#on the other hand Matilda bin through it

[bannedfrombookclub]

Hey does anyone else think about the final shot of Matilda where she and Miss Honey settle down to read Moby Dick

And think that Miss Honey, as an Educator, should know that even though Matilda is a telekinetic genius she's still 6 or whatever and maybe the suicidal ideation in the opening paragraph just after those famous opening words is not super appropriate bedtime material?

[lettheladylead]

Not Your Aunt

Chapter 8: Webby [ao3 link]

It had officially been one week since Goldie first stepped foot in the manor. And she was still there. This was the longest she’d ever spent in Scrooge’s home since his cabin in the Klondike (excluding times when she was sick or injured, of course).

She was pretty sure, by this point, that Scrooge was avoiding her. He’d been spending a lot of time with his daughter (or whatever) and a lot of time at the Money Bin trying to fix the many issues that cropped up over the past few months with his money managers betraying him, but then even the time he did spend at the manor seemed to always involve other people besides her. The only alone time they’d had was right after he crawled into bed, but every single night their conversations were brief and then he’d fall right to sleep.

So she was a little annoyed. She’d had a few conversations with the kids, sat in on a few dinners, harassed Beakley, been harassed by Sharpie...it’d been quite the couple of days. But it was getting late and she couldn’t wait much longer to talk to him about how she was feeling or how he was feeling or where they might want their relationship to go after all of this…

Ugh. Goldie sighed and wandered around the upstairs hallway. She hated thinking about mushy family stuff, but ever since Florida she’d been feeling an unstoppable pull towards the Ducks and she kind of wanted to relax and see what could happen. But if Scrooge couldn’t make any time for her in the next few days, she was definitely leaving and not coming back for at least a year. Love or not, she did not take well to being ignored.

A door ajar in the distance caught Goldie’s attention and she started walking towards it, curiosity being the best cure for her boredom. She wasn’t sure what that room was - Scrooge didn’t redecorate much, but she couldn’t keep track of everything since he collected so much junk and had 50 regular rooms plus another 10 secret rooms and who could remember all of that?

Goldie tried to peek inside, but it was pretty dark except for a small light in the corner. With a shrug, she forwent her usual sneakiness and just fully opened the door to let the light from the hallway light up the room.

She was met with a surprised chirp and two bright eyes staring directly at her.

Goldie stared back, not sure what to make of what she was seeing.

Webbigail was sitting on a table near the back of the room with a giant book on her lap - surrounded by heaps of other similar-looking books. She looked sweaty and grimy, and the whole room was covered in a thick layer of dust.

“...wh-what are you doing here?!” Webby asked, closing the book that was on her lap.

Goldie raised an eyebrow and decided this situation was interesting enough to explore. “I could ask you the same thing,” she said as she took a few steps towards the girl.

Webby frowned and shook her head for a second before wiping her hand across the cover of the book. “I was, um...well...trying to learn some stuff.”

Goldie leaned against the table Webby was sitting on and craned her neck so she could properly see what she was holding. Oh. “In an ancient photo album?”

“Yeah,” Webby said a little sadly. “Uncle S-, er...my dad has been telling me all about our family...well, just more than usual, I guess...but some things still weren’t quite adding up and I thought maybe I could piece things together on my own.”

Goldie raised an eyebrow and stared at the girl without responding.

She didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve always liked connecting things together...before I was told anything about the McDuck Clan or my dad’s life story, I went through all his different biographies and the photos he has around the house and tried to figure it all out myself. And now he’s telling me things that almost, like...conflict with other things he’s said or other things I’ve read about and it’s just getting confusing.”

“Well,” Goldie said quietly, “he is pretty old, you know. Could be he’s just forgetting some things or mixing up stories.”

“But...but he’s Scrooge McDuck!” Webby said with a frown, opening the photo album again. “It’s one thing to forget a few details from a story, but like…” She pointed to a photo of Scrooge’s parents and a very small baby duckling. “The back of this photo says it’s from 1939, but whose baby is that?! Hortense didn’t have kids until the 1980s and Matilda never had kids so is this just some random baby or-”

“That’s Gideon,” the blonde answered, pointing to the way the baby’s hair stuck out at the top. “Scrooge’s half-brother.”

Webby stared at the photo again, then up at Goldie, her mouth wide open in shock. “Wh...wait, so...does that mean one of my grandparents had a baby with someone else while they were still married?”

“Uhh…” Goldie leaned back and scratched her neck. She knew Scrooge didn’t like to talk about his brother much, but she’d met the man a few times so there was no point ignoring the physical similarities. Though the complications of his conception might be why Scrooge didn’t bring him up. “...something like that. Don’t worry about the details too much.”

“Worrying about the details is exactly why I’m here,” Webby mumbled, flipping through a few more pages. She glanced up at Goldie. “You know my family really well, don’t you?”

“Not by choice, but yeah. If you think Scrooge loves to talk about his family now, you wouldn’t believe how he was back in the day. Very talkative.”

“I know the feeling,” Webby said, chuckling a bit to herself. “Lena said I’ve always been a little too obsessed with the McDuck family and now I’ve gotten even worse.”

Goldie felt an unfamiliar twinge in her chest and plopped a hand down on Webby’s head. “If she’s still sticking around, it doesn’t bother her as much as she says it does. Trust me.”

The preteen seemed to think about that, letting out a low hum while she considered Goldie’s words. “Trusting you doesn’t seem like the smart thing to do, but it sounds like you’re talking from experience.”

Goldie removed her hand from Webby’s head and shoved it back in her pocket. “Despite what your granny says, I’m not always lying.”

Webby turned her whole body towards Goldie. “I don’t think you were lying about Gideon either...so...would it be okay if I asked you about other confusing photos from any of these albums?”

Goldie sighed and lifted herself up to sit on the table, too. “You can. I really think you should just ask Scrooge about all this stuff, though. A few memory lapses here and there doesn’t mean he’s going to withhold entire family members from you.”

“I know, I know,” Webby mumbled and held the album against her chest. “I’m just still getting used to all this. I feel like I should know all these people already, y’know? Like...like Elvira Coot, the mother of Quackmore Duck, isn’t related to Scrooge McDuck at all, but they refer to each other as cousins in a lot of old letters. Is it just them being friendly with each other? Or is my research totally and completely wrong?”

“They’ve just known each other for a very long time,” Goldie said matter-of-factly. “Some people call old friends brother or sister, some people call them cousin. Scrooge usually just generally calls everyone his family, but some people get friendly little titles.”

“That’s very confusing.”

“It is what it is,” Goldie bent one of her legs so she could lean on her knee. “Scrooge has always enjoyed being a little confusing.”

“Is that why he likes you? ‘Cause you’re confusing, too?” Webby asked with an innocent tilt of her head.

Goldie rolled her eyes. “Maybe. I’m sure he’s got a long list of reasons why he does or doesn’t like me.”

Webby huffed out a short laugh as she tapped her hands on the open album page. There were photos of a few familiar members of Scrooge’s family and even a baby picture of Donald and Della.

“...you are really confusing,” Webby said, breaking the awkward silence. She didn’t let Goldie interrupt as she continued. “I don’t think I understand you at all. You’ve been here for a whole week so...are you moving in? Or what’s going on?”

“I’m just here to talk to Scrooge.” Goldie grabbed a photo album that was next to her on the table and flipped it open. “He’s been particularly busy this past week so I’m waiting.”

Webby watched her flip through pages and wondered if there were going to be any more secret relatives she didn’t know about in there. “I didn’t think you liked waiting for things.”

“Not a huge fan, no.”

“But you’re still here,” Webby mused. She watched as Goldie stopped flipping pages and stared down at a photo of Hortense and Quackmore, clearly having a fun time on their wedding day. It was a very sweet picture. “Huey says you and Scrooge are gonna get married, too.”

Goldie rolled her eyes and flipped past the wedding photo. “I’m sure he did.”

“If you did get married...would that make you my mom?”

Goldie closed the album and glared down at the girl next to her, annoyed that these kids were so interested in weddings and marriages. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Webby asked, trying not to seem too confused.

“Why would it?” Goldie said with a hand to her forehead. “At the most, I’d be your stepmother, and that’s only in the very unlikely scenario where I say ‘yes’ to Scrooge’s proposal.”

“But this is a hypothetical scenario, so...if you did get married...would I be allowed to call you mom?”

“Ugh.” She knew there was a line here where her crabbiness would start to offend, but Goldie was not enjoying this line of questioning. “Even in this magical, crazy, hypothetical scenario...I would rather you didn’t. If I’m being completely honest, I’m still uncomfortable hearing you call Scrooge ‘Dad’.”

Webby, rather than be offended like Goldie thought, laughed out loud. “You think you’re uncomfortable with it?! I’ve been saying it over and over in my head all week and it still doesn’t sound right!”

Goldie raised an eyebrow at her and Webby froze, clearly surprised at her own outburst, and settled down. “Sorry. I shouldn’t say that. It’s just a little weird still.”

“Why shouldn’t you talk about how weird it is?” Goldie asked genuinely, leaning back on her hands. “If you don’t want to call him ‘Dad’ then you don’t have to.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Webby mumbled, imitating Goldie’s lean. “If I go back to calling him ‘Uncle Scrooge’ then it’s gonna seem like I’m rejecting him or something. That’s too mean. I can’t be mean like that.”

“It’s not mean.” Goldie sighed and turned towards the younger girl. “It’s your life. Call him whatever feels right to you."

Webby leaned her head back to stare up at the ceiling. "I've never had a dad or a mom before so I think I should keep trying for a little longer. It might just feel weird 'cause it's so unfamiliar."

"Or maybe it feels weird because it is weird," Goldie grumbled. "His DNA was stolen and used to create you, sure. So he's your father, but does that really make him your dad?"

The younger girl glared at the ceiling for a moment before turning towards Goldie again. "I don't understand what you mean."

"Being your biological father is significant, obviously. But family is whatever you want it to be." Goldie sighed and stared down at another photo - one of a much younger looking Scrooge. "You can run away from it. You can accept it without question. Or you can just try to figure it out."

Webby watched Goldie's face - trying to read the woman's expression as she stared at the photo. "I think I get that."

"Your grandmother wouldn't appreciate you listening to me, you know."

She smiled. "I know. But it's kind of interesting to get a more...outside perspective. I mean you're not not part of the family, but you weren't a part of all…" Webby waved her hands around for emphasis. "...this stuff."

"I suppose," Goldie said as she put the photo of Scrooge back down. A part of her really wanted to take it, especially knowing that Scrooge never went into this room so he likely hadn't looked at any of these photos in over fifty years. He wouldn't miss it!

"Do you think...um…" Webby stumbled over her words. "...do you think he'd be mad if I started calling him Uncle Scrooge again?"

"No," Goldie answered sternly. "He wouldn't be mad. Especially given everything that's happened with your family lately, I think an opportunity for some normalcy would be appreciated."

Webby flipped to another page in the photo album while Goldie spoke, and her eyes widened as she saw a familiar face in one of the old photos. She looked back up at Goldie and then back down at the photo. "So...if I call him Uncle Scrooge, then I guess I can call you Aunt Goldie, huh?"

Goldie turned to scold Webby for bringing up that nickname that she always knew would come up around these Duck children...when she came face-to-face with a photograph she didn't even know existed. Webby was holding it up dramatically, smiling smugly as she did so.

It was a slightly out-of-focus snapshot of Scrooge and Goldie in wedding attire, at an altar. Pretty clearly getting married.

Goldie quickly snatched it from the girl's hand and turned it around to check if there was a date or any notes. In Scrooge's handwriting it said "1953. Almost felt real."

She blushed a bit and turned it back around. "...I didn't know there were any pictures from this."

"And to think you made such a big deal out of my hypothetical scenario! But you're already married!" Webby looked more smug than she'd looked in a while, clearly ready to announce this news to the whole family.

Goldie frowned, unable to tear her face away from the image. Both her and Scrooge's faces were visible and, despite being at a bit of a distance, she could see just how happy they were at that moment. "...it was a con. A business decision. Not a real marriage."

"So you got an annulment afterwards?"

She laughed. "You think Scrooge would waste money on something like that? No, we just...moved on. I completely forgot it even happened."

"Well, Aunt Goldie, it doesn't look like he's forgotten."

Goldie sighed and pocketed the photo, wondering if she should show it to Scrooge later and shake out some memories. "Clearly he hasn't been in this room for a long time, so I wouldn't assume that."

Webby's excitement died down just a bit as she noticed Goldie's lack of embarrassment. "Isn't this...I mean, I know you say you don't wanna marry him, but you're still here despite everything plus you're already married! You really are Aunt Goldie and I don't get why you'd try to fight it."

The blonde frowned and exhaled loudly through her nostrils, trying to think of the best way to explain how she felt. "You've spent a long time idolizing Scrooge, right? Wanting to be a part of his family and whatnot."

"...yeah?"

"And from what I could tell, you two were getting close over the past few years. You called him Uncle Scrooge, he remembered your name. Yeah?"

"...uh-huh…" Webby had a feeling she knew where this was going.

"But now that this father-daughter thing was suddenly dumped in your lap in such a...such an awful way, really, you're feeling weird about it. Maybe it feels a little hollow, like this is what you wanted but it's not how you wanted it."

Webby frowned deeply - Goldie was completely right, but hearing the words said so casually didn't make her feel better about it.

"...that's what that wedding was for me," Goldie finished, finally connecting the two thoughts together. "I'd...wanted to be closer to him. I thought we were headed there. And then he suggested that plan and how could I say no? He was splitting the money with me 60/40 and I knew I could steal my missing ten percent whenever I felt like it."

"So you wanted to get married, but then you did but for the wrong reasons?"

Goldie sighed and shrugged. "Basically. It was a long time ago. Things change."

"And some things don't change," Webby added, noticing that Goldie was still staring at the photo in her hand. "You've had decades to talk to him about this, so why haven't you?"

"Eh," Goldie answered and stuffed the photo into her pocket. "Adult relationships are complicated."

Webby shook her head. "Not all of them. Just the ones that don't talk to each other."

Goldie glared down at Webby again, but the girl was already flipping pages in the album once more. She wasn't going to whine to a kid about how she was trying to talk to Scrooge but he was just making it difficult. Maybe if she told him she'd spent some time with his kid, he'd finally sit down and talk to her.

"Who's this?" Webby asked suddenly, pointing to another photo.

This one was older - depicting a young Scrooge (maybe nine years old?) with an even younger child that looked very similar to him. Goldie pouted and put a hand to her chin before grabbing the photo and turning it over to see if anything was written on the back.

"Oh, this is Douglas. One of Scrooge's cousins."

"On whose side?" Webby asked curiously.

Goldie shrugged. "Not sure. I know he lived alone in the Netherlands somewhere until he died, but he and Scrooge weren't very close, from what I could tell."

"Oh." Webby looked down at the photo, not really being able to read either child's expression. She supposed photos from the 1870s were rarely as expressive as ones from modern day. "You really know a lot about my family.”

"It's completely useless information taking up valuable space in my brain," Goldie complained with a smirk. "Maybe I'd be fluent in Mandarin if not for Scrooge."

Webby smiled, happy that she was able to recognize Goldie's words as a joke. "Well it's not useless to me. Thanks, Aunt Goldie."

Goldie frowned and rolled her eyes, but that just made Webby smile. She felt like she was starting to understand this woman...just a little bit.

A realization hit her and Webby suddenly gasped before hopping off the table. Goldie watched her with curious surprise. "I need to update my board!" Webby said as she rushed towards the door.

Goldie raised an eyebrow and hopped off the desk to follow. "I have no idea what that means!"

She followed Webby out the door and down the hall, until the girl was back in her own room. Goldie stuck her head inside just in time to see the unveiling of an insane-looking board filled with photos and string and notes and hearts and…

"...is that a locket with my face in it?" Goldie mumbled as she continued into the room. She stared at the locket as Webby ran around looking for something.

As she reached out to grab the strangely unfamiliar locket, Webby was suddenly on a step stool next to her and reaching for it herself. Goldie watched silently as the girl tugged her away from her little grouping of villains (rude) and moved her oh-so-closer to Scrooge.

Goldie blushed the slightest bit as Webby shortened the string, added some little hearts, and slammed a sticky note between them that said MARRIED-ISH!

"There's no way I'm letting you keep that up."

Webby laughed and wagged her finger in Goldie's face. "I'll just put it back when you leave!"

Goldie crossed her arms over her chest. "Then I'll just have to st...hm."

Webby's eyes were sparkling.

"...visit more often."

The correction didn't dull Webby's sparkle, instead she just smiled brighter. "I think everyone would really like that." 

Goldie raised an eyebrow. "Nice try, but I can assure you that your grandmother would sooner attend my funeral than enjoy having me around."

Webby hopped off the step stool. "Then you'll just have to win her over!" she said with a skip as she pushed the stool back to its regular spot.

"Yeah...I don't really see that happening," Goldie mumbled, not objecting when Webby grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the door.

"I think you could be friends! You just have to try!"

Goldie rolled her eyes but still didn't pull her hand out of Webby's grip. "Don't get your hopes up, Pink," she said with a sigh, but there was a little part of her that wondered if getting along with the whole family was even possible. She'd spent so long pushing away from Scrooge and his family and his friends that she'd never really considered what it would be like to actually...try. And she struggled to admit it, but...she wanted to find out.

She squeezed Webby's little hand and stared down at the bouncing bow on her head. Goldie still wasn't anyone's aunt, but...if she had to be, Scrooge's kids would be her first choice.

[obxlife]

Complicated (JJ x Reader)

A/N: I’m back! After like four months of not writing ANYTHING I have finally decided to write something. This idea just popped into my head, honestly, but I think I’ll be taking requests again soon (maybe not, I’m still not sure). Anyways, enjoy!

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Word count: 4385

Request: -

Summary: The ups and downs of your relationship with JJ.

Warnings: Underage drinking, mentions of hooking up and maybe some other sexual acts (NO SMUT). Swearing probably. Oh, also, I tried wirting in third person so let me know if it’s as good as second person!

COMPLICATED

Feelings sucked. Just ask Y/N Y/L/N about it.

The empty cup in her hand weighed her arm down as she rested it upon her knee, her chest and body leaning forward closer to the bonfire that burned before her. Her free hand was tracing random figures onto her thigh, trying but failing to distract her mind from what she was witnessing across the beach.

The kegger was in full swing, and normally by now she would have been at least three drinks in, but her mood had turned sour the instant the rim of her first cup touched her lips.

She didn’t want to talk about it - hell, she didn’t even want to think about it - but JJ was right there in front of her line of sight flirting with another girl from the Cut. And to make matters worse, it was the one girl from the Cut which she couldn’t stand. Her childhood best friend, Matilda Garner. 

Y/N let out a big sigh, which caught Pope’s attention. He turned away from the girl he had been speaking to and looked at Y/N, noticing her frown and the furrow between her eyebrows. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, although he already had figured out the answer. All he did was follow Y/N’s unwavering eyes towards their blond friend.

“Nothing,” she tried to lie knowing she would fail. Pope had always had a way of figuring everything out, which explained why he was the only Pogue that knew exactly what was going on between her and JJ. 

“Y/N...,” Pope began. He didn’t continue speaking until the girl before him removed her eyes from Matilda’s obvious flirting attempts towards JJ. “You should just tell him.”

“Why the hell would I do that, Pope? It would completely ruin our relationship,” she explained. Y/N felt panic rise within her just at the thought of confessing what she truly felt to JJ.

“Look, even if JJ does not feel the same way you feel about him, it would probably make you feel better.”

“That doesn’t make sense at all, Pope,” Y/N replied moving her eyes to the floor. She pretended to count the grains of sand that were seeping through her toes as Pope continued to explain his thoughts on the topic.

“It does too! I just think it’s unfair for you to be carrying this around. He’s totally using you and like, fine, you were using him at first too, but now you feel stuff and you’re hurting.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but I prefer hurting than being without him.”

“Without who?” Kiara’s voice rang behind them. The two teenagers turned around towards the voice, surprised that she wasn’t flirting some Touron up like she normally would. “JJ?”

Y/N groaned. “How does everybody know about me and JJ?”

“That you guys are secretly-not-secretly hooking up?”

The girl groaned again. 

“It is kind of obvious though,” Pope explained. “You guys would randomly leave when we were hanging out and then we could hear you guys through the Chateau.”

“What?” Y/N practically screamed. “I thought we were being quiet though.”

“Think again, Y/N,” Kie said while taking a seat right next to her. “So are you finally going to tell him that you like him?”

The girl in question just rolled her eyes before stepping away from the log where she was perched. She looked towards her blond friend-with-benefits one last time before heading towards the keg, where John B was surely too drunk to ask her about JJ and sober enough to distract her.

**********************************************************************

JJ was nowhere to be seen. It was the third time that week that he skipped the Pogue hang out and the person everyone had expected to know where he was at the moment was just as lost as the rest of them.

“But JJ always tells you where he goes in hopes that you’ll call him to hook up later.”

“Well, I don’t know where he is,” Y/N replied. She hadn’t heard from the blond in about two weeks, ever since the kegger where he had been flirting with Matilda Garner. “He stopped texting me a while back.”

“Really?” John B inquired while looking up from his phone. It chimed once again with a message (probably from Sarah), but he ignored it. “That’s weird.”

Y/N’s furrowed eyebrows showed her slight confusion towards the teenage boy, but this only lasted a few seconds before Kiara declared that they should just leave without JJ.

They didn’t arrive back at the Chateau until the very late afternoon, and both Pope and Kiara rushed off (not without saying goodbye, of course) because they had to help their parents with their respective businesses. John B and Y/N trudged towards the front door as they waved to the other two teens.

“I’m so tired,” Y/N exclaimed as she placed her bag onto the table and the cooler she held in her other hand onto the floor. She opened it up and began to take out the empty beer cans and plastic bottles so that she could throw them out in the recycling bin that Kie had bought a couple of months ago. John B leaned down to help her, leaving his phone on the table next to her bag. 

“Same,” the boy replied. “I did not think that we were going to be out that long.”

The girl was about to speak out her agreement when the back door suddenly burst open and in came JJ with a dazed smile. He didn’t seem to be in any rush to apologize for having skipped out on the afternoon activity he had promised he would attend.

“Hey, man,” John B greeted while Y/N focused her eyes on the can in her hand. She pretended to read the label while she secretly began to listen in on the two boys’ soon-to-be conversation. 

“Hey,” JJ replied almost in a sigh. The toothy grin on his face had not faltered one bit, and Y/N had a feeling she knew exactly what that meant.

Suddenly feeling as if the walls of the fishing shack were closing in on her, the girl grabbed onto her bag and placed it over her shoulder.

“Well, I’m out,” she exclaimed. “Gotta go help my mom out.”

She began to head towards the same door JJ had just entered through a while ago when she was stopped by a hand that wrapped around her arm, just below her elbow.

“Wait, Y/N, I actually wanted to talk to you,” the blond surfer said as if only just realizing she was there. The girl nodded her head and turned to face him, but his eyes darted towards the outside. She knew what that meant, so she turned and exited the small house after saluting John B one last time.

JJ headed straight for the hammocks while Y/N followed suit, wondering what exactly JJ was about to tell her.

“So...,” the boy began. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

The girl rolled her eyes. She wanted to say that it was JJ’s fault that he hadn��t seen her. but instead, she went straight to the point. “What do you want, JJ?”

“Um, so I don’t want you to feel bad or anything because you’re my best friend and you’re really cool,” he rushed, almost as if he had memorized the exact words he was going to say and he was going through them before he would completely forget them.

Y/N ignored the slight pang in her chest she felt at the words ‘best friend’.

“And, trust me, I loved sleeping around with you but we have to stop.”

The girl’s face fell. The blond noticed this.

“It’s not that you’re bad in bed or anything like that. It’s just I really like this girl, I think you know her. Her name’s Matilda and -”

Y/N wasn’t listening anymore. Each word JJ spoke made her feel worse and worse and worse. What was the worst she had ever felt? Now, with JJ confessing his love for her ex best friend. And the worst part about it? She wasn’t even mad at him. He had no clue she was completely in love with him and he had no clue she absolutely loathed Matilda. She was just disappointed in herself. How could she have been so stupid to fall for her best friend?

However, she tried to not let it show on her face. If she were with anybody else, she would not have pulled her act off, but JJ was oblivious and believed everything that was said to him when it came from Y/N.

“That’s fine. I’m really happy for you.”

“Really? That’s great because -”

Once again the girl pretended to listen to his words instead of the sound of her heart breaking. Soon enough, she realized she couldn’t take it anymore, and she interrupted JJ.

“Hey, I’m really tired and I need to go help my mom.”

“Oh, okay. I thought you were staying the night,” he said with a bit of sadness in his eyes. He was almost bursting at the seams with excitement to tell her all about Matilda.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. Tomorrow?”

The boy nodded as the girl finally hugged him and turned around. She wiped the tear that slid down her cheek and promised herself that she would be able to build up her armor again for tomorrow.

*********************************************************************************

It wasn’t long before Matilda began to hang around the Pogues and Y/N began to do so less and less. They all knew what was wrong with Y/N except for JJ, who would ask about her every once in a while. He never seemed to get a straight answer.

Meanwhile, Y/N hung out with the Pogues individually in places where she knew JJ wouldn’t be. The library, the ice cream shop right on the edge of the Cut, the church’s parking lot, anywhere. No matter how many months had passed since he got together with Matilda, she just wasn’t over him. She began to believe that she never would be over him.

When school began it became obvious to JJ that she was avoiding the Pogues. She was hanging out with a completely different group of kids, and although JJ didn’t know them, he already sort of hated them for stealing his best friend.

Matilda was a good distraction from this problem though, and JJ never actually had enough time to confront Y/N about it, so he didn’t.

However, when he noticed Marcus Lakes hanging around Y/N more and more often, he began to worry.

Y/N didn’t really think of Marcus as more than a friend though. She was still hung up on JJ, and she really hadn’t spent enough time with Marcus to actually begin to feel anything. In fact, her relationship with Marcus was just a series of coincidences that only amounted to them being partners in many school projects together. Y/N truly believed that once they were over, he would leave her alone. 

But he didn’t. No, instead he spent even more time with her, and although the girl wasn’t used to this type of attention, she enjoyed it. She found herself entranced within the brunett’s conversations and thrilled when he invited her out for dinner.

Soon enough, they were dating, and Y/N had never been happier. For once in her life, she felt like someone’s first choice. She felt great not being a simple replacement or a filler. She loved being important - even if it wasn’t to the boy she still secretly loved.

In all honesty, she knew she would never fully be over JJ. Like ever. But she did truly like Marcus. Maybe even love. And she spent many nights wondering if that made her a bad person. 

She soon concluded that it didn’t. She related her situation to those of adults whose spouses died and they carried on loving both their deceased love and their new living one. The only difference in her case was that JJ wasn’t dead.

After a few months of dating Marcus, Y/N finally built up the courage to hang out with the Pogues again. She felt strong enough to encounter them even if JJ was with them, and besides, Marcus would be there with her.

And so on a cold, winter day, she headed down her dock with her hand entwined with her boyfriend’s before stepping onto John B’s boat. The Pogues all greeted her with hugs as if she had never left, and Y/N understood the underlying message behind them. We get it, they said. You don’t have to say you’re sorry.

The best part of that afternoon was that JJ was there but Y/N soon realized that she wasn’t truly nervous about that. In fact, he had also hugged her as the old friends they had once bee - or maybe still were? Y/N was kind of confused about that. However, she realized that maybe Marcus was actually helping her get over her past love, and she didn’t really mind spending time with the Pogues as she did before.

JJ wasn’t happy though. At all.

For some reason, he was absolutely pissed when he saw Y/N at her dock with Marcus by her side. Why did he have to be there? Marcus wasn’t their friend, Y/N was. And she had no right bringing him. He thought the afternoon was supposed to be a Pogues-only hang out. They had even left Sarah out!

JJ soon realized that the way he was feeling must have been the way the Pogues felt when he brought Matilda along at the start of his relationship. And he realized that they had all sucked the bad feelings up for him and put a smile on their faces. So that was exactly what he did as he greeted Y/N and Marcus.

“Hey, I missed you,” JJ whispered into Y/N’s ear when he hugged her. She giggled and tapped his chest lightly when she pulled back. His heart skipped a beat at that feeling, but he pretended he didn’t feel it.

As she turned away JJ realized that Y/N never said he missed him.

**********************************************************************************

In the middle of May, JJ called Y/N near one o’clock in the morning. 

“Hello?” she had asked groggily into the phone.

“Y/N,” he sniffled a bit. The girl piqued up once she realized that he had been crying.

“JJ, what’s wrong?”

“Matilda and I had a fight. I think we’re done.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered, but she forced it to settle down. She instead invited the broken-hearted boy to her house and promised he could stay with her that night.

Y/N, and the rest of the Pogues as well, had seen this break up coming. JJ and Matilda had been fighting for weeks on end, sometimes even inside of the Chateau when they (the Pogues) were on the other side of the walls. Y/N tried to stay awake as she waited for JJ to arrive, knocking on her window as he would do when they used to hook up.

God, that seems like so long ago, the girl thought.

Soon enough, the blond surfer was outside her window, tears still running down his face. He let himself be embraced by his best friend as he cried and cried and kept crying until the very early hours of the morning.

“Thanks,” he whispered when he had finally settled down. He wouldn’t confess this to her, but most of his recent fights with Matilda had been about Y/N. About how she was his best friend and how she always seemed to be around. How Matilda would always bad mouth her relentlessly and about how JJ couldn’t stand or understand that (“Y/N’s so nice, what do you mean I can’t hang out with her?”). Secretly, he was glad his relationship was finally over.

“You’re welcome, J,” she whispered back, eyes barely open. JJ felt his heart bounce in his chest at the nickname he hadn’t heard her call him in so long. A smile stretched across his lips as he buried his face into the girl’s pillows in an attempt to keep his grin hidden from her view.

Before Y/N could fall asleep, she reminded herself that she shouldn’t sleep with JJ in the same bed. After all, she had a boyfriend. So, as slowly as she could, she stood up and grabbed a pillow, placing it on the ground. As she lay across her carpet and grabbed the blanket that was on top of her bed, she heard JJ ask, “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping” she sighed as the quilt fell atop of her body and enveloped her in heat.

“On the floor? Why?”

She hummed softly before speaking in a soft grumble. “I have a boyfriend, J.”

The boy felt really lonely all of a sudden. He wanted to be able to cuddle Y/N like they used to do before he was with Matilda, like when he was sad about his father or some other shit. He didn’t know why he felt almost angry at the fact that he couldn’t hold onto his best friend like he used to.

“So no cuddles like old times?” he asked in an attempt to make Y/N feel guilty enough to join him. But she just shook her head. “I have a boyfriend, JJ.”

JJ tried to come up with something else to get her back in the bed. He didn’t even want to have sex with her, he just wanted to be able to hold her.

“So you’re going to sleep on the floor?”

“Would you rather sleep here?”

“No, but it’s your house,” the blonde tried to be as gentleman-ish as possible.

“Then I’m staying here. Besides, you need the bed more than I do. Your night was pretty rough.”

With that, she turned around and fell asleep. JJ tried to do the same but failed.

The following morning, Y/N was up and out of the house before the blond teenager even woke up. When he finally opened his eyes he read the note she left for him on the bedside table. He groaned when he realized she was going to be out with Marcus for the whole day.

Just great. Fucking great.

************************************************************

If there even was a God and he could see JJ now, he’d probably be laughing.

The boy was seated on a log, a red solo cup in his hands, as he stared at Y/N across the beach. His other hand was tracing figures on his thigh as his mind was occupied with what he was seeing. Marcus’s hand was wrapped around her waist as they both dancing. He let out a sigh before Pope turned to look at him, an exact mirror of Y/N’s situation from a year ago. 

“What’s wrong?” Pope asked although he already knew. He had noticed JJ staring at Y/N more often these past few months after he had broken things off with Matilda.

“Nothing,” the blond surfer lied as he brought the cup in his hand up to his lips.

“JJ...”

“I know, I know,” the boy in questions answered before his friend could even speak what his thoughts were on the matter. “She’s with someone else, I get it.”

Pope hummed as he stared at Y/N as well. He noticed how her smile was the biggest he had ever seen it, and he pondered over telling JJ how she had felt just last year about him. 

“You know,” he began to say, still not knowing if it was a good idea to confess what he was going to mention. “She had a thing for you last year. When you guys were hooking up.”

JJ’s eyes widened. “She what? Wait, you know we used to hook up?”

Pope scoffed. “We all knew, JJ. And yeah, she did. That’s why she distanced herself when you got together with Matilda. Well, that and the fact that Matilda used to be her best friend when they were little.”

JJ couldn’t believe it. Everything was making so much sense.

“That makes so much sense.”

Pope just nodded. “Yeah, she was pretty heartbroken about it.”

“Who was heartbroken?” a voice asked from behind them.

The boys turned to find Kiara standing there, with a cup in her hands. She moved to take the spot on JJ’s side that wasn’t occupied by Pope as the dark-skinned boy answered, “Y/N.”

“Last year? Yeah, she was. It’s good she found Marcus though. He makes her happy.”

“I guess,” JJ whispered bitterly.

Kie’s eyes widened when she noticed the blond’s tone of voice. “Don’t tell me you like her now. You do know she was heartbroken about you, right?”

JJ simply rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed scoff. “Yeah, I do now. And karma finally got to me by cursing me with the exact same fate as her.”

His tone of voice was burlesque, and he quickly stood up from the log and headed away from the beach, hoping that he would be able to find John B to distract himself.

Life seemed to have a funny way of working and JJ hated it. What he hated was that everything was just so complicated, and not even his feelings could line up at the same time with the one girl that he finally realized was perfect for him.

He glanced at her once again. Each dance move Y/N executed made him feel worse and worse and worse. What was the worst he had ever felt? Now, with Marcus wrapped around her and him standing far away. And the worst part about it? He wasn’t - he couldn’t - even be mad at her. She had no clue he was completely in love with her. He was just mad at himself. How could he have been so stupid to fall for a girl that was taken?

He did what he did best to forget. He downed the cup of alcohol in his hand.

******************************************************************************************

JJ felt like he was in a personal torture chamber except the chamber was the whole island and the torture was Y/N talking about her boyfriend. 

By now, the Pogues had started pitying JJ the same way they had pitied Y/N before she got with Marcus, but this time, they didn’t want to say anything because she was apparently extremely happy with her current boyfriend. 

So JJ just spent most of his days looking at Y/N from afar and trying to ignore Marcus while pretending everything was fine.

And then, finally, after months of being tortured, it all ended.

Marcus had cheated on Y/N. And with no one else but Matilda.

To say she was utterly pissed was an understatement. And honestly, this had surprised her. She originally thought she was going to be completely devasted, but after the first round of tears that came with the shock of finding them in her own bed, Y/N was fine. Just pissed, but other than that, fine.

And JJ? Oh, he was over the moon. He couldn’t believe that everything had lined up so perfectly in his favor that he was finally going to be able to be with Y/N, the girl f his dreams. But just as fast as his happy feeling came, it disappeared when he realized that Y/N’s strategy for moving on was hooking up with Tourons and then telling him about it.

In between all of the madness that followed the weeks after her break up, Y/N never once stopped to think about what she was doing. She spent three weeks absolutely getting wasted at every single party she attended and leaving them with a new boy in her hand. And later, when she washed up once again, she would head straight over to her blond best friend and tell him everything about it, not noticing the sad eyes with which he would listen.

When school started once again, JJ was trying to ignore her in hopes that he would stop listening to her awful hookup stories. And it was around this time that Y/N realized he was avoiding her and how much she truly missed him.

And so once again she began to pin after JJ without him even realizing it. 

As their feelings began to grow once again (because they finally just started hanging around each other without talking about their past sex lives), Pope was the first to notice their heart-shaped eyes and saccharine words. 

And thank God he did, because the two Pogues whose hearts belonged to each other were way too naive to notice.

It had been a random Tuesday night when Pope had spilled the beans and sent JJ into a frenzied rush towards Y/N’s house. His frantic pounding on her window pulled her out of her studying as her wide eyes locked with him. She opened the window and let the boy she loved inside, smiling at him in greeting and putting a finger up to her lips.

Before she could actually talk, however, the boy kissed her, taking her by such surprise that she almost bit down on his lip. Luckily, she caught herself before she did so.

And as their lips touched each other and her eyes closed, she swore she could see the entire universe. Every star and every light shined before her while her thin arms wrapped around the back of his neck and cherished the moment she had been craving for since she had fallen in love with JJ once again. Her stomach was doing jumping jacks and burpees just as JJ’s tongue began to dance across her own. When they finally surfaced for air, JJ bit her lip as softly as he could before opening his eyes and staring right back into hers.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for like, seven months now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you do it again?”

And so he did. Again and again and again.

That night, after they had undressed and shown each other just how in love they truly were, Y/N sighed in happiness and relief that their relationship would never have to be complicated again.

*********************************************************

A/N: I was loving this fic but then it just became sort of meh, but I feel like I have to post it because I still like it, you know?

[stopeatingwhales]

talk tonight x noel gallagher

i’m back with another noel fic ;) i know the meaning behind the song is completely different to how this story is presenting it, but i’m changing it up so it can fit the storyline. i don’t know why i always write so much for noel BUT he deserves it <3

Paring: 90s noel gallagher x reader

Warnings: its just really fucking soft okay

Word count: 3.809

Requested by anon <3

༉‧₊˚✧

“Stop writing so many mopey songs!” Liam yelled, tossing the now wrinkled piece of paper at his brother, containing heartfelt lyrics to another one of Noel’s melancholic masterpieces. “We’re not a sad band, for fucks sakes!” 

Sighing, Noel looked away from his sibling’s frustrated stares. Taking a hold of the paper, he unfolded it slowly, attempting to stretch out its unfortunate bruises: formed when gripped firmly in Liam’s palm as he skim read it atrociously. His eyes trailed from the top, all the way to the bottom of the page, examining the lyrics that messily peppered the sheet. He had spent hours, days, relentlessly trying to get the words right; it seemingly sounded better in his head rather than on the paper, his heartfelt remorse towards the amounts of paper he used - and eventually binned - ghosting his mind as he stared at the title of the song. Talk Tonight. 

Usually, he would be skilfully speedy with writing such anthems, yet, with this song, he felt it contained more of him than anything else did - his bare heart, unexpectedly torn out of its ligaments, dusted on a random chopping board, framed for the entire world to see. The public would have no idea who it was about and why he had written it, but knowing the obsessive fans that queued for hours just to buy a 7” single, crammed gigantic concert halls, chanted back memorable lyrics, which were either written hurriedly, wanting to complete the song or were age old melodies, well thought out in his childhood bedroom - accompanied by Liam’s occasional interrupting with his rowdy complaints about their mother not allowing him to go out and mess around with his friends at the time. His fans may either be oblivious as to the meanings of the song, or they may be able to depict it as adroitly as a neurosurgeon figuring out the exact muscle which broke apart the spine. You never knew. 

Noel stayed silent, not replying to Liam, leaving the standing sibling puzzled by his distanced expression. Expectedly, he assumed Noel would answer him, perhaps with a scolding, reminding him that he doesn’t write the songs, and that Noel’s the mastermind of it all, to which Liam would throw a hissy fit, storming out of the room in anger towards his repetitive comeback. Nevertheless, all that sounded in the room was a light hiss of wind escaping from the outdoors, seemingly into the small crack of the slightly opened window; you couldn’t tell whether it was shut or open. The fresh seeping air felt like it was intruder, like a fox deciding it was their place to rummage through your neighbours’ bins for a midnight snack, and after not managing to find anything, leaving all the bin bags ripped open, the trash every place imaginable in the adjacent front yard. “Noel?” Liam spoke, walking up to where his brother was sat, eventually inviting himself to sit next to him.

Liam’s words snapped Noel out of his ponder over what seemed to be anything imaginable. Blinking a couple times, he rubbed his right eye irritatingly, finally responding to his awaiting brother. “What?” he asked, folding up the paper once again, hiding it from Liam, as if he hadn’t already seen it previously. There was an element of secrecy in this song, something he found himself afraid to admit, even to the closest person to him. 

Taking note of this, Liam slowly gained an idea of the reasoning behind his aloof body language. “Who’s it about?” he questioned, snatching the piece of paper out of his sibling’s grip, once again. As he opened the fold, he noticed Noel’s tense body again from the abrupt clutch of his work. He re-read the roughly written lyrics - some endings of the words resulted in being smudged due to the pen his brother was using - this time seeing the lines in a completely different light. Noel was calling out for someone, a hint of plead, offhand desperation, a simple crave for attention, all effortlessly foreshadowed in his words. This wasn’t an ordinary song; this was about someone, someone close to him. 

“Who’s it about?” he repeated, his tone on the stretch between rough and soft, like a baby’s screeching, features soft yet voice ever so repulsive. Noel’s dry, lifeless responses began to agitate him, though he tried to hide it, his eyes trailing off to study the older brother’s distinctive features in a midst of the silence, always taking interest into his sibling’s prescence. He took note of his messily arranged mop hair-do, decorated lightly with significant stands sticking out freely; it was obvious that his attention being undivided towards his meaningful lyrics made him feel that he had no need to do himself for anyone else, along with the curved bridge of his nose, morphed in a delicate overlay of skin, a unique microcosm to who he really was. Both Gallagher brothers were pictured in the magazines as loud, condescending, boisterous teenagers from a poor, working class background, each one oblivious to the understanding of how to control (and handle) the spotlight - yet always wanted it to be on them. However, the way the world pictured Noel wasn’t fully correct: yes, there were times he was off of his head, drugged up in all sorts of class A drugs he seemingly was able to purchase from the insane sales their debut album, Definitely Maybe, had scored. Regardless, the world saw Noel as the twin of Liam: the same, when without a doubt both carried such idiosyncratic differences.

Once again, Noel kept quiet, engrossed between his many thoughts and ideations, not knowing whether to answer Liam or keep his silence. Noel felt the strong stare of his sibling being emitted onto his flesh, drawing himself two options: telling Liam and having him shut up about it, although he knew he wouldn’t, or keep his brother asking the same questions, his curiosity - and aggravation - increasing every millisecond as his quietness progressed on. “Is it someone I know?” the sibling asked, causing Noel to swivel his head instantly - locking eyes with him in surprise. Yes, Liam, it is. 

Liam was quick to catch Noel's startled expression, immediately thinking of all the girls they had been friends with, or had been working with them within the past year. They didn’t have many girl-friends; when you’re front page on practically every entertainment article about how loud and tatty you usually were tended to result in hatred by the mass population of women. Regardless, there were enough girls to be friendly with; when you’re drunk in a pub at three in the morning searching for a passionate night with someone, it’s less likely you’re going to keep your eye out to not sleep with someone as attractive as the Gallaghers. “Is it Matilda?” 

“No,”

“Evelyn?”

“No,”

“Nicole?”

“No! It’s Y/N!” Noel yelled, agitated by his brother's bombarded neediness to know.

“So not Nicole?” 

“No,” he repeated, his mind beginning to despise the word after the countless amounts of it rushing off his tongue in the mass of a few seconds.

“Good, because I like Nicole,” Liam mumbled, gazing straight at the window, intently listening to the quiet sound of cars driving by on the road beside them. 

Shocked, the older brother bunched his eyebrows together and squinted his eyes. “You have Patsy, Liam,”

“Yeah, but,” the younger brother began, before being caught in realisation. “Wait, Y/N?” 

Sighing, Noel came to a conclusion that there was no way of escaping the situation. “Yes, her,” he replied, taking the song out of Liam’s palms. He had stared blankly at the sheet hundreds of times, lost in a dream, yet each time he felt as if he was reading it for the first. Every time his eyes laid upon the first few lines, his heart felt as if it was a balloon being punctured with a toothpick on accident, cascading out of a little child’s hand in the middle of the sidewalk, flying onto the road making it unable to get a hold of it again. The kid cries, but the mother tells him to get over it, you’ll get another soon, she says. Noel rarely spoke to Y/N, and when he did, he either stuttered or was too drunk to finish a sentence. She made his heart flutter, in the most endearing ways, receiving a small smile from the girl brightened his day to the fullest. Sometimes he wondered if he was in love with her, love at first sight when they first locked eyes in the recording studio, the band’s manager introducing them to the band as the recording assistant. She was the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes upon.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Liam asked, wrapping an arm around Noel. “Or even, why haven’t you gone out with the girl yet? She’s single ain’t she?” 

Noel nodded his head, staring down at his fingers as they cradled the sheet cautiously, hoping not to rip it in the slightest. “I was thinking of showing the song to her, since I have no fuckin’ clue how I’m supposed to tell her how I feel,” he added, pulling his hand up to chew on his nails - out of nervousness of the idea of presenting such a heart-wrenching song to her. 

“Tell her tomorrow, show her the song after recording,” Liam suggested, slipping his top lip into his mouth, wondering what was battling his brother’s thoughts. He had never seen his brother so naive to how to talk to a girl, tell her he wants to go out for a drink with her, enjoy each other’s company as friends, not co-workers, for once. It was like the entire topic was something so new to the sibling - not even his brother could aid him with directions over what to do, exactly presenting a child the quadratic form, they would never be able to understand it. 

A few long, impatient seconds whistled by in the room - the ambience tense yet soft, bubbled to the brim with thought. Liam didn’t want to say anything else, knowing his brother wouldn’t answer; he wanted to wait for a well thought out response, one that would make sense - unlike receiving flat-out no’s, which brought both boys off guard over the repetitiveness. “You think it's good enough?” Noel questioned, locking eyes with the opposing brother once again. Funnily enough, he knew the exact answer he was going to receive; he could hear it in the room, bouncing off of the walls, the exact words rolling off of Liam’s tongue. He knew him so well, he didn’t need a conformation of words as they fell off of his lips.  

“Go for it,”

~~~

After another strenuous day of recording, bickering, and a sporadic storming out by the lead singer, they somehow managed to record two songs: Acquiesce and Headshrinker, both songs to be included in their first single release, Some Might Say, for their upcoming album. There was high anticipation for this forthcoming LP - tabloids had the topic stained on their lips, the matter embossed in their heads, it being the only thing they were able to talk about with a such excitement, almost exactly like the buzz the band received with their first album, due to it becoming the fastest selling debut LP in the UK charts. Everyone was shocked by their sudden appearance, and along with their rugged up, tough looks, you couldn’t take your eyes off of them. Unsurprisingly, the air in the room was filled with up to the brim in fog - all from the hundreds of joints that were scruffily wrapped up and burnt, all up to its butt to be chucked away in the dustbins. There were ashtrays decorated all around the room; some practically overflowing in dust, others merely sprinkled in ash it could almost present as unused and clean. Time felt distant; with the clock itching to strike hour 5, the atmosphere was left fussy, all five boys drained entirely from the ridiculous amounts of re-recordings they had to do, along with Guigsy being especially annoyed by a decision their label had made for an upcoming gig they seemingly had to start planning for. Bollocks, he shouts, slouching down in his seat, as Bonehead scoffs at his continuous childlike behaviour.

“Right well, I’m out,” Liam yells, his eyes immediately drifting onto Noel. Giving his sibling a nod, he grabs hold of his spliff again, his fingers softly entwining with the roughened fabric, inhaling sharply before exhaling out its poignant contents in front of Y/N’s face. “Bye, Y/N,” he adds, turning his head away and swaying out the door - trying to present a cool-like physique. The rest of the boys follow, except Noel. She laughs at him, whispering a short bye before carrying on with her previous activities. The boys were planning on going to the nearest bar to  hang out, we deserve it after all our hard work and dedication to this shitting album, Liam would always repeat. Not like their lives aren’t situated with cigarettes, bars and alcohol practically everyday. I want to find a bird to sleep with. You have Patsy! Oh, yeah.  

After everyone had left, it was only Noel and Y/N left in the space. Noel was sat in the recording room, playing around with the strings on one of his many Gibson’s, his fingers lightly tapping on the metal cords, attempting to settle another melody for another upcoming song he had thought about. He was always like this. He was the definition of the I’ll-see-you-guys-there type; he constantly had something to do beforehand. He carried such a creative mind, you never wanted to interrupt him when he was left in his element, you knew he was going to create something amazing - he always did. Y/N currently had her headphones on, her head slowly bopping to the sounds of the music she was playing as her eyes were focused on the controls. Every few seconds she would mess around with the controls, either boosting the bass or lowering the sound of the guitars, continuously finding something fun to do with the tunes. As the song she was listening to had come to a close, she clapped lightly to herself, accompanied with a wide grin plastering on her face. Listening to music was her favourite thing in the world to do; it repeatedly gained her such emotional satisfaction you’d envy it from afar. 

His eyes drifted onto stare at Y/N. Every time he laid her eyes on her, he was perpetually enthralled. Enthralled by her presence, enthralled by how much dedication she can hold to one small, simple thing - she never seemed to get tired by anything, even by his younger brother’s whiney behaviour. She was most certainly the best one to speak to him whenever he was pissed, agitated or refusing to do as everyone was telling him to: whether it be because of an argument he had in the midst of recording about how the lyrics sounded, resulting in him storming out, or about a petty comment that was slipped out of their managers’ lips about how hard they are to work with, she consistently knew what to do. Her voice always held this calming tone, almost like she could never shout, get mad, even if she tried to. What made Noel inspired for his songs wasn’t the same, rapid rush of exhilaration that he’d gain as he was nearing finishing the song; it was the Oasis in her eyes that motivated him. She saw them as this power, this light that no one was able to obtain, Noel being the only one able to unlock the true colours behind it. The mastermind. Whatever she said, whatever followed off her tongue professedly felt like it came straight out of a book - no matter what conversation was occurring. Her words would repeat in his head until they became engraved and cherished, saved for another moment to remember.  It would never leave his mind. He was constantly captivated by her, in the most desiring ways.

“What are you doing?” Noel asked, attempting to hold a conversation. His fingers were still messing around with the cords, this time his other arm resting on his lap instead of situated on the neck of the guitar. He watched her head lift up, switching her gaze from the controls to instantly lock eyes with Noel, a bright smile now glued onto her face. 

“Just having a bit of a play with the controls,” she grinned. “And you, mister Noel?” 

Laughing lightly at the tiny nickname he had received from her, his heart warmed by her blissful aura of everything he had wanted to see in a girl. She always carried optimism wherever she went, consistently held her head up high. “Figuring out something for a song,” he mumbled to her, to which she nodded her head slowly in reply, her eyes now staring at the guitar placed on his lap. Her eyes kept switching from to the nape of the instrument straight to its body, practically analysing everything that was on it. This carried on for a few seconds, the air mute until Noel decided to speak up with something he was anxious about bringing up. “I wanted to show you something,”

Building up enough courage, Noel placed his electric guitar on the stand next him, exiting the crammed recording room to quickly enter the lounging space. Y/N’s eyes never left his body; her curiosity stretched out in the masses towards the lanky boy’s withdrawn approach, striking her attention right away. The entire time he avoided locking eyes with her, trotting into the space quickly as he went to grab a random acoustic thrown on one of the couches in the room, knowing his nerves would reach a breaking point soon enough, for even thinking of creating contact with her enticing, sunlit orbs, filled with an itch of interest and consistent undivided attention, would cause him to shrivel back into the young Mancunian boy he once was, before stuttering slightly and rushing out of the room - danced in embarrassment. He had never come across a girl who was able to strike him in such a way his nervous system was at a risk of collapsing, the only songs he was able to write about people tended to either be his brother, or situations with friends - for it was never a girl, he was never like that. 

Snatching the previous seat of the acoustic that was cradled in his arms, Noel pulled the instrument closely to his body - the wooden material now in contact with his clothed chest. Inhaling the air as if it were a spliff coiled with weed, he took deep breaths, counting down from the number five before speaking up again. “This one’s called Talk Tonight,” he echoed, before his fingers - as if magically casted a spell - automatically shifted places on the fretboard, beginning to strum the solemn notes, beautified with adoration. At this point, Y/N’s chair was completely swivelled, her gaze fixated exactly on Noel, her heart agape as she marvelled at the boy merely inches in front of her. The heavy strums were the only thing sounding in the room, settling on a peaceful, luscious tone, containing powers to set you in a stupor of harmony, reconciliation, sending you straight to sleep in just a few seconds. It had power to heal you, like an antidote adorning your skin, the pain at first making your face scrunch up in distress, then relaxing after a short while, pleasure washing over your veins to realise you were finally healed. 

Once Noel began singing, he became a different person. His nerves were long gone - escaped from his mind, for all tension was now released from his body as his fingers swept across the strings freely. Without even looking at Noel, it was clear that the piece he was performing meant a lot to him, his vocal chords perfecting the notes in hilarity, infatuated by the idea that he was truly presenting it, in real life, to the girl he couldn’t stop thinking about for days on end.  He was singing it like he had nothing left to lose, for he was unmasking a side to him he never dared to even think of letting escape; it all his thoughts, his feelings, pouring out in a short 3-minute song, pacified with emotion - it was impossible not to feel an attachment to the music. As he was nearing the last couple lines of the song, he lifted his stare from his instrument, looking to see if Y/N was watching him, and to his surprise, he was instantly met with her gaping at him. Their eyes were glued to one another’s, almost like they were afraid to blink, or do something to prevent not sharing the moment with each other - even if that meant having your eyes burn out of dehydration. 

“I wanna talk tonight, Until the morning light, ‘Bout how you saved my life, I wanna talk tonight.”                                                                                         

After the song ended, there was immediate clapping from Y/N. It was the same, quiet clapping she bestowed earlier when she had finished listening to one of their demos by the control centre, but this time for Noel, and only him. “Was that for me?” she asked, her grin blaring out in her words. She knew it was, all from the beginning with his awkward walking to grab the guitar, yet she still asked anyways. Noel didn’t answer, looking away to stare at his free hand stroking the couch nimbly. He didn’t know what to say, slightly embarrassed yet glad he finally accomplished what he was trying to muster out for months. At first it was a quickened heartbeat as she walked past him, him being all flushed out with a simple doing, to not even knowing what to say when she asked him a question about his guitar riff he performed, to which he’d turn to look at Bonehead, asking him to reply a question he didn’t know the answer to. “Because if that’s the case, I feel the same way,” she added, knowing Noel’s head would turn almost immediately. And it did. He was met with her lips, brushing against his teasingly, their noses colliding together, on the verge of morphing into each other. He felt that he had finally found the one person who understood him best among anyone he knew; he felt as if she knew him more than he knew himself, without even communicating. It was a feeling so scarce and infrequent, he finally understood life for what it really was, for he would prefer dying in that exact moment than pulling away, having to endure the ache of realisation: realisation he would never have a moment so perfect ever again. 

[xbreezymeadowsx]

A Telford Tea Party

A/N: Pure, unadulterated FLUFF. Inspired by my favorite thirsty Flanagan obsessed girls and what’s said in our chat.

Chibs x Reader

This has not been proofread and therefore may contain spelling or grammatical errors. Oops.

TW: Nothing should be triggering unless you hate daddies having tea parties with their little girls.

PREPARE YOUR OVARIES!

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(this gif just seemed appropriate somehow. Not mine, credit to the maker.)

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Dada... Chibs grumbled burying his face in his pillow. "Dada." He cracked one eye open and squint, scanning the bits of room he could see when a little face was suddenly taking up his whole view. "Daddy." The four year old girl said firmly, letting him know he wouldn't be going back to sleep. He smiled sleepily and moved an arm from under his pillow to tuck some of her silky brunette hair from her face. "Mornin', Tilly." He graveled. Her hazel eyes lit up and she giggled. "Goo monin'!" She smiled brightly. Chibs groaned as he rolled to his back again and stretched as his daughter knelt on the bed, the empty half of the bed. "Where's yer Ma?" He asked with a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Da movie place." She told him. "Aun'ie Lyla as'ed her fo' sum'tin. Baby Mal wen', too." "Oh, okay." He thanked her for explaining it further. "Daddy, can we have a tea party?" She begged, giving him puppy dog eyes. "Do we hafta?" Chibs grumped. "Pweeeeeeease?" The little girl plead and clasped her hands in front of herself. He sighed, it didn't take much for the little one to get her way with him. "Fine." He huffed, scoffing at his lack of will power. "Lemme take a shower quick, okay?" "O'tay!" "Go ge' yer sissy an' set up in the playroom." He told her, tickling her side and making her squeal and jump off the bed. "BRINNNNAAAAAAA!!!" She hollered as she raced out the bedroom door. After showering and quickly dressing in black jeans and black SAMCRO t-shirt, Chibs went into the kitchen to grab a jug of sweet tea and tin of shortbread. However, as he turned the corner, he was greeted with the sight of his six year old standing on the counter next to the fridge, the four year old standing on the chair they'd pushed over there, and their six year old brindled shepherd mix Jameson prancing excitedly in place watching his little humans going after something near the treats he couldn't reach and hoping they'd knock the container down. The pajama clad girls- the pair looked nearly identical save for the elder being a head taller- froze in place and stared wide-eyed at him. "Sabrina Rose. Matilda Mae." Chibs said sternly, setting his fists on his hips. "Uh-oh." They gasped in unison. Chibs scooped them up and set them on the hardwood floor. "Couldn' wait ten minutes, eh?" He asked in amusement. He shook his head, chuckling and ruffled their long hair. He reached on top of the refrigerator and took the blue tin the girls had been after, handing it to his oldest. "I'll get the tea." Y/N opened the truck door and reached in to get the three month old out of his carseat as he babbled and waved his orange rattleball around. The neck of his green dinosaur onesie was covered in slobber and drool. "Yes, yes, yes. We're so happy, aren't we? Yes, we are." Y/N cooed as she picked the baby up and held under his butt as he leaned into her shoulder. "Auntie Lyla and the girls spoiled you, didn't they? I saw them sneaking you whipped cream. All that damn sugar's got you wound up." She slung the Harley Davidson diaper bag over her shoulder and grabbed the bag of groceries she'd picked up on the way home before heading to the front door. Once inside, she set the bags on the kitchen table and shift her son to her other arm. "Now, where's Daddy and the girls, huh?" She asked the baby. He looked at his mother curiously before letting out a shrill scream of joy. Y/N cringed. "Malcolm Robert Telford, you're gonna make my ears bleed." In the playroom, Chibs shift uncomfortably in his tiny, tiny pink chair. He would've liked to have sit on the floor, but his girls insisted he had to sit at the table like a proper gentleman. He watched Tilly- a sky blue fairy costume on over her pajamas including wings with an Anna from Frozen glittery tiara- pick up the little plastic pink teapot in the middle of the round white table and pour nothing into a mismatched tiny purple teacup in front of one of their guests. "Mo' tea, Mr. Bear?" She asked the large teal teddy bear. She turned to her other side and poured some into a large blue teacup for her sister's yellow lab, Jax. "May I have more tea, Daddy?" Brina asked in a horrible attempt at some kind of European accent. While her younger sibling was clearly a typical girly-girl, Sabrina wasn't. She, too, wore a costume dress but her's was black velvet with gold trim. She looked like a regal witch or vampire... if it weren't for the mini felt top hat and the headband that made it look like she had an arrow through her head. "Of course, sweethear'." He replied warmly and picked up the larger stainless steel teapot. Clinking came from inside from ice cubes sloshing around as he poured iced tea into her cup which was actually a black enamel camping mug. "Can I have a'nudder cookie?" Tilly asked sweetly, not bothering to fake an accent. "Haven' ya already 'ad three?" Chibs asked, raising an eyebrow and already knowing the answer. "Nooooo." His younger daughter trailed off not looking her father in the eye. Sabrina cackled at her sister's bad acting. Chibs pretend to wipe his face to hide his smirk. "How abou' we split one?" He compromised and picked up a shortbread from the Santa platter the girls had piled them on. Tilly nodded eagerly and held out her little plastic Disney Inside Out Joy dessert plate. Chibs broke the cookie in two pieces as even as he could and set one half on her plate and the other on his red Elmo face plate. "Daddy! Your hat!" Sabrina exclaimed realizing Chibs had taken it off at some point without them noticing. He reached up and felt his head. "Oh no! It's gone!" He cried, faking shock. "Someone stole it!" He shout, so clearly upset at this revelation. Tilly started frantically looking behind the plushies and lifting plates up as if the rainbow striped pinwheel hat would be hiding under them. Brina searched in the nearest toy chest, suspicious. The last two times the hat went missing, that's where it was. She slammed the lid shut hopelessly when her search came up empty. "Sissy, look'it!" Matilda ordered pointing a little index finger across the room. Chibs internally cringed and prayed the hat was destroyed by now. "Jamie, no!" Sabrina rushed the dog and began tugging the hat from him. He growled lightly and tugged back, wagging his tail and thinking she wanted to play. Unfortunately for the mutt, he'd done enough damage already that one more solid yank and the fabric seperated with an audible rrrrrrrip. The little girl flopped on her behind with a thump. "Bad dog!" She reprimanded him. Jameson spit out his half of the rainbow and whimpered, approaching the little girl and snuffling around her head. He licked her cheeks and she scrunched her shoulders, shrieking with laughter at his tickly whiskers and unable to stay mad at the innocent beast. "Wha's Daddy supposed to wear now? He needs a hat!" The young toddler declared before scurrying to the dress-up closet. Chibs whistled and called the dog off his daughter, her face having been slurped on enough. "Go lay down, ya mongrel." He chide goodnaturedly. He helped his daughter wipe her face off with a napkin. "I found a hat, Daddy!" Matilda proclaimed, emerging from the closet and holding something up triumphantly. Chibs face feel momentarily at the sight before changing his expression to something neutral. "Maybe no' tha' one, princess." He denied gently. The green plastic bowler hat was missing a chunk of hat and the white ribbon with four leaf clovers that usually wrapped around it was dangling over the edge of the rim like a graduation cap tassel. The little girl frowned and studied the hat. "I guess not." She agreed sadly and chucked it in the small trash bin between the girls' drawing tables. Seeing her sister on the verge of crying, Sabrina hurried over and ushered her back into the closet to help her find a more suitable hat. Y/N stood in the doorway watching her husband interact with their girls. Malcolm was quietly sucking on his thumb, head laying on her shoulder. It melt her heart every time she saw them all. Filip was always so good with his children and the girls had him wrapped around their little pinkies most of the time. He was stern when he needed to be, but honestly the girls were rarely brats. She swooned when she saw Matilda run to her father and hold up a plastic gold crown with colored jewel beads adorning it. Chibs gushed at how perfect the item was and scooped the girl up, standing her on his knees so she could place it on his head. Thrilled, Tilly set the crown atop his head and declared him king of the tea party. She hopped back to the carpeted floor as Sabrina joined her and the pair curtsied before their king. "Greetings, my liege." Chibs snapped his eyes up and found his wife and baby boy watching them from the doorway. A loving smile gracing Y/N's face. "Miladies," He addressed his daughters. "Look! Tis my Queen returned from her travels!" The girls curtsied to her. Y/N curtsied back with a soft giggle. "I do apologize for missing tea time. I needed to acquire more covers and a rash tincture for Prince Malcolm's royal fanny." Her daughters roared with laughter, falling to the floor in a pile of wiggly court jesters. The baby picked his head up and watched his big sisters before giggling sleepily. Chibs groaned as he stood. He pressed his hands to his lower back, leaning backwards to stretch his aching bones. He carefully skirt around the flopping sillies on the floor and held his hands out with wide eyes and big smile. "There's ma'boy!" He cheered. His smile threatened to split his face in two when he saw the baby boy excited to see him. Malcolm screeched and giggled, trying to fling himself from his mother's arms towards his father. "Hiya! Were ya good fer yer Mama?" He questioned in a voice he reserved for babies. "Didya go see Auntie Lyla? Was she filmin'?" He heard Y/N scoff as she fixed the little one's cotton shorts. "Ha! No. Say we didn't see any of that naughty stuff, Daddy." Y/N told her son to say knowing he'd just babble or blow a spit bubble instead. She looked to her husband as he kissed the light haired, blue-grey eyed bundle of joy all over his head and cheeks. "They were on lunch... brunch, I guess? when we got there. Everyone in robes, dirty bits hidden from innocent eyes." "Tha's a shame." Chibs joked earning a backhand on his free shoulder. He snickered and winked at Y/N before leaning in for a kiss. "Missed ya." He muttered against her lips. "Mm, you missed sleeping till noon." Y/N teased. "Tha', too." He agreed with a cheeky grin. "Daddy, can we go to the park?" Matilda asked, the girls' laughing fit having subsided finally. Chibs turned to his wife. Before Y/N could answer Malcolm started grunting, his face going red before the unpleasant sounds of a much needed diaper change filled their ears. "EEWWW!" The girls exclaimed, faces scrunched up in disgust. "We can go later, okay?" Y/N told them. "It's lunchtime now, then naptime." The girls started whining. "Hey, no whining." "No nap, no park." Chibs said, backing up his wife. The girls scowled, knowing it was too late to try to persuade him otherwise now that he showed he was with Mom. "Keep makin' tha' face an' it'll stick like tha'." He threatened, a sideways glance to Y/N who gave him a mischevious half-grin. "I'll ge' the lad changed an' down fer his nap." He told her, kissing her cheek. Y/N sighed softly, leaning into his lips. "Okay. We'll clean up in here and get lunch going." She decided, stepping aside to let the boys out of the room. "Come along, ya wee bug. We'll get a fresh nappie, read tha' book abou' a wee mouse an' a biscuit, play some o' tha' Celtic lullaby music ya love, an' have a bit o' dreamin'. Sound good?" Chibs spoke softly to his son as he moved down the hallway to the baby's room. Y/N turned to her daughters, taking out her phone and snapping a picture of the dressed up pair before smiling at them. "Shall we have chicken fingers for lunch?" She quiered. The girls nod enthusiastically. "Anything else?" "Neeps an' tatties!" Chibs called down the hallway. Y/N rolled her eyes, but the girls were already getting more excited. The girls loved her homemade mashed potatoes and turnips. "Alright, then. I think we have some mash leftover from dinner." She sighed. "Start cleaning and I'll get the chicken in the oven." She told the girls. "Okay, Mama!" They agreed as she turned and made her way to the kitchen. Once the food was warming up, she was jotting something down on the grocery list on the counter when the sounds in her house distracted her. Sabrina and Matilda were giggling with each other, toys and make believe sets were clattering here and there as the siblings no doubt were throwing everything haphazardly into random toy chests, the rumbles of Chibs' Scottish brogue float down the hallway as he read a bedtime story to their baby, and the sounds of yipping and collar tags jingling were heard from the living room as Jameson dreamed of chasing squirrels. Y/N breathed deeply and sighed, content. This was her favorite thing in the world. The sounds of home.

[dwellordream]

“Members of respectable Victorian society were also able to perceive women as married to one another, and they rarely confounded female marriages between white, middle-class women with the polygamous or incestuous arrangements they attributed to the peoples they sought to subjugate, using Christian ideals of marriage to justify the imperial mission. The life of Charlotte Cushman (1816–1876), documented in letters and memoirs, shows that even a woman who did have an illicit affair with her daughter-in-law differentiated between that illicit, quasi-incestuous affair and a more marital relationship, conducted in full view of her friends and the public, with a woman she called her wife. Charlotte Cushman was one of the most acclaimed and financially successful American actresses of the nineteenth century, best known for playing Romeo in the 1840s.

Born in the United States, she lived outside it for most of her life, first in England and then in Italy, but returned often to play sold-out national tours. As Lisa Merrill has shown in a brilliant biography, Cushman used the language of marriage to conceptualize many of her sexual relationships with women, which after her rise to stardom usually consisted of a primary relationship with a peer and a secondary, clandestine relationship with a much younger woman, often a fan. Cushman described her primary relationships as marriages that created a spousal bond and kinship network. In 1844, she noted in her diary, “Slept with Rose,” and the following day wrote “‘R.’ Saturday, July 6th ��married.’”. As in heterosexual marriage, sex made marriage and marriage created kinship: Cushman called Rose’s father “Father,” as though he were her father-in-law, or as though in marrying Rose she had become her sister.

Cushman was involved in two long-term relationships with women: one with Matilda Hays, an author, translator, and feminist activist, and another with the sculptor Emma Stebbins, whom she met in 1857. Steb- bins is best known today for her sculpture Angel of the Waters, which stands in Central Park’s Bethesda Terrace and features prominently in Tony Kushner’s Angels in America. Until her death in 1876, Cushman cultivated a public persona as a respectable artist and lived openly with Emma Stebbins in an elegant apartment brimming with friends and pets. After Cushman’s death, Emma Stebbins wrote a biography of her former spouse that, with the reticence and impersonality typical of the lifewriting discussed in chapter 1, made only one direct statement about their relationship: “It was in the winter of 1856–57 that the compiler of these memoirs first made Miss Cushman’s acquaintance, and from that time the current of their two lives ran, with rare exceptions, side by side.” But Stebbins attested to her marital connection with Cushman through the very act of writing the biography as a memoir, in her pointed exclusion of Cushman’s other lovers from her account, in her detailed description of their shared apartment in Rome, and in a ten-page inventory of their pets, including dogs named Teddy and Bushie.

…Cushman herself described her relationship to Stebbins as a marriage when she warned her young lover Emma Crow that she was not a free woman; as she put it, “Do you not know that I am already married and wear the badge upon the third finger of my left hand?” (211). Cushman began a clandestine relationship with the much younger Crow in 1858, soon after she exchanged rings with Emma Stebbins and began living with her. Cushman met Crow while touring the United States; their affair lasted years, spanned continents, and is documented in Cushman’s many letters to Crow, which Crow preserved and bequeathed to the Library of Con- gress, despite her lover’s many anxious requests that she burn them. In that correspondence, Cushman frequently tried to naturalize her adulterous betrayal of Emma Stebbins by calling the younger Emma Crow her daughter, niece, and baby, as if to suggest that Crow was not Stebbins’s rival but simply an addition to the family. “Never did a mother love her child so dearly. Never did Auntie think so sweetly so yearningly of her Niece. Never did Ladie love her lover so intensely,” Cushman wrote.

Cushman took the incestuous fantasy of sex as kinship to its literal limits when she encouraged Crow to marry Cushman’s nephew and adopted son, Ned Cushman. Cushman’s plan was to have Crow live near her as her daughter-in-law, a situation to which Cushman’s wife, Emma Stebbins, could not object. Crow was so in love with Cushman that she agreed to the arrangement, and she and Cushman continued their affair well after Crow’s marriage to Ned made Charlotte Cushman young Emma’s mother-in-law and aunt to the children Emma had with Ned. After Crow married Ned Cushman, Charlotte continued to address Emma as her lover, but also as a “dear new daughter” who had, in taking the Cushman name, also become in some sense Cushman’s wife. Cushman called Emma’s marriage with Ned her own “ultimate entire union” with Emma, and her letters to a pregnant Emma convey a sense, as biographer Lisa Merrill puts it, “that she and her ‘little lover’ were having this baby together.” With a grandiosity that came easily to a rich and famous actress, Cushman arrogated to herself the roles of husband, wife, father, mother, aunt, and lover, saluting Emma as “Dearest and Sweetest daughter[,] niece, friend and lover” and referring to herself in other letters as “Big Mamma.”

Cushman’s matrilineal, incestuous, adulterous, polygamous, homosexual household seems to realize the conservative fantasy of the primitive family in which no distinctions are made, no restrictions imposed, and patriarchal monogamy does not contain the promiscuity that results when women reign unfettered. For that very reason, Cushman provides an excellent point of departure for interrogating the equation of homosexuality with primitive sexual anarchy. Her affair with Emma Crow does not in fact show that those who disregard the taboo on homosexuality will also flout the prohibitions on incest and polygamy. Instead it demonstrates that, like most Victorians, Cushman’s desires were shaped by taboos that incited the very desires they prohibited. Vows of monogamy, even when not legally binding, made adultery all the more alluring, and as Foucault shows in the first volume of the The History of Sexuality, nothing in the Victorian family was more normative than its obsession with incest.

In societies that make “the family . . . the most active site of sexuality . . . incest occupies a central place; it is constantly being solicited and refused; it is an object of obsession and attraction, a dreadful secret and an indispensable pivot. It is manifested as a thing that is strictly forbidden . . . but it is also a thing that is continuously demanded in order for the family to be a hotbed of constant sexual incitement.” The mother-daughter axis was as subject to eroticization as any other aspect of family life, and incest fantasies, veiled and overt, were a prominent feature of Victorian culture (see chapters 3 and 4). Cushman’s letters to Emma Crow blurred the lines between lover and family member in the same way as Dinah Mulock Craik’s 1850 novel Olive did when describing a wife’s love for her hus- band: “She loved him at once with the love of mother, sister, friend, and wife.” Pornographic novels obsessively depicted incest of every variety and in every possible gender configuration (see chapter 3), and Henry James easily translated his acquaintance with Charlotte Cushman’s history into the heterosexual plot of The Golden Bowl, in which a father marries his daughter’s husband’s lover, also named Charlotte.

The normative cast of even Cushman’s most hidden desires helps to explain why she was not branded as deviant in her lifetime and why the relationships with women that she did make public were accepted by those surrounding her. Cushman was a recognized and often admired type: a nineteenth-century woman whose financial independence made it relatively easy for her to form a couple with another woman. Cushman enjoyed playing male roles on stage, and like many middle-class and aristocratic women in female marriages, she adopted masculine dress and nicknames. But she lived openly with other women as a woman, and identified with both feminine and masculine roles. Cushman called Emma Stebbins her better half and described herself as married to her first lover, Rose, but she did not consistently or exclusively see herself as a husband.

The language of marriage described the quality of her commitment to a sexual partner rather than a gendered division of roles. In this respect female marriage appears, on the basis of current historical evidence, to have been a primarily middle- and upper-class phenomenon. Working- class women who earned their own money also formed couples with other women, but it was more common for one member of the couple to live as a man. Such alliances were therefore not perceived as female marriages. Although in some technical sense they could be called marriages between women, in the eyes of the law, the couple’s community, and even the couple themselves, they were marriages between a woman and a man. If caught or exposed as women, some female husbands were legally cen- sured and mocked in ballads and broadsides for seizing male privileges, but others were not. An 1869 article on “Modern Amazons,” for example, wrote approvingly of two women who assumed the roles of “man and wife” and “lived together in good repute with their neighbours for eighteen years.”

…The idea of female marriage was not simply a private metaphor used by women in same-sex relationships; it was also a term used by the legally married to describe relationships that were conducted openly and discussed neutrally in respectable society. Even among middle-class Victori- ans, marriages were not defined by law alone, and for couples with no legal status, social acceptance provided legitimation and established rules for beginning and ending relationships. Charlotte Cushman assumed that many in her circle were aware of sexual romance between women, since she warned Emma Crow in an 1860 letter that “there are people in this world who could understand our love for each other, therefore it is necessary that we should keep our expression of it to ourselves.”

The historical context leaves it surprisingly unclear whether Cushman demanded secrecy because Crow was a woman, or because Cushman was afraid of being exposed as adulterous. There are no similar records of Cushman attempting to conceal her relationships with Eliza Cook, Matilda Hays, or Emma Stebbins, which far from being open secrets were explicitly acknowledged by her social circle and in newspapers. Cushman and her lovers displayed their intimacy for all to see. In the 1840s Cook published a fervent poem, “To Charlotte Cushman,” which described the two women as “captive in Affection’s thrall,” and when Hays published her translation of George Sand’s La Petite Fadette in 1851, she dedicated it to Charlotte Cushman. On a tour of United States theaters in 1849, Cushman traveled with Hays, and a newspaper article praising Cushman as a “woman . . . worthy of homage and esteem” added, “Miss Cushman will be accompanied by her friend, novelist and translator, Matilda M. Hays.”

…To understand the social position of women in female marriages, it is helpful to distinguish between a subculture and a network. Charlotte Cushman did not belong to a subculture, a type of social group that tends to be organized around a limited number of shared traits and that coheres through its separation from the mainstream. She did, however, belong to a network, a form of social alliance whose strength derives from its relative openness and internal variety and from its links to other networks. Overlapping sets of acquaintances as well as shared identities define networks; the stronger the network, the greater the number and type of groups to which it is linked. Cushman’s network thus included women in or interested in relationships with other women and had many links to people who were not in same-sex couples.

Her circle overlapped considerably, for example, with the Browning circle, which consisted of highly respected artists who lived in Italy to get distance from their immediate families, access to a warmer climate, and exposure to Italy’s historic culture. Charlotte Cushman’s integration into multiple networks shows how easily same-sex relationships between women were assimilated to the model of marriage. Indeed, as Merrill notes, Cushman’s relationships with Matilda Hays and Emma Stebbins helped incorporate the actress into many networks by giving her an aura of propriety and respectability. Women in female marriages or interested in sexual liaisons with women banded together but also entered social circles organized around legally married couples. Robert and Elizabeth Barrett Browning spent time not only with Cushman and Hays but with several other women whose charged same-sex relationships included giddy flirtations, tempestuous infatuations, short-term love affairs, and long-term partnerships.

…In the 1860s and 1870s, a period when few knew of the sexological idea of inversion and many still associated sodomy with sexual acts absolutely opposed to nature and virtue, the female couple was accepted as a variation on legal marriage, not treated as a separate species. This suggests that Lillian Faderman and Carroll Smith-Rosenberg were absolutely right that Victorians considered love between women to be perfectly normal, whether that love involved intense, sensual friendships that existed alongside marriage to men (Smith-Rosenberg) or lifelong partnerships that replaced marriage to men (Faderman). It also shows how they were wrong. Smith-Rosenberg erred in defining intimacy between women as a supplement to male-female marriage, for women in female marriages did not supplement marriage, they appropriated it.

Faderman was wrong to argue that acceptance of female couples depended on the perceived asexuality of their relationships; the use of marriage as a term to describe female couples suggests that people believed sex was involved, for marriage, unlike friendship, was never an asexual term. For Victorians, marriage meant the union of sexual and spiritual impulses, the reconciliation of sexuality with propriety. Marriage was a socially acceptable exhibition of sexual intimacy because it was predicated on fidelity and thus advertised not only the sexuality of spouses but also their acceptance of restraints and limits. For this reason, female marriage was not associated with a savage state of sexual license but instead was readily integrated into even the most restrictive ideas of social order. As we will see, however, female marriage also differed from legal marriage between men and women in significant ways, and those differences made it a model for reformers seeking to modernize legal marriage.”

- Sharon Marcus, “The Genealogy of Marriage.” in Between Women: Friendship, Desire, and Marriage in Victorian England

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Please Don’t See Me - Chapter 4

As shaky as things with Rebus had begun, they quickly settled into a comfortable companionship. The wolf was stubborn and willful when he wanted to be but it was… actually quite nice, to have someone to talk to.

As the days passed Rebus allowed Ford closer and closer, finally permitting Ford to brush his wild fur when more than a few of Ford’s belongings got tangled up in there. If anything Rebus seemed to appreciate the grooming. Ford couldn’t say he liked having his hair brushed (it was too short to do anything with and he’d never had anyone try to touch it beyond casual hair-ruffling) but he had to admit, it was quite soothing to run his hands through clean, silky fur.

If only the wolf wasn’t so frightening to look at.

Ford sighed, standing alone and empty-handed at the front door where the mailman had run off screaming, taking Ford’s package with him. Rebus yawned and stretched and looked generally imposing and wolf-like.

“Could you not scare away the postman?” Ford complained. Rebus looked entirely unapologetic. “Unbelievable.”

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“You’re only making this harder on yourself.”

Rebus growled stubbornly and planted his ass on the porch, refusing to move no matter how much Ford pushed and pulled. If only the darn wolf wasn’t so heavy! Ford was up to his elbows in thick fur.

“You’re filthy, and you’re shedding!” He pressed his back against the wolf and shoved, only managing to slide him a few centimeters. Great. In an hour they might reach the front door. “You need a wash.”

Rebus let out a little growl.

“Oh, stop that.” Ford grabbed handfuls of fur and pulled. The hound sighed dramatically and flopped onto the deck, making Ford squawk in frustration. “Don’t lie down! Rebus!”

Rebus resolutely ignored him. Ford straightened.

“Of course. Of course I have to deal with this.”

Rebus’s outright refusal to bathe almost reminded him of his teenaged years, Ma bullying Stanley into washing. ‘A dip in tha ocean doesn’t count!’ She’d scold. ‘Go get yer ass in the shower or I’ll empty a bucket a’ water over yer head!’

Hmm.

Rebus yelped when Ford dumped a bucket of cold water over him. Ford snickered at the wrinkled nose and dirty glare Rebus shot him as he crawled, wet and dripping, from the rather sudden puddle.

“You were the one who refused to move to the bathroom. Don’t blame me for the consequences.”

Ford got to feel vindictively gleeful, up until Rebus shook and sprayed him from head to toe in dirty water.

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Ford went on a shopping run to stock up on supplies. When he returned, Rebus was curled up on the couch and the TV was blaring. Ford froze in the doorway.

Rebus glanced up almost guiltily. Reruns continued to play. The wolf rolled

sideways onto the remote and the TV switched off. Rebus yawned, stretched, and padded away, leaving Ford gaping.

  ____________________________________________________________________

 It was past midnight and Rebus was still bothering him! Ford threw down his pen and turned to glare blearily at the fussing animal. Rebus glared back from his spot in the doorway of Ford’s study.

“What? I already fed you! I’m busy.”

Wait, had he fed the wolf? He must have, Rebus would bark and whine and generally be a nuisance if Ford forgot. So what else did he want? Ford was getting frustrated with all the pacing and the stares. Rebus had been sending him those looks all night! All… morning? Afternoon? Ford wasn’t sure how long he’d been at it. He was pretty sure he’d pulled at least one all-nighter in the last few days but it was all a little hazy.

Tugging – Rebus had bitten his sweater sleeve and was currently tugging Ford out of his chair. Ford yelped and grabbed the desk to steady himself.

“Hey!”

He pulled back. Rebus yanked again with a jerk of his head and sent Ford stumbling forward.

“Let me go – you ridiculous animal – hey!”

Rebus continued dragging him through the house until Ford stumbled and caught himself on the frame of his bedroom door. He grabbed Rebus’s jaw to try and pry the fabric from his teeth but Rebus shook his head from side to side to avoid the reaching hands.

At some point it devolved into a tug-of-war, Ford still half inside his sweater and unable to hold back snorts of laughter at how hopelessly tangled he was quickly becoming. He wrestled Rebus to the ground as well as he could one-armed. Rebus growled playfully and tugged at his clothes.

Ford wheezed. He hadn’t noticed it while at his desk, but now that he was moving his vision was swimming a little. Come to think of it, when had he last slept? He was conveniently near his bedroom, as if that was where Rebus had been so intent on pulling him. Maybe a nap wouldn’t hurt…?

Rebus seemed to sense that Ford’s head wasn’t in the game anymore, because he quit playing and instead leaned against Ford’s side. The scientist yawned and reached up blindly to pet Rebus’s ears.

“Yes, yes… play can wait. I think I’ll try to catch a few hours of sleep.”

Rebus didn’t seem too disheartened. In fact, he watched sternly as Ford stumbled to bed, letting out a satisfied huff when Ford’s head hit the pillow.

Odd behaviour… Ford thought, before slipping into dreams.

  ____________________________________________________________________

 Rebus growled and dodged out of the way as Ford tried to clip the harness around his chest.

“Stay still! A leash is necessary if I don’t want to get in trouble. It’s either this or a collar, and you made your position clear on collars.”

Rebus glared at the object in Ford’s hand. The scientist scowled.

“You and I both know you don’t need a leash. But the residents of Gravity Falls don’t. They’ll get in a panic if you walk up unrestrained! Do you want to visit the town or not?”

The stare-off continued, until Rebus finally looked away. Ears pressed flat, he slunk forward to unhappily let Ford clip him in.

“See? Not so hard.” Ford said triumphantly. Rebus continued to mope the entire drive down to Gravity falls. That is, until the houses came into view. The wolf perked up, even going so far as to press his face to the window to get a good view of the town around them.

Once Ford parked and they exited the vehicle, getting around became a little more difficult, what with the teen screaming ‘WOLF’ and jumpscaring everyone on the street. Ford lifted his hands, holding the leash in clear view, in the hopes of de-escalating the situation.

“It’s okay, he’s domesticated. He’s my, uh…” Damn, he hadn’t thought this far ahead. “…dog. A crossbreed.”

The teen continued to peer suspiciously at the obviously-a-wolf. Rebus wagged his tail helpfully.

“…okay.” She said dubiously. “Er – what’s its name?”

“Rebus.”

The teen tipped her head, still squinting somewhat. “Does it bite?”

“Certainly not.” Ford lied. Well, it technically wasn’t a lie – Rebus didn’t bite people. The wolf in question stepped forward to greet the slightly-less-suspicious teenager, who hesitantly offered one hand.

“Um. Hi, Rebus? I’m Matilda.” She added to Ford, who nodded and introduced himself in turn.

“Stanford Pines.”

Matilda looked up suddenly from petting Rebus. “Wait, you’re the scientist dude who lives in that weird shack?”

Ford rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, well, yes. I am a scientist.”

“No kidding. Everyone knows about you, dude. They’ve just never met you before. Or heard your name or know anything about you.”

“I tend to keep to myself.” Ford admitted. “How did you know who I am?”

“My boyfriend Dan talks about you sometimes.”

“Ah, yes, Boyish Dan. The lumberjack.”

Matilda sent him finger guns. She seemed quite laid-back when she wasn’t screaming about wolves. Ford decided to chalk up that incident to surprise.

“Well, give him my regards. Rebus and I must be on our way before the shop closes.”

“Sure.” Matilda stood, dusting hair off her jeans. “And, uh, just a word of advice; you might wanna get that dog a collar.”

Rebus shot him a glare. Ford sighed. “I’ll certainly keep that in mind.”

  ____________________________________________________________________

Ford had grown used to the crashing of gnomes raiding his bins every few days. When he first came to Gravity Falls he’d tried to put a stop to it, but they’d always come back the next day. Eventually he had given up. They rarely tried coming inside, and as long as they stuck to raiding the bins and nothing else it was tolerable.

But he hadn’t heard the tell-tail banging and clattering for almost a week now. Ford peeked through the window to check; there sat a row of untouched bins. The gnomes hadn’t just gotten very quiet all of a sudden; they hadn’t come at all. Why had they suddenly decided to leave his house alone? Not that he wasn’t thankful. More often than not they would leave a mess for Ford to clean up after.

There was the clicking of claws, and Rebus brushed against his legs on his way to the lounge. Ford failed to notice the strands of grey beard hair sticking out against his dark coat, and turned away from the window just in time to miss a party of scuffed and bruised gnomes scrambling into the forest as fast as their little legs could carry them.

  ____________________________________________________________________

Ford had made a slight, miniscule mistake.

A lapse of judgment, maybe. He’d gotten so caught up in a recent breakthrough that he had… maybe… forgotten to pay the power bills. And the water bills. And, he was pretty sure, a couple other bills he probably should have been paying.

With the sudden onset of a blizzard he was now firmly shut up in his not-heated house, shivering against the chill. He’d tried lighting a fire but what little firewood he had available had been soaked through by the melting snow. Ford resorted to bundling up in the warmest clothes he could find and huddling on the couch.

He shot a jealous look at Rebus, still shivering slightly under layers of blankets. The wolf’s heavy coat had finally come in handy and now he lay, perfectly warm and content, on the carpet.

Ford pulled his blankets tighter around him, unable to suppress a shiver. He vowed to never forget to pay his electricity bills again.

Rustling got his attention – Rebus had gotten up from his comfortable napping spot and yawned, before jumping up onto the couch next to Ford. Ford lifted one corner of the blankets invitingly.

Rebus squirmed in with him, heavy and warm, like an oversized heater. Ford didn’t object when the wolf lay half on top of him and yawned again. He only buried his face and hands in the warm fur and, toasty and comfortable for the first time in hours, fell asleep.

(he would wake up the next morning with a crick in his neck and a wolf snoring against him, warm despite the frostiness of the air. And after that night Rebus would often sleep by him, curled up at his feet or at the foot of his bed or flopped across him without a care in the world, as if liberated by the realization that he was truly safe and wanted)

[bagels-and-seagulls]

Give us some davenzi as parents please?? I miss them and the kids :)

okayokayokay i’m still working on some of the dialogue prompt things but i’ve been thinking about this kind of angsty parent idea for a while and felt the need to get it out there

The magazine was on the counter next to the sink where Matteo was washing the dishes with water that was too hot, making his knuckles turn an ugly red as the steam wafts up into his face. He scrubs at some of the burnt on food that was stuck to the bottom of the pan with a little too much force than was really necessary, replaying the argument over, and over, and over, and over again, just hearing Sofia scream, Daddy would let me! And Matteo had to take a deep breath at just the memory of it, the way her face was flushed and she pointed around the room as she was yelling, the way that he had to clamp his mouth shut and clench his jaws in a fist to stop himself from screaming back, from yelling something ugly, and angry, and uncalled for, from being just like his father. He swore to himself he never would be like that. He hated that he got so close. 

It was a stupid fight, a stupid fight with a ten year-old. It wasn’t worth getting this upset over, but he could hear Michael humming at the table as Matteo was still scrubbing at the goddamn pot that still had some fucking food on it. And Matilda needed to start getting ready for bed twenty minutes ago, which she hasn’t, and Sofia should have finished her school work by now, which she hasn’t, and Matteo asked Michael to clean up his toys before dinner even started, which he hasn’t, and the magazine was sitting right there next to the sink as he scrubbed the fucking pot that still had fucking food on it, and Michael was humming so fucking loud, and-

The door opened, and Matteo looked over to Michael who looked right back at him. 

“Hello?” Someone called out, and Michael’s eyes went wide and he threw himself away from the kitchen table to rush the door with Matilda and Sofia both swooping in from the other room, sprinting at full speed. And Matteo called after them, “Slow down,” only to be ignored. 

The pot he was cleaning tipped and sloshed dirty water down his leg and onto the floor. “Fuck,” he hisses, going quickly to turn the water off and grab at some towels, listening to the screeching near the front door. 

“Papa, Papa,” Matty squealed, tugging David through the door by his fingers. “Look who’s home!” 

“Yeah, sweetie,” he says offhandedly, soaking up the water on the floor. “I see.”

“Did you need some help?” David asks. 

Matteo throws the towel onto the counter. Next to the magazine. “No, it’s fine,” he says and takes another towel out the cabinet to soak up some more water from the floor. 

“Are you-”

“I said I got it,” Matteo interrupts and looks up at David who had Michael on one hip and his duffle slung over his other shoulder. He looked tired, Matteo thought, with his hair sticking up in every direction and his tie half undone. 

“He’s been cranky all day,” Matilda whispers to him like she was telling a secret, covering her mouth with her hand and tugging at his fingers so he’ll bend a little closer to her. 

And Matteo has to clench his jaw tight for a second before breathing out slow through his nose. “You’re supposed to be in bed,” he says, leveling Matilda a look even though he was still half kneeling on the floor with one leg of his pants soaked through with water that smelled like tomatoes. 

“But Daddy just got home,” she whined high pitched. 

“I know that, sweetheart,” Matteo says and stands back up, trying his hardest not to roll his eyes and sigh. “But it’s already a half hour past your bedtime, and frankly, you two are supposed to be brushing your teeth now,” he says, looking at the twins. 

He gets a chorus of groaned, “Papa”s, and he narrows his eyes at all of them. “This isn’t up for discussion. Go, all of you,” Matteo said. 

“This is so unfair,” Sofia screeches and stomps her foot, and Matteo scratches at his eyebrow as he tries to forget the argument they had earlier. 

“Sofia,” he starts. 

“How about-” David interrupts, looking between the two of them slowly. “I’ll get them ready for bed and read them a couple of bed stories?” 

“Oh, please,” Matilda said, looking at Matteo with wide eyes and her hands clasped in front of her. And Matteo wanted to say no, wanted to say that bed time was bed time, wanted to say that he had already told her if was supposed to be in bed and that should be enough. He doesn’t though. He just sighs. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Matteo says and waves an arm out. “I gotta finish cleaning up.” 

And all the kids cheer, and Matteo has to run a hand over his forehead at the pulsing that was thumping away at his skull. 

“You guys go. I’ll meet you,” David says as he put Michael down and shoves them along to the other room. “Na?” He asks and grips at Matteo’s shoulder. 

Matteo pulls away and turns back towards the sink, hearing the way David’s hand stalls in the air for a moment before dropping down to his side. “Just,” he starts, turning on the water. “Just get them in bed.” 

David walks away, and Matteo tries not to think about how this was the first time he’s been home in a month as he stares down at the magazine on the counter with his bright and joyful face looking towards someone that pointedly wasn’t Matteo, that the kids have decided that Matteo was the mean parent, the strict one, who yells and tells them to do your homework and that they have to go to school when David gets to be the fun parent, that the water was still a bit too hot as he scrubs, and scrubs, and scrubs at the burnt on food at the bottom of the pot that still was so fucking dirty even though he’s been scrubbing. 

Matteo suddenly feels like he’s suffocating, like the temperature is far too hot for this house, and he pulls at his collar, soaking it through, as he tries to get some air in his lungs, thinking that oh god he was becoming his father. He grips at the magazine to try and get the ideas floating around his head to just calm down a minute, so he could at least get in a breath- just a breath, just one. 

He had to leave. Right now, he decided. And then he swallowed down his panic, his anxiety, his need to Get. Out., because he has three kids in the other room and can’t just fuck off when the walls start to get a little bit closer and closer and closer, and the the faces on the magazine were laughing at him. And he clenches at the pages, just wanting them to stop laughing at him. 

He had to leave. 

“Is everything alright?” David asks behind him.

“Yeah, I just-” Matteo says and rolls his neck. “I’m going out.” 

“Now?” David asks and walks further into the kitchen to grab Matteo’s arm and look at him. 

“Don’t-” Matteo brushes him off and pulls back a few steps. “I just. Just for a little while.” 

“Hey, talk to me, Teo,” David says, stepping in closer, and Matteo puts a hand on his shoulder to push him back. 

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” 

“What’s-” David asks, shaking his head, looking around him and landing on the magazine that was crumpled on the counter. “Is that why you’re mad at me? Because- Because of some gossip magazine? You know that stuff isn’t true.” 

“I’m not mad because of some fucking magazine,” Matteo denied as he rushed to the front of the house to slip on some shoes that looked like they were David’s and grabbing a coat that definitely was. 

“Then what’s going on? Why are you so upset all of a sudden?” 

“All of a-” Matteo swings around and ends up leaning into David’s face. “You haven’t been home for a month. A month, David. A month where I’ve been taking care of our children. And telling them when to go to bed, and when to do their homework, and that they can’t hang out with their friends, and that they can’t have fucking ice cream before bed because they didn’t eat anything healthy all day. And I’ve been doing that all by myself! And you get to come home, and you’re immediately the good guy after I just-” He stops to swallow. “I haven’t had a second by myself for over a month. I just need a second. Just-” Matteo grips at the door handle and watches as David’s face falls and his fingers flail at his sides. 

He opens the door and walks out. 

Matteo spends an hour wondering around the city and then a few hours at Hans’ place, avoiding the questions about why he was there on a Friday night just after he knew his little nieces and nephews were usually put to bed, a Friday night that everyone knew David was coming home after being on set for so long. And Matteo didn’t have the heart to tell him, to show him the pictures on gossip websites that said David was too good of friends with the lead actress in his movie, to explain the stupid fight he got in with Sofia, to detail the way that he felt like the bad guy in every situation even though he was trying so hard not to raise his voice and yell, to say that he felt like a bad dad because he was just tired. 

So he didn’t. He just accepted the beer that Hans pressed into his palm and laughed at the stories he told about his latest woes at the store from the previous week. And he left with a hug and a smile, and Hans telling him he should just talk to David into the hair on his head and a pat on his back. 

He gets back home, and it’s quiet and dark. And Matteo feels like he can breathe, just a little bit, when he sees that the living room is clean, and the dishes are put away in the kitchen, and the magazine was thrown into the bin. He pushes his way into his bedroom quietly to see David curled up in bed on his side with his hand stretched out towards Matteo’s side of the bed, even though Matteo has been sleeping with his face shoved into David’s pillow, trying to chase the feeling of him while he was gone. 

Matteo curls up in front of him to tuck his nose into David’s chest because even if he was the one that snapped earlier, he’s a selfish man at heart and couldn’t bear to keep himself away when David was home, when he was finally right here. David shakes himself awake and curls an arm around his shoulders while the other goes to Matteo’s jaw, and Matteo wraps an arm around his back to pull him closer. 

“Okay?” David mutters into the top of his head. 

“Sorry,” Matteo responds into the skin of his sternum. “For earlier.” 

“I wish you told me. That you felt that way,” David responds  as he blinks slowly to wake up a little more and tips Matteo’s face up under his chin.

“Sofia and I got into a fight,” Matteo whispers and looks at the side of David’s nose, not knowing if he could stomach this conversation if he saw any disappointment flicker in David’s eyes. “I told her she couldn’t go to Imane’s house, and she said that you would let her.” 

“I probably wouldn’t have,” David hums and brushes some hair out of Matteo’s eyes with the edges of his fingers, and Matteo almost has to close his eyes at the feeling, not used to this kind of affection in a while and feeling a little bit like he was drowning it in right now. 

“I-” Matteo starts and then stops with an inhale, not knowing if he even wanted to bring anything up in the quiet of their bedroom, not wanting to admit anything too sad when he should feel happy at their reunion, the fact that they were in the same timezone and he could hear his voice in person instead of through a speaker. 

“What?” David asks and brushes his lips over Matteo’s temple. 

“I don’t-” Matteo stops again. “I wish you weren’t gone so long.” 

“Me, too,” David admits quietly. His mouth close enough that he feels the words more than hears them. “I won’t again. Couldn’t even focus I missed you guys so much.” 

“We missed you, too,” Matteo says. “I missed you,” he adds on and leans up more into David’s space.

“I missed you, too,” David breathes onto Matteo’s chin, looking down at his mouth. “We should-” David stops to lick his lips, and Matteo presses himself closer still. “We should talk in the morning more. About this.” 

“In the morning,” Matteo repeats with a nod, running his nose against the side of David’s.

David leans in, and Matteo let’s him. 

[fc5holidayexchange]

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 FIC

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

Title: Gävlebocken

Deputy Mattie Covington/Sharky Boshaw- Mattie and Sharky reunite after a failed trip to burn the Gavle Goat

@ma-sulevin

Hi Kate! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, wherever you are and however you're celebrating! Hope the festive season is full of joy and magic! I had a fabulous time writing Mattie and Sharky together and I hope you enjoy reading it! xxxx

----------

“All I’m saying, shorty, is never leave a man behind. Marilyn Manson and Carly Rae Jepson wanted to go torch some Gävlebocken butt too, y’know? And who was I to deny them their Bejeebus given right as Incendiary-Americans?”

Mattie cuddled the red-cheeked pyromaniac closer into her chest as she eased his sorrows on the couch. He hadn’t stopped blushing since she’d collected him from Missoula International Airport, where he’d been marched from the building between the firm grip of two unforgiving, no doubt underpaid TSA officers, cuffed at the wrist and short two of his beloved (and musically christened) flamethrowers.

“... you know, they probably sell flamethrowers in Sweden. You could have got one when you got there. Or matches. Shit, there’s plenty of sticks you could have rubbed together too.” She mused, trying to make light of the situation.

Sharky Boshaw was having none of it.

“Nuh-uh, no-can-do. Had to be them, babe.”

“Only the best for the holy grail of goat effigies, I guess?”

He nodded and crushed his face into her.

She couldn’t tell if the residual ruby tinge on his face was from the trauma of his ordeal (though he was hardly a stranger to arrest), from the abundance of alcohol still in his system, or from where the ravenous teeth of a cold winter beast had nibbled at him. December had fallen, and the snow was up to their knees. The smell of evergreen firs and smoky chimneys and roasting meat and fresh gingerbread permeated across the county. Even the sickly scent of Bliss had subsided, the cold-sensitive Georgia peaches known locally as the Seeds having retreated indoors for the season.

Christmas was coming.

Boshaw Manor’s festive decorations were tacky and yet, made with love. The Christmas tree was a little scorched on the edges, and adorned with homemade ornaments that were just beer tops looped onto string. They twinkled rainbow in the glow from the string lights, and tinkled as they clinked against each other. Paper chains and worn tinsel in emerald and silver shades hung from every available surface, and though he had no fireplace, he’d dragged a metal bin into the centre of the living room so they could roast chestnuts and make smores through the long winter nights.

However, Sharky’s favourite holiday accessory was a slightly dusty Santa figurine. He had, at some point, made the toymaker his own little flamethrower from aluminium foil, and the rotund, bushy bearded fellow still clung to it with his moth-eaten mittens, ready to chargrill Rudolph. But truly the highlight of Santa’s unusual skillset, the crown jewel in his sleigh full of secret talents, was the voice recording feature.

From the depths of Santa’s cookie filled belly, Sharky’s voice echoed:

“Burn baby burn… CHRISTMAS INFERNO”

And now, the jolly figure danced laboriously by the door, Boomer resting beside him, snoring along to the increasingly demonic rasp (Mattie made a mental note to replace the batteries).

Of course, this year, Mattie had put her own little touches on the place.

When he’d first taken her in, Earl had given her a little archangel statue, with beautiful, expansive wings, and a majestic flaming blade in it’s right hand, and her name engraved upon it. ‘Matilda means mighty in battle’ he’d explained, pulling her into a hug to assure her of just how strong she was. And last year, Nancy had knitted her a little yellow star, gold flecked through it, to sit atop the tree, and now it sat pride of place, shimmering like the true holy light.

It was slightly overwhelming, to see her things, however few, amongst Sharky’s.

To know that now, she and Sharky could make Christmas memories together.

That was the best gift of all.

And normally, snuggled together on a winter’s night like this, she’d be teasing him, slipping her chilled hands down the back of his shirt, or tickling his neck which made him squirm and giggle the most, or even sticking an icy naked foot into his face when he wasn’t paying attention. Or she’d be letting her hands wander into his pants, and they’d be making love and basking in each other’s glow until the sun came up.

But the sheer misery welling in his eyes, Christmas dreams obliterated and Hall of Flame pedestals empty, like a baby bird beak without a worm to sate it’s hunger, sent a pang of guilt ricocheting through every inch of her. One that made her stomach squirm and her lip quiver. He was her family, and though her dad back in Challis hadn’t exactly been the model of perfect, or even the model of good, she knew with all the certainty in her heart that families weren’t supposed to look so despairing at Christmas.

“What were you thinking, Shark?”

“I, uh… I wanted to surprise you.”

“And you thought running off to Europe to go burn down a giant goat was the best way to do that? I’d have taken socks instead, you know. Or a John Seed's head on a spike.”

She moved to hold his hand, fingers intertwining comfortingly, and he sniffed loudly in appreciation. Mattie felt so complete when her hand was nestled in his- who needed gloves to when you had a hand to hold?

"Just because Hurk nearly got Wicker-manned out in Europe, doesn't mean you have to."

He mumbled in reply, sheepishly resigned to his deeper urges- "I'm a Khaleesi. I go where the flame takes me."

She chuckled softly and teased:

“I know, babe. I know. Who do you think is the one who prints the posters? The whole station is more like a groupie's bedroom."

Mattie cursed the day she’d so catastrophically put her foot in it. A late night drinking and feasting up in the Whitetails, near Fort Drubman, out under the stars and the bleak winter moonlight. A slew of cultist corpses were ragdolled along the path behind them, definitely not having a Merry Christmas, and a skinned Judge or two had fallen prey to Jess’s hungry trapper knife. The pelts would make a fine coat for next year’s snowfall and the burgundy branding of Jacob’s chosen mutts was simply an added trophy for Mattie’s slightly feral friend.

There they were. Mattie, Sharky, Hurk, Jess, and Staci (who'd called in sick from his night shift), with Boomer and Cheeseburger at their heels.

Munching on fish from the iced over rivers.

Getting drunk out of their minds and trying to forget all the shit that the past months had wrought.

The topic of conversation had turned to (what else) fire. They’d just proudly set alight to the old lumber mill, and watched the Peggies scatter like roaches from the scene. Merry on Whistling Beaver beer, Mattie had hiccoughed and giggled after her umpteenth bottle, snuggled under Sharky's arm, and announced loudly:

“Did you guys know there’s a huge ass wicker goat in Sweden? They put it up for Christmas every year and it keeps getting toasted.”

Well, it’s not like she’d expected him to take off a week later towards the airport… after he’d downed probably somewhere near a keg's worth of homemade eggnog… all rum, barely an egg or a nog in sight.

But Charlemagne Victor Boshaw’s eyes had illuminated with possibility, and so had the eyes of the airport security officers at the sizable lethal and flammable weapons he’d packed into his luggage. Having the fuzz for a girlfriend, who could come flaunting an arrest warrant and claim jurisdiction over the prisoner was an absolute saving grace, it turned out. The TSA had handed him over with very little resistance.

And now, here they were, back home in the depths of the county, almost definitely up a couple of places on the ‘no fly’ terror watchlist.

Sharky sat up suddenly and rubbed at his slightly runny nose, a sudden determination taking root in his chest. Spring coming early as a flower bloomed there, petals of fury and vengeance and abject loyalty to his cause.

"We gotta get Carly and Marilyn back. We gotta Ocean’s Eight, Sandra Bullock the airport, po-po. You and me, Hurk, sure we can get Nick and Kim on the crew too, what are we up to, five, Boshaw’s five, Sharky’s five-?“

Mattie nuzzled her face into the top of his head. She was a hell of a lot shorter than him, but he’d sunk into the couch so deeply that she could now smell the scent of his Old Spice shampoo and see the bald patch where he'd thought wearing a crown made of sparklers at Thanksgiving fireworks was a good idea.

“Yeah, I’m sure a woman heavily into her third trimester is gonna really be up for a heist-“

“Kim? Fuck yeah, she can kick butt with a bump, her centre of gravity’s probably on kung fu master levels here. Ooooh, maybe the baby’ll come early and kick some airport ass too.”

“I think it’ll be more like she’ll kick your butt for not inviting me along to go torch the goat."

It was crazy, knowing that next Christmas, there would be a Baby Rye for Santa to visit. And that maybe, in the Christmases to come, there'd be a brood of Baby Boshaws too, ready to tear the tree down and hurl food at each other, giddy in their festive hysteria. She thought about sharing such a fanciful idea with him, and went to murmur a few sweet suggestions in his ruddy ear. Maybe they could make some new dreams tonight...

Sharky wasn’t listening though.

“Maybe we go Die Hard 2 instead… be in keeping with the ol’ time of year?”

“All the guys who break into the airport die in that movie, Shark.”

She sighed and stroked his cheek.

"I think, maybe, as much as it sucks, we just have to let this one go."

He went to open his mouth to protest or beg or maybe come out with another heist movie to take inspiration from, but the words seemed to fizzle away on the end of his tongue. He knew it was futile. She was right. His visions of making the headlines in every Swedish tabloid evaporated, his name destined not to be heralded by enthusiasts of the Gävlebocken legacy. His shoulders sagged and he seemed to want to disappear into his worn green sweatshirt, like a turtle burrowing back into its shell.

"Hey, y'know, who wants to go smoke the goat anyway, much better things to burn here. Seeds and shit."

He settled into moody, reflective, uncharacteristic silence and Mattie knew not to push the subject any further. And while searching her thoughts for a way to soothe his wounds and bring the hope and joy of the festive season back into his heart, she casually leaned over to the table and picked up his abandoned plane ticket, also slightly singed like everything else the man owned (what had happened this time, Mattie couldn’t even begin to guess). 

Her stomach dropped.

The rollercoaster was taking an unexpected plunge deeper into irony.

There it was, printed neatly under DESTINATION.

A final foil for the Sharknado that had sought to wreak havoc across the fjords of Scandinavia.

“Shark, babe…”

“Yeah?”

“The big ass goat is in Sweden, right? You know, next to Norway?”

“Home of the dancing queen an' the smorgasbord. Oooh, and the chef.” He proceeded to spit out a garbled string of vowels in poor imitation of the Swedish language.

Mattie sighed and for a moment, debated whether to just keep her mouth shut. To let his Christmas dreams, however shattered, maintain some form of dignity. But laughter pulled at the corners of her mouth, from the singsong Muppetry in her ear and the ridiculous error before her eyes and she just knew it would make him laugh too;

“... Shark, this ticket is for Switzerland.”

He gave her a little confused frown and she wrapped her arms around his neck, to press her forehead, and then her lips softly to his.

“God, I love you so much.”

He returned her kiss, sharing her warmth and the sweet taste of hot cocoa and a sprig of mint and melted marshmallow, running his hands through her wind-swept hair. They lost themselves in each other, forgetting the snow falling fast outside, and the bodies across the county buried deep amongst the icy grass, and the slowly fading tire tracks from their long journey home.

And wrapped in the comforting embrace of her best friend, Mattie’s imagination shone. 

A flame taking to the tinder, spreading until it burned so strongly, it could never be extinguished.

---------- 

"My extremities are getting real cold, chica, an' I'm too young to lose my junk t’ frostbite."

"Don't worry, you'll be warm soon enough."

"Heh heh, sounds like a party."

Mattie had led Sharky through the dark forestry, the trees naked and sparse like a threadbare patchwork blanket. They'd walked for some time, boots snapping the carpet of fallen branches and crunching in the deep snow and squeaking over patches of icy oil spills across the roads, until they'd reached a pasture south of the Henbane.

And now, in the early hours of the morning, he stood blindfolded, Mattie's hands protectively on his shoulders (although she'd been tempted to mischievously let him wander into a patch of shrubbery or two, but decided she didn't want to be pulling thorns and thistles out of his ass all night).

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

A few more steps, up a slight incline, the frozen grass snapping underfoot. 

“OK, you can look now.”

Sharky tore off the blindfold in childlike impatience and his eyes widened at the sight he beheld.

Before them, silhouetted by the amber light from surrounding torches and the staring full moon, stood a large wicker goat.

A Gävlebocken… well, a Hopebocken.

A warm earthy brown, as though the trees hadn’t perished weeks before, with bark flaking from it to make the fur seem shaggy, thick, truly like a majestic beast from the hills of Scandinavia, with fleece enough to shroud a Viking king. Horns magnificent upon its head, red and gold Christmas ribbons adorning them like Roman wreaths. His nose was round and his face was long and he stood watch upon the hill, noble, a guardian, a protector.

And at his feet were gathered the artists of this crudely fashioned idol. Nick and Kim, Hurk and Adelaide and Xander, Dutch and Jess, Jerome and Mary May, Virgil and Wade and Eli and Tammy and Merle… it seemed the whole county, faces beaming and hands willing, had stepped forward to play their part in Sharky's Christmas miracle.

Mattie watched Sharky take a stunned step forward.

"I wanted to surprise you." She whispered into his ear, taking his hand and giving it a little squeeze.

And there was that smile she loved so much. His eyes crinkled in the corners and a laugh catapulted itself from deep in his throat into the night air. It rose like a ball of light, and exploded into a thousand stars to light the county and every county beyond it.

"I… I…" He stammered, pupils dilated, entranced, and he turned back to face the love of his life, choking on the wonderment and the realisation of just what she had done for him. “I can…?”

“You bet.”

“And I ain’t gonna get arrested?”

“Like that’s bothered you before?” She grinned and watched as he jumped and whooped, punching the air. Overwhelmed with adrenaline. Crying her name to the heavens, unabashedly proclaiming how much he loved her and all who had come to give him this gift.

“Shark… Shark?”

His head spunt to gaze at her.

An almost breathless gasp escaped him.

And the look on his face made Mattie want to throw herself upon him and never let go.

In her outstretched arms, lay a new flamethrower, blue and purple disco graffiti emblazoned on the side, and a big red bow ornately tied along the neck. She carefully placed it in his hands, and he weighed it, mesmerized, feeling the perfect balance of the full canister of fuel, and the soon-to-be warmed steel. Tears bloomed in the corners of his as he grasped it. As he readied himself for the greatest bonfire of his life.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

She placed a careful kiss on his lips.

“Now… go toast that goat.”

[digital-gargoyle]

Much Needed Interaction (Dragon of Duckberg AU)

The good news was after the whole debacle with Glomgold, the boys were more than happy to stay in the mansion as Donald went looking for another job.

Even after Donald refused to have a full conversation with his uncle without some under current bitterness; the Gold Dragon of Duckburg, Scrooge McDuck, opened his heart (and home) to his family.

He didn't even have to fight for their lodging; three sincere pairs of puppy eyes from his boys was all he needed to crack. As soon as he broke, the kids cheered and jumped onto their uncle's legs, clamoring for his attention.

Donald ignored how Scrooge visibly softened, wrapping his wings around them protectively.

The boys were ecstatic, running around with Beakly's granddaughter (who clearly needed the social interaction) and already had a couple of stories of their great-uncle (one of them being how Scrooge wrestled a cursed gold-hunting dragon away from his Bin-

"It was so cool, Uncle Donald! That dragon broke out of the stone like nothing, and then Scrooge just went, 'Don't ye dare!' and grabbed his throat and slammed him to the ground! And they went at it like two tigers!"

Dewey excitedly recounted the day's events with vigor, promptly ignoring his brother's additions in favor of his rendition.

Donald struggled to follow, but considering how every respectable news outlet already covered the unexpected dragon fight that occurred throughout the city, he felt that he could catch up later.

Scrooge, who was licking his paws clean from Glomgold's blood (and seeing how the Lindworm looked after his scuffle with Scrooge, Donald suspected he'd be there awhile), let out a wisp of smoke.

"That ruffian was nothing more than an upstart who managed to get himself cursed," Scrooge huffed, shaking his head. "No self-respecting dragon would ever shame themselves like that, much less try and steal another dragon's hoard in their territory."

"You have a territory?" Louie asked.

"Lad, all of Duckburg is mine. I patrol, protect, and keep my hoard within the boundaries, so that young'un should've known better."

"Woah," Huey breathed, his eyes as bright as gems. "Dragon politics…")

-to which Donald accepted with grimace.

His boys had definitely accustomed quickly to the change. Huey had grown bolder, asking a hundred questions a minute about anything he could think of. Scrooge would attempt to answer them, having not yet realized that his answers were being documented into the Woodchuck guidebook.

Dewey never hesitated to ask for stories, or free rides, to which Scrooge would cheekily reply, 'I'm not a horse. Five minutes a quarter.'

(Dewey hadn't touched the ground in several days.)

Even Louie had found a place in Scrooge's world. They bonded over gold and treasure, talking business and everything in-between in the McDuck caves, something that Donald wasn't happy about.

("If you want to be around them, you can do that in the Manor. My boys aren't setting a foot in those caves."

Scrooge didn't argue. Louie was annoyed.)

Still, the boys were happy, he reminded himself. That was enough.

The only drawback was dealing with his proud, fluffed-up dragon of an uncle who strutted his win throughout the mansion. His white coat was puffed with familial instincts long since forgotten, and Donald found at least one of the children buried under his gold-flecked feathers at all times.

That wasn't a bad thing overall. It was good that someone was watching over his boys when he wasn't around. Who better than a dragon?

The problem was that Scrooge finally remembered who his ward was.

It was getting harder to avoid his uncle nowadays - a side effect of living under the same roof as him - and even more so since his kids insisted on spending every waking moment with the gold dragon (and Donald's paranoia never letting them be alone with each other if he could help it).

Scrooge would prowl the grounds daily, usually ending at the backyard pool where Donald's boat resided. Once, he found his uncle shoving his snout down the hub, keeping his lower body on the roofs as an easy escape.

(However, due to how his sharp ears swerved to his direction, Donald had a feeling Scrooge wanted to be caught.)

Still, it didn't make being around him easier. Every moment alone with him was extremely awkward, filled with avoided eyes and emotions buried under years threatening to spill out of each other's throats. Especially when conversation was attempted.

"Have ye flown recently, lad?"

Donald stopped dead in his tracks, his hand posed over the doorknob. Tonight, against all odds, had been a good one.

The kids had settled playing on Scrooge's large body, scoping the loops it naturally formed to. Scrooge had stayed still as stone, never jostling his fragile load, and constantly double-checking with Donald whenever he did. 

After a long, giggled-filled night, they'd fallen asleep absolutely covered in gold flecks, looking as though they swam in glitter.

Webby had been taken up by her grandmother hours ago. Although Donald didn't see it, he could guess what kind of look she gave Scrooge by how he bowed his head and avoided eye contact.

Leaving him to deal with his emotionally- constipated uncle, who was desperate to mend the rift between them. Donald, on the other hand, was in no rush to do so.

And so, with his arms full of ducklings, he wanted nothing more than to leave the question unanswered.

"…No, I haven't."

A faint smile ghosted on his uncle's face, his gold eyes brightening. It burned in Donald's heart, and he hated how that look made him want to bury his face in his uncle's soft feathers.

"Well, would you like to come with me and Launchpad? We could use the company. Ye'd be surprised by how much Duckburg has changed over the years-"

"Thanks, Uncle Scrooge, really. But I need to get the boys to bed. Go on without me."

With that, Donald turned back to the door. He needed to be firm. Needed to place boundaries between himself and the personification of his past. Before he did something ridiculous like act like nothing happened.

Behind him, he heard claws click against the wooden floor, getting louder as the dragon got closer to him and his boys.

Donald knew that Scrooge had the ability to walk around without noise. He also knew that Scrooge knew what he was doing. And he hated that he appreciated the warning.

"Ye can't carry all of them. Let me help."

No, Donald wanted to say. Don't bother. I've done this for ten years, I got it. Don't even come near us.

"Grab Louie," he said instead. "He sleeps the heaviest."

Donald watched with bated breath as his uncle's teeth clamped down gently on Louie's hoodie. As soon as the duckling was secure, Scrooge lowered, and with grace and ease, leaped up to the hole between the ceiling and the wall made specially for him.

Donald winced at the groan of the wood, but he kept his beak shut, in fear of waking the other two. Scrooge disappeared to the other side of the wall, and Donald followed soon after.

They walked in silence up the stairs. Donald constantly glanced to Louie's state, despite how loudly the duckling snored was enough of a reassurance.

It wasn't because he feared that Scrooge would drop him, far from it. It was more about how Louie ragdolled, but Donald's glances did get his uncle to secure the duckling even more.

Soon enough, they were in the triplets room. Scrooge once again made the jump from between the walls as Donald went through the door.

Louie was placed as far onto the bed as Scrooge's horns would allow, but it wasn't long before both adults were out of the room.

Silence hung between them.

Scrooge tilted his head back towards the main foyer, indicating Donald to follow him. With nothing better to do (other than to just straight out refuse), he walked just behind him.

At the foyer, as Scrooge took his spot in front the fireplace curled up tight, Donald found his favorite loveseat, coated with a thin layer of dust.

His heart clenched. He sat down.

From his seat, he suddenly remembered why this loveseat was his favorite. Closest to the books, closest to the cool windows with the best view…

Closest to Scrooge.

Suddenly, the loveseat didn't carry its usual charm.

"Lad…" Donald looked up, meeting his uncle's golden eyes. "How do you feel about all this?"

What a loaded question.

How did he feel? Before on the dock, he felt as though this arrangement was the obvious conclusion. The two sides of his family had connected, had an adventure, therefore they had to mix.

The only thing Donald could do was set ground rules.

"I don't know how you want me to feel."

He was losing control to the patriarch of the family, so he had to push back. Make himself independent. Stay in the stupid pool.

If only Scrooge would play by those rules.

"I won't hurt them, Donald."

His vision didn't turn red. He didn't clench his hand so hard that his bones creaked. He didn't get a headache due to how tightly his jaw tensed.

It was close, though.

"How can you promise me that? You can keep them out of trouble, but you keep yourself out of it? I leave them with you for two days and I have to rescue them from a sinking Atlantis!"

Donlad had jumped off his chair at some point, cornering his uncle.

Scrooge slinked back, ears pinned to his skull. Donald chased him, voice growing angier but not in volume.

The anger that had been boiling for ten years had long since cooled off, but something deep within him wanted to release all of his grievances, frustrations, guilt, stress, and hatred onto his uncle, who had the nerve to just sit there and take it.

"You only know how to protect yourself. You did it with Mom and Aunt Matilda and you did it again with Della. I won't let you do it with my boys."

Scrooge had completely shrunk back, cowed by his nephew's righteous anger. His instincts snarled at this act of pitiful yielding, but Scrooge swallowed back his pride. This wasn't about him.

"I can't promise you that they won't get hurt." Scrooge reasoned. "But I can promise I'll keep them alive."

To anyone else, the sight of the Beast of the Klondike, the richest dragon in the world, the Gold Dragon of Duckburg bowing submissively to a common duck would be near blasphemous.

Like a king begging to a peasant.

But despite everything, Scrooge was no king. Just a very old dragon wanting to reconnect with his family. He'd beg for the sky to fall if he could.

"I don't want to fight anymore. Can't we have this?" The plea was whispered, near swallowed by the tense atmosphere, yet to Donald it felt like a shout.

"Can't we try?"

Could they?

"I…"

Could they start over? Could he look at his Uncle without expecting his sister at his side?

"I can't forget what you did."

It hurt to say, even after all these years. Donald looked away from Scrooge, who bowed his head in shame.

"But I want to forgive." Scrooge's head snapped up. "I want to move on. So… we can try."

"Donald-"

"With some boundaries, obviously. Like no more sticking your nose down my house."

"You don't really have to live there-"

"I want to."

"I… alright. The boys too?"

Donald sighed. "No, they're fine here. We'll… We'll be fine here."

Scrooge prodded his head to Donald's chest, to which he gratefully hugged. He rested his body on his uncle's head, and the gentle rumbles emitting from Scrooge's throat soothed his nerves.

"Uncle Scrooge? What about your night patrol?"

The dragon hummed. "There's always tomorrow, lad." 

Scrooge wrapped his body around him, cradling him close and lulling him to sleep with the vibrations of the draconian tongue long since forgotten to time. Donald sighed, content to just be held by his uncle.

They weren't okay, but they were starting to heal. That's what they needed.

[fresh-outta-jams]

Plastic Heart - Prologue

Namjoon x Reader Author: Mo Summary: When you get the highly-anticipated BTS dolls for Christmas, your life takes a turn in a way you never could have expected. Note: So, uh, this is that Toy Story AU I was talking about… Yeah. I’ve already got like four chapters written, so I guess we’re in for another Namjoon series lmao I have no regrets. Let me know if u wanna be tagged! Warnings: None? I’m Namjoon trash but we all knew that lmao. Word Count: 1k

Prologue, 1, 2, 3, 4

Christmas evening had arrived, and as you had every year for your whole childhood, you and your family were gathered at your grandparents’ house to celebrate the holiday. You were in college now, so you didn’t scout the gigantic present pile quite as closely as your younger cousins did, but you spared it a passing glance while helping your mother and aunts cook the Christmas cookies.

You were wrapped up in your favorite BTS hoodie, a memento from their most recent tour, the Speak Yourself Tour. It had been the first time you’d seen them in concert after what felt like eons of stanning them, and it was so bizarre and awe-inspiring to see them in person. Even though your seats hadn’t been very close to them, you’d still gotten to see them all with your own two eyes, and that was enough for you. They were actually really real human people. Wild.

When she spotted what you were wearing, your favorite and most eccentric aunt grinned to herself, giving your hip a little pinch that made you yelp. “Still into your boys?”

“Who, these boys?” You motioned to your shirt. “Of course I am!”

“Good, good…” She nodded to herself with a pleased and mischievous grin on her face. “You’ll like your present then, I’m sure.”

“Ooh, no spoilers Aunt Matilda!” You laughed, blushing bright red. Despite your half-hearted protests, you were definitely excited now, and could hardly wait for present time. It was like being nine years old all over again.

Eventually, the cookies were all baked, the family was all gathered, and the presents were all distributed. Your pile was much bigger this year than you were used to, but that was all because of the seven rectangular boxes from your Aunt Matilda. The rest of your presents this year, as they had been since you were around eighteen, came in an envelope, usually in the form of money or a gift card. This present, however, was mysterious, but maybe not as mysterious as it should have been.

Waiting behind the shiny purple wrapping paper of the first box you picked up was a plastic replica of none other than President Dimple Dork himself. “OMG YOU DIDN’T!!!” You squealed excitedly, looking him over and stroking the plastic that was standing between you and the little plastic Namjoon. “Aunt Matilda, you are literally the best!”

“I thought you might like those.” She smiled, watching you kick your legs with childlike glee. This was quite possibly the best thing she could have ever gotten for you, considering, somehow, miraculously, you didn’t have them already. You knew there was a perfect spot for them in your apartment.

You didn’t waste any more time before getting the rest out of their wrapping paper so you could look all of them over individually. Sure, what the Twitter ARMYs had said was true: they weren’t PERFECT recreations of your seven favorite Korean pop stars...but they were still cute, and you couldn’t wait to take them home and get them out of their boxes.

If only you’d known then just what waited inside them…

***

Once Christmas break was over and you were finally back to your apartment, you took the seven plastic boxes back to your bedroom to finally, finally open. It had taken all of your willpower to not to open them while you were home, but you didn’t want to lose one of their shoes or something. Plus, they were easier to transport when they were all in similarly shaped boxes than they were loose. Easier to count, too.

So, as soon as you stepped inside the door to your room, you set them all on your desk, letting them tumble from your arms. After apologizing to the ones you had dropped--Jungkook and Yoongi--you dug around in your drawer for a pair of scissors sturdy enough to cut into the boxes. You had years of Barbie experience under your belt, you knew these didn’t come open easy.

You picked up Jimin’s box first, cutting through the plastic and being very careful not to cut yourself on the sharp edge. Once you had the box open, you pulled out the piece of cardboard he was strapped to. There was a wire around his waist, one around each of his wrists and ankles, and one around his neck. You gently twisted them until they came apart and then set him on the shelf.

It took some time, but eventually, you got down to the very last box, the one holding Namjoon. You grinned to yourself, admiring the details of his little plastic face. They’d even added his famous dimple. How cute.

“Let’s get you out of there, huh buddy?” You chuckled to yourself, cutting open the last box and pulling the leader free from his plastic prison. Working with tender care, you undid the binds holding him and then set him on the shelf next to the rest of the others. There. All done. You slapped your hands against one another and started to pick up all of the little pieces of wire and whatnot, tossing them into the garbage before you gathered up the larger pieces, the boxes, namely, and took them to the kitchen, where you kept your recycling bin.

As soon as the door was securely closed, Namjoon looked both ways at the other dolls. You’d situated him right in the middle, organizing them in order of age.

“Well she’s…” He started, unsure of exactly what to say now that they were finally all alone.

“Older than I thought she would be.” Yoongi provided. The others nodded. When they’d been scooped up from the toy store for the holiday rush, all seven of them, they’d been expecting some thirteen-year-old fangirl to place them on her shelf, maybe force them into romances with her Barbie dolls that she couldn’t help but pretend was her. They certainly were not expecting this...college student. It was a pleasant surprise, to say the least.

“Yeah,” Hoseok agreed. “Thank God for that, huh?”

“I like her.” Tae decided, smiling that boxy smile of his. Even as a plastic replica, he still retained some of his namesake’s charm. Maybe not his perfect hair, but at least he’d gotten to keep Taehyung’s adorable boxy smile.

Namjoon nodded, his painted-on eyes wistful. “Yeah, I do too…”

Tagged: @iie-wakarimasen, @demonic-meatball, @backtonormalthings

[peachhoneii]

94 with Scroldie

Scrooge dangled above a bubbling cauldron of oil and wondered what was slipping onto his feathers. Digestive fluid. Right. Slow acting digestive fluid.

The fluid was ejected through twine. The twine was quite literally wrapped around the entirety of Scrooge’s body, from beak to ankles. He thought of Matilda’s dollies moments before they were thrown in the trash bin.

Goldie procured a diamond dagger out of her back pocket and twirled it in her left hand.

Scrooge hissed but soon cast a wary stare in the right corner of the room. Goldie noticed his misdirection and chuckled.

“Arachne is fast asleep,” she reassured, wiggling the dagger above his waist line. “She’s an eight legged freak that knows how to have a good time.”

She took her sweet time, slicing away the sticky silk. Once she’d gotten a good cut all it took was pulling the cobweb apart, freeing Scrooge in four to seven swipes. She cradled his neck, giving him the chance to land on his feet without worry, and she sheathed her dagger, grinning from ear to ear.

“You...could’a…,” he bent low, gripping his knees. Every word was connected to a painful pant, “Could’a told me your friend was a giant, carnivorous spider.”

“She’s never tried eating me.” She walked around, pressing one hand on his back and using the other to grip his arm. She round it around her shoulders, and slowly, they departed out of the basement. “And we’ve been at this for one hundred and twenty two years.”

As they trudged upstairs to the kitchen, Scrooge noticed the oversized spider - thirty times the size of a man - sleeping soundly in the corner. Four of its eight legs twitched. Drool pooled under its chin.

“You cheated,” he rasped pathetically. “I saw you.”

“Me losing meant you wouldn’t have outdrank her,” Goldie belched, pushing Scrooge out the door. He fell back on a bookshelf, clutching his chest as he tried to regain his breathing. She closed the door quietly, “And then we would’ve died.”

“I’m Scrooge McDuck,” he barked weakly. “I can outdrink any arachnid.”

She regarded him wryly before crossing the kitchen, opening cabinets until she found an empty glass and a box of aspirin.

“I’m offended you don’t have more faith in me,” she turned on the faucet and filled the glass halfway, “but honestly, it’s understandable given past experience.” She set the glass and tablet on the table, motioning silently for him to drink.

“Shouldn’t we be on our way?”

“Nah,” she plopped in one of the chairs. “She’ll be out for another seventeen hours.”

Scrooge hobbled to a chair seated across her and shoved the aspirin down his throat. When it got suck, he drank greedily. “Seventeen hours?”

“We drank a lot.”

“And you?”

“I have my skills,” she shrugged, then tucked her wrist under her beak. “How about it? We should hang out with my friends more often.”

Still gripping the glass and panting, Scrooge heaved. “Your humor is not appreciated.”

[lettheladylead]

Not Your Aunt

Chapter 3: Gladstone [ao3 link]

It’d been a year since Scrooge started regularly babysitting his niece and nephew. Goldie had only had the misfortune of interacting with them a handful of times, though one of those handfuls was a week-long bedridden visit where they asked too many questions and got way too attached to her. So before leaving, she stole from their piggy banks to teach them an important lesson: Goldie O’Gilt is not their family and she’s certainly not their aunt.

The next time she visited after that, the kids seemed properly sour and uninterested in her, so clearly they got the message. Or they just had a bad day. Either way, she could focus on Scrooge and treasure and then move on with her plans. She was able to visit without interacting with children a good half a dozen times after that, which really made her days go faster. It was nice.

She was stopping by in early February to grab some items she’d left behind (for safekeeping, of course) when Goldie learned that Scrooge’s family was continuing to...expand. There were now twice as many children in the mansion and the two new kids were apparently not deterred by Donald and Della’s attempts to warn them about their uncle’s thieving ex.

The kid in green found her in the foyer and lifted up his sunglasses to wink at her. “Well hello there!”

She blinked down at him. “...hello.”

He shuffled closer and stuck out his tiny little hand. “Gladstone Gander! And you are…?”

Goldie pinched his hand between two fingers and gave it a single shake before letting go. She didn’t appreciate the tone she was getting from this child who couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve. “You can call me Miss O’Gilt.”

Gladstone pouted at her response and then shrugged before putting the sunglasses back. “Suit yourself. I’m a real catch!”

“I’m sure,” Goldie groaned. “Where’s Scrooge? I need to talk to him.”

The kid pointed towards the stairs. “Uncle Scrooge is in his office, I think.”

“Uncle?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Did Hortense have another kid or...are you Matilda’s?” The concept of Matilda having a child had Goldie immediately confused. She was pretty sure she knew that woman’s goals and motherhood was never on her list. They’d bonded over the lack of interest once in the past.

“Huh?” Gladstone tilted his head. “No, Auntie Hortense is married to Uncle Quackmore, who’s my mom’s brother. Who’s Matilda?”

Goldie closed her eyes and put two fingers to her temple as she felt a headache forming. She supposed if they stretched the definition enough, then Scrooge could be literally anyone’s uncle even if they had some gigantic distant relation to him. It was kind of annoying. “I guess she’s...also your aunt. You’ll probably meet her someday.” With that, Goldie turned around and started towards the stairs.

The kid followed her and she resisted the urge to punt him into another room. “So you know Uncle Scrooge and Auntie Hortense? Are you Uncle Scrooge’s secret wife?”

“No.” She didn’t even give him a glance as she headed up the stairs.

“Does that mean you’re single?” he asked with a toothy grin.

Goldie looked down at him again and then rolled her eyes. “You’re a bit young to be at this level of annoying.”

“Annoying?” Gladstone put a shocked hand to his chest and frowned. “You must be unlucky like Donald and Della. Only unlucky people call me annoying!”

Alright, that was a curious enough statement to make Goldie pause and lean against the banister. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gladstone walked up another few steps so his head was about the same height as her’s. “I’m the luckiest goose in the world! Even luckier than my mom!”

Goldie quirked an eyebrow. “Luckiest in the world, huh? How would you know that?”

“I know that ‘cause...I’m Gladstone Gander!” He did a little spin and stuck his hands into his pockets before pulling out a dozen twenty dollar bills. “I found all of these just on my walk earlier!”

She stared at the money and, on reflex, plucked a few out of his hands. He didn’t even react as she pocketed them. “That’s pretty normal when you’re walking around Scrooge McDuck’s mansion, kid.”

He reached into his pockets again and pulled out another dozen bills. “No, no, these aren’t from Uncle Scrooge! I got these while walking around town!”

That caught her attention a bit more. Goldie pocketed a few more of the twenties before putting a hand against the bottom of her beak. “That does sound particularly lucky.”

He gave her a thumbs up, clearly happy that he’d convinced her of his gift, and Goldie thought about her plans for the weekend. She’d intended on grabbing a pair of earrings she’d left in Scrooge’s dresser and a mystical gem-finder he’d locked up in his Other Bin before heading to Macaw, but...perhaps she could use a partner. Well, more like a sidekick. Or a mascot.

“How would you like to go on a trip and really put your luck to the test?”

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

Despite him being a very, very annoying little kid, Goldie had to admit that bringing him along was worth the frustrations.

She’d never done this well at the Galaxy Macaw, especially not at the slot machines. She could cheat her way through any old card game, but playing with other people brought too much attention to her presence. And the owner would be very unhappy if he saw she’d returned after what happened last time.

Her disguise wasn’t particularly artful - just a short black wig and green-tinted sunglasses - but it was enough to keep security from noticing her striking blonde amongst the sea of dark-haired birds around them. Gladstone managed to win a new little outfit for himself within a few minutes of entering the casino, and Goldie was happy that no one questioned the child’s presence. After a few wins at the slot machines, earning herself and her little partner a significant bit of cash, Goldie let the kid wander off on his own and started casing the place, getting ready for the actual reason for her travels.

“Miss O’Gilt?” Gladstone asked as he reappeared, tugging at her hand to get her attention.

“I told you not to use my last name here,” she hissed in response, glancing around to make sure no one overheard.

“Oh, right!” He tapped a finger against his chin. “So, then...Aunt Goldie, why exactly are we here? Not that I’m not having fun, but…this all seems kind of random.”

She held back a growl at the name - why did these kids always lean into the “aunt” moniker first? - and plopped her hand on top of his head. “Don’t worry about it. You should just keep having fun while I cash out and take care of some business.”

He shrugged. “Alright, but I bet I could help you with whatever you’re really here for! Uncle Scrooge never lets me help him find stuff ‘cause he says it’s cheating, but this is just how I live, y’know?”

Goldie removed her hand from his head and laid it on her hip. “I appreciate the offer, but this is something I need to take care of alone.” She glanced around the room and paused at the sight of a line of phone booths. “If I’m not back in a half hour, call your uncle to pick you up, alright?”

Gladstone followed her line of sight, then turned back to look up at her. “Are you doing something dangerous?”

“Hopefully not, but you never know.”

The kid pouted and leaned back on his heels. “...are you sure I can’t come with?”

Goldie crossed her arms over her chest. “Just stay here,” she said sternly, and quickly disappeared before Gladstone could follow.

He frowned and looked around himself. He knew nothing bad would happen to him, but it was still weird for an adult to leave him alone in a place so filled with strangers. Goldie was certainly unlike any other adults he’d spent time with, and he wasn’t at all surprised that Donald and Della had such conflicting feelings about her.

That being said, he could see a snack stand not too far away, so he rushed over to grab some pretzels. As soon as he arrived, the man running the stand gave him a big toothy smile, said he was the one thousandth customer of the day, and then handed him a giant pretzel for free.

It was nice being Gladstone Gander.

As he chomped away, a big banner above some of the slot machines caught his attention. In bright, bold letters he saw the words THE MACAW RUBY and more information about it being some rare, potentially mystical artifact that would be on display starting at 5 o’clock sharp.

He thought about that for a moment. From what he knew about Goldie, which wasn’t much but he’d understood the gist of it, she liked to steal things. Really cool, expensive, fancy things. He didn’t have to be a genius to put two and two together and realize she was after that ruby.

Whether or not she wanted his help, Gladstone decided he was going to be a part of this. After all, maybe the ruby would just come into his possession thanks to his luck! No one would need to steal anything, it would simply belong to him. And then he could give it to her and she’d give him a hug as thanks and who wouldn’t want that?

By the time he arrived at the place where the ruby was going to be displayed, it was only a few minutes to five and Gladstone took note of the extremely heavy security detail in front of the curtain. If Goldie hadn’t already gotten the ruby, there was no way she was going to get past all of them.

So he walked up to one of the guards and locked his hands behind his back. “Hi there!”

The guard looked down at him and didn’t respond.

“I’m Gladstone!”

Still no response.

Gladstone pouted, but he was pretty sure he could charm this guy into showing him the gem. “Can I see the fancy ruby?”

The guard made a face at him before turning to look at another guard and then proceeded to speak in a language that Gladstone didn’t recognize. He realized after a moment that it was probably Mandarin, which would make a lot of sense, considering where they were.

The other guard walked over and grabbed Gladstone by the back of his shirt, holding him up in front of his face. “Where’re your parents, kid? You shouldn’t be walking around here by yourself,” he said in a rough, heavy accent.

Gladstone frowned and crossed his arms. “I’m no kid! I’m just really short for my age! And I’ve won, like, fifty thousand dollars today, so you can’t tell me what to do!”

The guard frowned and his grip on Gladstone’s shirt tightened. “What’d you just say to me? I’m not in the mood for some brat and his-”

“Excuse me, sir,” a new voice called out.

All three boys looked over to see Goldie standing there, arms crossed and looking certainly unhappy, and with a purse over her shoulder that Gladstone didn’t remember being there when they’d arrived at the casino.

“That’s my nephew you’re manhandling, you oversized hog,” Goldie growled, reaching out and grabbing Gladstone so she could properly plop him down next to her. “You treat all your guests like this?”

The guard stood up straight and glared at her, pointing angrily towards Gladstone. “You might wanna teach your kid some manners, lady! He won’t be so lucky next time he pisses me off.”

“I’m sure that’s very difficult to do,” Goldie said with an eyeroll. “Come on, Gladdy, it’s time for us to go.”

Gladstone just nodded and took her hand. As they were leaving, a bunch of rich-looking snobs were walking in the opposite direction, probably excited to see the fancy gemstone that was about to be unveiled. He was pretty sure Goldie had already taken it and it was sitting in her bag right by his face. Though he wondered if she replaced it with a fake or if things were about to go crazy in this casino.

A moment later and Gladstone turned his head at the sound of an announcer and some clapping and a stunned silence and then an audience-wide gasp. Goldie clutched his hand a little tighter at the sound of the gasp and he noticed she’d picked up a tiny bit of speed.

With her walking faster, he fell behind her and looked up to see a shocking and unfortunate sight: a few strands of long blonde hair had fallen out from under her wig and were completely visible to anyone who could see her back. He opened his mouth to say something when he was cut off by the loudest scream he’d ever heard from someone that wasn’t Donald.

“IT’S GOLDIE O’GILT! GET HER BEFORE SHE GETS AWAY!”

Suddenly Gladstone was picked up and being held in Goldie’s arms as she quickly exited the building and ran towards the nearest available taxi. He didn’t even have a second to breathe before she had the driver heading towards the airport as fast as he could go.

She tore off the wig and sunglasses and shoved them into her bag, which Gladstone noticed didn’t seem to get any bigger as she did. He looked into it and saw what seemed to be some sort of endless vortex. Neat!

Goldie laughed and patted his head. “Good job out there, kid. That was fun,” she said as she reached into the bag and pulled out another wig - this time it was brown and wavy. It seemed she was prepared for the possibility that someone might try following her.

“Thanks, Aunt Goldie,” he responded with a smirk, remembering how much that name annoyed her earlier. “So where’s my cut of the profits?”

She raised an eyebrow at him and clearly looked like she was about to laugh at his question. “Why don’t we focus on getting you home before we talk about that?”

Gladstone put a hand to his chin in thought. Really, money wasn’t an issue for him. He found money all the time, and even when he didn’t, his parents had plenty of money of their own. But he did feel like Goldie owed him for all his help. “Okay, sure.”

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

First their taxi driver gave them a free ride because he was in such a good mood, then their plane tickets ended up being free thanks to a clerical error, and they were given a free ride from the airport to Scrooge’s mansion because who the hell could keep track of all the reasons why things were free? Goldie was certainly enjoying the perks of carrying around Scrooge’s little luck magnet. If she didn’t have places to be, she’d stop by his office and yell at him for not telling her about the kid sooner.

That being said, he was starting to get a little too attached and it was bugging the hell out of her.

“So when are you gonna visit again? We could go to another casino!” Gladstone said excitedly, bouncing in his seat. “Or some other place you’d need my luck for. An underground poker game, maybe?”

Goldie chuckled and leaned back, recognizing the area the taxi turned into as only a few blocks from Scrooge’s place. “Look, kid -”

“Gladstone!”

“...right. Gladstone. This has been lots of fun, but you shouldn’t get confused. I’m not a part of your family, I’m not gonna just stop by and visit and take you on trips all the time. I just conveniently already had plans to go somewhere where I’d benefit from some luck.”

He frowned. “So this is it? You’re just done with me now?”

“Well…” She shrugged. “I don’t like to limit myself. Who knows what the future will hold? I just wouldn’t get your hopes up or plan for me coming back anytime soon.”

Gladstone pouted again and let out a quiet hmph! before turning to look out the window. They’d arrived at the front gate of Uncle Scrooge’s house and he’d decided he was just about ready to leave.

They came to a stop and Gladstone quickly opened up the door and stepped outside, stretching dramatically and yawning. He turned to say something to Goldie when he was cut off by a loud, familiar screech.

“THERE HE IS!”

Gladstone turned to see Donald and Uncle Scrooge running towards him from down the sidewalk. He was very confused to see that they’d gone for a walk instead of hanging around the house, since they never wanted to go for walks when he was in the mood.

“Hi, Uncle Scrooge-”

Scrooge ran over and swept Gladstone up in a giant hug. “We’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you, lad! Where’ve you been? What did you…” Scrooge’s words faded out as he noticed the familiar smirk staring at him from the inside of a taxi.

“Hey there, hun.”

“G-Goldie?!” Scrooge looked at her and then down at Gladstone and then back up at her. “Did you take him?!”

“Sure did,” she responded with a shrug. “I left you a note in your office. You should really pay more attention to these things.”

Donald just watched this conversation with a frown. He wanted to assume that Aunt Goldie was lying about leaving a note, but he also knew that Uncle Scrooge definitely didn’t check and just assumed the worst when they couldn’t find Gladstone all day. He’d been screaming about how Daphne was going to kill him for losing her son, but it seems he didn’t lose anyone at all.

Scrooge sputtered angrily at Goldie, holding Gladstone against his legs and trying to find his words. “You-! You...you kidnapped him!”

“I did no such thing, you old miser. He wanted to come along,” Goldie said, glaring angrily. She turned towards her cabby and said something that the boys couldn’t hear, then the car started to drive away.

Scrooge glared right back until Gladstone, a few moments later, shook himself out of Scrooge’s grip and ran towards the car. “Wait! But-! What about my profits?!” he shouted as it turned onto the next street over.

Gladstone sighed, realizing his luck wasn’t gonna bring his money back to him. Though he guessed he still had a really fun time and he didn’t exactly need the money, so maybe that was enough. He looked up to see Uncle Scrooge staring down at him. “What’s up?”

“Should I be concerned about this?” Scrooge asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Gladstone shrugged. “Should I be concerned that a stranger came into your house and took me on a trip across the globe without you knowing about it?”

That one shut Scrooge up, and he huffed before turning around and heading back to the manor. Gladstone looked over at Donald who just seemed to be confused.

“What’s wrong, Donald-o?”

He frowned and shrugged. “I’m just surprised that Aunt Goldie took you on a trip, is all. She’s never taken me or Della anywhere.”

Gladstone slapped Donald on the back a little harder than he meant to, making the slightly younger duck quack. “Eh, I wouldn’t think too hard about it. Ladies can’t resist my charm, after all!”

Donald rolled his eyes. “You know she’s Uncle Scrooge’s girlfriend, right?”

“Huh?” Gladstone put a hand to his chin and thought about some things Goldie had said to him over the past twenty-four hours. He nodded slowly. “You know what? That makes a lot of sense. Yup, yup. That explains everything.”

“So happy for you,” Donald mumbled and started the long walk back to the manor.

Gladstone quickly caught up to him and smiled brightly. In fact, he just wouldn’t stop smiling at his cousin. He was smiling so much that it was making Donald even more irritated than he’d already been.

“What?”

“Don’t you wanna know about my trip?”

[theunseeliemperoress]

Batkids and Badkids

Quick explanation: This takes place after another longer fic I’m writing. It’s set in an au where Tim get’s powers. In this fic Damian is a 14 year old Freshman in high-school.

Damian stood in the corridor just outside the classroom. It was lunch and he was contemplating whether to go into the dining hall, or skip the whole ordeal and find somewhere else to eat.  ‘Hey Damian!’ He turned around to see Matilda Bennett grinning at him. ‘What do you wa…’ Before he could finish he felt something warm and wet being poured over him, shortly before something came down on his head with a loud clang. ‘Argh!.’ He shrieked. A chorus of laughter erupted around the corridor. Now that he was over the initial shock Damian could see someone had poured blood over him and then thrown the metal pail on his head. He looked up to see Xavier Everett and Judah Tally grinning down at him. Bennett at this point was laughing so hard she sounded as if she was chocking. Seething with rage Damian was about to rush up the stairs and throw at least one of the two jerks over the balcony, before remembering he was on his last warning before he’d be expelled. Not that it was his fault everyone at the school was an imbecile. Still fuming he began to push his way through the crowds to the exit. It wasn’t hard to get past everyone as he was taller than nearly everyone in his grade, as well as a few Sophomores, though being covered in blood also helped. Once he was out of the school gates he began to think. He didn’t want to go home but he really needed to wash the blood off him. After a moment contemplating he started to walk.

Tim sat up with a jolt. He had fallen asleep again only to be woken up by someone knocking on his door. Quickly checking to make sure he had actually put his pants on, Jason still wouldn’t let him live that one down, he made his way to the front door. He opened it a crack to see Damian standing there blood dripping off his fringe. Quickly Tim yanked the door open and pulled his brother inside. After closing the door he turned round to see Damian was still in his school uniform. ‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘Nothing.’ Damian grumbled. ‘But I need to borrow your shower.’ He looked at the surprised look on Tim’s face. ‘And don’t feel too flattered. This wasn’t my first choice, but your place is closer than the manor.’ Tim sighed; he really wasn’t in the mood for arguing. ‘Ok you can use my shower, and you can borrow some of my clothes. But you’re not leaving until you tell me what happened.’ ‘TT. Like you care.’ Damian sneered. Ignoring him Tim went to fetch some clean clothes for Damian, who thanks to his growth spurt was now about the same height as Tim. Once Damian had washed and gotten changed into Tim’s clothes, though the t-shirt had been a struggle (‘How small is your head Drake?’), Tim sat him down on his couch. ‘Ok now seriously what happened?’ Damian squirmed a little. ‘Look I can tell when you’re upset and even if you weren’t being covered in blood isn’t nothing. Now what happened?’ ‘Everett and Tally happened.’ Damian grumbled. ‘Please tell me you didn’t kill them.’ Tim said half jokingly. Damian shook his head. ‘No though I wish I had.’ Tim frowned at the seething fourteen year old. Damian had improved a lot since he’d first met the small angry ten year old, but he was still stubborn when it came to things that would hurt his pride, and it was clear to Tim something had been going on for a while. ‘Damian.’ He began in a stern tone. ‘Have Everett and Tally done anything like this before?’ Damian made another ‘tt’ sound before sighing. ‘They’re just two jerks from the Academy. I mean they’re not the only ones just the worst.’  It wasn’t long before Damian had told him everything, about all the names, and the threats, and the physical attacks. Tim wasn’t surprised Damian had to deal with bullies. He was an angry kid with an accent he hadn’t managed to shake and weird mannerisms. He was bound to be a target for one or two jerks. But he was furious at how bad things had gotten. He had expected to hear about some name calling like he and Cass had endured. But he wasn’t expecting actual death threats, or for anyone to physically attack Damian. (At least not to the severity they had). ‘Why didn’t you fight back?’ he asked. ‘I did!’ Damian snapped. ‘But the teachers just gave me detention and told father I was starting fights. Even if I was attacked in front of them.’ ‘Well did you tell Bruce it wasn’t your fault.’ Damian sunk lower onto the couch a sulky look on his face. Tim sighed again. ‘Damian are you worried he’s going to get mad at you?’ ‘I should be able to defend myself!’ Damian snapped, more to himself then anyone. ‘I should be able to do it easily. But I’m…’ ‘Just one kid!’ Tim interrupted him. ‘You’re just one kid. You can’t be expected to put up with all this on your own.’ Damian looked up at him. Tim was the one who was angry now. ‘Look I get that Talia and…’ He stopped when he saw Damian flinch at his mother’s name. ‘I get you were brought up to think you should be able to take on the world on your own.’ ‘Drake.’ ‘But you can’t.’ ‘Draaake.’ And even if you could you shouldn’t have to.’ ‘Drake!’ Tim stopped talking to see Damian was pointing. He turned to see the table next to him was on fire. ‘Shit.’ He hissed waving his hand, the fire went out leaving no evidence it had been there. ‘You’d think out of all your powers that would be the one you’d learn to control first.’ Damian sneered. ‘Maybe I could practice on you.’ Tim retorted in a mocking tone. Then he turned back to face Damian his face serious again. ‘Honestly though, you don’t have to put up with this bullying on your own.’ Damian was frowning. ‘Drake. Do you think I’m a bully?’ Tim leaned back, he honestly hadn’t seen this one coming. ‘No. I don’t think so. I mean you might of been a bit of a bully when you were younger. Especially to me. But not anymore. Why?’ ‘I was looking stuff up about bullies. Most of its just trash. But a lot of them said bullies often have no friends.’ ‘You have friends.’ Damian shook his head. ‘It feels like I have friends when I’m Robin. But when I’m Damian…’ his voice trailed off. ‘Well what about Jon and Colin?’ Tim asked. Damian shrugged. ‘Jon doesn’t really count, he’s only friends with me because my father knows his.’ ‘We are thinking about the same Jon here right? The kid who came all the way here just to hang out with you.’ ‘Actually he came because he was mad at his parents.’ ‘But he came to you. He could of stormed off anywhere but he came to Gotham.’ Damian looked thoughtful. ‘And any way it’s like you said. Most of that stuff is trash.’ With a sigh Damian stood up. ‘Look I’d better go. Thanks for letting me borrow you shower, and letting me talk I guess. Though I don’t know why you care so much.’ ‘I care because we’re brothers.’ He stood up. ‘Wait a moment.’ He grabbed a bin bag and shoved Damian’s blood soaked uniform inside. ‘I’m not having you get blood all over my clothes. And you’d better bring them back in one piece. I’ve only got one other pair of jeans.’ Damian gave him a smile. Not his usual sneering smiles but a rare genuine one. ‘TT. As if I’d keep anything of yours.’ He sneered, before heading to the stairs. Tim closed the door behind him and stood there thinking for a moment. Before picking up his phone and opening his contacts. His call was answered after only a couple of ring. ‘Tim? What d’ you want?’ ‘Hey Jason I have a quick favour to ask you.’

[artificialqueens]

Church of the Poison mind Ch. 6 (Trixya) - Dahlia

AN: I’m so sorry I’m trash and keep saying I’m gonna post things and then posting them late!!!!! ANYWAY, I slaved over this chapter, but it literally WOULD NOT have gotten done without Lale helping me navigate the ENTIRE exposition, thank you from the bottom the of my soul, sweet angel. And thank you Matilda for being such a sweet lady, and my BABY BROTHER Dannyohd for being PRECIOUS always.

Words flew around the room like picture frames thrown from her mother’s grasp, shattered images and broken glass. Bright lights, headlights, leaving, pulling out of the driveway and peeling down the dark street. Leaving. One left physically, while the other emotionally, leaving Trixie orphaned among the ruins of her home. And with no one around to tell her to be careful around the sharp edges, she found herself falling, skinning her palms and knees.

“This is your fault, you knew about this. You let him destroy me, like I’m some kind of fool. ”

Trixie could not recount how many times she had covered for him, how many lies had threaded out of her in those two years, stitching new truths down the patchwork of her wrinkled clothing. She’d convinced herself it was better that way, no, maybe he’d convinced her. Either way, she couldn’t tell. Her life had become so dizzied, that most days, she found herself tripping over the words that had been fed to her. Maybe, just maybe, she’d spent so long denying her mother the truth, that she’d begun to deny it herself; but like most lies, too big and too grand to keep track of, the truth was a cruel inevitability.

“How could you be so stupid? What kind of daughter are you?”

All of those years spent as a pawn in her parents marriage had never made her any better at chess, or anything she might’ve liked, like singing, or birdwatching. She did however, become proficient in operating the inner workings of her broken home. She became a duplicitous messenger, choice words echoing through her as she traveled from one parent to the other.

“We have to leave, we have to leave here. He’s letting it foreclose, he’s letting the house foreclose. I’ve got nothing left Trixie, I’ve got nothing left to give you.”

She hadn’t asked for much. And most nights, she felt contented in the hunger, both the emotional and physical. The reaping weight of her mother’s illness crept inside her bones, nestled in between the stuffed bears and plastic dollies; and she grew hollow, barely sustained.

“ Men are pigs. All he cares about is getting laid. He doesn’t care about you Trixie, as long as he has his little slut, he doesn’t care.”

Years flew by as mistress became misses. A marriage proposal, a new step-family, a big shiny house in the suburbs with a yard for the dog. He was still around, for holidays and weekends, summer vacations from grade six, all the way up to grade ten. And despite the toxic sting of her mother’s words, Trixie secretly relaxed into those weekends of peace; without her mother’s near constant lamenting, where Trixie could pretend to be anybody but herself. And while her father progressed, satisfied with his new lodgings, her mother regressed, an empty shell of the mother she once was.

"Trixie please, I didn’t mean that. No one wants me, please Trixie don’t cry, please, don’t leave me, you’re all I have left.”

And Trixie found herself at fifteen years old, unable to abandon her mother, staring foreclosure in the face.

—

Her dreams twisted with the seductive hook of Katya’s stare, a glaring reflection of her own needs and wants. And an aching necessity nestled in between her fingers, the spaces crying out, desperate for fulfillment. It had taken every ounce of Trixie’s willpower not touch her lips again, to taste them. She sat imagining the espresso on her tongue, overwhelmed by those ruby lipped, cardamom fantasies; and the taste of Katya’s morning cigarette still fresh on her full lips, stale by midafternoon. She hoped and prayed reality could carry her there, to that place, in those sparse moments where actuality dwindled.

Trixie bit into a crisp cortland apple, ripe with the season, and it’s juicy fullness issued from the corners of her mouth. She upturned them, pulled them into a grin at the sight of Katya, on the tips of her toes, reaching to scrawl across the top of the board. The skirt of her dress rode up, just above the knees, and Trixie willed it with her eyes, implored it to keep rising.

As her top teeth continued to skim across the skin of the apple, Katya turned to eye her, and shot a disapproving glance. Katya had reminded her time and again that there was to be no eating in class, but Trixie liked to test boundaries lately; being teacher’s favorite had its perks. She winked in response, and sunk her teeth in, the bright red clashing with the pink of her lips. Trixie let her tongue tease down the surface of the fruit, catching tart pearls of juice that trickled down. And Katya, flustered, turned away from her, while a certain, giddy pride rose in Trixie’s chest.

She wondered how long they could keep up this charade before people started to notice; Trixie stopped for a moment to scan the room, but instead of watching eyes, she was met with drooping faces and bowed heads. Typical for an afternoon class, as the caffeine crash was likely to have just settled in. Relieved, she continued her pursuit on the apple, losing herself in Katya’s words.

She lost a lot of herself in those days, she felt different somehow, changed.

1 missed call.

On her way out of class, she tossed it’s core in a nearby bin, and licked the sticky sweetness from her fingers. Katya flagged her down, catching her halfway down the hall, and Trixie turned to face her, pulling her index finger slowly from parted lips. Trixie could see the frenzy in her eyes, could feel the tension rising from the taut pull of Katya’s lean thighs. She let her eyes wander down, and then back up, smirking.

“Is this gonna become habit for you, you stopping me after every class?”

“Probably.”

“I’m okay with that,” Trixie offered, leaning in a bit closer.

“I didn’t ask your permission.”

Katya smirked into her words, her fingers drumming against the binder she’d tucked under her arm. And Trixie, near weak in the knees, tried her best to keep upright, the sheer of her flirtation fading into blushed cheeks.

“I stopped you because I thought you may want your purse back,” Katya continued.

“My purse?”

“Yes, yesterday, my little glamorous trash rat, you leave it in my backseat! You don’t notice?”

She’d been so caught up in fantasy that she’d hardly noticed its absence from her shoulder. Hot nerves prickled beneath her skin as she kept time with Katya’s steps, and she looked down at her shoes, lest she trip and embarrass herself further.

“Right! Right, my purse. Well, lead the way, freak.”

“You know, Tina, you really should treat me with more respect. With that paper due Friday, it would seem as though I have much power over you.”

“Well, lucky for you, I have a thing for submission.”

Trixie regret the words immediately as they left her lips, and suddenly, she could feel Katya’s excited eyes on her cheeks. Attempting to conceal the redness, Trixie’s hands met her own face in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” Trixie mouthed, reeling, “I- I don’t know why I said that.”

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re a huge dork, Tracy?”

“Pretty much my whole life, yeah.”

They headed down the hall, passed the third corridor, and hooked a right just before the marble steps. Trixie sped up ahead of her, but instead of catching the door, she stopped, slowed.  She paused for a moment before the threshold, allowing Katya to breeze passed her, and as she did, Trixie quietly took in Katya’s perfume; warm notes of tobacco and cinnamon crept into the airspace around her. And Katya, a bit shorter than she, held out the door while Trixie ducked under her arm with a brief nod of thanks.

With home tucked far away, in recesses of her mind, she came to a startling realization. Things really were changing, a revolution had been raging all of this time unnoticed,  just beneath the surface of her skin. It had been such a simple thing, but rang magnificent then, in that small space with Katya. She’d spent her entire life opening doors for other people; and as she stepped down the stairs into the sunlight, the thought occurred to her. If the sun could love her skin, why couldn’t she? If she could put others before her, why not herself?

She looked down at her phone, 3 missed calls.

As they approached Katya’s car, under cover of trees at the far end of the professor’s lot, she was reminded of how improper it all was, and conflict echoed through her; but somehow, rounding the passenger’s side and leaning against the warped metal, a sense of comfort washed over her. Leaving class with Katya, perfumed in her surrounding, felt as natural as breathing.

“Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit!” Katya said, her arms flying up into the air.

“Yeah, your car is a piece of shit. You should do something about that,” Trixie retorted.

“No, not the car, you chicken! Leave Barbara alone, she is real strong dyke and she does not need your sass.”

“What, then?”

“Your purse, I’m very sorry, Toby,” she feigned, the back of her hand to her forehead, “I must’ve… brought it in house and forgotten it! Silly me!”

“Oh right, you,” Trixie pulled her fingers into quotations, grinning from ear to ear, “forgot it. Completely on accident.”

“I am just big dumb girl!”

Katya paused for a moment, her exasperation curling into a smile, and she walked around the side of the car, throwing herself into the driver’s seat. She shoved her key in the ignition and it thundered to life; leaning across the center console, her gleaming smile appeared from behind the sinking window.

“Seeing as we are both here now,” she continued, “I might as well give you ride home. I’m sure my girl Barb missed your ass on her seats.”

“How convenient,” Trixie said, pulling the car door open before her.

She slid in smoothly, kicking garbage out from underneath her feet.

“I will remember to bring purse of yours tomorrow, it is promise!”

“I won’t hold my breath.”

—

The night had been long and riddled with thoughts of Katya as Trixie lie awake, counting the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. She could still see their ghostly glow behind her eyelids, could still feel the twinge of tainted dreams and ill conceived wishes. Her thoughts were cruel, but wise. If she was to make it through this year, she had stop willing the stars to shoot across her ceiling, because no amount of wishing was going to bring Katya back into her arms. She had her college career to think about, Katya’s career, and with a bold new dawn, she promised herself no more pining.

As the day faded into late afternoon, and her classes came and went, Trixie mentally prepared herself for Chemistry class, not to mention the ever present chemistry that rested between them. The smell of Katya’s car, the leather seats and empty coffee cups, ran vivid through her memories; and she closed her eyes, lived in that imagining, before shaking its warm embrace and leaving that vision in the hallway behind her. She felt brave, sleepy, but renewed, until of course, she walked through the door.

There she was, hellbent and devilish, her hair tied up into a messy french twist. She was bent over the edge of the desk, brilliant eyes narrowed on a stack of papers at the far end, and as her body straightened upright, Trixie lost all sense of awareness. Hips and thighs, wrapped criminally in a tight pencil skirt, red glasses, red shoes,red lips. Katya’s heels clicked across the tiled floor, and Trixie, blocking the doorway, could practically feel Katya walking all over her chest. Katya moved toward the coat rack, and pulled on her lab coat slowly, smoothing the fabric down around her waist. Those hands, those soft, fervent hands, trailed passed the back of her skirt, and followed the contours of her body down the length of the coat. And Katya paused for a moment, her eyes meeting Trixie’s, allowing a fiendish smile to befall her lips.

“You’re here early,” Katya offered, turning away from Trixie to fetch a few beakers from a nearby cabinet. She nibbled lightly at the eraser of a pencil while she worked, arranging and tidying, sifting through papers in search of a spark wheel.

“I- uh, I mean, yeah. Just a few minutes, I think.”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re fifteen minutes early, Tracy.”

“I- yes, that would be correct.”

Trixie couldn’t help the sudden flood of embarrassment over the skin of her arms, as goosebumps rose on the surface, like tiny, silent prayers. She didn’t really know why she had gotten there so early, maybe she’d just been quietly hoping Katya would already be there. They stood in silence for a moment, and Katya peered up at Trixie from under her glasses.

“Well?” Katya questioned, her words hanging in the air, strong and biting, quite like her perfume.

Trixie might as well have been drooling.

“Is there something you need, Talullah?”

You. Bent over that desk. Now.

“Need, I- um, yes! My purse, I thought you might have my purse today. I kind of need my debit card back, the whole ‘I forgot my wallet’ excuse hasn’t worked with Kim in like, a really long time…”

“SHIT. I am very sorry, my sincerest apologies. We’ll have to make quick detour today to my apartment,Talullah. I could give you ride home again today, yes? If… if that is okay with you?”

“Is there a reason you’re holding my personal effects hostage?”

“You mean other than steal your identity and drain bank accounts?”

“Could it be to… lure me into your apartment?” Trixie teased, nerves still latent in the fresh sweat on the back of her neck.

“No, never,” Katya looked over her shoulder suggestively, “that would be inappropriate.”

“Oh, and you driving me home everyday, isn’t?”

“Is it my fault your ass is drawn to Barb’s seat like magnet? The sexual tension between you two transcends my ability to intervene,Tracy. Plus, that would be catastrophic wrongdoing to the heavens, and I cannot have that cosmic blood on my hands!”

“And you say I’m the dork?” Trixie threw, playfully.

“Do you always follow questions with more questions?”

“Do I?”

—

Trixie eyed Katya’s hand resting over the center console, and had to fight with every ounce of her being to avoid it’s imminent pull on her fingers. She could feel herself falling harder and harder into Katya’s temptation by the day, but it was more than just her body that had Trixie on edge. Her laugh, her scent, the silhouette of her face as it flickered into view in the light of the moving car. Katya, catching Trixie’s eyes on her, adjusted her glasses, sneaking a peak in her direction.

Her phone again, 7 missed calls. She turned it off.

“Wait a minute…” Trixie said, turning to look behind her as she slid off her cardigan and threw it in the back seat, “are you, are you getting on the bridge?”

“Yes… why?”

“You mean to tell me that you live across the bridge? You said my house was on your way?”

“Well, it is…”

“Katya, my house is twenty minutes in the other direction!”

“Oh, is it?” Katya’s cheeks lit up, as bright red as her lips, “I had not noticed…”

Trixie and Katya both fell into laughter, their shoulders bouncing up and down with the movement of the car. It was an old car, and quite weathered, but bounced sturdily over the potholes that Katya felt unnecessary to avoid. Trixie traced the ribboned edge of the leather trimmed seat with a shaky index finger, the tip of her nail falling into shallow cuts and cracks. Their laughter faded slowly into soft blushing, and Trixie again fought the urge to let her hand drift over to Katya’s.

Everything had happened so fast, so suddenly, quite like an illness, ravishing parts of her body she had forgotten existed. She couldn’t tell what the pull was, or where it had stemmed from, the feeling was near indescribable; but there was an aching need to be closer, to speak sweeter. Not only to touch, but to listen, to brave the inner workings of what blossomed between them.

Katya pulled her car off of the main highway with a sharp turn of the steering wheel, and slipped down a side street, which wound haphazardly around a large grouping of pine trees. The road crescendoed into a more residential setting, and while they were far apart, small houses began popping up in between the grassy clearings. They slowed a bit then, and Katya indicated a left turn toward a rocky driveway.

“Well, this is me!” Katya said, pulling in sharply.

“It’s beautiful…”

“Please say you’ll come in? Just a… few minutes? Maybe we could have that coffee you suggested other day?”

Trixie bit her lip, swallowing a lump in her throat. She felt suddenly nervous.

“I’d like that.”

Katya’s car puttered to a stop, resting before a big blue house covered in swathes of creeping ivy. Thin, spindly vines of dormant trumpet-creepers clung to the tall wooden fence, overgrown and dangling. And as they hopped out of the car and began down the graveled pathway, Trixie had to duck to escape them tangling in her hair. Katya stopped just before the door, and turned to face Trixie, pulling a few dried leaves from Trixie’s curls. And the two of them laughed as they pictured them like tiny stowaway passengers, just trying to hitch a ride.

It was a large house, but divided down the middle, allowing for two completely separate, but adjoined apartments. The back door opened into a living room, eclectic and lush, sprawling with potted plants and indoor ivy that swirled around the moulding and window fixtures. Many of the plants looked unkempt, untended, as they lay yellowed and dried. Stacks of paper and clutter lined the table tops, while empty test tubes and beakers were strewn about the apartment, reeking of chemicals, crusted over at the tops.

Katya scrambled to clear the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for Trixie, before dashing frantically around the room, picking up laundry and scattered papers from the floor. Sunlight streamed in through the curtains, their patterns bright and clashing. And nothing matched, nothing at all, not even the kitchen chairs; but everything fit. Some kind of balance settled in the room, some mismatched dissonance, steeped in harmony. And Trixie smiled at how intrinsically fitting it all was, how much of Katya shined in through those curtains; how she could hear Katya’s words spoken through the art on the walls.

Katya, looking proud, slammed Trixie’s purse down on the table and sat before her, her elbows resting on her knees with her chin propped up on her hands.

“See! I told you I would find it, there’s a method to this madness!”

Trixie reached for the purse and opened it.

“There was a twenty dollar bill in here…”

Katya looked startled, the blood draining from her face.

“I- I would never… I mean… I didn’t se-”

“Don’t sweat, I’m just fucking with you, this bitch is broke!”

“Well, if there is one thing I am always, it is sweaty,” Katya teased.

Trixie leaned across the table to peer into the bedroom that sat just passed the entryway of the kitchen. No sheets, no pillow cases, just a mattress on the floor, a tangled mess of blankets and laundry. She smiled to herself, her eyelids fluttering closed.

They sipped bitter black coffee, which Katya had poured directly from the pot into two tall beer steins, steam fogging the thick glass. Katya sprinkled heavy spoonfuls of cinnamon over the top of hers, and dropped in two buds of clove, watching as their tiny heads bobbed to the surface.

“Don’t you have any mugs?” Trixie asked.

“Are these not mugs?” Katya replied.

They went on that way for a while, tucked behind Katya’s tiny kitchen table, cup after cup of coffee so sour, Trixie had to choke most of it down; but she’d do anything if it meant she could spend another second in Katya’s thoughts. She’d drink it straight and scorching if it meant she could stay, staring at the bits of cinnamon that clung to Katya’s upper lip. She thought about sucking them off, how sharply they’d play across her tongue, how Katya’s lips would swell from the pressure.

A certain familiarity snuck in between them, heart and laughter weaving through their musings, like a soft braid of intimacy. And Trixie, as closed and guarded as they come, felt herself unraveling, saying things she never thought she’d say to another human, things even Kim didn’t know. Everything threaded out of her with such unexpected ease; and in that moment, alone but together in Katya’s tiny kitchen, the very essence of what they were had grown, strong and tall like the mammoth sunflowers of Trixie’s childhood.

And hours later, well into the night, they were still sitting, but had moved. Their backs were propped against the yellowed wallpaper, while their bottoms pressed into the cool wood of Katya’s kitchen floor. They nibbled on Ritz cracker sandwiches, sticky with strawberry preserves and peanut butter, and fallen crumbs speckled the dark blanket thrown over their legs; the blanket Katya had fetched after Trixie complained about leaving her cardigan in the car. Trixie shifted her weight, and the side of her thigh brushed against Katya’s, but instead of retreating, she left it there; like a despairing sign, scribbled in hope and fear that read, I am here, I am with you, please don’t pull away. And much to Trixie’s surprise, she didn’t.

Warmth radiated from the apex of Katya’s thigh, and as comfort seeped into the pores of her skin, Trixie relaxed against Katya’s frame, allowing her head to rest on Katya’s shoulder. And Katya didn’t resist, but instead, melted into her. An act that without arms, wrapped around Trixie, holding on tight. A measure that without speech, expressed the very meaning of human compassion, and put her weary mind at ease. The tall windows along the kitchen walls were frostbitten at the corners, and a small chill leaked in through the glass; but still, like Dorothy, fading into the field of poppies, they floated away together, lost in that delicious dream space. And sleep slowly took them. First Trixie, and then Katya, their gentle breathing almost inaudible over the whirr of the radiator.

Trixie awoke hours later to Katya’s face close to hers, her clammy hands cupped around Trixie’s cheeks, pulling her in. Katya’s eyes were hazy, softened by sleep, her warm smile breathtaking in the light. And for a moment, as the sun slowly rose through the blue of dawn, it seemed as though Katya might kiss her.

“We have to get you home, Tallulah, roommates must be worried about you.”

Trixie sighed, faltering under the absence of Katya’s touch as she removed her hands, and she tried opening her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words

[themurphyzone]

The New Pistachio Seller

Sequel to Meet the Dads! Again, using @dooffan‘s OC Matilda. Oneshot.

Balthazar was acting strangely again. “Matilda! Shouldn’t you be taking a nap right now? What are you doing all the way out here?” He shoved a paper in a drawer on the pistachio stand, twiddling his thumbs as his eyes darted all over the place. 

Matilda pouted. “I can see you from my window. It’s not that far and naptime is at 2. What are you doing?” 

“Certainly not working on any papers to change someone’s life for the better,” Vinnie laughed. “Totally not. Ow!” He clutched his foot in pain. “You didn’t have to stomp on my foot!” 

Balthazar cleared his throat. “Well, maybe if you didn’t reveal important information willy-nilly. It’s supposed to be a surprise.” 

“I wanna see!” Matilda exclaimed. “Who’s it for?” 

“Um, it’s for my...dear mother. Yes, the poor girl has been terribly ill. Moving her to um, home care requires proper paperwork,” Balthazar stammered, not meeting her eyes. 

Vinnie nodded, perhaps a bit too fast. “Yeah, she’s really sick.”

“I hope she feels better then,” Matilda said. “How about I make a card? And I’ll draw a bunch of hearts on it too! My hearts don’t look as pretty as Tiana’s, but they actually look like hearts now!” 

Balthazar stiffened, folding his hands behind his back. “Splendid idea, but it would be a waste to spend such a lovely day inside.”

“I know!” Vinnie exclaimed. “Why don’t you help us sell pistachios? It’s kind of a slow day. First rule of business is location, which we’re completely breaking right now because Balthy was super insistent on the corner of Marsh Drive and Povenmire Road.”

Balthazar crossed his arms. “I was not ‘super insistent’, as you so eloquently phrased it. I merely wanted a change of scenery.”

“You wanted to switch from a park to across the street from a construction site?” Vinnie asked. 

Matilda giggled. “You have weird tastes. And yeah, I wanna help sell pistachios! How do I do it?”

“Well, for starters you need to know where everything is,” Balthazar said. “Pistachios, spices, bags, and broiler. Simple enough.”

He stepped out to let Matilda look through all the materials. De-shelled green nuts laid in a heap inside a refrigerated compartment, just waiting to be sold. She reached out to run her hands through them, but Vinnie bumped her hands away with a glove box. 

“They’re really strict about health codes for handling food around these parts,” Vinnie said. “At least this isn’t the time where a beloved ice cream company finally shut down and our colleagues had to deal with a mob of rioting Texans.”

“You cannot deny that Abadeen getting slathered by those barbecue blasters was hilarious though,” Balthazar smirked. “He deserved it for stealing my jasmine tea packets.”

Matilda slipped on the gloves, which were incredibly loose on her hands and made strange, rubbery noises when she flexed her fingers. Then she giggled as she played with the pistachios, forming a mountain on one side and destroying it. 

“This is fun!” she laughed as she attempted to trace a circle in the pistachios. 

“Don’t spill them now,” Balthazar said, keeping an eye out for people with binoculars. While his back was turned, Matilda and Vinnie dug their hands into the compartment and stuffed their cheeks with as many pistachios as possible.

Matilda swallowed her mouthful with some difficulty. Her partner in crime spat a pistachio out of his mouth, hitting Balthazar’s back. The material was thick enough that he didn’t feel it. Vinnie spat a few more in quick succession, but he still didn’t react. He snuck up on Balthazar, prepared to hock one at his ear, but suddenly Balthazar sidestepped. In one graceful movement, Balthazar moved behind Vinnie and pushed down on his cheeks, forcing Vinnie to cough up all the projectiles in his mouth. 

“Guess who’s doing the laundry this weekend?” Balthazar said, dusting his hands off his coat. “Matilda, you are hereby banned from pistachio handling until further notice.”

“Aw,” Matilda sighed. She discarded the gloves, throwing them into the bin. 

Vinnie rubbed his face. “You didn’t have to be so rough.” 

“You didn’t have to influence Matilda,” Balthazar retorted. 

“Touche,” Vinnie muttered. 

“It’s lunch hour, so people should be breaking from their busy schedules now,” Balthazar said. “We need to be noticeable.” His eyes fell on Matilda. “How good are you with people, Matilda?” 

Matilda thought for a moment. “I got in trouble for not sharing Ducky Momo last week.” 

“Fair enough,” Balthazar nodded, pointing to a group of construction workers that had exited the site. “Do you see those workers? We might be able to make fifteen bucks tops off them. But we need to get their attention somehow.”

“I could scream real loud,” Matilda suggested. “They taught us to scream if anyone tried to lure us in a car with puppies and candy.”

Balthazar ruffled her hair, and she giggled. “Yes, but I don’t want them to think we’re kidnapping you. Kids nowadays seem to scream if they’re doing something enjoyable. You need to make those screams sound, ah, how do you describe it, Dakota?” 

“Fun. You don’t know what fun is. That explains so much,” Vinnie said, shaking his head. “Do I need to play you that song again?”

“No, for my sanity’s sake, do not play that ridiculous song,” Balthazar said. “So try to sound like you’re having fun then.”

Matilda looked around, looking for something to have fun with. The pistachios were out. She left Ducky Momo on her bed. All the other toys she normally played with were in a chest and could not leave the room. Her eyes flickered to Balthazar’s odd hat, and she wondered what she’d how she’d look with it. Wait, that was it!

Matilda threw her arms around Balthazar’s waist and climbed up. “Come on!” she grunted. “Up!” She tried to push herself off the ground, and her foot hit Balthazar’s kneecap. 

“Ow, young lady! If you want to be a monkey, some warning would be appreciated! Or even better, we could go find a tree with some low-hanging branches!” Balthazar yelped. He gently pushed her away, but she latched on even tighter than before. 

“I think she wants to sit on your shoulders,” Vinnie said. “I’m gonna help her up.” 

“Don’t you dare-”

“Too late.” 

Matilda wobbled slightly as Vinnie placed her on his partner’s shoulders. Balthazar held her knees to help steady her. “If you kick me, you’re off,” he warned. She made sure to keep her legs still. 

Balthazar paced the length of the sidewalk, getting used to the feel of a child on his shoulders. It was strange for Matilda to be up so high. From her new vantage point, she was taller than Vinnie! Matilda played with the strap around the band, then put the hat on her head. 

“Why do you have two pairs of glasses?” Matilda asked, tilting her head up so she could see more than just the inside of the hat. 

“Those are night vision goggles. They help me see in the dark,” Balthazar explained. “Be careful with them.”

“Okay,” Matilda said. She waved to the construction workers, catching their attention. They returned the gesture happily, then laughed when she switched to pulling silly faces at them. 

It worked! They were interested in the pistachios! Vinnie handed the bags over so quickly that Matilda lost count. Balthazar winked at her. “Well done, Matilda!”

Matilda’s chest puffed out proudly. “See? My plan worked!” 

“You’ve got a way with people, Matilda,” Vinnie said, patting her back. “Pays to actually look happy too. Balthazar here doesn’t seem to understand that glaring at passersby never works.”

Balthazar scoffed. “I don’t glare. It’s a professional look.”

“So, can I give Matilda a piggyback ride now?” Vinnie asked. 

Matilda frowned. “I can see a lot better here than on you.”

“She likes me better,” Balthazar boasted.