#my older brother complained that it was too choppy and i needed to make it 24 fps

[nickbutnodick]

sleep doesnt exist but i animated a fish even more so life is okay

[inahallucination]

hey besties here’s an excerpt from a fic that i cut out completely but i wanted to introduce Caspian so jafsdkfj

Jeffrey Anderson sighed into his textbook, reading and then rereading when he realized he wasn’t paying attention. It had been about a week since his visit with Todd and he still hadn’t called. Jeff had told Todd he’d write and call, but he had no clue what to say. They’d already done the whole casual catching up thing. What did brothers talk about? Jeff’s life at university was really boring and he didn’t think Todd would appreciate him calling just to complain. Perhaps he could call Todd and let him complain about Welton? But what if Jeff didn’t talk enough and Todd thought he was only calling as an obligation. Todd was the kind of guy to overthink, after all.

In the end, he grabbed his textbook, his notebook, and trudged out of his dorm building and to a nearby café hoping the scenery change would… inspire him.

So, there he sat, at a window seat, holding a cup of coffee and still staring at his textbook. Moving hadn’t helped much at all. Still, he persevered and hoped he could concentrate on sheer will alone.

“Oh, Anderson! Hey! Out of the room? Didn’t know you had it in ya!” Jeff glanced up to see rick waving his arm obnoxiously as if they hadn’t just seen each other earlier because they shared the same room for the love of god. Still, he smiled at him because the other day Rick had said he got into a mood when he was studying and Jeff refused to prove him right.

Rick took this as an invitation to sit at Jeff’s table, dragging a person that Jeff hadn’t noticed standing near Rick with him. The person, a man around Jeff’s age, with choppy brown hair and brilliant grey eyes, looked just as surprised to find themselves sitting at Jeff’s table as jeff was.

“This is my friend Caspian,” Rick excitedly pointed at the stranger – Caspian and then at Jeff, “and this is my roommate Jeff.”

Caspian smiled at Jeff and met him with a handshake. They sat there awkwardly for a second, before Rick started the conversation and Jeff half listened and half tried to read. It was actually a little easier now that the hum of Rick and Caspian’s voices were in the background. Jeff found himself relaxing, almost.

“-Jeffrey’s brother-“ Jeff glanced up, his name causing him to fall out of the peaceful haze he’d been in.

“What about my brother?”

“Oh, you’re still here,” Rick gave him a teasing smile and Jeff rolled his eyes, “Was just telling Caspian about how we all have brothers.”

“Oh, you have a brother too?”

“Yes. He’s older though. We’re not that close.” Jeff’s eyes lit up. Perhaps Caspian could settle his problems for him.

“hey, actually,” Jeff started, mouth forming what was surely a manic grin, “Caspian, maybe you could help me?”

Caspian blinked a few times before pointing to himself in question. Jeff nodded his head frantically. Caspian looked a bit… scared almost.

“Oh, um sure. Yeah.”

“Okay, hypothetically, what if your older brother was like ‘woah I haven’t talked to my baby bro in ages lemme hit him up’ and you met up again and it was kinda okay and fine and stuff. And you two promised to keep in touch from now on – what would you want him to say?” Jeff spilled, in one quick breath. Caspian stared at him a little wide eyed before furrowing his brows and putting on what Jeff assumed was a thinking face. He glanced at Rick, saw his amused, knowing look, and looked away.

It felt like forever until Caspian spoke again, “I… well I don’t think I’d ever be able to talk to my brother again. But, hypothetically, if it wasn’t me and my brother,” Caspian paused for a second eyes flicking between Jeff and rick, and then continued, “I guess it’d be best if he said anything at all. Like even a small greeting or something.”

That…

That made sense but it wasn’t good enough. Jeff needed to fix up his relationship with Todd and he wouldn’t be able to do it with boring small talk. He also needed to tell him to make a move on Neil because he thought Todd deserved a good thing.

Caspian, Jeff decided, was a good person, bad advice aside.

“Thanks,” Jeff said, smiling politely. Caspian grinned back.

“Sorry, I can’t help more. But my brother and me, we aren’t close at all. He barely talks to me and when he did it was just to say,” here Caspian’s voice got distant, as if he wasn’t talking to Jeff at all, “’you have to go to Henley’ and ‘this is just a phase.’”

“Henley? As in Welton’s sister school?” Jeff asked, brows furrowed in confusion trying to make sense of what Caspian had said. Caspian startled, confirming that he’d forgotten that Jeff was there. “But that’s an all-girl school?”

“…It is,” Caspian said, suddenly looking stiff. That…

That was the weirdest punishment that Jeff had heard of, but also his parents actively drove a wedge between him and his baby brother for absolutely no reason than perhaps their own amusement, so it wasn’t completely out there.

“Man, that sucks.” Being forced to go to an all-girl school as a guy? Jeff couldn’t even begin to imagine the bullying.

Caspian’s shoulders relaxed and it wasn’t until Rick grinned, happy and wide, that Jeff realized that it wasn’t just Caspian who’d reacted strangely to his question.

Jeff wondered if Rick really thought he was some sort of bully.

Well…

Perhaps he could share this with Todd? It was a story right? He met someone new? That was something interesting. And it was less boring.

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Like A Dream

October 4, 2021

Prompt - Walks in the Forest

Characters - Mack, Brady, Royce, and Bentley

Notes - This takes place in the same "camping with the Birch's AU" as the one I did a couple days ago.

October 4th,

So Mick’s world is weird. They have phones that aren’t connected to the wall, some of their cars don’t have doors, and their music is… interesting. We’ve been here since, I think, Friday. Their world and ours are days apart - give or take seventy years - and it’s still screwing me up a bit. It’s nice to be here, though. I actually like the cabin life so far. Aunt Mack and Uncle Brady are so much nicer than I thought they’d be. It’s like they treat Benny and me like their own kids sometimes, even though they already have Mick. They’re always making breakfast for everyone and spending time with us all. It feels like I’m in one of those TV shows back home where it’s all about family and they treat their kids really well and, even when something bad happens, in the end, they’re all happy. I’m so happy we did this. It’s kind of like a dream.

With a contented sigh, Royce closed his journal and set it under his pillow. Bentley had been up for about five minutes, the smell of cooking bacon being the thing that woke him. Royce, on the other hand, had been awake for the better part of an hour, lounging in bed for the most part before deciding to write a bit. Bentley rose from his bed, finally, stretching until he hit the top bar of Royce’s bunk. The fourteen-year-old pulled himself up, peering over the side of the metal bars so he could see Royce’s face.

“Why are you in bed still?” he asked.

“I should be asking you why you aren’t,” Royce teased, pushing his brother back with a hand to the face. “Mr. I-sleep-until-noon-on-Saturdays.”

Bentley let out a muffled, “Hey!” before dropping himself to the floor again. “I think Auntie Mack is making breakfast again. That’s the only reason I’m awake.”

Royce slid to the end of the bed and climbed down, following Bentley downstairs. “Place your bets, is she making pancakes or waffles? I’m saying waffles.”

“I think pancakes,” Bentley said after thinking for a moment. “We had waffles yesterday.”

“Yeah, but Uncle Brady loves waffles,” Royce stated as they made their way down the stairs to the main floor.

“Good morning, boys!” Brady called from his seat on one of the island barstools. “Are you ready for an adventure today?”

“Are we going swimming in the lake again?” Bentley asked as he perched himself on Brady’s left. A plate of food was placed before him and his brother as Mack turned to see them.

“No,” Mack stated firmly, sending her husband a look as he opened his mouth to speak. “It’s only going to be in the mid-fifties today, so the water will be far too cold for you boys to swim in. I don’t want either of you to end up sick, especially on vacation.”

Brady shut his mouth and nodded, knowing better than to argue with his wife. “Yes, ma’am,” he sighed. “Maybe Wednesday. It’s supposed to be in the seventies.”

“So,” Royce began from his spot on Brady’s other side, “what adventure were you talking about?”

Brady lit up once again, reaching up and placing a hand on each of the boys’ backs. “I figured we could go on a walk in the woods today. There’s a trail just east of the lake that we can take. It leads up to a lookout lodge so we can see the entire area. The view is amazing from up there.”

Mack sighed, leaning against the counter with a small frown. “Brady, as much as I love the idea of walking in the woods for who knows how long, Royce has asthma. I don’t think he should-”

“I can manage!” Royce insisted, cutting the older woman off hurriedly. After realizing his mistake, he paused. “Sorry, Aunt Mack. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

With a smile, Mack reached over and ran a hand over Royce’s hair before leaving it on his cheek a moment. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re excited and I understand that; I just want you to stay safe. I don’t want anything to happen to any of you. Did you bring your inhaler?”

“Miles keeps it for me,” Royce stated matter-of-factly. “If we ask, I’m sure he’ll let me bring it.”

“Bring what?” Miles asked sleepily as he made his way into the kitchen. His hair was a disaster and he was still in his pajamas, making it known to everyone that he was barely awake.

“Royce needs his inhaler so we can go on a walk in the forest with Uncle Brady and Auntie Mack,” Bentley said around a mouthful of eggs.

Miles nodded slowly as Mack handed him a cup of coffee. “It’s in my backpack. I’ll dig it out before you go.”

“You’re not going?” Brady asked.

“Nah,” Miles said with a shake of his head. “Lela wanted to go take pictures of birds so I’m going with her to Curly Creek while Mick and Butch go shopping.”

“Oh, Lela will love that,” Mack claimed with a bright smile. “We’ll miss you guys on the walk.”

“You’ll have fun,” Miles brushed off, waving his hand briefly before picking up his coffee and heading for the lounge to watch TV. Along the way, he ruffled both his brothers’ hair, smiling at them before leaving the room. “Take pictures for me.”

After eating their breakfast, the boys headed for their bedroom, grabbing whatever they deemed necessary for their walk. Backpacks were filled with snacks and water, and the boys were dressed in their usual clothes with an additional, borrowed flannel from Brady. They made their way downstairs not long after they’d laced up their boots, meeting Mack and Brady on the outside porch after grabbing Royce’s inhaler from Miles just in case. Mack was dressed in a long-sleeved, purple shirt with a light, plaid vest over it while Brady donned a light jacket. Brady had a backpack secured over his shoulders and clasped in the front while Mack only had her phone in her pocket and a water bottle in her hand.

A few minutes of walking later, and they reached the beginning of the trail. It was well lit and maintained, with fallen trees and thin logs gracing the sides of the path so it wouldn’t be strayed from. The trees seemed to fill the skies as they began their trek. Large pines, sugar maples, firs, and the occasional birch trees lined the area, sprawling onward as far as their eyes could see. The walk was filled with chatter as they conversed with one another and stopped for the occasional picture. It was truly beautiful. Some leaves had fallen as others were turning colors and, with the sun illuminating them from above, they cast a glow of fiery colors around the area.

While the air had a certain chill to it, the amount of walking they were doing made up for it. The trail, thankfully, wasn’t too much of an incline, just the occasional hill as they walked up the mountain. Now and then, they’d stop to drink, perhaps taking a bit longer to see the streams when they got close enough to see them. All in all, it took almost an hour before they could see the lodge in the distance.

“Look, Royce,” Bentley called from the front of their line, “we’re almost there!”

“Yeah,” Royce huffed before coughing. He hated this. Well, he didn’t hate the nature around them or the journey with his brother, Mack, and Brady, just how his lungs reacted to the walking. There weren’t very many bugs around to bother them or any other people on the trail so there was nothing to complain about apart from his crappy lung capacity.

Brady, who had taken up the rear so he could make sure everyone was safe, placed a hand on Royce’s back. “You need to stop, bud?” Royce shook his head, making Brady knit his eyebrows together. “You sure? It’s fine if you do.”

“I can make it,” the sixteen-year-old exhaled sharply, sucking in another breath. “It’s not-” he paused to cough a few times, “it’s not far.”

“Royce,” Mack began, stopping in her place. Although she sounded firm, Royce could make out the gentleness in her tone, “you’re not sounding good. If you want to stop and use your inhaler, we can. It’s not a problem.”

“I’m fi-” and queue more coughing, “Ugh.”

Bentley peeked around Mack’s shoulder before moving around her and stepping toward his brother. “You’re sweating and you sound all wheezy.”

“It h-hurts.” Royce sucked in a sharp breath, a cough forcing its way out of him as he reached a hand to his chest. Brady began rubbing circles on Royce’s back, the only thing he could think of that would help. After a minute, Royce stopped coughing, allowing Brady to guide him to sit on one of the tree branches that lined the pathway.

Bentley pulled off his backpack and pulled a bottle of water out of it. He handed it to Royce as he crouched in front of him, watching Mack as she sat next to Royce and took one of his hands. “Bentley, honey, where’s Royce’s inhaler?”

“The front pocket,” the youngest answered softly. He turned to his brother and sighed, “I told you when we stopped last time that you should’ve taken it.”

Royce nodded slowly, not wanting to argue as Mack pulled his inhaler from his bag. “Can you take it now or do you need a minute?” she asked him, placing a hand on his arm.

Royce shook his head, fidgeting with the water bottle in his grasp. He gripped the cover and opened it, taking in a choppy, deep breath to steady his hands as he lifted it to take a drink. Afterward, he took his inhaler from Mack and, while it took him two tries to get in any medicine, he’d still been able to get it into him. They sat in relative silence for a few minutes as Bentley knelt on the ground, gripping Royce’s knees, Mack held one of his hands, and Brady rubbed circles over his back. As calming as it was, Royce couldn’t help the embarrassment he felt. He’d been so eager to have fun and get to the lodge that he’d neglected his health and now, apart from Bentley, some people he barely knew, had to take care of him.

“I’m-” he gave a short cough. At least he sounded less wheezy when he breathed. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, baby,” Mack spoke to him. “It’s not something you can control.”

“It is,” he mumbled insistently.

Brady sighed, taking Royce’s water bottle and setting it down before taking hold of the teenager’s hand. “You were excited and weren’t focused on it, that’s all. I would’ve done the same thing. Nobody is going to blame you for being an excited kid.”

Royce spared a glance to either side, seeing nothing but concern and love from Mack and Brady. It was weird. He’d messed up and refused to take his inhaler even though he knew he needed it, why were they being so nice? “Why-Why aren’t you mad?”

Mack and Brady shared a look over Royce’s shoulder “Mad?” Brady wondered aloud. “Of course not. Why would we be?”

Bentley huffed from the ground, picking blades of grass from the path. “Dad was always mad.”

Mack sighed, brushing Bentley’s hair from his face and threading her fingers through Royce’s curls. “We could never be mad at either of you, especially for something like this. We love you both far too much for that.”

“We know you love us,” Bentley said with a smile. “We love you guys.”

“Yeah,” Royce confirmed, clearing his throat before continuing. “What do we do now?”

“Well,” Brady began slowly, “we’ll sit for a few until the albuterol kicks in, and then we’ll make it the rest of the way.”

“We can go now,” Royce stated. “I’m feeling better.”

Mack scoffed lightly, “We do that and Brady will probably carry you to the lodge.”

“I absolutely will,” Brady confirmed. “How about you boys tell us about that book you were reading last night on the couch? The Time Machine, right? By H.G. Wells?”

“Yeah!” Bentley exclaimed, quickly going into a rant on the book, allowing Royce to chime in from time to time as he rattled on.

Now and then, Royce looked to Mack and Brady out of the corner of his eyes, seeing them smiling warmly at Bentley and himself. He could still feel his ears burning with embarrassment but, if he was going to be honest with himself, it felt nice to be taken care of by them. Mack and Brady were so kind and cared for him and Bentley so much more than he could’ve ever expected them to. It was weird, but certainly not unwelcome.

It was times like these that he really did feel like he was in one of those shows back home and he was right; it was like a dream.

[let-it-raines]

your wonder under summer skies (2/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory. 

rating: mature 

a/n: I’m so glad you guys are excited about this story! I hope it brings you some levity if you need it, even though things are not always going to be sunshine and roses 😘 thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for being such an awesome beta!

ao3: beginning | current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 

-/-

“What happened to your hand?”

Killian blinks down at the kid standing in front of him. He can’t be any older than five, and if Killian made money off of every five-year-old that asked him what happened to his hand, he’d be a rich man.

If he had money for every mom whose cheeks went red at mortification from their children, he’d be an even richer man. This mom barely glances down at her kid, though, so she likely doesn’t pay much attention to him to begin with.

“Would you believe that a shark got me and that I had to fight it off?”

“No,” the kid giggles.

“Jake,” Mrs. Hart hisses. “That’s not a nice thing to ask someone. I’m so sorry, sir. I – ”

Okay, maybe she was paying more attention than she thought he was. His judgment might have been wrong, but he’s known the Harts long enough to know they aren’t particularly affectionate with their children. A lot of the parents who come through here during the summer aren’t hands on. He never likes to judge, but he knows what it’s like to have one parent who’s there and another who’s pretty bloody absent. He would much rather have had a parent who paid attention, so he notices.

“It’s nothing,” Killian lies as his hand traces over the red lines of his scars and the black ink etched into his skin. “It’s just a few scars. We all have scars somewhere. Mine are simply on my arm and my hand so everyone can see. I kind of think they make me look cool, though. Don’t you think, Jake?”

“Yeah, you look like a superhero! Like Thor when he only has one real eye”

“Good. I always wanted to be one of those. I think I’d have water powers. What about you?”

“I want to be able to fly.”

“Alright,” Liam sighs as he walks back out from the office with a stack of papers and some keys. Skipper is following right behind him and immediately moves to Mrs. Hart’s side to start sniffing her. “If you can just initial a few of these papers, you’ll be good to go for the month. The cost of the first tank of gas has already been included, but when you need to fill up again, that will be on your own dime.”

“I understand. We’ll really have to get our own boat soon so we’re not renting anymore.”

“We’ll store that for you and do year-round maintenance,” Liam adds in as Skipper starts jumping.

“Skipper,” Killian whistles. “Skip. C’mon. Get off Mrs. Hart.”

“It’s fine,” she promises as she signs. “We have dogs back home. My husband is going to bring them up when he arrives next week.” “We’ll see you at the dog park then.”

“Yeah,” she smiles, leaning over the counter, her shirt sliding down with the movement. “I think I’d really like that.”

And then she’s pushing the papers across the desk, taking her son’s hand, and then walking out the door, looking back at the last minute.

“She wants to sleep with you,” Liam says as soon as the door clicks and the bell stops ringing.

“My God,” Killian groans. “Don’t start with that.”

“What? You haven’t found a girlfriend for the summer yet. Mrs. Hart could be that for you. Though, I think the children and husband could complicate matters.”

“Shut up, you ass. I am not going to sleep with a married woman, and I do not only date during the summer.”

“No, no you don’t. You do, however, usually find someone to sleep with while they’re here for the summer, and then when they go home, you break it off even when they want to try long distance. I’ve seen you do it a million times.”

“First of all,” Killian starts as he files their paperwork, “I date all year. It’s not a summer thing. I’ve just found that some women come here for the summer, we hit it off, and then it tends not to work out when they go home and return to their real lives.”

“This city isn’t some kind of boarded off place. This is real life, too.”

“For you and me, yeah. For the rich people who don’t work in offices in the summer and pay thousands of dollars to rent boats for a month, this isn’t. It’s all a fantasy life to them, and I can guarantee that most of them aren’t interested in a real relationship. I swear the heat gets to their brains, but this is Maine. It never truly gets hot.”

“Says the man who spent half his life in England and complained when the sun started shining.”

Killian huffs and closes the filing cabinet. “What are you still doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be heading to Elsa’s to pick her up?”

Liam immediately blushes, but just as soon as the color appears, it fades away. “I’ve still got time. We’re not going to dinner until five.” “Ah, yes, the early bird’s special.”

“Bastard.”

Killian whistles and pulls out the chair behind the front desk as Skipper settles down at his feet. He needs to take him to the groomer’s. His fur is far too long, and he’ll get hot like this. Maybe he can shave his coat, but that ended up to be horribly choppy last time. It was a mess with the mixture of black and white, and having a border collie is not at all the same as the black lab he had back in England.

At least not when it comes to haircuts.

“Look, I’m not saying that I know what you’re doing tonight, but I do know why you’ve called all of our friends here tonight, so I do know. Or, at least, I have a hunch. The cake in the fridge gives me a little bit of a hint.”

“If you tell anyone and it gets to Elsa before it happens, I will send you out on a boat with not enough gas to get back to shore.”

“I already told Emma, so it’s a bloody good thing that I can swim.”

Liam narrows his eyes and his lips flatten into a straight line. “You have to get over Emma, you know? She’s been with Neal for what? Five years? I don’t think you’re going to have a chance when it comes to her.”

Killian’s stomach twists, and he forces down the lump in his throat. Liam’s got to get over his odd obsession with not liking Emma because he thinks Killian’s making himself miserable over her. He’s not. When he first came to town, he wouldn’t have said no to dating Emma. Hell, he wouldn’t say no now. He’s not blind. He’s simply not counting on anything to happen there.

They can be friends without wanting to fuck each other.

“Emma is a friend. I don’t have any interest in pursuing a relationship with her. You should know that. Didn’t you just talk about how I’m the boy toy of a different woman every summer? Why would I ever change that for a woman who lives here? Then I’d have to be in a real relationship that’s more than sex.”

“Killian, you know I didn’t mean it that way. At some point, you’re going to have to stop pursuing relationships that you know aren’t going to be successful.”

“Fuck you, Liam,” he growls. “I’m nearly twenty-eight-years-old. I don’t need you to be my parent.”

“Little brother – ”

“Younger. I’m younger.”

“I didn’t mean – ”

The front door of the shop opens, that damn bell going off, and Skipper immediately gets up to greet Mr. French. Killian’s never been so excited to see the man in his life when he usually dreads his presence. At least now he can get out of this conversation.

The man is damn particular about how they care for his boat.

“We’ll talk later,” Liam mumbles as he walks around the counter and heads back to the staircase.

“Forget about it, Liam. Good luck tonight.”

-/-

“Oi, I thought we were having beer,” Will mutters as he slams the refrigerator shut. “There’s not any here.”

“You were supposed to bring your own. I wasn’t about to buy it for everyone. I like to have a little bit of money in my bank account.”

“Then why the hell do you have Emma’s favorite wine, your preferred rum, and then nothing else?”

“How do you know Emma’s preferred wine?” Killian scoffs, narrowing his eyes at Will.

“I’m a bartender at the only bar she goes to. I know what all of our friends like.”

Killian sighs and turns the kitchen faucet on to wash the few remaining dishes. Liam keeps leaving his in there instead of washing them himself, and if it didn’t drive Killian mad to not have an empty sink, he’d leave them be until Liam cleaned himself.

This particular load is most likely payback for painting the office on Monday, but it’s worth it. He couldn’t live with that wallpaper any longer. It was awful, and he swears he lost a day of his life every time he had to look at it.

“If you’re a bartender, why didn’t you think to bring your own drinks?”

“I assumed they’d be provided.”

“We literally just discussed this, Scarlet.”

“Just saying. It would have been nice.”

“Next time Liam gets engaged, I’ll buy the alcohol for everyone.”

“That’s all I ask,” Will sighs as he sits down and props his feet on the coffee table. “So, he’s really asking her? Tonight? I heard the rumors, but I wasn’t sure if they were true.”

“Who’d you hear that from?”

“Belle. Her dad overheard you two talking. So, it’s actually happening?”

“As we speak, I believe.”

Will whistles. “Damn. Look at Liam growing up.”

“It only took him thirty-three years.”

“Hello, hello,” Ruby hums as she walks in the door. It was unlocked, and he really should have never expected her to knock. She and Ariel let themselves in all the time without any kind of warning. “I’m here, and I bring Emma, Robin, and beer. What more could you ask for?”

“The rest of our friends maybe?” Will mutters.

“Shut up. They’re coming. You have to be patient and appreciate that we’re here even if I know you don’t care about anything until Belle gets here.”

“I care about the beer Rob’s got.”

Killian finishes washing the last dish and looks up to see Emma walking toward him. She’s been weirdly quiet since he last saw her, but work must be busy for her as the summer season starts. It’s the same thing for him, so he gets it. They usually only cross paths at lunch or at three in the morning when she’ll text him and ask him to meet up to get a slushie at the 24-hour gas station up the road. With all of the cosmetic improvements the city has made over the past year, this summer is going to be a busy one, he thinks, so he can’t imagine that there will be too many of those trips.

He’ll have to go get her drink and bring it to her as she deals with all of the out of town assholes she always has to deal with.

“Hey,” Emma says as she hops up on the kitchen counter, nearly knocking a plate over. “So, not to be a Will because I just know he’s been complaining about not having a drink, but when is the pizza getting here?”

“David is supposed to be bringing it since it’s on his way here from the station.” “You know he’s going to eat half of it on the way here.”

“That’s why I also have Ariel bringing a few boxes.” He leans forward and quickly brushes his lips across her cheek. If he was paying more attention, he’d say that she flinched. That’d be ridiculous, though. She wouldn’t do that. “I have kept Will away from your wine because he has actually been complaining about the lack of drinks.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite person in the world.”

“Oh really? I’ve risen above all the others?”

Emma pats his chest. “Maybe just for tonight. Tomorrow, you go back down the list and will only be dangling by a thread.”

“I’ll take this honor and cherish it.”

“As you should. It’s the only time you’re ever going to get it.”

“I’ll be sure to take advantage of it. Do you think Liam will kill us if we eat the cake before he gets here?”

“I think that and painting the office will push him over the edge.”

“Then we best err on the safe side. I’m too young to get murdered.”

“No one is too young to get murdered,” David adds in as he walks in the apartment. “I see it all the time.”

“We literally have one of the lowest murder rates in the country.”

“I meant on TV.”

“Oh, yeah, obviously.”

“Thank God,” Will groans. “Pizza and beer. Finally. I thought I was going to die.”

Little by little, everyone else begins filtering in until the apartment is so full there’s not much room to move around. Killian opens up the balcony doors, sea air and the sound of the waves wafting in, and that allows a little more space. Killian has no clue when Liam and Elsa are supposed to be here, neither of them texting or calling to make the announcement they’re all waiting for, but he figures it should be soon based on the timing of Liam’s dinner reservation and how almost comically predictable his brother can be.

It’s a Jones trait. They like their routines, and they’re particular about most everything they do. The Navy will do that to you. Though, Killian does remember Brennan being like that as well. His mother was much more of a free spirit, and she’d likely laugh at the way he and Liam behave.

God, she’d love to be here tonight to see Liam so happy.

Killian would love for her to be here, too.

Killian shakes himself out of that thought process and grabs a slice of pizza from Ariel’s batch and a beer before heading out to the balcony and sitting down on a seat next to Emma and Mary Margaret as they talk about some banquet the club is having to host next week to kick off the start of summer even if there’s technically still a month left until summer begins.

Not in Storybrooke.

Not when this is what this town looks forward to all year.

Everything here is pastel colors and beachy names, and the economy thrives so much over five months that everyone can still make it the rest of the year off the bare bones from people living here and the occasional tourist in winter. He swears it’s like some kind of movie, but it’s nice in a way to not have the worries and the commotion he had when living in England.

After a few minutes, Mary Margaret excuses herself to go find David, and when she leaves, she closes the sliding door. It’s probably a force of habit, something she doesn’t think about, but as soon as the door slides into place, suddenly the noise of the party is muted while the ocean is the loudest he’s heard it in a long time. There must be a storm coming tonight. That wasn’t on the radar. Damn, he hopes that doesn’t cause any problems with any of the people they have in boats out on the ocean right now.

“Liam and Elsa are taking forever to get here. There’s not going to be any food left for them.”

“They went to dinner,” Killian explains. “They won’t be hungry. Hell, I don’t think Elsa will be able to even think about eating with everyone who’s about to bombard her to congratulate her.”

“Ariel is going to tackle her to the ground, and Anna will probably make her lose her hearing from the screech over the phone.”

“We’ll have to make a trip to the hospital.”

“Ah, how everyone wants to spend their engagement night.”

“I think it’d be a bloody good time.”

Emma laughs, but it’s quiet. It’s not her usual laugh, the loud, infectious thing that he’s grown used to in the past five years, and he hates it. He hates that she’s laughing without actually meaning it.

A part of him hates himself for knowing her well enough to pick up on something like that, but he’s always considered himself to be quite perceptive even when he’d rather not be.

“Hey,” he whispers, kicking his foot into hers. “What’s up with you, love?”

“Um, nothing?” Her brows furrow together before rising. “What’s up with you?”

“Simply trying to figure out why you’ve been in a weird mood all week.”

“Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

“We did, but I didn’t get any answers.”

Her eyes roll. Great. He’s pushing her again, and that always goes well.

He never has known when to stop.

“It’s my life. You don’t need answers.”

“We spend half of our time together. I think I do deserve an answer if something is bothering you.”

“Yeah?” Emma scoffs, standing from the chair and walking toward the railing. “You think you get to know about my life? How much of your own do you tell me?”

“Nearly everything.”

“I know when you’re lying, Killian. I can tell. You do not tell me everything.”

“I know you can tell, which is bloody frustrating.”

Emma makes some kind of highly offended noise, and she’s right. He doesn’t tell her nearly everything. He doesn’t tell her a lot, but he could. He would. It’s simply that he and Emma have never had the type of friendship where they needed to get into the dark details every other conversation. They debate more on the merits of different types of chips.

Then again, Emma likely knows more about him than anyone but Liam.

But not enough. She doesn’t know about…she simply doesn’t know.

Killian looks up to see Emma’s shoulders deflate before she turns around and faces him. Her eyes are bloodshot. Have they been like that all night? How did he not notice? He talked to her earlier. He should have noticed.

“I broke up with Neal.”

What the fuck?

She what now?

Killian’s heartbeat quickens, his cheeks suddenly warm, and his first thought is relief. He’s an asshole because his first thought of Emma ending her relationship is relief.

He always hated Neal. Well, not always, but Emma deserves better than someone a man who treats her like Neal treated her. Then again, who is Killian to judge how someone is in a relationship? It’s not as if he knows how to be in one.

After relief, though, and a brief bit of anger, all Killian can really focus on is how utterly broken Emma looks.

Emma Swan has never been one to possibly look broken. She’s always seemed so strong and sure, and he hates everything about the water in her eyes and the quiver in her lips. He hates everything about her having to go through this.

He really fucking hates Neal.

“I – ”

There’s a loud cheer behind the two of them, and Killian turns around to see Liam and Elsa walking into the apartment, their hands twined together and raised in the air. They’re absolutely beaming.

“Looks like it’s time to go congratulate the happy couple,” Emma mutters as she brushes past him.

“Swan, I – ”

But she doesn’t stop. Instead she opens the door and walks away, the glass sliding shut behind her as thunder rolls in the background.

-/-

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings​ @mrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @jonirobinson64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @sherifemma​ @shardminds​ @captainsjedi​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @nikkiemms​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @scarletslippers​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda​

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Those Who Fall: “APTF” Story (Modern Domestic Stucky AU)

Two:

"Sophia has swim practice at five," Steve reminded Bucky, stirring lukewarm rice cereal for Holly.  "And I can't be there because I have parent-teacher conferences, so I really need you to be there."

"Swim practice at five," Bucky repeated, pouring brownie flavored coffee into Steve's thermos for him, "Got it. I'll be there."

Steve nodded and started feeding the ten month old. Around a mouthful of scrambled eggs and lightly burnt toast, their oldest, Luke said, "Remember, marching band doesn't get over until seven tonight because we're getting ready for Homecoming."

"Shoot! That's right," Steve momentarily set down the small bowl of baby food and grabbed the stack of ghost shaped post-it notes by the fridge and wrote a reminder for himself. Making sure that he wouldn't forget, he stuck it to his phone, and then got back to feeding the sassiest of the bunch.

Inadvertently making a funny face as he fed the baby, by opening his own mouth in hopes that she'd open hers. Most times, she did. When a mess happened, he used the spoon to collect the mush off her light pink-white face and told Luke, "I'll swing by to pick you up after I'm done with conferences."

"That's okay," the teen exclaimed just a little too quickly to not be suspicious. Wiping his mouth on the back of his dark olive-brown hand, he clunkily recovered, "I have a ride."

"You do?" Bucky asked, brows quirked high on his forehead. Steve turned around to exchange a look with Bucky while Luke nodded his confirmation and Bucky questioned, "Who?"

"Oh, uh," a red tint started to color his still childish-chubby cheeks and he looked everywhere but at either of his dads, "Just some friends. Other band kids."

"Stacy," Sophia sing-songed while she pushed her choppy black bangs away from her almond shaped eyes.

"That's not even her name," Luke glared at the eight year old and sneered under his breath, "Shut up!"

Sophia's mouth dropped open and she instantly tattled, "Daddy, Luke told me to shut up!"

"Shut up!" Luke said, louder, with wide eyes.

"Daddy, Luke told me --"

"Shut up!" Ethan, their six year old foster son, copied his idol, the older boy.

"Daddy, Ethan --"

"Luke, don't tell your sister to, 'shut up.'" Bucky reprimanded around a mouthful of eggs, "Ethan, don't copy your older brother. Especially when he's saying a No-No Phrase."

Luke rolled his eyes at that, but didn't say anything. Instead he stood from the island and brought his plate around to the sink. Rinsing it first, he set it in the dishwasher before making his way back upstairs to his room. Steve glanced at the clock to check the time.

Once Holly started getting fussy and made a mess because she wasn't hungry anymore, Steve decided that it was time for him to get the rest of the kids ready. Setting the half-full bowl in the sink, Steve wiped her round face, and noted the way her bottom lip was quivering.

As Steve lifted her from the high chair, Bucky noticed it too and playfully pretended as though he was going to eat her tiny hand. Instantly, Holly giggled and Steve pressed a sweet kiss to Bucky's cheek. Of course, that caused the eight year old and six year old still at the island to mock gags while they complained about the PDA.

Playfully rolling his eyes, Steve shook his head and carried the baby upstairs. Passing the kids' bathroom, Steve noticed Luke digging through the drawers as he looked for something. Switching Holly to his other hip, Steve paused at the open door.

"Need help?" Steve asked.

Sighing, the fifteen year old stood upright and threw his head back as he explained, "I can't find my sponge."

"Well," Steve thought for a moment. But Steve didn't get a lot of sleep and he had a fussy baby on his hip, "Maybe it's in your room."

"It's not going to --"

"Just look, please?" Steve interrupted. Switching hips again, Steve assured, "As soon as I get Holly dressed, I'll help look for it. Okay?"

Although he wasn't happy about it, he still agreed. Nodding, he exited the bathroom and into his bedroom. Not wanting to take too long dilly dallying, Steve entered Holly's room and immediately changed her out of her footie pajamas. Since it was October, Steve decided on an appropriate outfit. Black leggings dotted with metallic gold pumpkins and a matching white sweater with a large metallic gold pumpkin on the front.

"Let's go help bub!" Steve exaggerated as he placed the ten month old on his hip once more and carried her into the bathroom.

Rummaging through the vanity drawers, Steve looked underneath hairbrushes and combs and wondered why the hell they had so many when only four children were currently living with them. Looked underneath the bows and scrunchies, and extra toothbrushes. Nothing. Nada. The sponge wasn't there.

"Did you find it?"

Turning around to find the hopeful teen, Steve's shoulders slumped and he shook his head. "Sorry, bud." Trying to think of where it could be, he asked, "Have you checked in the downstairs bathroom?"

"No," Luke sighed and turned to walk downstairs. Under his breath, he muttered, "Why would it be in the downstairs bathroom?"

Sighing himself, Steve kissed Holly's temple and finger combed her wild red curls. Heading back downstairs, Sophia passed him on the staircase. On a whim, Steve stopped her and asked, "Have you seen Luke's sponge?"

A glimpse of guilt flashed across her expression as she shrugged and went to run upstairs. Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously and backtracked up the steps. Following his daughter to her room and simply standing there in the open doorway as he repeated, "Have you see Luke's sponge?"

The way that Sophia purposely didn't look at him was answer enough. With a sigh, he said, "I need you to give it back."

"But then Barbie won't have a bed!" Sophia argued, her thin lower lip pouting while she stomped her foot.

"Barbie already has a bed, it's attached to the cottage's wall," Steve answered walking into the bedroom. Bypassing the two spare beds to reach the blue Barbie Dream Cottage. Only, he didn't find it.

Straightening up, Steve quirked a brow at her, and she pointed over to the aisle between two of the beds. Sheepishly, she clarified, "Barbie went camping."

Despite himself, he couldn't help the grin stretch at his lips as he set Holly on the floor and got down to his hands and knees. Under the bed, a miniature pink and purple tent was set up. Lifting it, he found the black Barbie doll, "sleeping," on the large sponge. Specifically on the egg carton foam-like side, which Steve found amusing.

"No," Sophia said.

Standing up, Steve watched as Sophia tried to keep Holly from leaving the bedroom. Although she had nothing to worry about with the baby gate at the top of the stairs, it warmed Steve's heart to see that she did care. Especially with the way she was when she came to live with them two and a half years ago. It filled Steve up with love seeing that growth.

"Pops! Did you find --" Cutting himself off, Luke's eyes were trained on the sponge and then they glared at his sister, "I told you to keep your hands off my stuff!"

"But Barbie needed a bed!" Sophia argued as though it made perfect sense.

"You can't just take things that aren't yours!"

"Papa!" Sophia whined.

Lifting Holly into his arms once more, Steve shook his head and confirmed, "It's not nice to take things that aren't yours without asking. How would you feel if Ethan took your Barbie?"

Sighing Sophia got it, and she said, "Sorry, Luke."

As Steve handed the sponge to Luke, he lifted brows expectantly and gave the eight year old a pointed look. Rolling his eyes, Luke sighed, "It's okay."

Steve simply shook his head. Luke was already rubbing the sponge along his hair in circular motions. Creating twists and defined curls as he entered the bathroom. Sophia followed after him and he helpfully handed her, her glittery purple Little Mermaid brush. Although they fought more often than not, Steve wouldn't trade it for anything. The little moments when they got along was everything to Steve.

[i-fan-misha-do-you]

Not My Winchester (Dean x reader)

A/N: Ok, so this is an idea I’ve had for a while, I’m thinking I’ll make it two parts if enough people like it, also it’s hecka long, sooo.  Dean girls, get ready to have your hearts ripped apart and hand stitched back together. Warnings: Angst, torture, trauma, ptsd, hopefully fluff at the end. GUYS THIS COULD BE TRIGGERING, PLEASE BE CAREFUL Word Count: 3218

You let out a long sigh as you shut Sams laptop. Running your hands down your face, you stood and made your way over to the bathroom. Maybe a shower would clear your head. ~3 hours earlier~  “Alright, Y/n, we’re gonna go get some supplies, check up on a few of the victims and what not.” Dean said as he and Sam appeared in suits and made their way out the door.  “We can get you something to eat, but it might take a while till we get back.” Sam offered. You looked up and shook your head from your spot at the table.  “No thanks guys, I’ll just keep working. I think I’ve almost got a lead on what our mystery monster is.” You turned your gaze back to your computer and heard them chuckle.  “What’s so funny?” You muttered without looking up.  “Nothin’ princess, you’re adorable.” Dean said, walking over to you and stooping down to give you a kiss on your cheek. You turned your head at the last second, his lips landing square on yours. He seemed surprised, but he didn’t complain. He kissed you back for a moment before pulling away and ruffling your hair affectionately. You scowled up at him as Sam laughed before stepping out the door. You heard a faint ‘bye, Y/n’ from outside of the motel room.  “Take care of yourself, Dean-o.” You told him with a smile.  “Always. You too, princess.” He gave you a cheesy grin as he walked out the door. ~present time~

 You groaned as you shut off the hot water, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a surprisingly soft towel around yourself. You’d spent your entire shower trying to think of what on earth it was you could be hunting. You sighed as you dried off and left the bathroom, making your way to your duffle bag on the end of the queen bed. You quickly got dressed in your usual flannel, jeans, and tee shirt, and sat back down at the small table, opening the laptop and getting back to researching.  All the sudden it hit you like a ton of bricks. You froze, your thoughts rushing through your head a hundred miles an hour. ‘Call Dean,’ flashed through your mind, and you grabbed your phone and pressed the first number in the contacts list. Straight to voicemail. You groaned and quickly dialed Sams number. No answer. You tossed your phone onto the table and ran your hands through your hair.  “Oh, alright…umm…note, note.”  You grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and quickly scrawled out a quick note for the boys. Leaving it on the bed you and Dean were sharing, you grabbed your silver dagger, a gun, a flashlight, and a large over shirt that used to be Deans.  You took a final look around the room before opening the door and walking out. ————————————- time skip —————————————-

  “Oh gosh, it smells down here.” You wrinkled your nose in disgust as you pointed your flashlight around the sewer tunnel. You took several large steps to avoid some particularly nasty looking puddles of waste.  You turned a corner only to be met with a nasty sight.  “Oh, crud…” You whispered looking around in slight horror. What had to be dozens of meat suits were laying around the small enclosed space.    “I hate shifters.” You muttered with a scowl. A shuffling noise sounded behind you, and you spun around immediately, pulling out your gun and pressing it to the persons temple.  “Woah, Y/n, relax. It’s just me.” Dean held up his hands in surrender, and you sighed before putting your gun away and hugging him hard.  “Where’s Sam?” You questioned, taking a step back.  “He uh, wanted to check out another part of the sewer. See if the thing was anywhere else.” He answered, gesturing towards another tunnel with his hands.  “So, you got my note?” You questioned with a smug smile. Dean chuckled.  “Yeah, guess ya figured out it was a shifter, eh?”  “Sure did.” You replied, turning to look over at the piles of flesh that looked as if they had been melted off the shifters body.  “You missed one thing though.” He said from behind you.  “And what’s that?” You replied distractedly.  “It’s not just a shifter.”   “What are you-“ You turned around to look at Dean. You gasped when you met his eyes. They weren’t the beautiful forest green color you loved. They were black.  Before you could react, it reached over and stuck you in the neck with a syringe, pushing the liquid into your body, then removing the needle. A tingling sensation spread from your neck to your arms and down your body. Your legs gave out and you fell forwards, the thing wearing Dean caught you before you could hit the ground.   “Aww, don’t worry, Y/n. I’m gonna watch out for ya.” He cooed as he picked up your unconscious form and carried you out of the sewer. ~at the motel room~

“Sam, we’ve got a problem!” Dean called to his younger brother frantically. Sam noticed the urgency in his brothers’ voice and hurried inside with the grocery bags.  “What’s up?” He asked, confused. Dean tore his eyes away from the notepad with your perfect handwriting on it.  “It’s Y/n.” Dean began to read your letter out loud. Dean and Sam, I’ve got it. It’s a shifter. A really old one, it can shift crazy fast. I found the sewer that I’m sure it’s in, the one that runs right by the old church coming into town.  Neither of you were answering, so I’m going after it. Don’t worry, I’ve got my silver knife. Meet me there when you get back.  -Y/n Dean looked back up at his brother. Sams eyes were wide, and he had dropped the bags he had been holding. “We need to go.” Sam said, nodding quickly. Dean was already moving, grabbing every silver weapon that he owned, and Sam joined him, quickly packing up a duffle bag of weaponry.  They were out of the motel and into the Impala in five minutes flat.  ~back to you~ You woke up slowly, not moving an inch, not opening your eyes. Your senses soon began to function normally, and you could hear the steady drip of a pipe somewhere. You kept your eyes closed and your body still. You could now feel your legs were fully extended and strapped down. Your wrists were bound, arms extended to your sides, and you felt a heavy strap resting uncomfortably across your chest. You kept your breathing steady as you heard footsteps approaching.  “Ya know, that’s a great ruse. Best I’ve seen in a while. But I know you’re awake, sweetheart. Give it up.” You heard Deans voice, and turned your head to stare defiantly at the source. The demon was grinning at you, causing you shiver involuntarily. You looked around, finding that you were laying at an angle, strapped down on a metal table. The room you were in was cold and run down, with a single large light hanging over you.  “Well, let’s get started here, shall we?” He walked closer to you, and that’s when you noticed the trays upon trays of sharp objects, some large, some small, all of them painful looking. They were laying on a long counter near the table you’d been strapped to.  ” Have fun, bitc-uph!” You were cut off as he stuffed a large rag into your mouth. He leaned down closer to you until you could feel his breath on the side of your neck.  “I wouldn’t want you getting any ideas about exorcising me, now would I?” He chuckled before standing again. He grabbed the first tray, pulling it along the counter until it was near enough to grab whatever he wanted.  “Let’s start with this, yeah?” He grinned and held up a scalpel, advancing towards you. ‘Castiel, please help me.’ You prayed as he cut the arm of your shirt off. He pressed the blade to your skin lightly before pressing harder. He repeated his action multiple times in seemingly random places on your arm, all of them making you yelp through your gag.  “Ooh, I like it.” He announced thoughtfully before tossing down the bloody scalpel and pulling out his phone. He held it above your arm and snapped a picture before showing it to you. Dean Winchesters Slut It read across your arm in choppy, red marks. You glared up at him, which only caused him to laugh.  “Honey, ya ain’t seen nothing yet.”

~Sam and Dean~

Dean sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face. “She’s not here.” He muttered before saying it again louder. “Sam, she’s not here!”  “I know, Dean. Did you try her cell again?” Sam asked, emerging from a tunnel that came from the right wall of the large room. Dean sighed again and pulled out his phone, dialing your number for the third time. He began to walk toward the tunnel on the left, Sam following close behind. Suddenly they heard a ringing, and Dean started to sprint towards where the sound was coming from.  When Sam had caught up with his older brother, Dean was kneeling on the ground next to your phone.  “We’re gonna find her Dean.” Sam assured timidly.  “Oh, yeah, like hell we’re gonna find her. She should’ve never been here! This is my fault, Sam!” Dean turned angrily and pushed past Sam.  “Cas, we could use your help right about now.” Sam said, directing his voice towards the celling. He turned around, but Castiel wasn’t there.  “Please, Cas. It’s an emergency. Y/n is in trouble.”  As soon as he said this, he heard a swooshing of wings behind him. He turned quickly to see Castiel standing there, a slight look of worry on his face.  “What happened?” The angel questioned.  “C’mon. I’ll tell you.” Sam said, leading the way up and out of the sewers.

~Back to you~

You let out a scream of pain as he dug the knife deeper into your thigh. He smirked at the muffled sound, looking up at you triumphantly. He pulled the jagged knife out suddenly, causing another strained cry to escape from you.  “That’s more like it.” He praised. You glared back stubbornly, despite panting heavily. You’d been pretty good a keeping quiet up until now, so the demon had decided to up the torture. He carefully grabbed some salt before throwing it into the fresh cuts along your legs. You hissed in pain, writhing harshly, trying in vain to escape your bonds.  “Dean’s in here ya know.” He taunted, tapping his head. “He wants me to just kill you. He’s begging me to do it.” With that he brought a knife down across your abdomen. Blood poured out and your vision began to darken. The demon looked at you strangely.  “Oh darn,” you heard him say,” guess I’ll have to wait till she wakes up again.” — When your vision returned, the demon was nowhere to be seen. You struggled to get your tounge behind the cloth in your mouth, but once you did, you managed to push it out. You looked down at your body; cuts littered across it, bruises forming where your restraints were, and blood, oh so much blood.  A figure ran into the room then stopped suddenly. You looked up to see what you thought was the demon wearing Dean, but he slowly started to walk forward. You looked into his eyes; green again.  “Y/n? Y/n are you ok?” His voice was surprisingly gentle, and you were sure this was your Dean.  “I’m fine.” You croaked out. Your mouth was extremely dry. “Just a few cuts and bruises.” He smiled, walking around to the side of the table. He ran a hand gently down your cheek, and you let out a tired sigh.  “That’s too bad.” He stated harshly.  “What?” You asked, extremely confused.   “I was hoping that demon would finish you off. You’re such a burden. I guess I’ll have to do that myself.” His smile turned hard, but his eyes stayed green. His hand wandered to your silver knife that was laying on one of the trays, bringing it up to your face slowly. He smirked at you before touching it to your collarbone and pressing harshly. He dragged it across your skin, making you whimper, eyes watering, not from the pain, but because of what he had said.  He continued to drag it over your shoulder and down your left arm, all the way down to where the restraints were. He picked up the knife and resumed his line on the other side, finishing when he got to the tip of your ring finger. You gasped in pain, breathing heavily. The cut was fairly deep, and you could faintly hear blood dripping down onto the floor.  “Hopefully I don’t see you again, Y/n.” He smirked, dropping your knife and walking away. You squeezed your eyes shut to keep the tears inside, tilting your head towards the celling and sending Cas another prayer. You suddenly felt very tired and before you knew it, everything went black.

~3 days later, the boys~

Dean pushed open the motel door and slammed his gun down on the table. Sam jumped slightly from his spot on the bed. He’d been searching nonstop for places that you could be.  “Where is Castiel?” Dean asked harshly as the sound of flapping wings filled the small space.  “I am here, Dean.” Cas responded from behind him. Dean turned quickly on the angel.  “Well? Did you find anything?” Dean asked angrily. As his green eyes searched the angels’ blue ones, they betrayed him. Dean was desperate. “I have found a place, I think is very possible for her to be. Gather your weapons, and I will take you.” His gravelly voice echoed through the room as Sam jumped up off the bed and both Winchesters packed up quickly.  “Alright, Cas. Take us.” Dean instructed. Castiel hesitated.  “Dean, you should know, Y/n will be in bad shape when we find her. Prepare yourself.” He warned. Dean nodded solemnly, and Cas lifted his hands to both mens’ heads, transporting them to outside a rundown and abandoned asylum.  “No…” Dean whispered as he made his way inside, Sam and Cas following closely behind. He couldn’t even imagine what was happening to you in this place. Dean drew his gun and held it low with both hands. They wound their way through the building until they could hear screaming coming from the basement.

~Back to you~

“Annddd there. Perfect.” He grinned up at you darkly. “That’ll keep old Cassie away.” He grabbed another box of salt and poured a generous amount over your arm. A scream pierced through the air, your chest heaving as tears streamed down your face. The demon threw down his knife and stood up, brushing off his hands and going over to a sink on the opposite side of the room.  You sighed heavily, daring to look down at your body. You grimaced at what you saw. Your left side held the long deep cut ‘Dean’ had given you, as well as the words the demon had carved into your skin. More hateful words covered your stomach and legs, you were sure of that.  The clothes on your legs and stomach were soaked through with blood, and your face was littered with bruises, making it hurt every time you moved. Your lips were chapped and split open, and your throat was on fire. You couldn’t bear to look at your right arm. Whatever he’d done, it was extremely bloody. There really shouldn’t be that much blood. You were almost positive you were going to bleed out from it. You strained against your bonds again, only for the demon, wearing the love of your life’s face, to throw a dagger at you. It hit you in the stomach, and the pain was too great. You blacked out. —— Dean rounded the corner, and the first thing he saw was you. You were more beat up and bloody than he’d ever seen you, and that was saying a lot. You even had a knife sticking out of your stomach. The second thing he saw was himself. He had to double check, but he raised his gun immediately and shot it. Silver bullets.  The thing only turned around and grinned.  “Dean Winchester! What a surprise. I thought it’d take you longer to find me, but, oh well!” He shrugged before taking off down a dark hall. “Sam, Cas, get Y/n out of here!” Dean yelled as he sprinted after the thing. Sam immediately ran to you, and his eyes went wide. You were bleeding profusely, everywhere. Sam tried to apply pressure to what seemed to be bleeding the most, your right arm. But the second he put his hand over it, Castiel let out a strangled noise before disappearing. Sam looked around, confused, before ripping some fabric off of his flannel and wiping the blood away.  ‘Oh, no!’ was all he could think. That thing had carved angel banishing sygles onto your arm. If Sam applied pressure to stop the bleeding, it would force Castiel to leave.  Panicking, Sam quickly undid your restraints, being careful to leave the knife in your abdomen so that you wouldn’t bleed out. He wasn’t surprised that you were unconscious, but he was slightly unprepared, and had to catch you when you fell off of the table.  He gathered you up in his arms and took off, hoping that he could get you to the car, and that he and Dean could get you to Bobbys’ bunker in time.

~Dean and ‘Dean’~

Dean chased that thing until he had it cornered in a windowless room. It only turned to stare at him. Dean had to admit, it was slightly unnerving to see your own face stare at you like that. But then he remembered what it had done to Y/n.  “What are you?” Dean asked forcefully, raising his gun. The thing smirked.  “I’m the one who skewered your girlfriend.” It replied smugly. Dean shot it in the shoulder.  “Tsk, tsk. Haven’t you learned? Silver doesn’t work on me.” It said smugly. Dean cautiously took a step back, and in one swift movement he poured a salt line across the doorway. The smug look fell off the monsters face instantly.  “Ah, demon, eh?” Dean asked, knowing the answer. “I didn’t think demons could possess shifters, but ya learn something new every day, right?”  The demon only clenched his jaw.  “So, ya wanna tell me why you kidnapped my girlfriend, or should I just put you out of your misery?”  “Oh, trust me. She’ll tell you all about it.” It stated confidently. Dean raised an eyebrow.  “Fine, one demon to hell, order up.” Dean smirked bitterly before reciting the exorcism.   “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion,” the demon started screaming loudly, “infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare.”

Black smoke poured from its mouth, but Dean didn’t stick around to see it. He had to get to you.

[cakelanguage]

More Dragon Age Kink Meme prompt fills because why not? There’s Adoribull in this as well, you just have to get to it!

You can also read this on AO3.

Dorian had always been one to break the rules, much to his family’s consternation. Whether it was sleeping with the elevated men of the magisterium and subtly blackmailing them into doing what he wanted them to do or denying his father’s wishes for him to marry, he was ready to deliver a heavy dose of rebellion. Oh, but the blackmailing was the best part.

His father always assumed that Dorian simply slept with any man who was willing to bend Dorian over a table, but it was not so. Dorian strategized and targeted his next rendezvous with a goal in mind and that goal had always been to gather as much dirt on his target as he could so that he was in control for a while.

At first, he had all the blackmail stored away, lengthy pages of incriminating evidence tucked into the hidden drawer of his desk. He figured he’d use them eventually but better to save them until he really needed them. He would just keep moving targets, keep getting information. It wasn’t like he was in short supply of bed partners. He was beautiful, generations of good breeding had ensured his good looks, and he knew how to please a man. It was a turn on to watch men gasp and moan as he rode them or used his mouth. It made Dorian feel powerful.

It was on one such occasion that he met Adavra.

He’d been working to gain a foot in the door with Magister Lartys, who was proving to be both a difficult target and entirely too easy. It was a strange middle ground really, not that Dorian was complaining. A well placed compliment here, a bit of ego stroking there, and a few innuendos to catch a carnal attention and Dorian was in. He almost felt bad for the spouses of these Magisters. Almost.

It was after sex, when he was putting on his robes, beautiful blues and the ever present snake stitched into the fabric, that he saw her. She was obviously a servant, her pointed ears being the giveaway. Not knowing where the he was going he decided it’d be best to ask her.

“Excuse me,” Dorian said, voice full of charm.

But the elf gave a quiet cry of… fear? Dorian stared in bewilderment as she immediately dropped to the floor, bowing her head in submission. The roll she had been carrying bounced quietly and then settled onto the stone feet away from her.

“I’m s-sorry, Ser,” she said, her voice quivering. “I-it’s j-just that, we’re starving, Ser, please d-don’t tell my master.”

Dorian felt a nausea build in his stomach. This wasn’t what he was expecting at all. Wasn’t she a servant? Would a servant be treated like this? Dorian slowly lowered himself down to the elf’s height, his knees making a small thud as they hit the floor. The elf began to ramble faster her speech now a garbled mix of elvish and tevene and possibly some common. He shushed her quietly. “It’s quite alright, please calm down, take a deep breath I’m not telling anyone anything.”

The elf’s head shot up to look at him and Dorian’s heart clenched at the dirty face he was staring at. Choppy, black hair hung limply around her gaunt face and her large eyes were framed by deep smudges of purple bruises, from lack of sleep or otherwise Dorian wasn’t sure. Her eyes filled with fresh tears and she bowed her head again. “Thank you, Ser, oh thank you.”

Dorian shook his head. “None of that, there is no need to thank me really.” And there wasn’t, not to this extent. “What’s your name?”

She bit her lip. “It’s Adavra, Ser.”

Dorian hummed and gave her a tentative smile. “Adavra,” he let it roll off his tongue and gave a nod. “It’s a very pretty name.”

Adavra’s face flushed and she wiped at her tears. “Thank you, Ser.”

Dorian scoffed. “Oh that won’t do, much too formal for my taste.” He reached his hand out to her, making sure not to move to quickly to avoid startling her. “Dorian of House Pavus.”

Her face scrunched up in confusion. “You want me to call you by your first name?”

Dorian gave her a bewildered look. “Of course I do, why you aren’t much older than I am. How old are you?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I think around twenty-four.”

“You aren’t sure?”

“I don’t know how much time has passed.”

“You don’t… how long have you been serving here?”

The elf scoffed quietly. “Serving, yeah, right.”

Dorian’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you not?”

She gave him a flat look. “I wouldn’t call this servitude, just slavery.”

That wasn’t right at all. “But- you aren’t paid?”

She actually laughed at that. “I’ve never met one slave who was paid. Our masters give us enough to keep us from keeling over, but that’s all we get.”

Dorian was silent for a while, coming to terms with what he just found out. He knew that there were some who treated their serv—but they weren’t servants, he couldn’t just ignore what she’d told him. They were slaves, all of them this whole time and Dorian had willing let the wool stay over his eyes on the subject. He didn’t question it when his parents had talked about their own servants and how they treated them well. How ignorant of him. “I… I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “It’s what all you upper class people do, turn a blind-eye from everything that will disturb the perfect world you all live in.” She didn’t look angry, just resigned, like she had already accepted that this is how her life was going to be for the rest of her life. Well not if Dorian had anything to say about it. He wasn’t about to let a whole group of people be locked away for who they were, not when Dorian himself was also being targeted because of who he was. But Dorian could use who he was to his advantage, could hide it if he wished, but the elves couldn’t. So Dorian would just have to help.

“What if… What if I had a way to get you released?”

She looked startled again. “Released? L-like free? Revas?”

“Yes, away from your master, free to leave Tevinter if you so please.”

Adavra’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “J-just me?”

“How many of you are here?”

“Magister Lartys has ten slaves now, eleven last week but Haemir, my brother…” Her voice quivered and she hastily wiped at the tears that had started making their way down her cheeks. “My master wasn’t pleased with him.”

Dorian quietly cursed and brought his hand down to cover her own. “I’m sorry to hear that.” What else was he supposed to say? “But I can get you all out, I just need a few days.”

She gave him a searching look. “How? No slave I’ve known has been able to escape their master.”

Dorian’s lips quirked into a smirk. “Oh you aren’t escaping, he’s going to let you all go.”

Adavra’s face became blank. “No he won’t, Dorian, he’d never do that.”

“He will if he wants the forged gold he used to buy his estate with to remain a secret. Or perhaps his sordid affair with his sister, disturbing really. Or I could go deeper, pull up the covert assassination of his mother to send his father into such despair that he practically gave Magister Lartys his seat in the Magisterium.” He gave her a dark look. “I have enough dirt on him that he’ll cave within a day.”

She sat there in shook, her mouth gaped. “H-how did—“

“How did I uncover all of his secrets? Temptation is a wonderful and terrible thing, Adavra.” One he knew all too well. “And once I get the attention of my target I make sure I get everything I can. Simply duplicating documents or snooping around are great fun especially after I’ve exhausted them enough that I can persuade them to stay asleep. Is it morally the best thing to be doing? No. Do I regret doing it? Not one bit.” And he didn’t, he knew that collecting the blackmail would come in handy, just perhaps not in this way.

She was silent for a moment and he let the silence stretch between them. “Why would you do that? Why would you do that for us? For me? What’ve we ever done for you?”

Dorian shook his head. “It isn’t about what you’ve done, you don’t need to do anything. It’s about knowing what the right thing to do is, and that’s making sure you all are released from this.”

He half thought she was going to throw herself at him, but she settled for turning her hand over so their palms met. “Ma serannas, Dorian.”

Dorian let the smile tug up the corners of his mouth. “Just give me a few days, I can get him to release you all and I can arrange for you to be escorted out of Tevinter or into actual paying jobs if any of you wished to stay.”

Adavra shook her head. “I doubt any of us will want to stay, but you have my thanks once again.”

And that was how Dorian’s secret emancipation started. It was actually exhilarating to be able to help someone, to use his hard work to better the lives of those around him. It was dangerous, especially if the four assassination attempts were anything to go by, but Dorian wasn’t going to stop doing what he could. As lofty as a goal it might be, he would love to free everyone.

Of course then his father tried to use blood magic on him to change him and he was forced to flee. He regretted not being able to continue with freeing the slaves of Tevinter, but his threats of releasing blackmail didn’t hold the same weight once he was no longer residing in Tevinter. And then there was that whole mess with Alexius and then he joined the Inquisition.

Karis Lavellan was a sweet woman, someone who led the Inquisition with a heart of gold and a kind smile. That wasn’t to say she was opposed to being stern when she needed to be. But Karis being the person she was led to her inviting people who were seeking refuge, for whatever reason, to Skyhold. It caused Josephine an almost endless amount of fretting, but the people who arrived were always grateful with whatever the Inquisition provided for them. Except those Orlesian nobles that came to Skyhold to simply look at the castle, they were always hard to please.

On one such occasion, Karis invited a whole slew of elves which garnered a whole range of reactions from nonchalance to obvious disdain. People wouldn’t leave him alone about it, going on about how Dorian must’ve been excited to have slaves again or some other Andraste-forsaken dig at Dorian. It was getting increasingly annoying to try and ignore the comments which is why he’d taken to watching the Chargers run through their training, even joining on occasion.

“Kadan, do you plan on watching all day or do you plan to get off that pretty little ass of yours and train with us?” Bull asked, as he hefted his ridiculous dawnstone axe onto his shoulders. Dorian wasn’t really sure why the Iron Bull was so taken by the color pink, but it was endearing.

“My pretty little ass is quite comfortable where it is, thank you,” Dorian said, going back to the book in his lap. It was fascinating reading up on all the Fade related spells, he could understand why Solas was so obsessed with it.

Bull barked a laugh and turned back to Krem. “Suit yourself, Dorian, you’ll have to join in eventually.”

“Unless you plan on dragging me into the ring, I plan on staying here.”

Krem snorted as he parried another blow from Bull. “Chief, let the Altus do what he wants,” Krem said. “People have been giving him crap all week about the Inquisitor’s new guests.”

Bull grunted. “The elves, yeah I know, thought it might help him release some of that anger.”

“He thanks you for your concern,” Dorian said, turning the page of his book.

“See, he’ll be fine, Chief,” Krem said lowering his shield. “Besides, those elves are arriving today, right?”

“Yeah, the Inquisitor and her advisers were meeting them at the end of the bridge last I’d heard. We’ll probably see them at dinner tonight,” Bull said.

“Not eating at the tavern tonight?” Krem asked.

“You know how Karis is, Cremisius,” Dorian said, closing his book. He obviously wasn’t going to get any reading done. “She likes to enforce that the Inner Circle dines with the new guests of Skyhold. Supposedly it’s to show our openness of some other fluffy nonsense. It shouldn’t be too bad this time.”

“As long as no one makes any comments about you, it should be,” Bull said, his voice tight.

The protectiveness in Bull’s voice sent a shudder up his spine. “Why Amatus, so protective,” Dorian said, standing up from his perch and walking toward where Bull was standing.

Krem groaned and turned away from the two. “Alright, go do that mushy stuff in your room or something,” Krem said.

 Dinner turned out to be much more eventful than Dorian had previously thought. Not even he could have predicted this turn of events.

Dorian and the majority of the inner circle had already sat down before the Inquisitor arrived with their guests. It was mostly small talk, a few thinly veiled barbs sent Dorian’s way but he deflected them with ease. Really, they were going to have to be more creative if they wanted the insults to actually hurt him. It was while listening to one such barb from Solas that the Inquisitor arrived.

There was a great deal of elves behind her, Dorian was guessing more than twenty. An assorted arrangement of all different types of elves, many of which seemed familiar to Dorian, but it couldn’t be, that was terribly unlikely. Unlikely as it may have been, it was true.

“Dorian!” A voice shouted from within the crowd of people. “Is that really you?”

Dorian stood up from the table and took a step closer to the approaching group. He didn’t notice the odd stares the inner circle members were sending him or the murmuring that had broken out within the crowd. No, his focus was on the woman who was running up to him, her long black hair flowing behind her. Before he could inspect her any longer arms had wrapped around his neck and a face had pressed itself against his shoulder.

“I thought I’d never see you again, ma’ falon,” the woman said pulling away from him after a moment to take his face in her hands.

“Adavra?” Dorian asked, not really believing what he was seeing.

She snorted. “Who else, you silly man.”

Dorian thought about rebutting her, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Amicus, you’re looking well.” And she did. Long gone was that choppy hair replaced by long tresses that were full of intricate braids. Her face had filled out some and the circles under her eyes weren’t as dark.

“Well I should since you got me out of Tevinter.”

Dorian made a noncommittal noise. “I may have done that, but life has a way of still being cruel, and I lost touch with you after I got you out and then, well…”

She leaned her forehead against his. “It’s okay, we’re better, safe thanks to you.” She pulled away and gave him a bright smile. “But I have some people I’d like you to meet.”

Dorian tilted his head and watched as she walked back over to the crowd of elves who were all smiling at him. He was feeling increasingly overwhelmed, especially now that he looked at them all. Here was some of the physical proof that he’d actually made a difference in Tevinter. That he’d made something better.

Before he could dwell on it more, two little elves were suddenly in front of him, Adavra standing proudly behind them. “Dorian, I’d like you to meet my children.”

Dorian stared for a moment before slowly crouching down to their level. “Hello there,” he said softly. “My name is Dorian, I met your mother a long time ago.” Almost six years ago.

The littlest one on the right giggled happily. “Mamae,” he said, running around Adavra’s legs.

Dorian chuckled and nodded his head. “Yes, she’s a fine woman.”

Adavra laughed and made a motion with her hand. “No Elana, make a friend,” she said before turning her attention to her son. “Go ahead, Balinor, he won’t bite.”

The oldest, Balinor walked right up to him before circling around him and climbing on his back. It took a moment for Dorian to readjust himself into a standing position so he wouldn’t fall over but he didn’t try to get the boy to leave. “Comfortable?” he asked, turning his head to the side.

The boy nodded his head. “Eth,” he mumbled before tucking his face in between Dorian’s shoulder blades.

While Dorian wasn’t sure what the boy had said, the little gasp of the Inquisitor gave him a rough idea. “Well yes you just stay there, do you wish to join him?” he asked, looking at the girl.

Elana ran back to him with a little shriek of laughter and wrapped her little arms around his arm where she proceeded to swing herself on. If she was heavier, Dorian likely would have minded, but she was light and having fun, who was he to stop her.

“What’s going on here?” Karis asked, her face beyond puzzled.

Dorian had forgot that they weren’t alone in the Great Hall. He turned to look at his fellow companions, all of which had a different expression. He looked at Bull who looked both incredibly sappy and like he wanted to laugh.

“My apologies, Inquisitor,” Dorian said. “I just haven’t seen them in a long time.”

“You’ve met them before?” Karis asked.

“As his slaves no doubt,” Solas muttered. Why the elf was so angry at him, Dorian would never know. It was just pushing all his distaste for Tevinter on one person.

Adavra sent Solas a glare. “Dorian is a vhenallin,” she said. “He got our masters to release us.”

Karis gave him a bewildered look. “How’d you manage that?”

“Espionage of course,” Dorian said.

“You were a spy, Dorian?” Leliana asked.

Bull laughed. “And after all that crap you gave me about being a spy,” he said.

“Oh I wasn’t a traditional spy, mind you,” Dorian said, hiking the sleepy child up higher on his back the best he could while Elana continue to twirl herself with one of his hands. “I seduced as many high ranking men as I could and once I’d exhausted them I’d gather as much information as I could and then store it for later use. It was only after I met Adavra that I thought of using the blackmail to get them to free their slaves.”

“He singlehandedly started an emancipation, in Tevinter no less,” one of the elves, Illaros he believed was his name.

“Oh don’t flatter me, and by that I mean do so as much as you like,” Dorian said, as he slowly made his way back to the table. “Though I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“Being the temptress of Skyhold now?” Adavra asked with a sly grin.

Dorian gave Bull a soft look. “No, my heart belongs to my Amatus now.”

A few of the elves stood straighter at hearing the phrase and directed hard looks at Bull. It was admirable that Bull only fidgeted in his seat under their heavy gaze. “Kadan, people are going to think you’re getting soft,” Bull said.

Dorian scoffed as he finally sat down, Elana seated happily next to him and Balinor still clinging to his back. “You’re soft, you great lummox.” Bull just threw back his head and laughed.

“Bull, was it?” Adavra asked, sitting herself beside the Qunari.

“The Iron Bull, actually,” Bull corrected starting to pile food on his and Dorian’s plates.

“Alright, the Iron Bull, you’re in a relationship with Dorian, yes?”

Bull gave her a dopy smile. “Yeah, we have our something.”

Dorian smiled at hearing that. Both weren’t really sure how a relationship worked, but they were learning as they went.

“Well, I just want to let you know that if you ever hurt Dorian with this something of yours, not only will my revenge come swiftly, but I will see your blood on my blade and I will rally every one of us up to tear into you until not even the Dread Wolf would take you. Do I make myself clear?”

There was a sudden coughing fit down the table but Bull was staring with wide eyes at Adavra. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Bull said. “I don’t plan on letting him go unless he wants to leave, he’s my heart after all.”

Adavra’s stern face turned into a pleased smile. “That’s wonderful, pass the rolls?” Bull hurriedly grabbed the basket and let Adavra pick which one she wanted. “Thank you.”

Bull cursed softly under his breath before turning his attention back to Dorian who was cutting little pieces of his food up and feeding it to the elves that had attached themselves to him. “Kadan, you have some fierce friends.”

Dorian hummed softly. “Yes, I’m well aware. If it’s any consolation, you’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been, so you don’t have much to worry about, Amatus.”

“That’s good to hear.”

[gaiatheorist]

Choppy waters.

(No idea why I picked a maritime analogy, I loathe travel by boat, if I was meant to spend time precariously perched on flotsam, at the mercy of the waves, I’d have gills, but I don’t, I’m a human, not an axolotl. Immediate cross-over, there, because the axolotl can evolve from having gills to lungs, more easily than, say Germaine Greer and her ilk can evolve into the 21st Century.)

I hate boats. Well, not boats themselves, they’re inanimate objects, expending energy ‘hating’ boats would be a bit daft, what I mean to say is that I hate being on boats, it makes me physically uncomfortable. I can swim, and I’ve never been in any sort of boat-related accident, I just don’t enjoy the sensation of being miles from solid land, all rocking and tipping and that, completely at the mercy of whoever is in charge of the boat. It’s a really easy one to unpick, my near-phobia of boats. When I was a tiny child, my Father used to take my brother and I out fishing in a rowing boat, and I HATED not-being-able-to-see-land, stuck in a floating bath-tub, with a maniac in charge of the oars. When I started the relationship with the ex, it came to light that he enjoyed boat-travel, so I patiently explained that I didn’t. Then I commenced a 20-year journey of mollifying and appeasing him, and trying not to vomit on boats, because he didn’t ‘do’ sick, and his-needs-were-more-important. “Get over it!” said my ex, much like Germaine Greer.

My Dad, and my ex were both controlling men, not all men are controlling, Not all men want to make me feel at-risk. Not all men want to put me on a boat after I’ve said I’d really rather not be on a boat. (”But it’s not a boat, it’s a yacht, you’ll be fine!”- that one was when I was still breast-feeding the kid, have you ever tried to breast-feed on a yacht? It was horrible, insisting that ‘his’ wife and infant son go on his boss’ yacht for kudos man-points.) Not all feminists want to tell us to ‘get over it’, essentially to ‘man up.’ 

The older feminists are taking exception to this surge, this current of younger feminists, making another incremental push towards more-equal. I don’t know if I’m ‘allowed’ to call myself a feminist, with my tendency to generally-conceal my outwardly visible femininity, falling in the gap between the old, and the new, there. Sod it, there are no rules, the ‘new’ feminists can wear make-up and floaty frocks if they want, I’ll sit here in jeans and a hoodie, not-agreeing with the ‘old’ feminists, so, so many ways I’m ‘betwixt’ one thing and another. More Stig of the Dump than ‘the missing link’, fully engaged in my Crone-phase, I suppose I ‘should’ side with the old-school feminists. I don’t do ‘should’, though, do I? It’s a good thing I don’t drive, because the whole ‘pick a lane’ thing doesn’t sit well with me. (Oh, and I’d be one of those ‘women drivers.’) Maybe I am an axolotl after all, because ‘static’ isn’t really my thing.

The world got a little bit static, didn’t it? There was most-of a cultural shift way-back-when, when the ‘dusty desert dwelling gents’ mostly-stopped selling their daughters, then it slowed. My knowledge of history is mostly based on TV dramas, perhaps not so much ‘Britannia’, which is batshit insane, but I do love a good female-leader story. Boudicca-style, not Margaret Thatcher, or Theresa May. The Suffragettes did their bit, and then we had another static period, until the bra-burning and birth control advanced ‘the cause’ another notch. Here we go, ladies, gentlemen, and others, here comes another turn of the wheel, the ‘shrieking’ isn’t the ‘new’ feminists, as Ms Greer would have the world believe, it’s the ‘old’ feminists, digging in their (sensible) heels, and trying to stop the wheel turning, lest the ‘progress’ somehow undoes what they fought for. Stop resisting, old-feminists, as much as yonder orange clown, who didn’t look up what it was he was re-tweeting, wants to roll-back on the reproductive autonomy you fought for, you DID make those changes, and history won’t forget them. 

Various people are minimising the culture that still exists, in respect of the ‘Presidents Club’ furore, and the Aziz Ansari issue. That’s what needs to stop, the repression of the shudder of revulsion at a load of moneyed-men groping ‘hostesses’ just because they could, and poor old ‘Grace’ trying to find another word for ‘No.’, because Ansari didn’t hear that one. Society as a whole can’t keep falling back into the shadows of ‘boys will be boys’, or we accept the status-quo, and the foundation work really is undone. Greer and co  did that work, nobody can ever take that away, BUT, by asserting that ‘they’ had to put up with a lot of ‘handsy men’, and suggesting that the ‘new’ feminists should ‘get on with it’, I feel that a point is being missed. You know that thing, where a person says “Try one of these crisps, they’re HORRIBLE.” or “I’ve made you a cup of tea, but I think the milk is past its best.”, that’s what Greer and co are doing. “Well, this is awful, but it’s all we have, better soldier on.” No, no, and a thousand times no.

There is no denying that society and culture were more difficult for Greer’s generation, the advances they made were phenomenal, EVERY daughter is indebted to them, but to accuse these new-daughters of ‘whining’, for not just-getting-on-with the status quo they were seeking to challenge in the first place, they’re not just halting progress; they run the risk of reversing their own. Nobody is minimising the misogyny that Greer’s generation lived through, and sought to challenge, nobody is denying the progress made, but, to hold that level of progress as the apex we can aspire to isn’t enough for us ‘daughters’. Yes, we can have a career, rather than being barefoot-and-pregnant, but recent events have proved that we’re really not ‘having our cake and eating it too.’ (I’m not going to veer-off on the body-image-diet-plan tangent for once.) 

Between-generations, and without a ‘daughter’, I’m coming at this one from a bit of a tangled starting point. My parents were an utter omnishambles in terms of instilling any type of aspiration in me, I was ‘supposed to be a boy’, like every first-born on my father’s line forever, and my mother was terrified of men. She had reason to be. The ex’s family were very traditional in terms of gender stereotypes, the women might as well have had caps and aprons for all the autonomy they had in real terms. I REALLY rocked that particular boat, by refusing to be quiet and go back into the kitchen. If I had a list of aspirations, popularity wouldn’t be on it. I was “This girl can” shocking and defying the in-laws 20 years ago, and I haven’t spent 40 years defending myself and deflecting dubious digits from about my person to ‘sit down and shut up’ now.

Yes, they are difficult conversations, yes, a lot of it is quite uncomfortable, but we, as a society can’t continue to dismiss the ‘keep trying’ mentality in Ansari, or the blatant abuse of power at the Presidents Club. Yes, these things do happen, but they don’t have to. Greer and co telling us to ‘toughen up’ only stagnates progress. A certain type of older lady, clutching her pearls, and being aghast that ‘Grace’ was in that position at all runs the risk of reversing progress.

Choppy waters, it’s a cyclic thing, Greer and co are effectively Betamax, telling the rest of us that VHS will never catch on. The pearl-clutching-ladies, and the odious swines who “did not witness anything of that nature” at the Presidents Club are old-people-trying-to-use-a-computer. No, ‘we’ youngsters can’t all do long division in our heads, or recite Latin verb-endings, but we also don’t have to have twelve children by the age of 30, in case some of them die. The world is changing, it’s not 1900, or 1960, or even 2000, the pace-of-change has been ratcheting up the gears (don’t skew-off to the bloody Doomsday Clock.) it can’t ‘stop’ here, because this-is-how-it-has-always-been. We’re seeing the opposition to progress that others might have seen at the end of the Witch-trials, or the crossover between shitting in a trench and the introduction of sanitation. 

The ‘new’ feminists aren’t ‘weaker’ than the originals for complaining about issues that the older ones ‘put up with’, the point of a movement is that it keeps moving, I’m not preaching unrealistic-expectations, just progress. I’ve crafted this particular life to protect myself against some known-inequalities, my son has seen a ‘strong woman’ as a role model most of the time, he hasn’t seen all the times I’ve had to peel off wandering hands that men felt entitled to place on me. He has seen my frustration turn into resentment at his father, and that wasn’t healthy, but it kept him connected to grandparents he adores, I suppose the end justified the means there, even if his grandparents enabled a lot of my ex’s coercive and manipulative behaviours. I’m small-collateral there, I’m out of that now. 

The ‘new’ feminists AREN’T undoing the progress of the ‘old’ ones if they decide to wear make-up, or skirts, as much as I bang on about not painting my face, or wearing clothes that make me look ‘available’, the progress made by the ‘old’ feminists can’t be held-stagnant in crew-cuts and dungarees. At that point, it ceases to be progress, and becomes a plateau. What I think the ‘old’ feminists are failing to see is the element of personal choice, which was what they were fighting for all along. I joke about not wearing make-up, and mooching about the place in jeans and hoodies, I haven’t ‘had a hair-cut’ since 2014, just because I don’t buy into the aesthetic-angle, that doesn’t give me the right to criticise anyone who does. ‘Men’ are not animals, the vast majority of them don’t go around licking us because we smell nice, but that undercurrent, that perception that they will-because-they-can is what the ‘new’ feminists are, rightly, challenging. Even if ‘we’ do wear pink, or have hair-styles, that doesn’t mean we’re back-to-before, all dainty and helpless, because progress has been made. 

Right then, choppy waters to navigate, and this storm WILL get worse before it gets better, nobody ever discovered new territory by staying where they were, or turning back around to the relative safety of where they were before that. Humanity needs to start pulling in the same direction, and not be distracted by certain parties sticking their oar in where it’s not needed.