perfect, I didn’t want to do it. I would barely put effort into the things I didn’t think I was good at. Everything used to come naturally to me, and now that they didn’t, I gave up. I would dread reading any form of feedback; making one mistake and doubting my capabilities sent me spiraling into a rabbit hole of self-depreciation. I procrastinated nearly all of my assignments until everything started piling up. 

Yet, on top of it all, I told myself to not care. I repressed my feelings the way you would boil water in a kettle until I simply could not bear it anymore. 

I wasn’t normal anymore, I didn’t feel like myself. I felt broken. My life was shattering in front of me into pieces, faster than I could pick them up and glue them back together. 

***

I don’t remember how I changed. There wasn’t one singular, storybook pivotal moment. It was my friends, the feeling of a fresh start, and a newfound motivation to live life, and ironically, also my parents. They were and will always be my greatest supporters. 

I’ve realized that being normal is as impossible as striving for perfection. We, innately, associate difference with “bad” and are scared to change. Instead, I’ve started searching for the small things that make me happy: going for a walk in the park, studying at a cafe, having a picnic.

I never quit piano or violin, they still gave me comfort within my chaotic schedule, but I’ve realized true happiness shouldn’t come from being normal. It's feeling satisfied with life and enjoying every single moment.

thanks for reading!

about me :3

grade: 8th

name: kiki

[suugrbunz]

Just dropping in to say - Ooh I love music when it’s raining! That’s a lovely memory to have, it must have really affected you :)

My home growing up - filled with music. We’d play anything - hard rock, alternative, punk, blues, reggae, rockabilly, etc etc!! I have an early vivid memory too, sitting on the kitchen rug in the evening, lights dim, by the radio, Thin Lizzy playing. I loved it. Thin Lizzy will forever be my childhood music for that.

Haha, a Canadian Anthem dream 🇨🇦 I love that. 

You’re so sweet too - thank you for all our messaging last night and all the inspiration, it really picked up my mood and gave me a ton of ideas <3

I look forward also to seeing whatever you wanna put out about your characters!!

💝anon

My family was the same way!! My mom is half-ethiopian and half-ashkenazi&irish— So I grew up with a lot of different music from her. My dad stays close to mostly rock and its many subgenres. Some exceptions being the bee gees, abba, and probably others that I currently cannot recall.

My mum used to play music every Sunday and we'd dance together to it. My mom always wanted to get into gothic and alternative fashion (during the 80s) but never did. The reasoning was really logical, she was in a small town and didn't want to receive any mistreatment based on her appearance. Which she already had been through due to the fact she's mixed race.

There's other songs I hear nowadays that I have to pause and realise; I heard it in my childhood. Lots of new wave that I've rediscovered. My childhood song, that my mum used to sing me to sleep with was Annie's Song by John Denver. My bubbe, who I am named after, also liked the song. She died before I was born. One day, the song started to play in my head. I wasn't sure where I heard it but I ended up finding it. My bubbe was named Ann and loved the song because y'know the title. According to my mom, bubbe went out and bought the cassette tape of the album. So it's like a small connection between myself and my grandmother that I never met. However, the music that's been greatly associated with my dad during childhood are people like Rob Zombie, Metallica Megadeath, Foo Fighters, R.E.M., and so many others. Actually, random side tangent again; I was in a record store with my dad and this guy approached us. Acting as if he was into, "underground" music. He called r.e.m. just...rem. Like you say the letters...right?? It was funny and every time we hear r.e.m. on the radio one of us has to exclaim, "hey, it's rem!"

And I'd like to thank you for our talk as well. It was really nice to just talk about music and writing. Thank you. I've been having a lot of bad memories lately and you reminded me of the good ones.

[robinalivingods]

Hey kid, werido(lol), you been stressing your life bout being accepted in every environment you thought you needed, but you know what? You keep learning through the journey it's okay.

I know your whole life you been longing for someone in need, by your side and Everytime that opportunity comes it seems to never last. But again kid it's okay. You have to let go, make memories go for everything you think you FEAR. it's okay

Hey but look now, you one of the biggest artists on this planet with so many souls living in/on it. Be proud, I'm proud, daddy proud, you made mom proud, you made your uncles proud, grandma and auntgrand proud, everybody who loves you proud, so be there for them always kid. Take care of those who love you love. Love cannot be bought kid, yall will have differences of course - that's why you are who you are kid. it's okay.

You probably won a Grammy one, two or more or not, doesn't really matter, but I know what it would mean to you kid. I would love for you kid, but look at the lives you have impacted that's worth more than any prize you want Ntando. Kid thriving, I know you sometimes you feel like quitting but remember 'Grade 8' "This my life(Music)" go with that kid, might be a short version of inspiration but do take it. It won't be easy but it will be worth it. it's okay

You probably have new friends, new associates, built a team of people who trust you, be there for those people too. Be a Leader kid. Be a good listener, be smart and don't hate, face value never counts on this planet. Know your worth. They gon shit talk you at times. it's okay

You probably in a relationship I cherish love kid, know how to love but most importantly love yourself, kid. Sometimes love is weird, yet know this, you don't find love, love finds you kid. It heals but can also hurt you, but don't give up. it's okay

Be You, believe in you like when you did in 2017 or 2019, love you lots kid. Never change what you believe in but grow to be a better you so you can find the great in you.

You in L.A right now reading this, just had a fantastic project out, Tyler, the creator produced one of the records on the project. You saw your first billboard. But you haven't made it yet but live in That moment kid. I love you, remember to do different era's and experiment with different sounds of music. They might not understand it. it's okay

You rich corporate ass motherfucker, love you to death... Ohhh and don't forget that Oscar. And *reminder* stop filling up the garage with porches or whatever. But that 911 been due, hahaha.

Michael Jackson probably proud where he at right now. You still that 5 year old kid. Love that for you.

Eddy finally found love him, can't believe it. But the gang good, a few fallout along the way but it was worth it. The crib crazy, but funny how you always traveling. Robinson Crusoe

Don't want to spoil alot. But love you alot.

Be that kid. KIDS ON THE FLOOR.

[dancingwiththefae]

Chords from the perspective of a parent who constantly feels like they don’t know what they’re doing

So listen I have a lot of feelings about this song and I want to talk about them so here goes

First of all I want to say that I am in no way talking about people who have unhealthy or bad relationships with their parents (abusive or otherwise) I too have a difficult relationship with mine that I won’t go into but 

If you can’t listen to the song because you associate it with bad memories from you’re own life then that is fine and totally valid.

I think the parents in this specific song are not terrible parents as some say and I want to talk about why

If we take that Madeleine is the mother and Joey is the father. Their child has grown up and is ready to leave home and they are reflecting back on their childhood and their time as parents during a huge change in their life  Madeleine touches on something specific about motherhood. You are constantly made to feel like you are not good enough. From medical professionals to opinion pieces online to your own friends and family. Everything you do is scrutinised. And you will then scrutinise yourself for not being better. 

Joey opens the song with remember today you are loved I think he’s both talking to the child and to Madeleine. The father here is talking about all the good memories they had and reassuring the mother that they did the best they could and that’s enough. He is the positive to Madeleine’s negative

my saints, my sighs, my upsets, and the days I couldn’t cope

the feeling of not being able to cope is a common feeling among parents. Guys I’m not gonna lie you you. Being a parent is damn HARD. 

charcoal eyes, stilettos, they’re not ready (nor are you)

That’s your baby standing there, all grown up. But it can’t be. They’re still a baby. Where did the time go. I swear just yesterday they were building sandcastles at the beach.

and by my own admission, had no notion what to do

I won’t lie to you, this hit me hard. I have no idea what I’m doing. Still don’t. But here’s the secret, no parent does. We have good days and bad days. We make mistakes. But we’re only human. 

we’ll be all that you hate about yourself so you can grow, cos life begins by leaving, and our love is shown in the letting go

I see a lot of people interpret the parents as manipulative and trying to convince them to stay but I think here says different. They admit they’re not ready to let go of their child but they will anyway because they love them. 

go tell them how we fucked you up, and oh my god it’s so unfair

this is in reference to the phase teenagers go through where they’re parents are the worst thing in the world. It sounds juvenile, very “mom it’s soooo unfair” when teenagers don’t get their way. 

we were the winter nights so you could be the morning snow

this is the most beautiful line I think. And the most poignant. This gives me memories of staying up all night with a sick baby. Of exhaustion so bone deep I have no idea how I functioned. Of toddler tantrums that you just couldn’t stop and at the end of the day you sat down with your partner, your child asleep upstairs, and you both go “god, that was horrible,” and then you get up the next day and do it all again. And you do it willingly so that they can grow up to be their own person, fresh and new and full of protentional just like the morning snow that has not yet been walked on. 

be good, be safe, be kind, know we’ll always love you even though you’re leaving us behind

empty nest syndrome. Need I say more? But they end the song by letting go of the child that they so wish they could keep small. They give them one last piece of advice and then set them free, because that’s what needs to happen. That’s life. 

But they are allowed to not be happy about it. Remember parents are human too. And we have such a complicated relationship with parenthood. We make so many mistakes. We hate ourselves for not being perfect. But then, at the end of the day, it’s not about us. It’s about them. And now it’s time to let go.

[from-the-dark-past]

Interview with Anders Ohlin in The Black Metal Murders: English translation

Translator’s note: Black metal-morden (English: The Black Metal Murders) is a radio documentary from 2017 produced by Radio Sweden (download). It’s about Mayhem and the Norwegian black metal scene in the ‘90s and contains interviews with Jørn “Necrobutcher” Stubberud, Kjetil Manheim, Eirik “Messiah” Norheim and Anders Ohlin (Pelle Ohlin’s younger brother). 

Here, I’ve translated the parts where Anders Ohlin speaks into English (from Swedish). I’ve added time-stamps and short descriptions for the different sections of the interview. 

I am working on translating the interviews with Necrobutcher, Manheim and Messiah and will post them soon. 

1:51 - 6:35 [Talking about him and Pelle getting into extreme metal]

Anders: We’d started listening to hard rock and it was… We’d, like, worked through all of those… Judas Priest and Iron Maiden. 

Narrator: It’s the mid-1980s in Västerhaninge, a suburb of Stockholm. Pelle Ohlin lives here. He plays in the extreme metal band Morbid and his stage name is Dead. Pelle has introduced his five-years-younger brother to hard rock. Together, they’ve worked through all of the main bands. 

Anders: And you, like, hungered for this… This Other. 

Narrator: The ‘Other’ that younger brother Anders is talking about is extreme metal; music that is faster, darker and harder. A progression of hard rock. Music that isn’t easy to get your hands on at this time. Anders is in his early teens and has gotten his first girlfriend. 

Anders: It was my first relationship and it was super-exciting, and I was at her house, she lived in Jordbro, which is, like, the neighbouring suburb. 

Narrator: Anders’ girlfriend’s older sister has an LP that Anders simply must show his older brother Pelle. 

Anders: It was, like, you knew it was good music, and it was that Destruction record. 

Narrator: Anders sees the German death metal band Destruction’s cover and it’s enough for him to understand that this must be good music. [...] 

Anders: This. This here isn’t Judas Priest and it isn’t Iron Maiden; it’s something else. I’ve got show this fucking record to Pelle. 

Narrator: Anders nags [his girlfriend’s older sister] to borrow the LP. He’s allowed to, but only for the day, so he bikes home in the rain from Jordbro to Västerhaninge as quickly as he can. 

Anders: And it was like [excited noise], like a cartoon; the evil wolf, their eyes bulge out and we both ran -- because we hadn’t heard the LP, only seen the cover -- ran to the record player och then Mom walks up and is like: ‘Stop! You’re forbidden from using the gramophone.’ And it was like, fucking hell, is it going to die here and then we explained to Mom -- ‘This is an extreme record and we’ve borrowed it for the day and it’s going back tomorrow,’ -- and Mom was super-harsh and was like: ‘It doesn’t matter. [...]’ And then we started negotiating and agreed that we could record the LP onto cassette [because you don’t need volume for that]. So, it was on full-blast the entire night and we recorded it and stood bent over the record scratches and were like,‘Shit, this is good stuff’. 

Narrator: Pelles hard rock style stands out against the usual sweatpant-Bagheera-jacket [style], not least the music. 

Anders: The ideals that existed at that time were that you were supposed to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger, which neither he nor I did [laughs]. You were supposed to be handsome and cool and have some fucking helipad on your head. 

Translator’s note: Anders is talking about a flat-top haircut commonly referred to as a ‘helikopterplattafrisyr’ -- helipad haircut -- in Sweden. Think H.R. Haldeman. I’m not sure what the English term for this haircut is. 

Narrator: Anders and Pelle are apart of a small subculture; extreme metal, with subgenres such as trash metal, death metal and black metal, which provokes with its satanic and morbid symbols. Pelle’s band Morbid pushes the limits of what music can sound like. With his stage-name Dead, Pelle sings on the demo December Moon. The new subculture is not embraced by the adult world. 

Anders: Like, we faced this fucking cultural oppression as hardrockers. It was that time-period… And especially if you wanted to do something that was worse than hard rock; it was completely judged. 

14:52 - 15:53 [Talking about Pelle being bullied] 

Anders: He was beaten at school and to such an extent that he actually died for a while, or however you put it. 

Narrator: There’s an explanation to Pelle’s obsession with death. At 13, he was bullied at school and once, he was beaten so badly that his spleen burst. Pelle’s brother Anders Ohlin tells the story.

Anders: He was beaten to death and had some near-death experience as he was laying in the hospital and he kept coming back to that all the time, and I think you can see that as some sort of theme in his songs too. Like, it’s always about the fact that he was actually there and touched something that he doesn’t know what it is, and that was the engine in all that. He was definitely [at the bottom of the pecking order] at school, precisely because he was a bit… He had his special... his special style and was, like, uncompromising, and that was what singled him out, I’d say, markedly from other teenagers. 

18:07 - 18:30 [Talking about Pelle’s depression]

Anders: He would neglect to eat, just to get a cassette tape out or arrange a gig somewhere. 

Narrator: Anders Ohlin, Pelle’s brother. 

Anders: To be a bit harsh, I think that the others gave up at some point. And that’s my personal interpretation. That he suddenly turns around and notices that he hasn’t got the gang with him. And I think that destroyed him. 

21:50 - 22:30 [Talking about Pelle’s suicide] 

Anders: At first, I was actually really pissed at him… Or, like, angry, enraged. I thought that he’d abandoned us -- which he has. That it was so shitty of him; to just take off and leave this big fucking abscess to the rest of us that just kept growing and growing as the years passed. 

Narrator: Christmases become especially painful for the Ohlin family, because that was the time Pelle usually came home. 

Anders: No one felt good on Christmas Eve. It was like a fucking ghost all Christmas. Brutal. So, I remember that I couldn’t celebrate Christmas at all for a very long time. 

1:06:39 - 1:09:31 [Talking about how he and Pelle’s Swedish friends remember him and his life today]

Anders: All of his Swedish friends see him as this exuberantly happy guy that spews ideas and is funny and has a sense of humor and stuff. Then, it’s like a line is drawn when he goes to Norway and they see him as introverted and mysterious and, like, difficult. And that’s two opposite images. 

Narrator: The Pelle Myth is associated with a lot of darkness and death but that’s not how his brother Anders and Pelle’s Swedish friends remember him.  

Anders: I think that’s been the devastating part, but it, like, helped him build… strengthen that myth. It’s hard being that funny dude and saying that you’re, like, Satan. It’s hard, it becomes, like, silly. 

Narrator: Anders is often reminded of Pelle. Usually because of happy memories but also because of that image that he is fighting to remove; the image that Øystein took of Pelle’s corpse which spread because it became the album cover of a Mayhem bootleg, Dawn of the Black Hearts. The image lives its own life on the internet. 

Anders: It’s difficult. It’s very difficult. 

Narrator: Pelle’s fans often want to become Facebook friends with Anders; he receives 3-5 friend requests per day. Sometimes, the people sending the friend requests have themselves shared the image on their social channels. 

Anders: You say you want to be my friend yet you have an image of my brother from when he’s just killed himself and like… body parts all over the wall. Would you think it was okay if I had an image of your brother like that? ‘What,’ they excuse themselves. ‘Oh, fuck, I’d forgotten that I had that image, that’s… Of course, I’ll remove it and I’m ashamed.’ 

Narrator: When Anders asks people to remove the image, most do. 

Anders: I’m terrified for when my children will start to Google those images… Øystein’s parents inherited the rights after Øystein died and [Øystein’s dad] has destroyed the images and I’ve received the rights, gotten to take over the rights from Øystein’s dad, so if anyone uses them in any form is printed media, I can sue the shit out of them. 

Narrator: It’s a small comfort every time one of Pelle’s fans tells Anders how much Pelle means. 

Anders: Most often, they have some story. They tell me how they’ve had a tough period in life and how they’ve, like, really been at a crossroads or something and feel that they received guidance from Pelle’s music. That warms -- That makes you happy. That really warms your heart. 

Narrator: Pelle’s grave is well-visited and every now and then, there’s a handwritten letter or a box of snus by it. 

[portraitandplaylist]

Side A: Alicia

What does music mean to you? How does it make you feel?

Music is my coping mechanism. It's basically what I use to get through everything, like anything that I'm going through. When I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I'm overwhelmed. That's what I go towards. That's what I always want to use, I don't know if that makes sense. It's basically the thing that I lean on when I don't have anything else.

How big of a part does music play in your life and career?

In my career, not so much, but in my life, it's a huge part. It's how a lot of life lessons were taught to me. It's the background of a lot of bonding time with my family. Every part of my life - every good memory, every bad memory - has a song associated with it. It's usually in the background of every part of my life.

What's a song you know word for word, bar for bar?

It has to be one of two songs and this is gonna sound really dumb, but it's either gonna be First Heartbreak by Tori Kelly or Mockingbird by Eminem

Do you collect vinyl? If so what do you enjoy about it? And if not, how come?

Yeah, so I do collect vinyl and I really just love that records are like the way that you can make music - which is like an art form that's not necessarily tactile - something you can hold. It's cool to listen to music on my phone, 'cause it's so accessible and easy, but when I'm listening to a record or I'm holding a record, it just feels like I have piece of what the artists made in a way that listening on my phone doesn't give me.

Tell me about your favourite concert that you went to.

So there's this Dominican artist, his name is Romeo Santos. He used to be in this bachata group called Aventura and he recently - pre pandemic - did a show that was at MetLife stadium, [it was a] massive stadium show and he played for five hours and he brought out so many of the bachata genre's OGs that it was probably the best experience of my life, and I just remember going home, like, "did that actually really happen and was I actually there?" because it just felt so life altering and massive. It was so cool.

Your favourite lyric?

I don't know why whatever is coming to mind right now, all I can think about right now is Adele's song All I Ask from 25 and it's the part where she goes, It matters how this ends/'Cause what if I never love, again? I don't know, she was on to something with that one.

Give me the name of a playlist you made with no context.

hard for me to say

What are your desert island disc albums?

It's gonna be Lemonade by Beyonce, Utopia by Romeo Santos and The Emancipation of Mimi by Mariah Carey.

Tell me about music your parents played while you were growing up.

I can think of two artists, there's one album, by one of the artists. It's called Quien Dijo Ayer by Ricardo Arjona. But then my mom was a big Ana Gabriel fan, so she used to listen to a lot of Ana Gabriel, especially when we were cleaning.

Briefly talk me through the songs you put in this playlist, what do they mean to you.

So I chose the songs in my playlist by basically going through songs that were my favourite song at some point in my life or songs that still are my favourite, songs that I blast in my room, songs that I know every word to, songs whose lyrics get me hype or songs whose lyrics got me through something or just songs that I've had on repeat because they came out and had been stuck in my head.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Hope van Dyne’s child

Hope van Dyne x child!reader

Scott Lang x stepkid!reader

warnings: insects (ants), sharp weapons

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Happy holidays darling! Would you write HC for Hope Van Dyne's child? Love the step-parents HC 🥰”

growing up as a lil smarty pants

grandpa hank was pretty proud, although he didn’t see you very much

once every few years

but he did tell you all these crazy stories about his adventures that you honestly thought were just fiction (until you were older)

“and i was as small as an ant, but i was still incredibly strong! remember that, kid. just because you aren’t as big as someone else doesn’t mean you can’t beat them” -hank

“y/n doesn’t need to be hearing those stories, hank” -hope

“why not? they have important life lessons in them!” -hank

“why does mommy call you ‘hank?’” -you

“because mommy hates grandpa, isn’t that right?” -hank

“okay, i think that’s enough of this visit. come on, y/n, time to go” -hope

your mom was very supportive of you, nonetheless

she wanted to be different from her dad

so she showed up to EVERYTHING

birthdays, sick days, tucking you in for bed, parent-teacher conferences, art shows, you name it

“here’s some tea, jellybelly. it’ll make your throat feel better” -hope

“mom, i think i’m dying” -you

“you’ll be fine” -hope, givin’ u a kiss on the forehead

life wasn’t like, extra crazy or anything. sometimes she’d bring you to work and honestly? darren cross didn’t seem like the worst guy. he even brought you whatever you might need if your mom was staying late at work

“hey, van dyne junior! i brought you a puzzle that might keep you busy for a while...and a happy meal from mcdonalds! let me know if you need anything else, me and your mom will just be in the lab for a little while” -darren

“thank you!!!” -you

uh huh, ur mom taught u manners!

anyways you started spending more time with your grandpa cuz they had a plan

thats when you found out that his “turning small” stories were not, in fact, bullshit

“wait grandpa...you actually did shrink as small as an ant?” -you

“why would i lie?” -hank

okay well cue you wanting to shrink down to ant size now it was your new aspiration

you did learn how to command ants tho!!!!!!

but unfortunately (or not so unfortunately) hank brought scott to the party

“hi!” -you, waking scott up

“what?!” -scott, jumping back against the headboard

“hi.” -you, staring at him “im y/n. these are my ants”

bullet ants were just crawlin around the place

“oh, that’s....that’s cool. any chance you could tell me where i am or how i got here” -scott

“wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy” -you, leaving abruptly

“are you bothering our guest?” -hope, watching you proudly nod “good job, jellybelly”

mom taught u how to punch 🥰🥰🥰

and let you use scott as a punching bag

but scott wasn’t like awful or anything he was just insufferable at times

“i think you’d like my daughter cassie. she’s weird and smart just like you” -scott

“did you just call me weird? mom, can i punch him again?” -you

“no no no! i meant weird in a good way! please dont hurt me anymore!” -scott

chasing him around the yard ready to ATTACK

hank had to tell u to cut it out

“dont tell them what to do” -hope

“someone has to” -hank

“excuse me? i parent y/n just fine, better than you ever did for me!” -hope

“do they do this often?” -scott

“every time they see each other but that’s not very much” -you

“hm...hey, do you like ice cream? specifically baskin robbins?” -scott

ur mom said “we do not associate with idiots ❤️” and then proceeded to associate with said idiots

scott did end up saving u from darren tho bc that mf tried to hold u hostage and scott was really not in the mood for that bullshit

“you alright, y/n?” -scott

“murder is okay, right?” -you

after that whole ordeal he and your mom were kinda a thing uh huh

and he introduced you to cassie!!! she was amazingly sweet and you could def see the family resemblance

“is this my new sibling?! i’ve always wanted one!” -cassie

“hey, me too!” -you

you hung out with her on a weekly basis, with or without scott

and mom and grandpa were working on a ✨special project✨

one you insisted on being apart of

“no, y/n, we can’t make you your own suit. you’re too young for this sort of thing” -hope

“pleaaaaase mom? i swear i’ll he responsible with it!” -you

“you’re mother is right, y/n. you’re just not ready yet. maybe someday, but not anytime soon” -hank

scott took you on family bowling trips yes he did

and just corny stepdad shit

but he went to germany and mom and him broke up and FF to two years later when you guys had finally reunited

“scott!! you asshole!!” -you, like this -> :)

“kiddo!! sorry to hear that!!” -scott, same energy

shading him the whole time

“ach mein gott” -you

“are you kidding me, y/n? i make one mistake. ONE” -scott

“you’re one mistake has caused me to live in MINIATURE HOMES” -you

“THAT SOUNDS LIKE A GOOD THING” -scott

“WELL IT’S NOT” -you

“did you at least miss me?” -scott

“sicher habe ich” -you

“god dammit” -scott

surprise!! u kind of had a suit (for emergencies)

as a van dyne/pym, it was almost a necessity to know how to use pym particles

scott acted like a proud dad

“wow, you’re really doing it!!!” -scott

“halt die klappe” -you

“please stop” -scott, tearing up

finding out about ✨grandma✨

she possessed scott and touched ur face and told you that she was so excited to meet you but you didn’t know wtf was going on and you had the urge to smack scott but THANKFULLY you did not

“i have to meet her for real! let me help you guys!” -you

“okay” -hope

“what? really?” -you

“it’s about time we put your genius to good use” -hope

scott offered you a high five for that and u literally accepted it

“don’t get too happy, that was just an in-the-moment thing” -you, watching scott’s eyebrow raise “fine. you can have a hug”

okay okay well everything went okay and then half the world ~vanished~ including ur whole family but like cassie and her family took you in and you spent five years very alone and upset until one day cassie called you downstairs and whoopdedoo???? scott???????

“is my mom with you?” -you

“sorry, sport, she’s not...do you have your suit with you? we need to go on some...hero business” -scott

you missed scott a lot over the past 5 years, this really did cheer you up, even if it was just him

“how’ve you been holding up the past few years” -scott

“the world sucks, man” -you

“i can see that” -scott

he turned on some tunes for the two of you to enjoy otw to the avengers hq and it was probably the best memory you created since everyone disappeared

“wait, reach into the glove box” -scott

“oh, god, i hope there’s no rodents in here...” -you, reaching for a picture “is this..?”

“family photo!! you were little back then, i can’t believe how time flies. i mean, it flew really quick for me, the quantum realm is no joke” -scott

you were busy staring at the picture of your mom, you really missed her

busy ~saving the world~

and going to 2012 with scott

“hey uh just so you know, i might be able to make pym particles” -you

“‘might?’ and if we use faulty pym particles we ‘might’ die. would you like that?” -tony

“hey, back off, stark. they’re just trying to help” -scott

next thing u know ur in present day and THEN u actually got to hold the scepter bc scott let u

“im gonna stab you!!” -you

“no!!!” -scott

the other avengers, literally mourning natasha while you chase him around with a sharp weapon: 😧

okay after the place was destroyed u got to face mr. purple man and yo mama showed back up and saw you on the front lines

“y/n????” -hope

“mom????” -you

“scott!!!!” -scott

“really, scott? a shrek reference? now?” -you “...nice”

the reunion with your mom was short and sweet but you missed her forehead kisses and she gave you one immediately!!!! and she was crying but you were too bc damn

“listen, after this, we’re gonna have such a fun family night. i’m so sorry i couldn’t be there for you all this time” -hope

“mom, it wasn’t your fault...it was that purple bastard, let’s get him!” -you

“they grow up so fast...” -hope

i n s e c t f a m

insect fam killed it out there and then ✨attended tony’s funeral✨ together right after

that’s one solid family 😌💖

anyways time to celebrate a (halfway) return to normalcy

with your *sister* cassie and your mom and your...scott

you were just happy to all be together again, it’s been WAY too long

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedficrecs // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisqueer // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck // @randomawesomeperson102 // @spideyandtheboys // @ghost-bich // @wonderful-writer // @of-a-chaotic-mind // @groovyfluxie // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @lxncelot //

[jesusology]

Haruka theory and thoughts under the read more! just me going through the MV and voicing aloud some thoughts, let me know what you guys think too! 

（*´▽｀*）also this is super long i

opening scene! the necklace is obviously important to him. also it’s very cute. nothing to say abt this in particular but i just think it’s really cute

love the background choice and how the room looks in general. gives me a big liminal space vibe. i promise i’m getting to actual theorizing in a second here just

love how the scenery from the window changes when it switches back and forth between him and his younger self (?). i’ve tried searching what the symbolism is of a red sky (if there is any) and i did see that it could mean “the end” or it could be symbolic of danger and what’s to come.

ugh i love the water thing going on. first off, i’m a huge sucker for water imagery and the like and so you KNOW i go gaga for this. it has to be because haruka feels like he’s constantly drowning, like he’s suffocating on his emotions. 

i’ve watched this MV at least fifty times and this still gets me upset. pretty obvious that what’s going on here is some form of emotional abuse as well as a co-dependence on Haruka’s part. Haruka clearly has a learning disability and it’s nothing he can control but the people in his life are blaming him for it and so he blames himself, too.

evidence of emotional abuse, being told things like how he’s pitiful or not smart, etc and of course Haruka is going to believe that hence why he’s always calling himself dumb and feeling like when he’s around others he’ll only make them sad because that’s exactly how it was for him at home. 

also like how the background is all gray and gloomy and there’s his childish scribbling of a monster (?) hovering over. could be symbolic of a threat to what’s his normal life, like it could end so suddenly

the world around Haruka is changing. his parents are changing (i’m assuming they’re divorced but i don’t think that’s ever made explicitly clear), he’s growing up, but he also feels exactly the same maturity wise. he may be increasing in age but he still is exactly the same and the change is unnerving to Haruka and it’s become noticeable to his parents that he’s not “growing up” and doing “normal” things. his learning disability is holding him back from becoming what’s so normal for society, what’s accepted in society. 

so he’s viewed as “weak”, it’s his ‘weakness’. and society eats the weak. 

i feel like Haruka’s parents (perhaps namely his mom)(or maybe it was both his mom and his dad but Haruka’s thinking more about his mom because he was closer to her) were becoming fed up with Haruka’s inability to learn what is supposed to be ~oh so natural~ and ~normal~ so they quickly began to get frustrated. also, that drawing behind Haruka appears later i think....

Haruka realizes and recognizes what’s going on and this, in turn, makes him have feelings of self-loathing. why can’t he do what anyone else can? why is everything around him so different but he’s the same? why is he getting taller, having more expectation placed upon him when it’s just too hard for him? Haruka is grappling with these thoughts constantly and it’s making him feel like he’s drowning and no one cares to pull him up out of the water.

i’m gonna be honest, i have no clue what to make of the girl with him at the fireworks but i DO know that the fireworks are really important to him because i recall him answering that it was his cherished memory and he goes on to say the most expensive thing he’s bought was cotton candy and i’ll venture to say that it was at this fireworks festival. 

i got nothing to add to this but i just love that line and it is important for you all to know this

are those yellow roses or marigolds? i’m thinking maybe they’re yellow roses which can mean either “jealousy” or “thinking of you” 

i could be going off a wrong assumption here, but hey this is all just guess-work anyway... did he accidentally push the girl? and it somehow led to her death or at the very least a severe injury? i’m willing to bet it was more of an injury than death, but even so. 

and if he DID push her, now it’s coming to light? like he did that, it was his fault (even if it was an accident, he would no doubt blame himself), and he’s a bad person who is only good for causing harm to others.

as someone who also sleeps with like five stuffed bunny animals, solidarity between me and Haruka. i want that rabbit it looks so cute

YAA there it is again! i don’t know what the heck it means but there it is!

the dog gives me pause because i’m not entirely sure what to make of it but i DO think this is where it’s important to remind people that the MV’s are based upon the prisoner’s own perception (i think. if i’m wrong, please correct me) and so we’re getting a lot of this from a biased standpoint. 

again, emotional abuse that might seem “”””Harmless””””” to others but it’s anything EXCEPT. 

did the dog run away? was he given the dog and Haruka now blames himself for letting the dog run off and perhaps the dog got hit by a car? (;﹏;) i feel like something that’s important is just how much self-hatred Haruka has and his tendency to blame himself for outside factors. i don’t think he LITERALLY killed the dog, but he feels as though he did so it’s become figurative. 

also as far as his dislikes being “children” and “animals”, i think he’s jealous of them, maybe? like that could tie into the yellow roses and their symbolism signifying jealousy and envy. he’s jealous of the inherent “innocence” associated with them. he’s getting older, so that “innocence” that’s accepted with THEM is no longer being used with HIM. Haruka has what’s deemed as “childish” interests and i get the feeling he’s made to feel badly about it. no doubt his disability is tied in with this.

there’s those flowers again. and Haruka tries to drown his wants/needs in order to try and “repent” for being the way he is. it’s HIS fault, so he has to think everything is fine even though he’s NOT fine and he’s going to break at some point under the pressure of society/his parents/everything. 

Haruka makes an effort to try to understand things in the beginning, but everytime he questions something that’s really ~obvious~ to everyone else he’s met with disappointed gazes and harsh critiques. so he stops trying to understand what he’s apparently ~lacking~ and he stops asking questions because that’s it! he’s dumb! he doesn’t get it so why bother!

i feel like by this point any praise to Haruka is better than nothing. rather than indifference or being ignored, he’d even rather be called “crazy”. i think Haruka just wants ANY attention be it good or bad - what he hates the most is feeling invisible or as if he could disappear and it wouldn’t matter to anyone.

i still feel like the blood on his hands is more figurative than literal and for reasons i’ve already explained so there’s no need to rehash it like i’m trying to meet an essay word count requirement

me too Haruka （；へ：）

his feelings of sadness and being unwanted turn to anger onto HIMSELF and it is what snaps the very thin thread he’s been living on 

choking himself ties into the water motif we’ve got going on here. the drowning, the suffocation - no longer being able to breathe because everything is broken and it’s unfixable. and he’s the reason why.

i feel like his crime is somehow suicide/attempted suicide but if it IS suicide then i really don’t know how he could be with the other prisoners? unless they’re all dead and this is some form of purgatory or something but otherwise? i don’t know. i just feel like it could be suicide

now i will also say this. the puddle of blue surrounding “him” has to be blood and that kind of makes me wonder if i’ve been barking up the wrong tree here but. idk any ideas anyone else has on this would be appreciated and also please talk to me about MILGRAM because i’ve got a badddd obsession 

what Haruka wants more than anything is attention and love. he wants love and yet it’s difficult for him to accept love because he doesn’t seem to have any “experience” with love. in the questions asked to him, he doesn’t even seem to really know what “love” actually is. he considers “liking” and “loving” to be the same thing, there’s no difference to him. if he’s getting attention it might not even matter to him because at this point something is better than nothing. 

so yes! this is messy. and it’s perhaps even incoherent. if you read this thanks for coming to my TED talk i love Haruka so much. it’s probably become obvious that i’m a little biased bc i relate to him a lot. let me know your own theories too or thoughts on this, i’d like to know hehe （*´▽｀*）

[dontcare77ghj]

We Interrupt This Program

Wanda x reader x Vision

Monica had dreamt of her mother and aunt. Memories from long ago when everything had been okay. 

She had woken up in the same uncomfortable hospital room chair she had fallen asleep in, to her hands forming from dust.

Monica had jumped in her chair with a gasp at the strange image before her head snapped over to her mother's hospital bed.

An empty bed.

As Monica jumped to her feet, she suddenly became aware of the loud crashes and screams echoing outside the room.

When Monica opened the door, she was greeted by the disturbing image of people forming from dust.

Monica had rushed past the dusty people and to a doctor.

"Excuse me," She tried to say.

"They're all coming back!" The doctor snapped. "They're all coming back. We don't have the capacity!" He said before rushing away.

Not deterring from her goal, Monica continued to race through the hospital halls until she crashed into a nurse.

"Excuse me? I'm looking for a patient in room one-o-four."

"Who my wife? Do you have a phone?" The man asked.

"I don't have a phone."

"I have to call my wife." The nurse said before turning away from Monica.

People were still appearing around Monica as she rushed towards the hospital front desk and crashed into a man.

"Are you okay? It's okay, I've got it." A nurse said, helping the stranger up before Monica could pull him to his feet.

"I'm looking for a patient in room one-o-four," Monica said to the woman behind the desk, who waved her off.

"I don't know what to tell you." She said before walking away.

Why will no-one help me? Monica wondered as she stared all around her. Where is my mother?

"Monica?" Her name was called loudly over the din. Monica spun to the person calling her name and let out a sigh of relief at the familiar figure.

"Oh, Dr. Harley, thank God!"

"I can't believe it." The woman said, staring Monica up and down.

"I was,"

"Where did you go?" The doctor cut Monica off.

"I've been in her room since she came back from surgery," Monica told her. "I mean, I might have fallen asleep, but no longer than twenty minutes. Dr. Harley, where's my mom?"

"Your mom, she died, honey." The doctor admitted, staring at Monica with honest eyes.

"What?" Monica asked, staring at the doctor in horror. "No. No, no, no, you're mistaken. My mother, the procedure went well. You said so yourself. Clean margins. You're discharging her today."

"The cancer came back." The doctor said, causing Monica to scoff.

"Okay, stop. Stop. You're, my mom is Maria Rambeau, look it up. I mean, look it up. Maria Rambeau." Monica demanded, rushing to the check-in desk and slamming her hand on the counter.

"Monica, I don't understand what's or how, but you need to listen to me. Maria died three years ago." Dr. Harley said, pulling Monica away from the desk.

"Three? No. No, no."

"Which was two years after you,"

"After I what? After I what?" Monica demanded, willing herself to not let her face crumple.

"After you disappeared."

Monica had been dead for five years, well gone as the rest of the world put it. She disappeared in her mother's hospital room, and when she woke up, five years had passed.

Monica had been gone for five years and her mother two. 

The only difference, her mother wouldn't be coming back any time soon.

But Monica was Maria's daughter. Monica had been raised by the strongest of women and refused to crumble under grief's pressure.

So Monica had thrown herself back into the world. She had forced herself back into the life she once lived.

It had been three weeks since Monica and the rest of the universe had found herself undusting, and now she was walking through the SWORD headquarters, preparing for a meeting.

Monica had flashed her badge at the scanner, but the doors wouldn't open as the scanners beeped at her.

"Ma'am? Over here, please." A man from the desk called her over.

"Hi, good morning. I work here, and," 

"If you did, your badge would work." The man cut her off, staring at her with a blank face.

"Right." Monica chuckled nervously. "Um, I have a meeting with,"

"You know who this is?" Tyler Hayward asked, appearing beside Monica.

"This guy." Monica smiled, relieved.

"Captain Monica Rambeau." Hayward stuck his hand out.

"Director Tyler Hayward." Monica nodded, taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

"Acting Director." Hayward corrected. "You haven't aged a day." He complimented.

"And you look old as hell," Monica commented with a smirk, causing Hayward to chuckle.

"Come on, let's catch you up," Hayward said, leading Monica away from the desk and towards the doors she'd tried to enter. "It's been three weeks, and you're the first to report. Can't say I'm surprised, Captain."

"How are the numbers for the astronaut training program?" Monica asked as she and Hayward walked down long and winding halls.

"Dismal. Lost half my personnel in The Blip, and half of those remaining have lost nerve." Hayward told her with a frown. "The program hasn't been the same you've been up there, Rambeau. Shifted away from human-manned mission and refocused on robotics, nanotech, AI. Sentient Weapons, like it, says on the door."

"It also says, "Observation and Response" on that door, not "Creation," Monica noted.

"The world's not the same as you left it. Space is now full of unexpected threats." Hayward told her.

"Always full of threats. And allies." Monica corrected the man.

"Listen, Monica, I just wanna acknowledge the awkwardness of the situation. I know SWORD's your home." Hayward acknowledged, stopping in the middle of a pristine white hallway. "Your mom built this place from the ground up. You grew up here. You should've been here to help name the replacement."

"You were the obvious choice," Monica said with a work-approved smile.

"I was the only choice."   

"I wasn't gonna say it," Monica smirked as Hayward chuckled quietly. "Look, Tyler, you know the job you have to do. I'm here to do mine." She told him, nodding to herself.

"Let's get you back out there," Hayward said, opening the door to his office and letting Monica step inside. "The FBI is in a tizzy over a missing person case up in Jersey."

"Missing persons?" Monica asked, raising a brow.

"I know. But the FBI has requested the use of one of our imaging drones, and I need a chaperone." Hayward told her.

"Tyler, drones usually chaperone me." Monica shook her head.

"I get it." The man nodded before Monica cut him off.

"Look, if this is because of, you don't have to worry about me. I'm good." Monica assured, cringing at the thought of her lost five years.

"There's no easy way to say this but, you're grounded," Hayward said, causing Monica to pause.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Terrestrial missions only," Hayward confirmed.

"You're kidding. For how long?" Monica scoffed, glaring daggers at the man. "Whose protocol is this?"

"Your mother's," Hayward admitted. "She implemented guidelines in the event vanished personnel ever returned. Look, I know it's a raw deal, but there is one positive takeaway." He said as Monica rolled her eyes.

"And what's that?"

"She believed you'd come back." He said, causing the woman before him to freeze. "You'd be doing me a big favor with this FBI thing, but if you need more time,"

"No. No, I'm good to go." Monica cut him off, looking much sourer than when she began this meeting. 

"Excellent. Keep me updated, Captain." Hayward stood, handing Monica a file which she took with a frown.

Monica made the drive to Westview, New Jersey, the next day. 

The plan was to get there that morning and be out of there by the end of the week. 

In all honesty, Monica did not want to do this assignment. It was so far beneath her pay grade and not for someone with her skill set, but Monica would grin and bear it.

Monica would take whatever assignments she had to to get back to what she used to do. 

It was 11:30 in the morning when Monica pulled up to the edge of Westview where an FBI agent stood, talking with two officers.

"James E Woo, FBI." The agent introduced himself, pulling a card out of nowhere, causing Monica to smile.

"Monica Rambeau, SWORD. What's the story here, Agent Woo?" Monica asked, taking the business card between her fingers.

"I've got a witness set up down the road in Westview, and this morning, it looked like he flew the coop," Woo explained.

"Your missing person is in the Witness Protection Program?" Monica confirmed. 

"I have contacted known associates, relatives," Woo started, but Monica cut him off.

"And let me guess, none of them have seen him either?" She asked, a clearer picture of what was happening now in her head. 

"No. None of them have ever heard of our guy." The man said, shattering Monica's picture.  "Something seemed hanky to me, so I took the first flight out of Oakland to interface with the local law enforcement, which is when I encountered a new wrinkle."

"What is that?"

The FBI agent didn't respond merely nodded his head over to the two police officers, and the two made their way over to them. 

"Pardon me, Sheriff. Would you mind repeating your claim about Westview to my colleague here?" James asked the blank-faced Sherrif.

"No such place." The Sherrif shrugged.

"You're saying the town of Westview, New Jersey, doesn't exist?" Monica asked, turning to the visible sign, with a raised brow.

"It's what I keep telling your G-Man here, but he won't listen." The man said, sipping his coffee.

"I see. And, I'm sorry, but what town are you from?" She wondered.

"Eastview." The man answered, causing Monica's befuddlement to grow.

"Thank you, Sherrif. We'll reach out if we need further assistance." James dismissed the officers as he and Monica turned back to her car. "I pulled phone numbers for all the residents, I'm only through the D's, but so far, I got diddly squat." He told her.

"So you can't reach anyone inside, and everyone on the outside has some sort of selective amnesia?" Monica asked.

"This isn't a missing person's case, Captain Rambeau. It's a missing town. Population 3,892." James said, turning to the sign.

"Why haven't you gone inside to investigate?" Monica questioned the agent.

"Cause it doesn't want me to," James told Monica, causing her head to snap and face him. "You can feel it too, can't you? Nobody's supposed to go in." He said, finally acknowledging the unsettling feeling in the air. 

Monica couldn't respond. She couldn't think of a single thing to say at that moment, so she didn't.

Monica didn't say anything as she opened her trunk and pulled out one of the SWORD drones.

"What about you?" Monica asked as she set the drone up.

"Me?" James confirmed before letting out a small chuckle. "Well, I'm from Bakersfield originally. Growin' up, other kids had Micheal Jordan posters on their walls, but I had Elliot Ness." He explained as Monica moved to stand beside him.

"No, no, no. I mean, why is it that you have an awareness of Westview? Or me, for that matter?" Monica asked, focusing on the controls in her hands. "Is it because we are outside of a certain radius or maybe because we don't have a personal connection?"

"I don't know, maybe,"

"Wait. Where'd it go?" Monica cut James off as the video feed fritzed and the drone disappeared from the air.

"It was right there," James said as Monica stalked closer to the town.

As Monica got closer to the town's edge, she finally noticed the cause of the man behind nerves. 

"Whoa."

"What is it?"

"Some sort of energy field," Monica said, raising her hand towards the force field. 

"Careful, Rambeau," James warned, stilling at Monica's actions. "Captain Rambeau!" He exclaimed when Monica's hand touched the field. "Watch out! Rambeau! Captain Rambeau!"

But it was too late. Monica had touched the force field, and she had disappeared.

Darcy Lewis had been through and experienced so many things in the past thirteen years. Experiences that had completely changed her definition of weird.

That's why when she was approached by two SWORD agents, camped outside of her apartment, asking if she would help on what they were described as an anomaly, Darcy didn't bat an eye before agreeing.

Now Darcy was sat in the back of a van with three other people.

"Hey, what's your field?" Darcy asked the man across from her, breaking the silence of the car.

"We're not supposed to talk to each other." The man shook his head, eyes wide.

"Hmm? Boy Scout leader. Got it." Darcy rolled her eyes before turning the woman beside him. "And you?"

"Nuclear Biology." The woman told her

"Artificial Intelligence." The bald man beside Darcy said.

"Astrophysics." Darcy nodded. "We got the full clown car. It means whatever the threat it, SWORD clearly has no idea what they're dealing with."

"I'm a chemical engineer." The Boy Scout leader piped up.

"No-one cares." Darcy shot him down quickly as the van came to a halt.

"Alright, grab your gear." An agent from the front ordered.

Darcy was the first to exit the car and survey the chaos around her. 

They set up a base camp faster than I paint a base coat. Darcy thought as she walked past several men and women.

"Ms. Lewis." A man called, walking over to her.

"Dr. Lewis." Darcy corrected him. 

"We have your gear inside." The agent said before leading her towards her station.

"Those drones you're sending in, what kinda data are you getting?" Darcy asked, watching as one drone approached Westview on a screen before disappearing.

"I'm afraid that's highly classified." The agent told her.

"You can't see anything?" She asked, causing the agent to freeze.  "FBI, Army. I saw the Air Force Office of Special Investigations out there." She commented, setting up her computer. "Research Lab, Space Command, too. A bona fide, joint, multi-service response. Looking forward to a commemorative T-shirt. Is there somewhere a lady could get a cup of coffee? You guys look like you might get down with those little pod things, horrendous for the environment, by the way."

"Make your assessment, please." The man sighed, irritated by Darcy's comments. 

While going on her mini-tirade, Darcy had been setting up her equipment and station. She now looked down at a small device in her hand, watching it scan the area.

"Whoa. I mean, whoa." Darcy said, her eyes incredibly wide, as she adjusted her glasses.

"What're you getting?" The agent demanded, moving closer to her.

"A colossal amount of CMBR," Darcy told him.

"CM?"

"Cosmic Microwave Background Radiation." She clarified.

"We've been told the radiation is within a safe limit." The agent said, looking at Darcy in concern.

"It is, for now."

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"Sh!" She cut him off with a hiss. Darcy watched the device in her hand with rapt interest as it continued to beep. "There are longer wavelengths superimposed over the noise here." She thought aloud, chewing on her lower lip. 

Darcy surveyed her surroundings before she found what she needed beside her. 

"I got it," Darcy grunted as she heaved a large piece of computing systems onto her desk. Darcy fiddled with the settings and the knobs before a blurry picture began to appear. "I need a TV. An old one. Like, not flat." She told the agent beside her.

Hours later, it had begun to rain, but that didn't stop SWORD operations.

A man in a plastic hazmat suit walked over to where Hayward was standing, allowing the rain to soak his form.

"You good to go?" Hayward asked, yelling slightly over the weather.

"Yes, sir." The man nodded. 

"The sewers will take you straight into town. Try to find anything you can on Rambeau." Hayward ordered him.

"Copy that." The man said, beginning to descend into the sewers.

"Agent Franklin. We will keep this channel open for you." Hayward said over Franklin's earpiece as he crawled through the small tunnel.

"Copy."

"Keep me updated," Hayward told the assembled team before walking away. 

"Director Hayward," Woo said, jogging beside Hayward. "Between you me and the bedpost, I am not confident about this mission."

"Thanks for the feedback, Jimmy. If only my drones were as forthcoming." Hayward said as they entered a tent. 

"There's no reason to suspect the perimeter doesn't extend subterraneously." Jimmy tried to reason. 

"There's no reason to suspect it does."

"We don't know enough about the nature of the threat to send another agent when the first is yet to return," Jimmy told the director.

"Someone must miss you back in Quantico." Hayward scoffed. 

"No, sir. Softball season's over, sir." Jimmy joked.

"What do we have up?" Hayward asked, walking further into the room and towards a female agent.

"Radar, lidar, sodar, infared." She told him.

"Cycle through," Hayward demanded. When the woman couldn't get anything up on the screen, Hayward let out a sigh. "Will someone get me a useful visual, damn it?" He asked before loud studio audience laughter rang through the room. "What is that? Who's doing that?" He asked as everyone began to look around.

"Who are those people?"

"What are you wearing?"

"And why are they here?"

"What are you wearing?"

Hayward froze as he caught sight of a dark-haired woman watching the source on an old-fashioned television.

"Well, it's our anniversary!"

"Our anniversary of what?"

"Vision now is not the time to debate your failing memory processors."

"Is that?" Jimmy asked, leaning on the desk beside Darcy as several other officers and Hayward crowded behind her.

"Yeah, it looks like them." Darcy nodded, not taking her eyes off the screen.

And sure enough, on the screen before her was a black and white video of Wanda Maximoff, Y/N Barton, and The Vision.

"You move at the speed of sound, Y/N makes a storm with her pinky, and I can make a pen float through the air. Who needs to abbreviate?" Wanda questioned incredulously.

"Look, I know it's been a crazy few years on this planet, but he's dead, right?" Darcy asked, turning to Jimmy, who hadn't taken his eyes off the screen. "Not blipped, dead."

"Excellent plan. Where's the tenderizer?" Vision asked.

"We're looking at him," Y/N said as she handed Vision the tenderizer.

"What am I looking at?" Hayward demanded. "You. What is this? Where's this coming from?" He asked Darcy.

"Out there," Darcy said, throwing her arm up in a vague gesture to the outside. 

"You didn't answer the back door. For your upside-down cake." A dark-haired woman said, holding a pineapple in her hand.

"Is it authentic?" Hayward asked.

"I'm not sure how to answer that," Darcy told him.

"Is it happening in real-time? Is it recorded? Fabricated?" He pressed.

"I don't know. I don't know. And I don't know." Darcy told him. 

"What do you know?" Hayward demanded.

"My equipment registered an extremely high level of CMBR. That's,"

"Relic radiation dating back to the Big Bang." Hayward nodded.

"Yeah." Darcy nodded. "Entwined was a broadcast frequency. So I had one of your goons pick me up a sweet vintage TV, and when I plug this bad boy in, voila, sound and picture."

"Dinner is served."

"So, you're saying the universe created a sitcom starring three Avengers?" Jimmy asked, staring at the screen in confusion.

"It's a working theory." Darcy shrugged.

"Get me transport back to headquarters now. And someone get me, Clint Barton." Hayward demanded, causing two men to rush away. "Are we recording this?" He asked the woman.

"Never stopped," Darcy informed him.

"I need immediate analysis. Now, people. Let's go!" Hayward said before walking away. All the agents scattered, keen on following orders, leaving Jimmy and Darcy alone.

"He's a charmer." Darcy scoffed.

"Great work." Jimmy smiled before getting up and walking away.

"Hey, thanks." Darcy grinned happily. "Maybe I can get that coffee now?" She asked, looking around, but no-one even looked up. "Or not. That's cool." She grumbled, turning back to the screen as the episode finished and three kissed one another. "Aw!"

"First and foremost, our main objective is to get any intel on Captain Rambeau. Originally this case was a missing person, so we're going to start there," Jimmy explained to the gathered group. "We've successfully identified three individuals inside the Westview anomaly." He added, hanging up pictures of Wanda, Y/N, and Vision in their 1950's garb. "Let's keep going."

"This guest is leaving your home." Mrs. Hart said as Darcy frantically typed away at her keyboard.

Everyone in the room had a job to do to find out what was happening in Westview.

Some were watching the footage on repeat, taking copious notes, Darcy was attempting to find out who was playing who, people were tracking the radiation waves coming from the town, and Jimmy had been filling out a whiteboard with questions.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hart. Played by Todd and Sharon Davis." Darcy announced, holding up two forms with pictures of the two before hanging them up beside the three other photos. 

"Computational forms," Norm said. "And no-one can process the data quite like you do, pal."

"Agent Woo." A man interrupted Jimmy's watching of the footage before handing him a form.

Jimmy slightly smiled as he read it before calling out, 

"Abhilash Tandon is Norm."

"Harold Copter is Jones!"

"We got Isabel Matsueida cast as Beverly!"

"John Collins as Herb!"

It had been hours of searching, trying to figure out everyone's identity, and Darcy was tired. 

Tired and hungry.

She had just made herself cup ramen and made her way back to her desk when she let out a gasp and dropped her noodles. 

"Jimmy!" She called, dropping into her seat, not even bothering to clean up the mess. "Damn it, Woo. Hurry up!"

"What?" Jimmy asked, rushing over and freezing when he saw who was on the screen. "Oh my god." Jimmy sighed, sinking into a chair beside Darcy.

"Does she seem okay to you?" Darcy asked as the two watched Monica read a newspaper while Wanda, Y/N, and Agnes spoke in the background.

"Well, she doesn't appear to be harmed in any way, but that is definitely not the boss lady I met yesterday." Jimmy determined.

"So what, deep cover? Monica has to play along?" Darcy asked.

"With whom? Or else, what? All right. Brass tacks, Dr. Lewis. What are we lookin' at here? Is it an alternate reality? Time travel? Some cockamamie social experiement?" Jimmy asked

"It's a sitcom. A 1950's sitcom." Darcy explained, shaking her head.

"But why?" Jimmy wondered.

"I'd like to know that myself." Clint Barton demanded, now standing behind the two.

"Agent Barton." Jimmy greeted, standing up and moving towards the man. "I was told you wouldn't be here until tomorrow."

"Well, it turns out a quinjet makes journies a lot quicker," Clint said, crossing his arms. "Where is my daughter? And where is Wanda?"

"We'll have to fill you in later, Hawkeye." Darcy piped up. "I think I have an idea how to contact them."

"How?"

"So there's this radio that sits in the kitchen, right? The next time someone's washing the dishes, which happens like once an episode, barf, we'll shoot a signal to that little guy." Darcy explained.

"Sounds like a plan. What do you need done?" Clint asked. 

"This transmitter will mimic the frequency of the broadcast, and if my theory is right, allow us to speak to either Y/N or Wanda. This is totally gonna work." Darcy explained, continuing to set up the station. "Don't touch that." She admonished Jimmy.

"Agent Woo." A woman called, walking over to the three with a file.

"Is this from the current episode?" Jimmy asked, looking at the picture in his hands.

"Aired about two minutes ago." The woman nodded.

"What is it?" Clint asked, looking over the man's shoulder.

"What does it look like to you?"

"It looks like a retro version of a SWORD drone," Clint noted as Darcy took the picture out of his hands.

"Bingo." Jimmy nodded.

"But how did it change and why?" Clint wondered.

"Uh, to go with production design?" Jimmy guessed.

"Or to render it useless." Darcy theorized.

"Why'd you colorize it?" Jimmy asked the female agent.

"I didn't." She shook her head.

"Let's get this show on the road. Clint, you're with me." Darcy said, grabbing her laptop and rushing back into the tent with Clint on her heels.

Darcy and Clint donned their headpieces before Darcy turned to the window.

"Jimmy, you ready?"

"Ready," Jimmy affirmed, holding his thumb up. 

Darcy and Clint took their seats in front of the screen where Wanda and Y/N were now talking with Monica.

"Uh, Jimmy, Monica is talking now. She's got a speaking part." Darcy told him.

"What is she saying?" Jimmy wondered.

"Say those pants are peachy keen. Both sets."

"She likes their pants." Darcy shrugged. "They're at some sort of swim club. We've never been here before."

"Is it the sixties still?" Jimmy wondered.

"Still the sixties and still black and white." Clint relayed, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"The girls are with another character," Darcy told Jimmy. 

"Another person." Jimmy corrected.

"I can't help but wonder if the three of us haven't gotten off on the wrong foot, Dottie. And I'd like to, we'd like to, correct that if we can." Wanda said to a blonde woman.

"Ooh, radio on the side table!" Darcy cheered. 

"Start talking," Clint ordered the man.

"Wanda, do you read me? Agent Barton, are you there?" Jimmy asked. "Can they hear me?"

"I don't think so," Darcy told him. 

"Keep trying." Clint pushed.

"Wanda. Wanda, can you hear me? Agent Barton, do you read me? Wanda? Y/N?"

As Jimmy continued to speak to the two, Clint and Darcy were staring at the screen intently, waiting for any sign they might hear. 

For a second, it looked like it might have worked. The radio on the television crackled before the show jump cut.

"Pop quiz, Wanda," Dottie said as Y/N wrapped her hand. "How does a housewife get a bloodstain out of white linen? By doing it herself."

"Wait." Darcy stuttered, staring at the screen in confusion.

"What?" Jimmy asked.

"I don't know," Darcy said. "That was weird."

"What was?"

"Nothing." Darcy shook her head when the show faded to a commercial. "It's over. Mission failure."

"It was worth a try. Good effort, Darcy."

"Yeah, come on in," Darcy said, pulling off her headset.

"You saw that, right?" Clint asked, pulling off his own. "I wasn't imagining that. The screen cut?"

"It's an old TV, Clint. It flickers." Darcy sighed.

Franklin had been crawling through the sewers for what felt like days. It was hot inside his suit, he was sweating, and the sewer smelt like a sewer was supposed to.

But Franklin kept crawling along. 

He kept crawling even when he passed through the energy field, and the cord around his waist fell off.

No-one was sure what had happened to Franklin. He'd never checked in with base, and when the cord had been rewound, the end had somehow turned into a child's jump rope.

When morning came, no-one had slept. Everyone at the SWORD base had stayed awake all night, continuing their search into the Westview anonymity.

Darcy wasn't sure who had suggested it, but soon the room had been filled with old-fashioned TV's all playing the latest episode. 

The show was now in color as the decade had shifted into the seventies.

"Sweetheart, do you think it's time to,"

"Call the doctor."

"1950's, 1960's and now the '70's. Why does it keep switching time periods?" Darcy asked as she, Jimmy, and Clint sat in front of the same TV. "It can't be purely for my enjoyment, can it?" Darcy wondered, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

"I can't believe Y/N and Wanda are both pregnant," Jimmy commented, watching with rapt interest.

"I can't believe I'm about to be a grandfather." Clint sighed, staring at the screen in confusion.

"Can I ask you something?" Darcy asked, turning to Clint. "Do you seriously not know where Wanda and your daughter were before this?" She questioned the archer, recalling what she read in his statement.

"No. I don't know where they were." Clint shook his head. "And I'm the only person to blame."

"That can't be true." Jimmy tried to assure.

"It is." Clint nodded. "I hadn't seen Y/N since 2017 when Thanos snapped. She was on the run with Wanda and team Cap after the raft, but I'd taken a plea. After Banner snapped and Thanos dusted, my only thought was to get back to my wife. I left Y/N with Wanda on the battlefield." Clint admitted. "I abandoned her."

"Look, I wasn't there during that final fight, but I can imagine the chaos after," Darcy said to the man. "It's not the coolest thing you could have done, but it's understandable."

"Shh!" Jimmy hissed. "The girls are giving birth!" He said, causing Darcy and Clint to turn back to the screen. "Congratulations, Agent Barton, you've got a granddaughter."

"Yeah, and two grandsons."

"Twins. What a twist." Darcy sniffed, causing both men to turn and face her. "What? I'm invested."

"He was killed by Ultron. Wasn't he?"

"Did she just say the name Ultron?" Jimmy demanded. "Has that happened before? A reference to our reality."

"No. Never." 

"Don't go near her." Wanda snapped, stopping Geraldine from moving beside a sleeping Y/N. 

"Hey, I'll take a shift rocking the babies." Geraldine offered, beginning to move closer to the bassinets when the babies started to cry.

"No, I think you should leave." Wanda shook her head, blocking the bassinets from her view.

"Oh, Wanda, don't be like that," Geraldine said, staring at Wanda as though she were the crazy one.

"Who are you?" Wanda demanded, staring at the woman in anger.

"Wanda." Geraldine shook her head as she took a step back. "I'm. Wanda, I'm."

"This is different," Darcy said, staring at the screen uncomfortably. 

"What happened? Where'd she go?" Jimmy asked as the screen glitched. The screen glitched to the end credits, which showed Wanda, Y/N, and Vision now sitting on the couch, each holding a baby. 

"God not again." Darcy sighed, reaching over Jimmy to her laptop, which was recording the episode. Darcy quickly typed away at her computer, and it brought up the last ten seconds of the scene. "There's nothing here!" Darcy snapped when it played the same.

"You think it's still a glitch?" Clint asked her. 

"I don't get it. One second, Monica is standing right there, and the next, she isn't. Someone is censoring the broadcast." Darcy realized.

"But where's Rambeau?" Jimmy asked right as alerts began to blare.

"Alert! Boundry has been breached!" The alarm screeched, causing the entirety of the tent to rush into action.

"Who are you?" Wanda demanded, stalking closer to Geraldine. 

"Wanda, I'm just your neighbor." Geraldine attempted to reason with the woman.

"Then how did you know about Ultron?" Wanda demanded, tilting her head to the side.

But Geraldine couldn't answer, causing Wanda's hands to glow bright red. 

"You're not my neighbor," Wanda whispered tearfully. "And you're definitely not my friend. You are a stranger and an outsider. And right now, you are trespassing here. And I want you to leave." She said before blasting Geraldine out of her home.

It took a second for Wanda to realize what she had done. Geraldine was gone, and there were large holes in the walls. 

She stared at her hands in shock before looking over to her wife, who was just beginning to stir. 

Thinking quickly, Wanda used her powers to pull the house back together and reset it.

Before Wanda could wonder too much about what she had done, one of the babies let a loud cooing noise.

Wanda had just moved back in front of the bassinets when the front door slammed open.

"Wanda? Where's Geraldine?" Vision asked, rounding the couch to stand beside a stirring Y/N.

"Oh, she left, honey," Wanda told him, not turning to face him. "She had to rush home." She added, finally turning to the man.

But the sight of Vision caused Wanda's eyes to widen and a gasp to escape her mouth.

Vision had lost all his color. He was grey, his eyes white, and there was a hole in his head.

"What?" Vision asked. "What is it? What's wrong?" He asked, moving closer to Wanda.

When Wanda looked up, she was relieved to see Vision was back to normal.

"We don't have to stay here. We could go wherever we want." Vision reminded his wife.

"No, we can't." Wanda shook her head. "This is our home." She smiled.

"Are you sure?" 

"Don't worry, darling. I have everything under control." She said as Y/N sat up on the couch with a yawn.

Outside of Westview, Jimmy and Darcy had made it to the scene.

"Monica!" Jimmy gasped, kneeling beside the woman. "Are you okay?"

"It's Wanda," Monica whispered, staring at the night sky blankly. "It's all Wanda."

"I thought you said you'd wake me if the babies cried?" Y/N asked, taking Tommy into her arms.

"I had it control, sweetheart. You needed your rest." Wanda said, picking up Luna. "What should we watch tonight?" Wanda wondered, moving over to the couch.

Y/N and Vision followed their wife and sat on either side of her, each holding an infant. 

Today had been a series of crazy events, but it had had the best outcome. Y/N thought staring down at her son in her arms and her other children in the arms of her husband and wife.

Something is happening here. Vision thought glancing down at his squirming daughter. 

We’re safe here. Wanda thought with a smile as she made faces at the baby in her arms. I’ll keep us safe.

Taglist is open throughout the entirety of the series.

@x-uglyprincess-x @imthedoctorlove @loveinnoya @unknownalien3388 @bindythedemon @summersimmerus @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve @natasharomanoffismywife @mcsteamy4ever @monxpeet @amywinehouseisgod @milleniumloki @buckybarnesplumwhore @kennedywxlsh @drpepperobsessed @madamevirgo @superbsccissorsdeanexpert @itty-bitty-witch @essenceproxima @severusminerva @okkulta @mrscasnovak @niki-is-a-thing @sunshinepower17 @pinkninja200 @iflostreturntoflynnrider @simp4mcuwomen @blackfarrahfawcett @angelicl-y @bromieeeomieee @persie33 @ambria

[aggresivelyfriendly]

‘Tis the Damn Season- Chapter 7 Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)

Author’s Note- anybody still with me? If not, totally understand. This one is self edited- sorry I’m advance. Reblogs are still and always love!

“Are you sure I can't convince you to come home this Christmas?" Her mother's voice had just a tinge of loneliness, but Emma was set and certain.

"I think I would really like to have a Scandi Christmas this year mum! And I think the best present you could give me is to come and do it with me!"

They'd had this conversation eleventy million times. Emma knew her mum was doing so much better, and that her being in Holmes Chapel, even alone, would be ok, she'd be ok. Emma just knew they'd have so much fun in her newly reclaimed life abroad fusing old traditions with the ones they would make. Her mum was just resistant, she loved her home, was a certified home body, and now that it didn't hurt quite so bad, she loved the reminders of all the Christmases before. She was bathing in nostalgia with a smile on her face and a sweet ache inside.

Emma didn't feel the same. She'd had a fair few wonderful holidays in Holmes Chapel, but to many revolved around Harry Styles, and well, Emma's life did not revolve around Harry. Had never and didn't even have the axis centered around December 26 for a once a year moment any more.

She'd just really gotten back into her own life. Well, Emma patted herself on the back, she'd been living her way for 8 months now, that was almost as long as the 9 months she'd stayed in Holmes Chapel.

When her mother had assured her she was well enough that Emma could go to Iceland, the thought of ice capped fjords in summer thrilled her as though she was climbing them, not just studying them.

So she did.

She felt so much better, and her mother was better and she'd climbed to the top of her trail back to her own life, the one she'd made out of choice and ambition and only been sorry for in brief, lonely morning afters.

Emma wanted to share her life with her mother more than anything, certainly more than she wanted to spend a holiday in a place she now almost entirely associated with hurt. Heartache takes many forms, deep and abiding grief, the kind like she imagines phantom limbs give amputees years on. It also can hurt like a quick sharp mishap, a slip of the knife, full of crimson pain and stitches.

She'd had both together and then his deep cut on top of the other last Christmas. The wound was too fresh to go back at the moment. The good memories were still colored crimson. She needed to wait until her lover's memory flashed with true colors instead of red or blue. Her father's memory was cozier and longer, it was wrapped around the warm pink of her mother, but even it was still too tender.

She needed time.

Emma also had no idea where Harry was these days. She'd cut off all methods of inquiry.  She wasn't staying up late googling even, ever, not anything. Not his naked or Camille's. They'd be going on well into their second trip round the sun by now. Probably more deeply in love than he openly confessed to her. Emma didn't need evidence of it. It just opened the stitches she'd sewn herself.

So, no Holmes Chapel, no Google alerts or text messages. She'd blocked his number.

"Well, I suppose if you insist, we can try Amsterdam for Christmas." Her mother covered the sigh at the end of that sentence and Emma appreciated it. She suppressed a wry smile. Her mother could also still hear it in her reply she was sure.

"Oh mum! You won't regret it. It will be so lovely! I can't wait. I'll meet you at the airport, then we will go to my favorite cafe and take a snow walk. It will be picturesque. You'll fall in love, you'll see."

"Alright, darling. I'll give it a chance. I just hate to miss Anne's party two years in a row." Emma cringed and was happy this was not a video chat. She almost gasped and blew her cover when her mum said. "Won't you miss Anne's party? You're close with Gemma, and" she breathed while her mother hesitated, "and Harry?"

God, did everyone know?

"It'll be fine mum. I'll call Gemma. She'll understand."

She would, after they'd had that conversation the last time they'd spoken.

Gem had not really cornered her so much as insisted they get out of the house as often as possible from the day after Boxing Day until she'd left to head back to London.

She, the lovely friend that she was, didn't actually bring it up until she was back for Mother's Day. And she waited until Emma told her she was headed back to her program in the fall with a twinkle in her eyes even Emma knew had been long gone for too long.

Ever the blunt one, Gemma didn't even cozy up to the subject, "so did you break his heart or did he break yours?" She took a big sip of her cider and leveled her state over the rim at Emma.

Emma could feel her face blanching or heating or giving some indication who's heart was broken. Her elegant side step to that mine field was, "huh?" Then a moment later. "Who are you talking about?" To Gemma's patient silence.

"Alright, if that's how you want to be." Gemma playfully rolled her eyes. "You and my brother are not stealth, at all. You would make eyes at each other all night at my mum's and then disappear for the same amount of time. Remember I live with him."

"Do not." Emma didn't bother to deny it.

"I suppose not really, but as much as any one "lives"with him, I do over Christmas, and did for most of my life. I know when he's smitten with someone, and when he's got them around his little finger too." Gemma snorted and ate a chip. "His stupid walk even changes, all of a sudden he swaggers and walks hip first. It's gross!" Her face screwed up.

Emma tried to remember if she had ever seen this hip walk. She supposed she had when he'd walk towards her at the Boar's Head. Or occasionally when he'd corner her by the mistletoe.

"It's not gross." Slipped out.

"That right there," Gemma pointed. "Is gross. Your face all soft and flushed for my little brother. Bleach!" She sighed mixed with a bit of good humor. "But I suppose that means he broke your heart. I can't believe he just turned up with another lady. Did you at least know? I feel like I always know way to much about my brother's sex life."

"Huh?" Emma laughed.

"I just feel like I know way too much about his sex life, due to blind items and pap shots. Thought you might feel the same."

"It's not so simple as that, really. I knew because of that, about his girlfriend." Still couldn't say her name. "But I think he felt like I'd broken his heart, if I'm honest. And That's why he turned up with her. To hurt me back, in case I hadn't seen."

"Did you."

"Certainly not on purpose. My heart and head and life were in shambles, still are, and he made an assumption, and never let me explain."

"Why don't you explain to me."

So she did, haltingly, Emma talked about it all, tears on her cheeks about her dad and then her mum, and even Harry. The sad footnote of loss in a story of grief.

"Why didn't you just tell him?" Gemma asked the question Emma asked herself a lot.

"I guess, I couldn't say it and I couldn't text it. And it confirmed to me that he really only knew me so little, that he could think I'd take advantage of him."

"Did you ever think that was more to do with how other people have treated him than you? he's had to learn to expect the worst of people he wants to trust?"

"Don't make me feel bad for him. Remember? He broke my heart and found someone new. Had the audacity to move on before me!" Emma tried to joke.

"I think, I think you guys got into a mess and never bothered to clean it up until it was so unkempt you couldn't find the good parts." Gemma said after a quiet, mirthless moment.

"Oh no!" Emma tapped her head. "I kept all the good parts."

"Firstly, blech, I wish I could bleach that smile from my head, but 2nd-Is that enough?" Gemma asked.

"It'll have to be, I suppose." She swallowed the moisture in her eyes, "he told me he loves her. Straight to my broken face. Then piled on how he never got the time to love me."

Gem looked curious, then cautious, "I think he does. But it's cuz he wants to. Wants that desperately, to be in love. It may be some leftovers from you."

"Yeah?" Her eyes really pooled then and she bat her cheek to stop more from swarming. "Well I'll have to take that as cold comfort then, that she gets the seed of love he wanted to grow with me."

"I'm sorry. Sure he is too." Gemma sighed. "I'm so sorry for all of it."

"Yeah, yeah." Emma leaned on her friend, her only real one right then. "Me too."

And they left it at that. Emma's eyes were swimming and Gemma blinked a few times too rapidly. They hoisted their glasses. "To almosts!" Emma said.

"To dad's!" Gemma said. Then they both did cry.  Talked about Robin's diagnoses. Then it was Emma's turn to be the shoulder, to bolster.

Life went on, the way it always seems to do. Emma and her mom laughed more and then her mum even laughed on her own. By that summer, they both stood on their own two feet, without leaning on each other, except when they wanted to.

By June, there was no reason to stay.

"So, are your roommates excited to have you back?"

Her mum was making tea and packing her sandwiches.

"Mum, I actually had to find mew roommates. The others had to fill the room I was in." She could see the down turn of her mum's lips from the side. Guilt was heavy. "It's not a big deal. The people I'm rooming with are other grad students, I know them. And it's works for the budget. Mum, you know I'm not riding the bus to camp right? I don't need a sandwich. There will be food at the airport and on the plane?"

"Won't be home cooked." Was all she said.

This wasn't for her then. It was some sort of amends, or a thank you. Like the tea she had taken to bringing to her to her room when she woke up, and before bed.

"That's true." Emma kissed her cheek, "I'm gonna go finish packing." She ate the sandwich on the plane later.

Counting bags, she frowned. She'd acquired a lot. She sincerely hoped the bag wasn't as heavy as her heart.

Emma was going to miss Holmes Chapel.

She did, surprisingly as much as she missed school the first 6 months she was home. Maybe, those feelings were tangled up in other events, the other missing pieces of her former puzzle.

I'm any case, she found herself better at keeping in touch

"So, any cute boys in Amsterdam?" Gemma chuckled over the phone one mid December afternoon.

"Don't you have a boyfriend?" Was Emma's laughing response.

"I do, I really do." And Gemma, the blunt tongued, fierce hearted girl sounded suspiciously like a woman in love. Then she pretended to complain, because she was Gemma, about how They were both a little spoon, pretending to be annoyed about it.

"I'm really happy for you." Emma interrupted, meant it, even though she still didn't know if there were any cute boys in Amsterdam because she was still hung up on the cute boy who spent Christmas in Holmes Chapel.

Gemma must have picked up the stain of blue in her voice, "Hey, Emma, I think maybe I should tell you something-"

The buzz from her hallway door went then, and Gemma didn't get to finish.

"Hey Gem, my flat mate lost her key. I'll have to ring you back. Tell me then?"

And then it was Christmas, well Christmas Eve and she was at Schipol with a giant sign that said, "Katherine the great( est mum)!"

"Oh, bless you! Could you have made a bigger sign?"

"I'm sure I could have tried. Maybe found some glitter. Think a flat mate has the body sort somewhere." Her mum narrowed her eyes and pinched her cheek.

"Well, if you've finished embarrassing me, show me this dreadful country that's not England and all it has in terms of festive cheer."

"Let's go get some nuts then!" Emma laughed.

"I beg your pardon?" Her mum put on the prude and Emma laughed at her over the top expression as they made their way to the train to the city center.

Her famous Danish bakery was the first stop. "I thought we would have a taste test. We can rate them."

"Do you already have a favorite?" Her mum asked.

"Yeah." Emma thought about the trifle Harry's mum made and that he'd sneak to the boar's head to feed her in bed. It had only taken him watching her eat it once for him to recognize her glee. It was his favorite too. "But, I want to know what yours is!" Emma brought her memory and watering mouth to the present moment.

They ate their way through Christmas Eve And decorated her Kerstbomen. "Sorry the tree is already up. They were starting to disappear for purchase, but reappear in everyone else's windows! I had to grab one."

"Oh, no dear, it's alright. And actually, I brought a gift from Anne. I saw her the other day and had been complaining about you making me come all the way over here-"

"It's an hour flight!"

"Well, I suppose it will do, but it's not home."

Thank god.

"Anywho, she came by the day after and brought a present for your tree." Her smile was so expectant, Emma was expecting the worst. "It's so important to have good friends." Her smile was cryptic. What friends- Anne to her mum or Gemma to her? Who was the present actually from.

The box was festive. And wrapped beautifully just like Anne's house was always decorated so well. Emma set it aside, "I'll open it tomorrow mum, On christmas, at the proper time."

"Oh no! You must open it now. Gemma told her mom it was for your tree." Ah, mystery solved. Gemma was great at wrapping. When Emma opened it, her heart stopped a full beat.

At first she thought it was the frog, the one she'd gotten for him. That he was giving it back to her like a seal on their relationship that never was. But when she picked it up, she realized it was a proper ornament, not just ornamental. It was a frog, holding a heart.

What Did that mean, whose heart was it?

His for her? Or hers back where he decided it belonged.

"Where will you put it?" Her mother interrupted her train of thought.

"Um, dunno," she moved around the tree to an inconspicuous place. "I guess here." She shrugged.

"Oh no, dear. It's by far the cutest one we have." Her hand scanned over the other ornaments, a hodge podge of beloved ones and ones from Christmas markets. "It goes here." Her Mum stood and took the ornament from its hidden place, placed it front and center. "Let's get the rest up and take a picture."

She'd gotten her mother an aura frame for Mother's Day and she was now obsessed with adding to the Revolving cue of photos.

"Course, ok." Emma ripped her eyes from the frog, but they kept drifting back to it.

It was an hour of a little too much wine and her mother's cheer. It lightened her spirit and got her mind off it's wandery at Harry's intentions, until after silly smiley photos and teary eyed huggy ones, her mum said, "now let's take one for Anne and Gemma. Show them how nice it looks.

Emma thought she'd done a good job at the photo, at arranging her face the way it was supposed to look.

She must have been wrong.

Later, a number she knew by heart but had no current contact for came through. "Your smiles fake. Do you not like it at all?"

She didn't answer it on Boxing Day, or the day after, it wasn't until New Year's Day that she realized she'd blown her resolutions to Smithereens before they could even uphold their name.

All she'd texted back to his cold question was, "how come you're the only person who can always tell."

She may have never noticed she'd done it, with the way her group chats were going off, except he replied before her hangover even subsided.

[brockadoodles]

sydämellinen (warm) - m. rantanen

AN: SURPRISE BITCHES HERE’S A CHRISTMAS FIC. I wrote this little thing specifically for @hockeyboysiguess​​. So Merry Christmas in November, my dear. I hope you love it. It might be some of the softest content I’ve ever written, for a boy I don’t even go here for. So let me know what you think. 

*Also if any of the Finnish is wrong, I apologize, I don’t speak Finnish rip. 

Word Count: 2362

Warnings: None

Christmas traditions were something that you never quite understood until you weren’t at home anymore to have them. Growing up, you had never considered the things that your family did around the holidays as monumental or special traditions, oftentimes you felt boring and inadequate when asked about them. Your mom, your dad, and you, that was all you had, and the holidays seamlessly came and went each year. Sure, a tree would get decorated, there would be some sort of family dinner, but nothing felt magical or special like the holidays were always made out to be. Everything in your world felt stagnant until you met him. 

Mikko Rantanen adored everything about the holidays, it was part of growing up for him. Christmas in Finland was no debatably the largest celebration in the country all year, every year. He found extravagant light displays enticing, and the warm smell of Christmas ham comforting. To him, there was nothing more memorable than his childhood memories of Christmas with his family, the traditions held strong each year, traditions that he packed up and took with him when he moved away for his career. His Christmases changed from large family gatherings to small close-knit nights with the few teammates and friends who also didn’t go back home for the holidays, attempting at recreating that fleeting feeling of home that he desperately missed. A feeling that he hadn’t felt since he was young until he met you. 

Mikko knew you never cared for the holidays, he realized this on your first date, a cold, snowy evening in November. He watched as you sat there in the soft candlelight, face twisting slightly at the mention of what both of you were doing for Christmas that year. When Mikko lit up at the mention of the holidays and started telling you about his traditions from home, you tried to hide your distaste. You tried to hide the sinking feeling in your stomach, the one that was pulling you down into a self-deprecating mess sitting at a far too nice restaurant with a far too expensive-looking meal in front of you, waiting for this person as wonderful as Mikko to realize that you weren’t worth sharing his traditions with. Mikko noticed though because Mikko noticed everything about you, even the things you hopelessly tried to protect him from. He noticed it all because that’s what happens when you love someone as much as Mikko fell in love with you. 

The first Christmas, you had a reasonable excuse for not seeing him. Your parents had insisted on a Christmas spent in Aspen, a three and a half-hour drive from Denver that acted as your barrier from Mikko and his Christmas traditions, something that was overwhelming so early on in your relationship. You simply packed up a bag, driving your old car through the mountains, and spent Christmas sitting in front of a fire in a far too expensive resort town, no Christmas tree in sight and nothing but an unread text from your boyfriend to keep you company. 

The second Christmas together, his schedule is what kept you apart, with the Avalanche getting the unlucky Christmas Eve game out in New York. A schedule that would have him sitting wide awake on a redeye flight after a 6-0 shutout loss back to his condo alone in Denver with a heavy and longing heart, knowing that he needed to give you space during Christmas but also desperately wanting to share his favorite holiday with his favorite person. Instead, he spent the holiday alone on his couch, his texts to you left on read and a cold cup of miso soup on his coffee table as he wished for the day to pass. 

By your third Christmas with Mikko, you knew it was time to actually spend the holiday together, to swallow your feelings and make an effort to learn the traditions of the man you had come to love over the last two years. A diamond ring sat nestled on your left hand, unfinished wedding plans for the following Summer in Finland, and a hole between you when it came to the holidays that you were finally ready to fill. 

“Mikko?” You murmured into his shoulder, your lips pressing soft and slow kisses down his skin, your legs tangled with his own, a warmth nestled between you that made your stomach fill with butterflies, even after all this time together. 

“Mhm, kultaseni?” The Finnish pet name running from his lips effortlessly, a term of endearment that made you blush every time. You kissed his shoulder once more, letting your fingers dance along the bare skin of his arm as you breathed a sigh that you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Will you share your Christmas traditions with me?” 

Mikko had to take a moment to make sure he heard you correctly, to make sure that the mechanisms of his brain that were translating English into Finnish as you spoke were working as they should. When he looked down at you, he saw something in your eyes that he didn’t recognize in all the years that you had been together. He saw, for the first time, a fleck of excitement about the holidays, and he wasn’t going to be the one passing that up for anything. 

“I love you.” He whispered into your hair, pressing a soft trail of kisses down your temple and lingering there for a moment, before he slowly adjusted his arm, rolling his body to hover over yours as he properly kissed you for the millionth time, but the first of that morning. The two of you stayed like that for a while, comfort nestling into your heart with each kiss that he gave, and each touch you felt. You were hopelessly, and entirely in love with Mikko Rantanen, and for the first time in your life, the idea of a Christmas tradition didn’t seem so bad. 

Mikko knew he had to start slow with the traditions, he didn’t want to give you too much and have you pull yourself back from the idea. He wanted this to be a good experience for you, and if it took giving you one minuscule detail at a time for you to re-wire the part of your brain that associated Christmas with your parents that were somehow still together, yet should have been divorced, and a lack of lights and warmth into a special time for you and him, he would. Mikko Rantanen would have made the snowmelt in Denver for you if he could, because he loved you, as much as someone is capable of loving another person. And all he wanted for Christmas was to give you one new tradition that you loved, one that could be shared with just the two of you until hopefully one day there were toddlers running around the tree. 

The first thing you did together was get a tree. It was a small tree, its branches were short and stubby and it couldn’t have been more than 2 feet tall even in the pot that it was nestled in. It wasn’t the tree that Mikko would have chosen, but when he saw your eyes brighten at the ceramic pot it was planted in, the 6 feet Douglass Fir’s lining the tree farm suddenly disappeared from his line of sight.

“Are you sure this one’s okay, Mik? I don’t want to mess with the tradition.” You quietly asked, your arm wrapped tightly around his as he pushed the tree in the cart toward the car. You didn’t want to change the things that he was trying to show you, but deep down you were finding yourself longing for this to be something you created with him, memories and traditions to have together. It may have seen silly to outsiders, putting so much thought into something that should have been simple, but you were trying to let him show you the magic of Christmas that he had spent years keeping from you at your own request, and part of that process was trying to redesign the idea about Christmas that you had built in your head. 

“I love it, it’s perfect for us.” He smiled at you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, the black pom on your hat ticking his nose slightly as he stood back up.

The tree sat undecorated on a table by the window for nearly a week. With Mikko being gone on a road trip, you had just pushed it to the outskirts of your mind, figuring it would get done eventually. On the fifth morning that you woke up alone, you leaned over the counter as your coffee brewed, the tree sitting there on the table directly in front of you, Mikko’s good morning text replaying in your mind. You looked out the window, admiring the snow falling over the city, the grey clouds casting a shadow into your already grey and modern home. You sighed, and before you realized what you were doing, you found yourself wandering into the storage closet and pulling out a bin that you had never once touched or even looked at. 

You set your coffee down on the floor next to the tree and slowly opened the plastic container, the contents carefully wrapped in protective tissue, ornaments you knew he had collected over the years since moving to Denver. You took a shaky breath and closed your eyes slowly, an image of Mikko dancing through your mind. You opened your eyes and grabbed an ornament, a small antique looking Santa, a chip on his leg from wear and tear and a black ink smudge on the bottom, 2002, presumably the year that it was bought. You carefully hung it on the tree, leaning back to admire it for a moment before reaching your hand back into the bin to grab another. This one, 1999. You took each ornament one by one, taking almost an hour to decorate this two-foot-tall tree sitting on a table against your high rise condo window, each ornament having a year written somewhere on them, leaving you to begin to wonder all of the circumstances that had led to Mikko having that specific ornament.

When all was done, the tree had ornaments but no lights, a pot instead of a tree skirt, and there was nothing sitting on top of it that resembled a star. Instead, you placed a photo of you and Mikko carefully next to the pot, one that was taken just shortly after you told him you loved him for the first time, one that to you, symbolized a new shift to your relationship, one that you were hopefully emulating by decorating this tree. 

When Mikko came home late that night, tired and ready to crawl into bed next to you after almost a week apart, he stopped in the living room when he saw the light still on. In his foggy state of mind, he didn’t even notice the tree until he was reaching to turn off the small lamp sitting next to it, pausing in a state of shock when he realized what exactly he was looking at. It wasn’t how he would have decorated it, the ornaments were in the completely wrong places, some too densely placed, and the lack of lights was a design choice that he wasn’t sure was intentional or not. But, Mikko felt his heart grow looking at it. A tree that a year ago you would have never said yes to buying, let alone decorating that you had spent time on doing yourself. Mikko turned off the light, walking into the bedroom to find you peacefully asleep on your side of the bed. He wrapped himself around you, pulling you close and pressing a soft kiss into your neck, murmuring his love for you before drifting to sleep. 

The next morning you woke up in a familiar trance, soft and needy kisses shared between you as his hands guided your hips and their movements on top of him, heavy breaths filling the space as you held each other close, making up for the lost time of that week. When you slid off of him, he pulled your face down to his one last time, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, “Minä rakastan sinua,” melting from his lips, “I love you,” in Finnish. 

“I love you, too, Mikko.” You said back, your heart full and your cheeks flushed. 

By the time Mikko emerged from the shower, you had already made coffee and were sitting on the couch reading. He came up next to you, setting a small box in front of you as he sat down. You set your book down, eyeing him curiously as he began to speak.

“I noticed you decorated the tree, and I have something for you, for us that we could put on it together.” He carefully unwrapped the box, a silver ornament resting neatly in it. You carefully pulled the ornament from the box, the shiny material feeling smooth in your hands until you noticed something scratchy on the sides. You turned the ornament, your eyes welling with tears when you saw what was engraved on the side. A date, the date that you said the famous three words for the first time, the same magnetic pull coming from the ornament he had made that you felt from the photograph. 

“I thought having a special ornament each year for just us could be a tradition we start together. It’s sort of like our first Christmas together, but it’s not the first that I’ve felt love for you.” He smiled. Mikko reached up and wiped your cheek tenderly, drying the tears that had fallen as he pulled you up and toward the tree. You hung the ornament on the small, imperfect tree with no lights, and as you looked out at Denver in the background, with Mikko curled around you, you felt that warmth he had always told you he felt about Christmas for the first time, a feeling that you hoped to carry with you for the rest of your life together.