super-southbeach-things-blog

[princessaredhel]

♛ Findekáno | a fanmix for Fingon the Valiant [spotify]

“Of all the children of Finwë he is justly most renowned: for his valour was as a fire and yet as steadfast as the hills of stone; wise he was and skilled in voice and hand; troth and justice he loved and bore good will to all, both Elves and Men, hating Morgoth only; he sought not his own, neither power nor glory, and death was his reward.”

1. Eternal Light - Future World Music | 2. Above and Beyond - Audiomachine | 3. Centurion - Ilan Eshkeri | 4. Kill the Boy - Ramin Djawadi | 5. Connor's Life - Lorne Balfe | 6. Heart - Thomas Bergersen, Two Steps From Hell | 7. The Eagles (feat. Renée Fleming) - Howard Shore, Renée Fleming | 8. Unashamed - Confidential Music | 9. Statues - Alexandre Desplat | 10. Dogs of War - Brand X Music | 11. You're Where You Belong / Give 'Em Hell - Harold Faltermeyer, Lady Gaga, Hans Zimmer, Lorne Balfe | 12. A Good Omen - Howard Shore | 13. Hero's Theme (String Build Version) - Adam Saunders, Mark Stephen Cousins | 14. Optimus - Steve Jablonsky | 15. Undying Love - Thomas Bergersen, Two Steps From Hell | 16. Woad to Ruin - Hans Zimmer | 17. The Lion's Heart - Audiomachine | 18. Destiny of the Chosen - Trailerhead | 19. Someday I'll Be Redeemed (No Vocals) - Epic Score.

[2-dsimp]

*Jumping in complete excitement after the revelation of Soma* Even if I should be crying for that angst, I can't blame you for giving me so much motivation to ask.

What if Soma's darling finds him some day, now peer up with a survivors group, but she is unable to killed his infected boyfriend and tries to convince his teammates not to kill him. Even making a whole damn argument while helping the team with blowing up the hard of zombies. (Summing up, an stubborn and silly darling)

Don't know, maybe suggesting silly ways to keep him up with her and avoiding him to attack the others, like making him use a muzzle and kid leash wrapped around her wrist.

A/n: if only things could work out like that. Not in this scenario unfortunately.ヽ(´o｀；

•:•.•:•.••:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

𝕋𝔸𝔾 𝕃𝕀𝕊𝕋: @apeiceoflump @fruk-you-usuk-fans @avalordream @manunkan @twinklingbeautifulstars (anyone else who’d like to be tagged for future parts lmk~)

•:•.•:•.••:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

Cw: blood/gore, betrayal (?), obsessive tendencies, angst, possessive tendencies, jealousy/envy, Soma losing his mind like a woman scorned.

Synopsis 3: Soma, your yandere undead boyfriend, finally reached the promised land and finally found you. But at the sight of someone else at your side he quickly became a frenzied beast of green envy.

•:•.•:•.••:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

You could barely register the sheer chaos that ensued from having the wall to the safe haven you’ve found in a fellow survival camp caved in by a mass of sharpened spikes. As the wall crumbled down, the other survivors screamed. Scrambling like chickens in utter confusion, fear, and dread.

But all you felt was joy, as you saw the one you’ve been mourning over for the few days. You guys were split apart, your boyfriend soma, in the flesh. His infected eyes were hyper transfixed on you, the target of his unrefined love. That was about to overflow and burst his heart from how he fell for you again. Hard.

You were all scuffed up, like an adorable kitten. Hair was a disaster, your body carried dirt and minor wounds from squabbles you had encountered on your own from trying to survive. You were an utter mess but to him you were a perfect achievement that he wanted to unlock once more.

Soma’s mouth opened, there was so much he wanted to say to you. But most importantly he wanted to call you out by your name. Tell you that you’re truly is here to come pick up his player 2. But he clamped down his jaw so hard so hard out of having the jitters. that he accidentally bit his own tongue off like a brain dead idiot.

Blood spurted from his severed tongue which happened to stain your face. You were in utter shock not believing that you were witnessing your undead boyfriend try to kill him self even when he’s technically already dead. Naturally you screamed as you saw his severed tongue wriggle around like a fish out of water.

“We must leave, now miss.”

A eerily calm voice seeped into your head, there was hands, albeit cold encircled around your wrist. As you were elevated to your feet and the scenery ran past your mind in a disillusioned blur. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, your breathing heavy and uneven.

You couldn’t make sense of it.

Why did the man say that you must leave? There’s no need to run! Your loving boyfriend has come to pick you up just like he promised. Away from this infected shithole. He wouldn’t hurt you, he definitely wouldn’t harm anybody else right? Sure he karated the hell out of this zombies in the store but that was self defense.

He said he’d come back to you. And he did, so why? Why were you running away from him? Your valiant boyfriend who sacrificed himself to keep his precious babe, you, alive.

Your feet carried you faster than you could think, with the captain of the survivor camp taking you by the hand. You were too frazzled to register the screams of terror and the frenzied clicking of other parasitic zombies who had found their way to the source of all the noise. Every single variation digging their claws and teeth into the survivors who were unable to get a grip.

But most importantly you missed the sheer look of rage that twisted Soma’s face into something unrecognizable. His tentacles were tore out of his flesh, turning a dark hue and snapping into deadly spikes. His mind was running field goals with the sight of you running away hand in hand with another man.

A man that wasn’t him.

Did you forget that he told you he was coming back? Who the hell was this bitch clinging onto your hand like a pest. Your boyfriend didn’t like it. Not one bit his tongue had regenerated in wisps of steamy smoke. Allowing him to rip out an unearthly screech that made everyone weak from racking their brains with his pitch frequency.

His eyes darted every which way studying how the captains fingers were touching you on too many areas of skin. He clawed at his face practically tearing off the mask that kept him human from pure agitation. His eyes bulging at the sight with veins a showing as he repeatedly gashed his teeth.

‘‘F̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞l̨͓̠̹̿̔̋̈́͝i̡̫̭̮̅̔̇̚͠ţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠h̨̟͔̣̣͊̄̇̏̿y̦̲̩̪̺͋̀͐̏̋,͓̾̌ f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞l̨͓̠̹̿̔̋̈́͝i̡̫̭̮̅̔̇̚͠ţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠h̨̟͔̣̣͊̄̇̏̿y̦̲̩̪̺͋̀͐̏̋,͓̾̌ f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞l̨͓̠̹̿̔̋̈́͝i̡̫̭̮̅̔̇̚͠ţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠h̨̟͔̣̣͊̄̇̏̿y̦̲̩̪̺͋̀͐̏̋!̳̆͋̈̾ G̢͚̙̣̬̎͋̊͐̽e͖̖̤͙̅̈́̏͌ͅţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ i̡̫̭̮̅̔̇̚͠ţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ o̳̘̗̗͒̽͑̚͝f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞.̪̍̉ G̢͚̙̣̬̎͋̊͐̽e͖̖̤͙̅̈́̏͌ͅţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ i̡̫̭̮̅̔̇̚͠ţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ o̳̘̗̗͒̽͑̚͝f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞.̪̍̉ G̢͚̙̣̬̎͋̊͐̽e͖̖̤͙̅̈́̏͌ͅţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ i̡̫̭̮̅̔̇̚͠ţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ o̳̘̗̗͒̽͑̚͝f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞.̪̍̉ G̢͚̙̣̬̎͋̊͐̽e͖̖̤͙̅̈́̏͌ͅţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ i̡̫̭̮̅̔̇̚͠ţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ o̳̘̗̗͒̽͑̚͝f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞.̪̍̉ G̢͚̙̣̬̎͋̊͐̽e͖̖̤͙̅̈́̏͌ͅţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ i̡̫̭̮̅̔̇̚͠ţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ o̳̘̗̗͒̽͑̚͝f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞.̪̍̉ G̢͚̙̣̬̎͋̊͐̽e͖̖̤͙̅̈́̏͌ͅţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ i̡̫̭̮̅̔̇̚͠ţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ o̳̘̗̗͒̽͑̚͝f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞.̪̍̉ G̢͚̙̣̬̎͋̊͐̽e͖̖̤͙̅̈́̏͌ͅţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ i̡̫̭̮̅̔̇̚͠ţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ o̳̘̗̗͒̽͑̚͝f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞.̪̍̉ G̢͚̙̣̬̎͋̊͐̽e͖̖̤͙̅̈́̏͌ͅţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ i̡̫̭̮̅̔̇̚͠ţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ o̳̘̗̗͒̽͑̚͝f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞.̪̍̉ G̢͚̙̣̬̎͋̊͐̽e͖̖̤͙̅̈́̏͌ͅţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ i̡̫̭̮̅̔̇̚͠ţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ o̳̘̗̗͒̽͑̚͝f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞.̪̍̉ G̢͚̙̣̬̎͋̊͐̽e͖̖̤͙̅̈́̏͌ͅţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ i̡̫̭̮̅̔̇̚͠ţ̨̞̲̎͆͘̕͠ o̳̘̗̗͒̽͑̚͝f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞f̞͓͚̱̜̃̍̋̚͞.̪̍̉’

Soma’s parasite took the reins, taking advantage of how their host wasn’t able to maintain stability. Zombie, humans, and other unaffected variants alike were skewered. In his fit of manic fury, his tentacles striking towards your location like a viper. The tip of death missing the chance to stab through your clasped hands by a hair thanks to the captains diligent reflexes.

You tumbled trying to look back only to be swept off your feet and carried off into the arms of the ever so calm and collected Survivor Captain. Who by human standards looked flawless, not a blemish on his skin nor any sign of imperfections. But you didn’t miss how alienated it made him his whole reaction to the camp being decimated was lackluster. His eyes were like pearls without any shine, it was as if he was just a wearing a humans skin for show.

Gaining a sense of clarity at how fast you were retreating from the scene you took a moment to properly look at your boyfriend’s rampaging. And the way his eyes seared into your flesh and bone made you freeze up like a petrified goat.

You’ve never seen this side of him, could the infection truly take away the man you loved? You heavily denied it but the way he was aggressively targeting you his dangerous spiked tentacles indenting themselves just one step behind from impaling the captains body.

For the first time you felt afraid of him. He has clearly lost control to differentiate between who the true target of his ire. As he was under the impression that he was being betrayed/abandoned by you.

•:•.•:•.••:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

•:•.•:•.••:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

[writingsofwesteros]

Jaime has been summoned!

Imagine dark!Jaime who becomes the sworn guard to the Mad King’s neglected daughter. The princess was born sickly, her elder brother rejected their proposal and her father isolated her from her mother and brother, claiming she was the reason for his wife’s miscarriages. Instead Jaime kept her company, a beautiful princess with blonde hair like her ancestor, Princess Alyssa. Her looks kind of mimicked his sister’s, but she was much more sweet and kind, he would often sneak her out to meet her little brother. Both siblings craving their mother’s touch instead found comfort in each other, the princess being the only one who could calm her brother after his tantrums. Since her father despised her existence, Jaime would spend days and nights in her chambers, fucking her full of his seed. The poor princess didn’t even have maids, Jaime took advantage of this and bathed her himself. When the sack of Kings Landing happened and Jaime killed her father, King Robert gifted him the princess and spared the lives of her siblings due to his valiant effort of keeping the realm safe. Jaime managed to convince his wife and her family to reject the throne since it had not been kind to their dynasty. Instead Jaime and his precious princess lived peacefully in Casterly Rock, nearly 6 months after the Sack of Kings Landing the Princess gave birth to their first twin babes and her husband was ready to give her many more. The Princess couldn’t have imagined a more perfect life, raising her siblings with love and protection with her beloved husband and being blessed with his children.

Dark!Jaime is HOT!!!!!!

Not to always bring Cersei in but imagine she likes her because its as if she has married Rhaegar, living through her brother

Robert would have much to say thats for sure when the twins are born. She is so cuddly and sweet; clinging to Jaime's side before and after the war.

He would give her sweet kisses if she ate her juicy fruits.

[supervillain-smut]

*Slams hands on table* I request!! A reader who is a chaotic switch!! With Teldryn, Ancano, Vicente, Cicero, Vyrthyr, Gelebor, Ondolemar, Estormo, and/or Lucien. You don't have to do all of them! These are just the babes I'd like to see!!

Too bad I did all of them, lol. I hope after such a long time away these are still good!

Ancano Ancano was a very curious mer, since childhood he got into magic he wasn't supposed to, even getting into the Thalmor young. He was always taking charge of the situation, it was, in fact, how he ended up at the college as advisor and met you.

When you decided he had enough time caging you under his arms and pinning you to the bed with his hips, making you squirm and cry out for him, he was surprised to say the least. He still wasn't willing to give up complete control, but his curious nature got the better of him.

"Alright then, we'll see where this goes, but let me remind you I am still in charge, whenever I decide to take control back."

Cicero Cicero was willing to please his Listener, in any way they requested, they only had to ask if they wanted to take charge. That did not stop the yelp of surprise from escaping as his Listener pinned him against the wall of the master room in the Sanctuary, placing themselves firmly between his legs.

"If Listener wanted Cicero to comply, they need only ask." He lowered his voice to a purr "Cicero is at your mercy, Listener."

Estormo His name suits him in every way. from the magic he uses to his personality, to his temper. A hurricane personified, Estormo would make you work for dominating him, would not submit easily. it wasn't until he was either driven mad by your teasing, or too tired to continue combating for who was on top, either way he was desperate by the time you were through playing.

"By the eight, alright I submit, so long as we can move forward, please!"

Gelebor Gelebor needed no forcing to submit; he was already under you. It was when you wanted him to dominate that he struggled.

"I can't harm you, my love. I could never even utter the words you're asking of me. I would do anything for you, this you know, but not that. I'm sorry, but if there's anything else you'd prefer, I'd be more than happy to oblige."

If you simply wanted him to stay above you, he would, gladly.

Lucien LaChance Lucien would never have given you the chance, the bindings proving extremely efficient, with no escape in sight, your struggling was useless, and you could never turn the tide, every time you attempted to tie up the Speaker, he would get out before you could tie a single knot, teasing you.

"A valiant attempt, but not quite, my precious Silencer. You'll have to try much, much harder than that. Even then, what guarantees I will submit?"

Ondolemar Ondolemar was admittedly uncomfortable not being in control, but the affection was intoxicating; the way you languidly kissed from his jaw down to his collar, the way you ran your hands over his chest and looked into his golden eyes so affectionately, despite being assertive in taking control; he never wanted it to end.

"I hardly would want anyone to see or hear about this, but just know I trust you not to harm me while you have control."

Teldryn Sero Teldryn had a plan in his mind of how he was going to treat you as you quickly took advantage of the small amount of time life gave you to have some intimacy between you, but all his plans were foiled as you pushed off the wall and pinned him against it instead, kissing him harder than before.

When you broke apart for air, Teldryn's eyes were blown wide with lust. "Well, not what I expected, but I'm excited to see where this little adventure of ours goes. Lead on."

Vicente Valtieri Vicente had hardly expected the harsh bite to his markings, making him moan aloud and allowing you to take charge of the situation, straddling him and continuing to grind into him, causing even more noises to involuntarily escape his gaping mouth, fangs on display.

You pulled away and rested your hands on his chest to ensure this was fine by him.

"My dear, in all my years no one has done that; I am quite excited to see how you use this to your advantage."

Vyrthur Vyrthur was not one to relinquish control, not in any scenario. He was always in control, even if things looked bad; that being said, when you had victoriously pinned him under you, it had not lasted long.

You were lifted off his lap and spun around so your hands were on the back of the throne, his chest pressed to your back and his mouth by your ear.

"Now just who do you think you're dealing with here? My brother? Pray that I go easy on you for your punishment."

[millionsknives]

valiant: princess kalyani

"I am at an impasse, you see. I don't want to go home, but I must, but I can't."

[lesbianrobin]

hello em i have a request. can u please rate mr harrington's looks/outfits i just feel like u have the best takes and i'd LOVE to know how you'd rank his choices 👀

this is the single greatest ask i’ve ever received. i will be ranking the outfits, not steve’s moral alignment or actions in each scene. in order of appearance:

The Introduction

4/10

hair is tragic

steve copied this entire fit from a mannequin in the ralph lauren polo outlet store

would honestly be a 0/10 except for the obvious valiant effort being put forth by his lower half to resist the sexless curse of khaki pants. the devil (st costuming department) works hard but by god steve harrington (joe keery’s body) works harder

nice brown watch that certainly came from a department store

also gains points for being next to nancy’s anemic librarian fit, thus looking better by comparison

The Rich Bitch

8/10

thank god he ditched the khakis

hair looks much less demonic

it’s a simple look but the sweatshirt rides up when he shotguns the beer

he also gets wet

solid 8 for sluttiness alone

The Whore

10/10

wet

please note that his chest is waxed. keep this in mind.

The Heterosexual

2/10

hair looks like he dipped his head in glue

bold choice with the grey pants. unfortunately that choice was wrong

matching outfits with your comphet girlfriend isn’t as cute as you think it is stevie

you only get points because despite that ungodly pastel stripe pattern the polo’s decently fitted and makes your arm look kinda nice

The Dickhead

3/10

glue head pt. 2

at least the stripes aren’t pastel this time

The Cuck

6/10

hair slightly less glue-y

yet another striped polo is peeking out unfortunately

but! it’s green and green looks good on him

finally wearing jeans like a normal fucking human instead of weird slacks

pivotal moment in steve’s fashion evolution from preppy male model to sexy morally upright king

his morals are stored in the denim

The Final Girl

9/10

an outfit with a character arc to rival steve’s own

pretty fucking good hair if i do say so myself!!

it’s fluffy!

that shit looks like if you touched it it’d be soft... no glue here!

finally not copying from the goddamn l.l. bean catalog

iconic green slut sweatshirt? check! jacket and nikes? check! fucked-up gorgeous face and baseball bat full of rusty nails? check, baby!

looks good on its own OR with some blood on top

overall a very solid look

The Darling Little Drummer Boy

7/10

babe no... please don’t go back to the khakis... they won’t treat you like jeans do...

not quite glue head but not his best

apparently steve owns a single green sweatshirt, a thousand striped polos, and one very precious christmas sweater

almost makes up for prep-related khaki crimes by being really fucking cute

The Simp

8/10

glue head is DEAD

further evidence that steve harrington’s entire closet is just striped polos

this is his fifth unique striped polo

most of these points are for the sunglasses and the hair

actually all of these points are for the sunglasses and the hair

he’s finally let go of the fucking pastels thank jesus

and you can’t see it but he did wear jeans with this fit i just forgot to make sure they were pictured and it’s 4:15 am so i don’t feel like going back to remake this collage

cannot tell if this is a lighter blue version of the jacket he wore three times in s1 or if it IS the jacket he wore three times in s1 and the color grading is just that different

either way he loves jackets and i think that’s very sexy of him

The Intellectual

9/10

i’ve been waiting for this one... turn it up!

literally invented vests

excellent hair

loses a point for unfortunately introducing steve’s SIXTH unique striped fucking polo

i can’t see the collar but i know it’s there i know you’re wearing another fucking polo steve you can’t hide from me

can’t decide if he looks gay or just really preppy but either way he’s got some repression going on

still a very solid look

The Oh No Oh God It Hurts I’m Looking Away I Can’t Watch This

10/10

yes that middle picture is absolutely to show off the texture of his blazer and not at all me making sure that if i have to see his heartbroken little face then you all do too

anyways i Know that blazer cost at least $100 like i Know that shit’s expensive

excellent gorgeous soft-looking hair that someone ought to run their hands through but only people who haven’t dated him for a year while pining after someone else

emotional devastation... but make it unbelievably fucking sexy

stevie baby i know you’re a colorful guy but please wear more black

The Meathead Jock

9/10

aw christ whatever happened to standards?

introduction of the blue nikes <3

god his hair looked fucking good here

could have gained that final point by using tube socks with blue and GREEN stripes to tie together the shoes and the gym uniform :/

shorts could be shorter but are an altogether appropriate and enjoyable length

fun sweatstain to customize the look <3

The (is there a word for victim of bullying?) Serious Athlete

8/10

the yellow stripe was more fun

still cute though

The Sudsy Boy

11/10

wet

suds indicate that he’s washing his hair, presumably with faberge organics. is this why he’s being bullied?

steve brings his faberge organics shampoo and conditioner and his farrah fawcett spray to school with him whenever he has basketball practice

steve either has shampoo, conditioner, and hairspray in his backpack at all times, or he has a separate gym bag that’s mostly haircare products

just need to make sure we all know that

excellent freckle showcase

his chest is still waxed. please, i beg, keep this in mind

one of his strongest looks

The Babysitter

10/10

his most versatile look to date

a different jacket than the one(s) he’s worn before but it still has the same kind of collar. steve found a jacket he liked and bought it in at least three colors

the whole thing fits So fucking nicely! shirt, jacket, jeans... baby boy is TAILORED

return of the white nikes with the red check indicate that they are his fashion nikes, while the blue nikes with the white check are his sport nikes. interesting.

this fit lasts like 48 hours and steve simply looks sexier as time goes on which is a testament to its quality as well as his inherent power

every new accessory elevates his appearance. roses, nail bat, rubber gloves, blood, sweat, band-aids, bandana, goggles... each element complements the look in its own way!

an overall win

The Chauffeur

8/10

we can’t really see the whole fit but he’s not wearing a striped polo so i’m calling it a win regardless of what’s on his bottom half

cannot give him a 10/10 though because he might be wearing khakis

red is such a nice color on him when it’s not just from his blood

i lied when i said he should wear more black he should wear more colors

that plain sweater absolutely cost $85 or more

hair looks very nice and soft

excellent look!

The Sailor Man

9/10

very precious

absolutely the best hair i’ve ever seen

baby boy got highlights for his hot girl summer!

bright colors make his very red lips pop

shorts could be shorter

love the little accents! especially the white pockets and belt

excellent color coordination on steve’s part with the blue sneakers (notably different than his s2 blue basketball nikes) and the red bruising/blood

i hope you remembered that steve’s chest was waxed. as you can see his chest is now unwaxed. some change between s2 and s3 drove this decision, presumably either his breakup with nancy or the fact that he no longer showers in front of other guys at school. up to your interpretation

shock blanket at the very end is a nice touch so we don’t forget he’s traumatized

The Drowned Rat/The Man Overboard

10/10

wet

shorts could be shorter

the decision to purchase and wear a hoodless raincoat is absolutely ridiculous and stupid

however it is also very steve harrington and i value self-expression

The Chick Magnet/The Flaming Homosexual

100/10

what can i even say about this fit?

the absolute best pants he’s worn thus far. amazing fit, excellent classic wash. i say this as a former american eagle outfitters associate and the winner of my freshman year dorm’s “best at folding jeans” award

manages to make blue jeans with a half-blue denim vest work effortlessly

bold primary colors make him stand out without being too gaudy

excellent pairing of t-shirt with simple stripes and vest with simple color blocking to create a complex yet cohesive and flattering look

simple brown belt gives the look a put-together yet down-to-earth vibe

hair has only gotten better

still wearing that same brown watch that he’s had since the introduction

this man looks like he waxes his chest

this is steve in his final form

thank you for your time

[harley-style]

If you still want to do the hijack short prompts: finding a new dragon?

[I know I said I wanted ‘short prompts’ BUT THIS ENDED UP SUPER LONG, SO HAVE A ONE-SHOT INSTEAD.]

It was supposed to be a romantic flight. Hiccup had spent a week preparing for this. Just him and Jack (and Toothless, but his dragon knew how to make himself scarce) and the starry night sky, the world at their fingertips.

He'd made sure everything on Berk was settled ahead of time.

He'd made his dad promise to handle the incoming problems for just a day. He'd done it for 14 years, what's one more day, right?

And he made sure the Dragon Riders were all occupied, courtesy of Astrid and Snotlout. That had been a surprise. He'd never expected his cousin to fully support him on this endeavor, but Snotlout had showcased a surprising amount of maturity.

("He's been snapping worse and worse lately, Astrid! I don't want Hiccup to snap at me next, he might send me back to the Dark Deep and you KNOW I hate going there alone!"

"Oh for Freyja's sake Snotlout, will you shut up and help me ensure Hiccup and Jack finally have some alone time together?”)

So it was the perfect set up. He wasn't busy, Toothless could take him anywhere (so could Jack, but there was something special about flying on dragon-back that Hiccup wanted to share with his intended) and Hiccup had scoped out the most perfect location to just sit back and enjoy themselves.

Of course, plans don't always survive first contact.

It was just his luck that there was a dragon that had made its home on the colder than average island Hiccup had been planning to take Jack to.

And what was worse, even Toothless made a valiant effort to ignore the wailing cries. Hiccup had tried to convince Jack that he'd get everyone to check it out tomorrow, but he'd been pinned with a rather harsh look from the winter spirit, who then promptly unwrapped his arms around Hiccup's waist and purposely fell from the saddle.

Which in turn led to this.

"Aren't you precious," Jack cooed uncharacteristically, cradling the newborn dragon in his arms, the snow dragon mewling back and further curling up in the spirit's arms.

Resigned, Hiccup took out his notebook and began taking notes about the dragon cub they'd found. It looked strikingly similar to Toothless, but it was colored like a glacier of ice, its scales looking like frost had made itself home on the dragon's body.

The wing-tips, tail, and extra fins at the start of the tail were sharper than a typical Night Fury, as well.

One of the reasons Hiccup even pegged it as similar to a Night Fury was due to the damning feline behavior it was currently showcasing to his beloved.

"Maybe you aren't the last of your kind after all, huh bud?" Hiccup caressed Toothless' scales, eliciting a warbling noise in response. Hiccup watched as Jack fawned over the Tiny Tooth, playing with its claws and nuzzling its scales in delight.

Jack was really good with children. Even dragon children, it seemed.

And that knowledge....it DID things, to Hiccup.

Jack just looked so soft when handling kids. He might've looked like a troublemaker to most, but Hiccup knew that underneath all that bratty exterior lay a kind and compassionate soul who loved children just as much as Hiccup loved dragons.

He didn't realize he'd stopped writing in his notebook until Toothless nudged him gently with a questioning grumble.

"Hics, there something you wanna say?" Jack teased, peeking at him slyly from behind a curtain of white hair. He'd evidently caught on to the fact that Hiccup had been dumbly staring at the spirit for more than a few moments.

But Hiccup was nothing if not quick on his feet. Foot. Foot and metal prosthetic.

"Oh, nothing much, just waiting on you," he replied, grabbing hold of Jack's waist and pulling him against his chest. Gently, of course, he didn't want to startle the little one. "You're quite taken on him."

"Her," Jack quietly corrected, seeing the dragon in his arms peek curiously at the Viking, but not having enough bravery to leave the spirit's arms. The little dragon burrowed further into Jack's arms once Toothless crawled closer to the couple, curious about the young dragon as well.

"Huh. You can tell?" Hiccup asked, leaning his head against Jack's tuft of white locks. He absolutely loved the height difference between them now that he'd grown into his age. Call it a small petty payback from when Jack used to use his own head as an armrest.

Besides, if he wasn't getting his ideal date, the least he could do was shower his Snowflake with affection.

Jack nodded, staring up at him fondly, knowing exactly what Hiccup was doing, and not giving him any malice from it. That was another thing Hiccup loved about Jack. He clearly loved jokes, played them all the time, and when the joke was turned on him, he was a good sport about it. As long as the joke didn't touch sensitive topics, Jack saw the humor in everything.

"Her kind's a part of my domain..." Jack said, leaning more into Hiccup's hold. "Ice and snow. I don't know how. I can just tell."

"So I see," Hiccup carefully held his free arm out to the dragon, letting it come to him. "Do you want to keep her?" They watched as the ice dragon slowly sniffed at Hiccup's hand, and began to warily nuzzle into it, trusting the human more and more once she saw that Hiccup would not hurt her.

"Can I?" Jack asked, chuckling as the dragon barked curiously at Toothless, fear and caution all but blown to the wind now. Toothless happily warbled and nosed his new friend, yelping when a tiny ice blast hit his face.

Hiccup shrugged. "Sure. What are you gonna name her, though?" There was certainly plenty of room on Dragon's Edge. And Jack was more of a free spirit who hung around Berk merely because his boyfriend lived there. It was never a question about space.

"Elsa," Jack said, smile on his lips. Hiccup recognized the look. It was one of Jack's secret smiles, one that said 'I find it funny, but I know none of you get it and I'm going to sit here basking in the irony of it all.'

It was one of Jack's most common looks. Hiccup knew why the look existed, but his friends and village did not. He had to admit though, it was pretty funny seeing his friends try and fail to figure out why Jack had that particular look about him at oddly specific points.

"Am I getting context or what?" Hiccup nudged Jack.

Jack laughed merrily. "Oh, its not anything big. Just a really, really infamous...story from back home."

Hiccup rose a skeptical eyebrow. "How infamous are we talking here?" It was always fun, gathering bits and pieces of where Jack came from, slowly piecing together a puzzle about Jack's background.

Jack had to turn away and bit his lips from laughing too hard. By this point the newly dubbed Elsa had jumped out of the spirit's arms and was playing with Toothless in some sort of contrived dragon game.

"I'll tell you about it...later," Jack decided, once he finally managed to get his laughter in check. He was clutching his staff tightly, another hand covering his mouth. Hiccup shrugged and opened up his notebook again, seeing as Toothless was inadvertently giving him more information about what Elsa's kind was like.

After a few minutes, Jack spoke up again. "Hiccs?"

Hiccup hummed in response, motioning for Jack to continue.

"I'm really sorry this date thing didn't go the way you were planning it to...I know you wanted it to be only about us."

Hiccup abruptly stopped writing and turned to look at Jack, who wasn't looking at him and hanging his head in shame.

"It's fine, Jack," Hiccup tried to reassure, but Jack made a frustrated noise and held up a hand.

"I'm going to stop you right there dragon boy. Let me finish." Jack rubbed his forehead. "I know how much effort you put into making sure nothing would distract us today, okay? You were busier than ever these past few days." He turned towards Hiccup, leaning against his staff once they were face-to-face.

"I mean...that is true," Hiccup agreed carefully. He'd never lie to Jack.

Jack laughed wryly. "I just had to go ruin that, didn't I?"

Hiccup's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Jack pointed his staff at the two dragons. "I couldn't ignore that, Hiccup. You've been looking forward to this date all week and I had to brush it all aside the moment I see a dragon."

Hiccup...gets it, he does, but it would be a bit hypocritical of him to truly be upset at Jack if it were the case. "You don't seem to mind when I do it," Hiccup says.

Jack rolled his eyes. "That's because those dates were all instigated by me, babe. And very impromptu. I fully expect you to veer off-course when there's a new dragon around, you fire-breathing nerd."

"I understand you're speaking words, but I don't understand what they mean," Hiccup snarked in reply.

"Don't be a jerk. Anyway, my dates are clearly spontaneous, very prone to distractions. I don't mind that. But I do feel bad when my boyfriend went through all the effort of planning our perfect little date, only to get detoured by a dragon who, by all accounts, isn't in danger or dying," Jack sighed and looked away.

He only looks back at Hiccup because the viking cups a hand around his cheek and turns the spirit's head towards him. "Look," Hiccup said. "I know I acted a little annoyed when you wanted to check this out, back then."

Jack grimaced but nodded.

"And I appreciate that you actually noticed, and I accept your apology, however long-winded the explanation may have taken for me to get it." Jack snorted at that.

"But," Hiccup lifted his other hand to cup Jack's other cheek. "In the long run, it doesn't matter. Jack, I love you. I love you a lot. And as long as you're with me, and I'm with you, I honestly don't care what we're doing. I just want to do it with you by my side. That's all I could really want."

"You big sap," Jack teased, warmth in his eyes. Frost dusted his cheeks, and the only reason Hiccup knew was because he was still holding Jack's face in his hands. "Are you going to kiss me, or what?"

"It was on the agenda," Hiccup cheekily replied, glad that the doubt and guilt plaguing his boyfriend's mind was finally clear.

Jack let himself get pulled in by Hiccup's arm, until they were pressed against each other. Jack circled his arms around Hiccup's neck, and leaned in.

A few meters away, Toothless began herding Elsa further from the two, knowing they would be fully occupied by each other for a while.

For a very long while.

The things he did for his human.

[A/N: Where’s the tag system why isn’t it here? Anyway thank you for the prompt! It was sitting in my inbox for a few days but I had some motivation today so I figured I could write this. It was supposed to be short, but...clearly my hands have other ideas. For the other prompts I received a while back, maybe send me an ask about it? Thanks.

Also, more notes about this HiJack AU:

-Jack’s definitely from the events of ROTG. He’s not ‘stuck’ in the era of vikings, per se, but he can definitely travel to and fro. Because reasons.

-Hiccup knows Jack’s from a distant future. He just doesn’t know what’s IN the distant future and doesn’t care much about it unless it directly relates to Jack.

-None of the others but Toothless knows about Jack’s situation. Jack’s a little shit that leads them on and has them guessing. Astrid has stopped trying to attack Jack about it when she realizes Hiccup knows what Jack is hiding. That’s apparently good enough for her to trust Jack.

-This happens roughly before the second movie. I mean, duh. But it happens after RTTE.

-If you don’t know what dragon I used, it’s called the Ice Fury, a fan-made dragon in the HTTYD fanon wiki. Takes a bit of searching to actually find it, but I found a good pic of what I imagine it to look like:

-just imagine a baby form of that, thanks.

-Yes I did indeed name her after Frozen’s Elsa. Fight me.

-I’m of the personal headcanon that not all Night Furies, subspecies or otherwise, are extinct. In this AU, they aren’t. They’re just a lot more south than the Vikings are used to. They’re rather north-bound, aren’t they?

-I honestly don’t know why I put so much thought into a one-shot that isn’t going to be continued in any way. If you want to take inspiration from this AU, go ahead, I don’t mind. Just be sure to credit the appropriate sources. Including me.

[fallout-drabbles-n-stuff]

Paladin Danse x Pregnant! SoSu

(Blind betrayal feels, so beware. Nothing too angsty but still.)

The second Arthur Maxson gave the order you had to fight the urge to lose your lunch. Talking to Proctor Quinlan was no easier, a stone hard exterior shielding the need to cry. Whenever Haylen, his friend, confronted you was when you lost any control you might've had. Praying no one else would hear your muffled sobs against the scribes chest, you confessed what you've kept to yourself for far too long. In hindsight perhaps it was for the best, you didn't even want to humor the idea of what Maxson would've done if he knew what you carried inside your womb.

If he thought that your precious paladin was an abomination, worthy of being hunted like a dog, what would he think the product of your coupling was? It was enough to make a hallow sickness form in your chest.

"Haylen...what am I going to do?" Your voice came out mangled, heavy with somber tears. Tears that rolled down your puffy face by their own accord. Her embrace made you feel the slightest bit better, but nothing would help the empty pain you had in your heart.

You already had your family stolen from you, to be ordered to eliminate the one you had now was the greatest form of torture one could imagine.

"Oh (y/n).." She has to pause. She was shocked, so much pain and anger swelling in her gut at the notion of you considering the idea of killing Danse; to hear the truth was the equivalent of being splashed in the face with icy water. "Go..go to him, there's no telling what state he's in but if anyone can snap him out of it, it's you."

For the entire trek to Listening Post Bravo, those were the words that echoed in your head. You couldn't even begin to imagine what your valiant lover looked like now, he lived and breathed brotherhood- this...this was life changing in so many respects.

Even as the sentry turret bullets ricocheted off the metal of your power armor, their sounds didn't register. All you could feel was a lightheaded pain, your mouth dry and hands shaking in spite of the heavy metal encasing them. Exiting the steel contraption only made this shakiness worse, your knees almost giving with each step you forced forward. The ride down the elevator was scarier than any vertibird ride, the sounds of the ancient metal squealing louder than it should've. Luckily for yourself whatever protective measures he set up we're swiftly dealt with by your companion, giving you an opportunity to find Danse.

Time stood disturbingly still when you finally found him. You'd seen him a million times without his armor and yet none of those times had he seemed so..weak. His gloved hands entangled in his raven hair, shielding his face from your view. Perhaps that was for the best. So much fear flooded your body, you hardly felt you could move- much less speak. A piece of you wanted nothing more to run to him, bring his head to your chest and confess but you knew better. It was like Haylen said, who knew what state he was in.

"D..oh god, danse.." you wanted so badly to sound strong, to be that pillar of stability for him. So you cleared your throat, hoping he didn't hear your whisper. "Danse.." you repeated, this time forcing your voice to where it echoed throughout the small room.

Amber eyes rose agonizingly slow, glassy from tears of his own. His handsome face was a mess of red blotches and streaks of tears. To top off his miserable apparence, the large expanse of his chest you knew so well from countless night of love was now shaking from the force of sobs. Never would you have ever imagined him in such a light, nor would you have been able to prepare yourself for the heart-wrenching pain deep in your heart it erected. Suddenly your shaky wrists became like led weights at your sides, a pain striking you down to the core of your very being. Pain deep in your soul caused by his anguish.

The next few steps seemed to be beyond your control for now you were mere inches apart from your lover's seemingly frail sitting position.

"Of course he sent you.." his deep voice sounded pitifully choppy, hurt deep inside the glimmer of his eyes. “So...” he stopped, climbing to his feet to stand. “A-are you ready..soldier?” The quiver of his lip impossibly broke your heart even more.

He didn’t really think you’d hurt him? Did he? No amount of training or embracing of decorum would ever allow you to justify killing the one thing you had left in this horrific reality. Especially now..not when a piece of him would permanently be with you.

God save you.

“What?! Danse what are you talking ab-“ “you know what (y/n), there isn’t anyway Maxson wants me alive.” His words were sharp, a fresh tear rolling down his cheek in spite of the forced emotionless face he now wore. “I’m..I’m not, not even worth the breath I take in. I’m what I vowed to destroy, I need to die. Please, just-“

Unable to take anymore you hurriedly grabbed the side of his face, the shock in his eyes enough to make you gulp. Furrowing your brow you looked him dead in his amber orbs, a snarl forming at your nose.

“Don’t you even think about it Danse.” You breathed, anger now replacing your fear. “I don’t give a fuck what he thinks, you’re still you!” You spat in such a way that your voice hissed between the words.

“No, I’m not.” His hand somberly rose to grab ahold of yours, unable to remove it from his face. Instead he sniffles and leaned more into your touch. His vulnerability tearing you to pieces. “I would’ve told you had I known..I wouldn’t have for-forced you to..oh god.” He shook, no strength left to finish his thought.

As quickly as it came, your anger subsided, once again being replaced by your bitter sorrow.

“I know..I know you would’ve told me Danse. But it wouldn’t have changed anything. Y-you, I fell in love with you for the wonderful man you are. Created or not, you have be-..you have been nothing but an inspiration to me-“ “stop..” “no, you stop Danse! Haven’t you stopped to think about how your death would make me feel? How it would make our friends feel?” Now tears cascaded freely down both your cheeks, but from the softening of his clenched jaw you knew you struck a nerve..perhaps now would be the time..

A painful teary chuckle came from your lips as you stepped a pace backwards, grasping his other hand. You could only blame the shock making you so impulsive.

Within a second you firmly pressed his hand into the little swell of your lower stomach. It had been about two months since you figured you were pregnant, considering your muscular build it didn’t really look like you were carrying. It more or less just looked like you forgot a couple training regiments and indulged perhaps a bit too much. However the undeniable firmness of what appeared to be fat was there, your lover’s realization wasn’t though.

Yet another shaky breath racked by fear. “B..besides, how would I ever tell our child that..that mommy killed their daddy just because she was ordered to.”

The former paladin turned several shades pale, all color draining from his lips as his eyes widened impossibly large. His ears rung..his body swayed, his jaw even hung open.

“What?!” He sharply gasped, blinking in disbelief- his gaze rapidly flickering from your eyes to where his hand cradled what he learned to be his unborn child. “I..I don’t understand, how?? That isn’t possible..” he almost cried, his legs becoming far too weak to support himself, sending his body down into a kneeling position before you.

Unable to resist, you mirrored his actions- bringing you once again eye to eye with your dearest love.

“That’s what I wanted to tell you, you’re so much more human than you think danse. Maxson is wrong and this just proves it..” you knew it was dangerous to overload him now of all times but, what else could you do? You had no strength to argue his life with him, and you’d rather shoot yourself than kill him. If conditions were different than maybe you could’ve been more level headed but you couldn’t exactly go back in time and stop the conception of your babe, now could you?

Every minute he took to think had you on edge, but eventually a deep him came from his chest before he nodded hesitantly.

His hands once again pressed against your stomach, a gesture that gave you a spark of hopefulness. “Maybe you’re right...” he grumbled under his breath, still to where you could hear though. “If we..If I could do this, maybe I’m not..” he sighed, cutting himself off before he looked back into your eyes.

“And you’re right. I hadn’t even thought of what my death would do to you..you’ve loved me, gotten closer to me than anyone ever has..” “And I still love you Danse, so please..don’t. We can run away from this, we can be a family.” You whimpered, that hopeful yet tearful smile making his head spin.

“Yes...a family. I-I like the sound of that. B-but I..I can’t guarantee I’ll be the best..I um, we, we need to do some figuring out. We can do it together...?” He sounded so unsure, face now completely relaxed- save for the slanted eyebrows and glassy eyes.

“Yes, Danse, we can definitely do this together. We have a little bit of time after all, now..let’s get the hell out of here hm?” “Yeah, let’s.”

A bumpy road of self searching was set forth for the paladin after that moment, but one thing was certain for him. He loved you so much it hurt, and he would be eternally grateful for the second chance you delivered..and that you loved him as well despite his true identity. It was for these reasons Danse decided the second he was in the right space, he’d take you to the all faith chapel in diamond city and do what he’s wanted to do since he first realized he loved you. He may not be a paladin anymore, but now he was a father, and a husband- and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

[allyvampirelass29]

Murder at Cripple Creek

A NOS4A2 Review By: Allyssa J. Watkins

A boomtown swimming with ghosts Dead eyes can't hide Their hedonist living Drinking, debauchery and sinning Scarlet ladies having babies But a whorehouse is not a home Trading flesh for coin Tempting patrons, at the sacrifice of your boy Little Charlie grew up in the hellish dark The sins of the mother Scarring the son's heart Murder brewing in this simmering fleshpot Oh Hateful Harlot, Mother Manx Is is to your neglect and bitter thanks Your baby boy, molested, and you can't protect Your little dreamer from the wicked world you wrought for him Blood on a beautiful boy's hands But the only thing murdered here Is his innocence. Sending his rapist and that lustful bitch Back to hell Charlie, Charlie you're not a villain You had to save yourself.......

Is...... anyone alive out there? It's been days, and I'm still sobbing, my heart desolated by the roiling emotional turmoil, my ignited rage murderous. I don't know about you guys, but...... I'm an absolute wreck. WHY are you DOING this to me, NOS4A2!?!? After the brilliant turn of last week, the sleek sophistication, and glamourous entrapment, "Cripple Creek," was a backhand strike, a blatant violation that I never saw coming, and I spent the entire episode, quivering, sobbing, pleading desperately behind my hands plastered over my face, watching between my fingers, helpless to stop the punishing abuse My Charlie suffers in two different timelines, his bruises of an abused childhood mingling with the fresh wounds of now, as he is tortured, beaten and berated by Bing Partridge!!!

I hated this episode. I HATED it. There, I said it. But I think you're supposed to, I think that was the sole purpose of this traumatizing ordeal. However, as far as Bing (GO TO HELL YOU FILTHY BASTARD) is concerned, the writer's motivation seems drastically convoluted. If this was supposed to be Bing's Big Epiphany, his "redemption," (Ughhh seriously?) This episode fails miserably in accomplishing that. And if this episode was meant to do, what I had predicted back in Season One, cement him as the actual villain of NOS4A2, making him the more immoral evil, be his rise in notoriety, his coming of age as it were, into the monster he was always going to be, giving Charlie and Vic someone to unite their hatred against, it fails to do that too. The biggest misstep of the series, after so elegant a triumph, I'm going to drown my sorrows in ice cream, and try to forget that any of it ever happened. Close your eyes, and think of Christmasland........

I audibly groaned when we opened onto Bing at the Lake House. After so much needless repetition in an otherwise FLAWLESS episode, I REALLY did not want to relive Bing's point of view of the siege, unless it was him getting shot by white knight Chris McQueen over, and over, and over........ Thankfully, the rewind didn't last too long, but I was having NONE of his, "Are you there, God, it's me, Bing Partridge," moment!!! On his knees in the graveyard, (Why...... why are we in a graveyard?) Bing appeals to the heavens, proclaiming his own innocence, asking God to show him what he should do next. I snickered coldly, the whole thing melodramatic, and absurd, as he cries, "I've been so good!!!" Secretly, I was fantasizing about Buffy SLAYING his creepster ass in the graveyard, beating him bloody, before staking him in the heart with a witty saying like, "It's been a gas, Bing, but I get the last laugh!!!" Alas, alack, no such luck. His appeal to the heavens was answered not in divine intervention, but with bird droppings splattering in his mouth, which of course, translated in Bing-A-Ling Logic to, "Kill the FIRST person that tries to help you, bury him in the freshly dug grave, and take his keys!!!" It's PRAYING Bing, you dolt, not preying!!!

While the side quest FINALLY explains how Bing was able to catch up to Charlie and Wayne, after previously believed to be on foot, not to mention shot, which would have been IMPOSSIBLE, supernatural car not withstanding, it's altogether unnecessary. It was the less than scenic route to get to last week's blood-curdling cliff hanger, and I really think we could have done without all the maudlin hullaballoo, and picked right up from there. Also, it creeped me out BIG TIME hearing Bing Partridge say, "Hidey holes," because that's what I called them last week, when Charlie was adorably telling Wayne about his hiding places. "Look at you with your hidey holes, Babe!!!" Needless to say, Bing has ruined that phrase for me FOREVER!!!

"Charlie, Charlie, telling lies, soon he will be crying cries......" A chilling foreboding that was like ice in my veins........ I was definitely crying cries...... I literally WEPT with this horrid little rhyme, and even still I was so naïve, unprepared, for the gut-churning horror that waited in the shadows of a broken little boy's murdered childhood, and the degradation of the beautiful soul that survived it. It's one of the most grueling, and disturbing things, I've ever watched, and like my Darling Boy, strapped to the chair, enduring forced interrogation by gassing, brutal beatings by Bing's homicidal, ham-fisted punches, and some....... deeply unsettling sexual innuendo, I felt like I was the one getting tortured.........

I did utterly enjoy Charlie's feigned relief, as he uses that silver tongue, in valiant effort, to slip his way out of this sickening predicament. "Bing, My Dear Fellow, thank the stars! I thought you had been done in by those wretched McQueens!!" Charlie gasps, thankfully, knowing full well he'd left Bing behind to die, and for good reason. Any other time, this would have worked, Charlie would have used his coaxing charm, and Bing's oafish gullibility, twisted them into a breathtaking manipulation, weaving the lie that he had no choice but to leave him behind, and Bing would have eaten it out of the palm of his hand, because he wants that badly for it to be true. But Bing watched it happen, his face falling, as Charlie sped off without him, and he's DONE playing. Charlie's pleas fall on deaf ears, as Bing drugs him for answers, revealing the fatalities of every single one of Charlie's former accomplices, and with the finality of one apocalyptic truth....... Bing descends into a frenzied, foaming madness.

"Cripple Creek," is the double edged sword that none of us were meant to survive. Switching between the stabbing scenes of Charlie's withering assault, his lifeline to The Wraith, cruelly severed, and the slicing violation of his childhood self, his innocence massacred before our very eyes, our bleeding hearts never stood a chance. I always knew that Charlie's childhood was going to be horrid, downright Dickensian, devoid of magic and light, unloved by his drunk, whore mother, but I had no idea the HELL this beautiful boy endured at so tender an age, forever scarred, betrayed by the one person he trusted, respected, desperately in need of a father figure, only to be exploited in the most heinous way. It's a MIRACLE My Precious Love can even function as an adult, much less still manage to find wonder and beauty in the world, clinging, clawing to hold onto his ember, his remnant of pure light that persevered in a life of darkness.

The inexplicable joy at seeing a young Charlie Manx, aged 11 or 12, tapdancing on stage, along with the giddy marvel that this young actor looks just like our leading man in miniature, is short-lived, as a stranger takes an uncomfortable interest in him....... I don't know how, maybe it was the intent way he watched him dance, or the way he touched his shoulder a little too long, but I knew........ I KNEW this man was going to sexually abuse Charles, I felt it gnawing in my stomach, instantly unnerved, and I hoped with all my heart, my first instinct was wrong....... I'm devastated to say........ it was not.

Not only does this manipulative pedophile Son of a BITCH molest my baby, he first uses him to persuade other boys to flock to his house, knowing full well how much the young ones look up to Charlie, as their leader. He wins Charlie's favour and trust by befriending him, and giving our little darling the one thing he wants more than anything else. Escape. Escape from the vulgar, gratuitously sexual environment, that no young boy should have to endure, a chance to make money, have an honest, respectable living. A chance to have a father figure, a man to look up to, learn from, and take him under his wing. The shop owner offers all of that, with a crooked smile, the charade falling dangerously away, as he knocks back a shot glass, eying our boy, and then says in the cruelest, most chilling voice. "You've earned yourself some fun........"

Thankfully, NOS4A2 was not overly graphic in this lewd portrayal, but the innuendo was enough to make me ugly cry, and seethe, as this sweet child is violated by someone he admires so much, realizing in horror, that he led all of his friends to be mishandled in this same disgusting manner, like lambs to the slaughter. But our brave little Manx was NOT going to let this sin go unpunished, and I clapped, cheering him on, as he uses his sled, now tainted by its means of acquisition, to kill the shopkeeper, dark fire flashing in his eyes, blood splattering on the shot glass, and I've never been so happy, or nervously relieved to see someone die.

His mother comes to him, and instead of crying, and taking her boy in her arms, stroking his dark curls, soothing his fear, and assuaging his guilt, she just scoffs at his accusation, the picture of apathy, and places the blame back on him. "You knew too, Charlie!!!" You WHORE-ABLE Mother!!! Your son was just sexually ASSAULTED, and YOU DARE make it his own fault, like he'd turned a blind eye, and therefore deserved to get raped!?!? Charlie might not have killed her, if she'd actually had a maternal bone in her body, if she'd done SOMETHING, shown any sign of regret or compassion, but she doesn't, and I feel nothing but proud as he finishes her off too. Her death was surprising, given the admonishing way Charlie talks about his mother, creating the impression that she'd been a bane on his existence his entire life, and yes, as a writer, I wanted to see more of a direct conflict between them to make that defining moment that much more satisfying, but as a viewer, I was just grateful she was dead, and Charlie was free. The only murder perpetrated, the only death I mourned at Cripple Creek, was that of Charlie's innocence, his childhood slaughtered.

Meanwhile, Bing continues to torture Charlie in the present day, my chest shuddering with every thrown punch, and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming. What was the deafening truth spoken that sends Bing Partridge into a flailing rage, you ask?

"Christmasland is for children. We are special...... That's why we can't go......."

Charlie was never going to take Bing to Christmasland. All that this poor dope had lived for, dreamed of, for eight years, amidst his conning his way into dentists' offices, and offing mothers, and it was always a lie. I had suspected it the entire time, especially after the mention of a, "special feast," but what SHOCKED me the most, was the unimaginable heartbreak of Charlie's own deepest secret coming to light, and as Bing draws it forth, it's like drawing blood. In spite of being the architect of his lifelong dream, and greatest solace from a life full of abject misery, Charlie doesn't think he deserves Christmasland, because he sees himself as ruined........

I broke down sobbing, that pain, that anguish, that he's so long carried with him, ripping through me, and I'm tearing up even as I write this, remembering....... Charlie denying himself his own dream, seeing himself as a ruined article that might profane its pure vision, is a tragedy that I can't come back from. It's a sorrowful, aching confession, and yet somehow it explains so much, and in this, his greatest pain, his darkest secret, I felt intimately closer to him. At last........ we see why Charlie never stays long in his Christmas kingdom, why he's so focused on the next child, and the next, sacrificing time with his own daughter, because they deserve Christmasland, and he doesn't. Always the courier, never the partaker. Christmasland is for children, and Charlie Manx never got the chance to be one.

The searing pains of his past still guide so much of who he is today, placing a strict emphasis on propriety in every aspect of his person, in manner, speech, and dress, because he was robbed of his dignity as a child. I also, FINALLY, after two seasons, understand why he turns the children into vampires, a contradiction to his love of them, that has remained frustratingly elusive to my grasp. Charlie's childhood was taken from him, brought to a vulnerable, violent end, and by turning the Lost Children, theirs becomes eternal. They never have to grow up, and lose that purity, that innocence. I also realized, that by giving them their bite back, they are able to defend themselves, meaning no one can ever hurt them again.......

There was so much awful going on, so much inflicted misery, and disorienting chaos, that I was sure I'd heard wrong when Bing decides on an even more dehumanizing method of torture. Did Bing just...... call Charlie a BITCH!? I shook my head, but there it was again, and at this point I'd HAD it. Somebody give me a GUN, I will WASTE this SICK BASTARD myself!!! The skeevy sexual threat against Charlie felt like overkill to me, utterly ridiculous, a cheap shot at adding dramatic effect, especially in the face of his childhood shame. Bing has exhibited absolutely no inclination of...... swinging that way, as it were, before, and yeah they kind of threw in last minute that he'd done this to Mike's father, offscreen, but I don't know WHY he would do that, especially given his particular affinity for Mike. Charlie, himself, pointed out that there was no indication in the Graveyard of What Might Be that Mike needed saving, or that his father deserved punishing. It's awkward, and disturbing, and there seemed to me no method in this madness.

"If I'm a monster....... who deserves to die....... You deserve so much worse." BAM. Hell yeah, Babe!!! Thank GOD, Charlie's quick enough to convince Bing that he too is a monster, and we are spared any further asinine innuendo. Bing, after these series of unfortunate events, beating, berating, and threatening Charlie with rape, suddenly, deus ex machina-esque has a change of heart, and an epiphany that comes a LOT TOO LATE!!! We're both monsters, we BOTH deserve to die....... What we're doing is WRONG. Was I happy when Bing urged Wayne to go, and tell a police officer that his mom is Vic McQueen? Yes. Do I believe he did it out of the goodness of his heart, and has finally seen the light? Freaking HELL NO!!! Bing, after losing Christmasland, has nothing left to live for, and this is his way of giving up. If I can't go to Christmasland, Wayne can't go...... and he decides a bizarre murder/suicide in The Wraith is his final act of redemption.

Before they even showed the car crusher, I was already sobbing profusely, losing my freaking mind, because I had figured out exactly where Bing had taken Charlie.

"There's going to be two less monsters in the world........"

Meaning to crush them both, and kill the Wraith irrevocably, Bing puts on his mask, and presses the button. At first Wayne laughs, and thinks it's a game, his inner vampire child coming out, but when it hits him that Charlie's in actual danger, he realizes he has a choice to make....... Save Charlie Manx, or let him die, and go home safe to his Mom and Lou.

"No, My Boy, this isn't a game, it's time to play, Save Father Christmas!!!"

Charlie calls out frantically, coaxingly to his young charge, and I loved that so much, my heart overwhelmed with emotion. Yes, Wayne, PRETTY PLEASE save Father Christmas!!! A lot of people despised him for what happened next, screaming at Wayne for his choice, even calling him a stupid kid, but I, myself, felt even more love in my heart for that already dearly cherished little lad, as he smiles, and slams down on the button, halting the crusher, and saving Charlie from imminent death.

It's a profound moment, the abductee choosing to save his kidnapper's life, and many cried out strongly against it, but you have to understand....... Charlie Manx has become so much more to Wayne than the scary face in his mother's paintings. Here is a man that has shown genuine interest in his life, his hopes, his dreams, who has treated him gently, fussed over him, concerned, and who has come to love him like a father. Couple that with The Wraith's effects on Wayne, slowly tying the two of them together, it makes perfect sense to me, how this unexpected bond has formed. Yes, had Vic been there, herself, he would have chosen her over Charlie in a second, but when faced with the reality of letting Charlie die, our tender-hearted Bats just couldn't do it.

"Do think of me at Christmastime, won't you?"

CHARLIE. LIKE. A. BOSS!!!! The single greatest moment, and brightest scene in an hour of plunging darkness, is definitely Charlie, snapping back into his delectably dark, unrivaled perfection (although, I must say I still found him incredibly dashing in his distinguished grays) charging Bing Partridge, murder striking in his wild, smouldering eyes, stabbing him, with a reveling whisper, twisting the knife, with this most PERFECT line, that gave me wonderous, reverberating chills!!! I also LOVED how Charlie glowers in his lumpy face and says, "You were never special." DAMN that's HOT!!! My only grievance with an otherwise ENTHRALLING moment, was that inexplicably, yet again, CHARLIE DIDN'T KILL BING!!! Charlie has KILLED for so much less, and while he did offer a vague explanation about prison being so much worse for Bing than hell, it felt like hell frozen over that Charlie would ever let Bing live. I know this is the writers wanting to keep Bing around to creep another day, but MY GOD, hang that Partridge from a pear tree, and HAVE DONE already!!!!!

This was an especially dark episode, but there were flashes of some really beautiful, albeit fleeting moments, first with Wayne and Craig, and then with Millie and Cassie, though the reoccurring theme, the common thread, did seem to be Innocence Lost. I was startled with the The Wraith's sneaky trick of causing a child to forget their parents the longer they are in the car, and BLESS YOU, Craig for helping your son remember his mother, and fight the transformation!!! He tells Wayne that Vic's favourite movie was Jaws, and Wayne tells him that her favourite holiday is the 4th of July. (Which is really cool, because it's my favourite too!!!) This slows the Wraith's effects on Wayne, and becomes a very special moment between father and son, as they fight to keep Vic's memory alive.

"How do you know my mom?"

"She was my best friend."

More overwhelmed sobs, because apparently I haven't cried enough this episode!!! Craig decides not to tell Wayne that he's his father, but our little Bats is ingeniously clever, and I think he's going to figure it out before long!!! Another mini heart attack comes with a second lost tooth. The suspense of Wayne's slow turning, mirroring the tender emotion in this scene was fantastic.

Millie and her mother have a similar moment, and I thought that was BRILLIANT of her to introduce Vampire Millie to her former human self. The two play with dolls, and human Millie talks about how she can't wait to go on a date, and have adventures when she grows up! It's such an endearing scene, and also incredibly sad, as the pale, gaunt shell of Vampire Millie envies her bright, and bubbly human counterpart, seeing the hope and innocence that she's so long been bereft of. "She's me...... Who I'm supposed to be." Cassie explains that her father's sad fantasy is depriving Millie of the gift of growing up, and explains that there's nothing Charlie Manx fears more than a woman with her own mind, and that's the LAST thing he wants his beloved daughter to become. A woman that would eventually leave him. More tears. Poor Millie. Poor Charlie!! Can I just give everybody a hug!?

"Cripple Creek," lingers like BAD Dream, and all I want to do right now, is curl up with Charlie Manx, hold him in my arms, stroke his cheek, soothe him with the tenderest hands, and softest words, tell him he's beautiful, and that he deserves Christmasland, and the world, that he's not ruined, but PURE!!! This was my least favourite episode in the entire series, and just like, "The Gas Mask Man," will be skipped indefinitely in the re-watch, but like I said, it endeared Charlie even more to my heart, and I feel fiercely protective over him, over that goodness that still glows in his dark eyes, despite lifetimes of feeling unloved, and in ever-present pain. All I ever wanted in Season One, was a glimpse into the past that crafted my mysterious and refined vampire chauffeur, and this entire experience, My Darlings, is an exercise in, "Be Careful What You Wish For..........."

[uzuuzuking]

so this started out as just a general post about why i like cinderella adaptations, but slowly spiraled into a ranking/review of all the cinderella adaptations i’ve seen in my short, young life. so strap in for possibly the longest post i’ve ever made on this blog. (look, i never know how much i have to say about something until i really get going lmao)

idk why i like cinderella adaptations/remakes/spinoffs so much? most of them are garbage (especially the ones within the last 10 years don’t @ me) but fuck it i like this brand of garbage. it’s fun to watch these movies and rework the bad plotlines and dialogue in my head as i go along.

i guess i like the source material and some of the aspects of all the different adaptations, but honestly i just like re-imagining them because there’s only so much cringey script-written-for-teens-but-clearly-written-by-40-year-old-adults-who-have-no-idea-how-teens-or-even-people-for-that-matter-actually-talk-and-interact i can take in one excruciating sitting.

anyway here’s my personal ranking of all the cinderella adaptations i’ve seen that no one asked for. (not including stage productions because i haven’t seen any and have no opinion of them. also not including into the woods because that’s not just cinderella, but a spectacular amalgamation of fairytale mishap and shenanigan.) and reviews because apparently i had more to say than i originally thought when i first started constructing this list:

cinderella (1997) - the absolute best cinderella adaptation of all time, hands down, this is non-negotiable. this movie has it all: an excellent and diverse cast, gorgeous costume design, beautiful sets, some of the most dazzling dance numbers i ever witnessed when i first watched it at the wee age of 4, and a positive, progressive message that was accurate for its time yet also so ahead of its time. i cannot praise this version of cinderella enough, it is my all time favorite and one of my top 3 feel-good movies. if you watched it today, the effects might not be as magical compared to what we have now, but keep in mind it was released in 1997. anyway, the cast is truly amazing and so effortlessly inclusive (and honestly the fact that the prince was asian with a black mother and white father and they literally never addressed it was such a power move). i could go on about this movie forever (i’ll probably make a whole post dedicated to it in the future) and what it meant to me and many others as young, impressionable poc. in conclusion, this movie set an exceedingly high standard for me and destroyed the chances of any other cinderella adaptation even hoping to live up to that. i love it! so! much!

ever after: a cinderella story (1998) - tbh i never saw this until i was in college but i immediately fell in love. i love the flow of the story as a whole - i never felt like anything was missing. i love the costumes and i especially love how danielle and henry’s relationship progressed throughout the film. slow-burn comes to mind when i watch their interactions and we all love a sweet, sweet slow-burn. it’s romance babes! it’s Dramatic in a few scenes and all i can say is that it really works because drew barrymore’s performance is exceptional, fantastic, engaging, more adjectives to describe how enthralled by her i was. above all, her character is compassionate - she uses her voice to speak in support for those who are suppressed by the flawed government systems and law enforcers, and influences the prince to use his status and power to better his people who lack the privileges of the nobility. she’s such a strong female lead (emotionally and physically - she literally fireman carries her love interest, who is taller than her and definitely exceeds her own bodyweight) and truly the mvp of this adaptation. watch it. watch it for Her.

enchanted (2007) - amy adams and idina menzel - ‘nuff said. okay but for real this one is so unique with its transition from classic d*sney 2D animation style to the real three-dimensional world and i adore it to the ends of the earth. the music? slaps! the story? slaps! the development of the main character? slaps!! she’s so princess-y and d*sney cartoon-y and struggles in the real world, but she adapts at a good pace and i love that she learns to be realistic while also keeping hope and love close to her heart. also her mother figure / daughter figure bond with morgan is so so precious. the only constructive criticism i have for this movie is the fact that we were robbed of idina menzel singing!!! did they know all along she was destined to play the frozen queen years in the future and decided against her singing in this one?? is that it? ridiculous. it’s been over a decade and i’m still seething over this. other than that this movie is *chef’s kiss*

ella enchanted (2004) - anne hathaway’s back must still be hurting from carrying this film. (no shade to the other cast members, they’re good, but anne is a queen and i forever love her.) this is another childhood favorite of mine. the story itself is a refreshing take - hats off to gail carson levine for the source material! i’ve talked about the differences between the movie and book before in the midst of my reread of the book a few months ago, but i don’t remember how much i focused on the movie. it’s so different from the book that it might as well be its own thing. on its own, the movie is pretty decent! again, mostly because of anne. it’s funny, it’s sad (especially that scene towards the beginning between ella and areida, i’m in stupid tears every time), and it gets weird but it’s a fun time. the chemistry between char and ella is so zesty i can feel it through the screen, i swoon over both of them. tbh i probably wouldn’t like this movie so much if not for the fact that anne hathaway is truly talented and i spend most of my time watching it just looking at her. 

cinderella 3: a twist in time (2007) - i genuinely enjoyed and appreciated how the characters were written in this one. they all had clear motives and became much more dynamic through their lines and actions (drizella is arguably the most static character here but she still amuses me so it’s fine i guess). cinderella has more agency since the stakes are higher. prince charming actually has a gotdamn personality and has some of the funniest scenes and dialogue. good for him. i was kind of sad that anastasia’s story with the sweet baker boy was thanos snapped by the stepmother, but she and baker boy get a cute credits illustration together so it’s still canon! maybe i’m more biased on this one because i grew up rewatching it A Lot, but i definitely prefer it to the first and second movies.

cinderella (2000) - this one is kind of weird but i like it? the film has a really interesting vibe that i’m still trying to figure out how to describe even after seeing it like 5 times. wikipedia refers to the aesthetic style as “the glamour of the 1950s” which just might be as close as we can get. it follows the general guidelines of the cinderella plot, but the main differences were: zezolla (cinderella) was already helping with the chores before her father remarried, claudette (stepmother) was actively trying to murder zezolla’s father during their marriage, the stepsisters were much more violent and crass (they hunted zezolla’s beloved farm animals for sport and talked about getting “a man in [their] bed”), zezolla’s father was manipulated by everything claudette did and said and treated his own daughter poorly as a result, and prince valiant is honestly kind of a douchebag but seems willing to improve himself after meeting zezolla (basically his vibes are iffy but he’s willing to learn). this whole movie is pretty niche and i have yet to interact with someone who’s also seen it. and the only reason i’ve seen it so many times is because i just like listening to how the dialogue is delivered. (except for prince valiant’s random song at the ball, i kind of hated that and i skip through it every time lol).

a cinderella story (2004) - the classic hilary duff version. very cliche early 2000s high school romance, but it works for the cinderella narrative. not particularly diverse. a classic nonetheless. in my mind this is the pinnacle of the “modern cinderella movie” type. this is one of the most iconic movies for us zillennials and i’d like to think it’s known well enough for me to not go into a lot of detail about it. basically it was fresh and new for its time, had plenty of memorable scenes, and did i mention hilary duff? the film kind of plays into the “not like other girls” trope - as do a couple of the movies i listed above - but i’m just going to acknowledge that the early 2000s were Wack and simply move on. all in all, i like this movie for the nostalgia, iconic scenes, and hilary duff. also jennifer coolidge is pretty funny as the stepmother.

another cinderella story (2008) - again, an early 2000s classic, but this time with selena gomez. i liked the dancing in this one. i like selena’s quiet, somewhat timid characterization of her character, mary. and jane lynch in the stepmother role is perfection. she’s so fun to watch and is always hilarious. the story is nothing remarkable, but it’s okay and i liked it as a kid. after the hilary duff version, this one still managed to feel fresh because, though it was similar in its modern era approach, it focused more on the performing arts and dance. “cinderella” is an aspiring dancer, rather than the 2004 aspiring scholar. the “prince” is a famous popstar, not a football player. the stepmother is an outdated popstar desperate to stay Hip and Relevant with the kids, not a cranky botox lady. honestly i just love watching this one for the dancing, mary’s genuine and innocent love for the “prince”, and literally everything that comes out of jane lynch’s mouth. that woman is a dialogue gold mine.

a cinderella story: once upon a song (2011) - lucy hale is good. missi pyle is good. they play their roles and lines that they’re given fairly well. over all, it’s entertaining. lucy, of course, has them Pipes and i do like the songs in this movie. the only major downside for me was the “token best friend of color” trope. lucy’s best friend is an asian girl who’s good at sports and is there for one liners and support. the prince charming character’s best friend is a black guy who he only knew for probably a month at the most. he can beatbox, sing, and dj. basically he’s also just there as support. they really don’t do much for the plot but they’re there for diversity and whatnot. this movie is.. fine.

cinderella (1950) - the only reason this ranks so low for me is because i watched it a lot as a child when it was on vhs and it always felt like a fever dream to me. i was just really young and didn’t feel invested in any of the characters. it is a classic, though, and i would watch it again and be able to enjoy it.

cinderella 2: dreams come true (2002) - i liked cinderella’s and anastasia’s stories from this one. jaq’s was meh. it was fine.

dj cinderella or cinderella pop (2019) - netflix knows i like cinderella adaptations so, naturally, they shoved this into my recommended and, naturally, i watched it. twice. which is more than i can say for the following review... so this movie is brazillian and is pretty much the cut & mold of modern cinderella movies. but she wants to be a dj. she stars out living a perfect life as a wealthy girl with a loving family, but turns out her dad is cheating on her mom with his secretary. that’s when she “stops believing in love”. which is actually valid bc if i saw one of my parental figures cheating on the other, i honestly wouldn’t know what to believe in anymore. anyway, cíntia dorella (yes. that’s her full name.) and her mom move into her aunt’s place. a year or so passes. stepmother/secretary/cheating lady is throwing an extravagant birthday party for her daughters and hires freddy prince, a popular musician who cíntia doesn’t really like. meanwhile, cíntia gets a dj gig she’s excited for until she finds out she’s the opener for freddy prince at her stepsisters’ party. she ends up disguising herself as “dj cinderella” and freddy is super into her. it’s pretty generic from there but i was entertained enough to watch it twice. take from that what you will.

cinderella (2015) - ok so we been knew that d*sney’s live action remakes ain’t shit, and this one is no exception. d*sney within the last few years has been like 99% aesthetics and marketing. this movie was visually stunning, especially with the settings and costumes. those were the only 2 things i truly liked. everything else was forgettable. in its defense, i did read a post about the “have courage and be kind” message which is something wonderful to hold onto, especially for anyone in an abusive situation like ella. that’s valid and i respect that. i still lowkey hate this movie tho. i started getting a headache about 4 reviews ago, but remembering how much praise this movie got has reignited my fighting spirit. honestly if you like it, that’s good, you like what you like and that’s that. but this is my review and i hated how proper ella’s posture was (she’s been doing physical labor hunched on the floor for years now, how does she not slump around in exhaustion at the end of the day??), i hated how perfectly curated the whole thing was (again, that’s mostly because of d*sney and their aesthetics), and i hated how hollow everything felt. i can’t perfectly describe it, but i never felt emotionally invested in any of the characters. something about their performance was lacking and yet again i blame d*sney. i actually really like lily james, but something about the way she was directed left me devoid of emotional attachment to ella. i remember nothing about ella’s step family or the prince. that’s how much of an impact this adaptation had on me. also i just remembered the fairy godmother as i type this. i ADORE helena bonham carter, but this movie does a horrible disservice to her. if she liked working on this movie, then i’m happy for her, but even she wasn’t strong enough to sell this to me. i saw this movie in theaters and came out of it lamenting my waste of money that i could have spent on something i would have actually enjoyed. but the thing that enraged me the most, the thing i despised, i detested, the thing i seethed over and rant about to this day was the ONE (1) token black character. i don’t even know if he had a name but he was captain of the guard or some shit. if i remember correctly (but probably not tbh this movie was so forgettable), he was the one who heard ella singing and was the whole reason the prince was able to have her try on the glass slipper. this man, who had zero character development, zero relevance to the plot, an insignificant amount of screen time, is suddenly the reason the main character is able to finally connect with her love interest. um. What. i hate how the writers treated him and i will forever be filled with every last grain of salt over this. anyway he’s my favorite character and everyone else is just eh. to conclude this ungodly long review, i don’t like this movie. i tried to watch it again once but got so bored i quit 10 minutes in. do yourself a favor and watch cinderella (1997) instead. (the only reason this movie is ranked above the remaining 5 is the production quality. but i guess that’s unfair bc d*sney has the big bucks. and maybe i wouldn’t be so harsh if i weren’t sleep deprived and grumpy from a sugar-induced headache, but these feelings still come from my Chest so idk.)

a cinderella story: a christmas wish (2019) - i think we all secretly enjoy christmas-themed movies and this has got to be someone’s guilty pleasure. i was mildly entertained (but again with the cringey dialogue written by people clearly not in high school...) and i do like laura marano. but they autotuned her to hell and back - which i loathed - because the woman can actually sing and she has a lovely voice. she got to sing candidly one (1) time and i relished the experience. my ears thank her beautiful, un-autotuned voice. other than that it was.. fine. i didn’t hate it but i didn’t like it either. laura marano deserves better than this. (can’t say the same for the other actors tho because their roles were unmemorable.) also laura marano was super cute in her elf costume!

not cinderella’s type (2018) - i legit forgot about this one until after i compiled the entire list lol. i saw it on youtube and it was decent as far as i remember. it’s another modern day cinderella. i think the “prince” runs over “cinderella’s” cat or something?? i’m pretty sure it was her mom’s cat so now she has nothing left to remember her mom by. prince boy feels awful and tries to befriend her or do something to make it up to her, but she just doesn’t really like him. i think her aunt and uncle are emotionally abusive to her and prince boy does his best to be there for her without making things worse. if i remember correctly, i liked that aspect of the movie because it’s hard to be there for a victim of any kind of abuse if trying to help them could potentially hurt them more, especially minors still under the care of abusive guardians. anyway i think cinderella girl’s best friend is in love with her or something but she ends up not being into him and slowly gets together with prince boy. she eventually moves out of her guardians’ house and into the spare house at prince boy’s home (he’s rich or something). i need to rewatch this movie tbh i could be wrong about everything here lol.

rags (2012) - not amazing, definitely not memorable because i have nothing to say about its plot or writing, but it has keke palmer which is its one redeeming quality. also it’s the only one on this list where the male protagonist is the cinderella. so that’s solid i guess.

a cinderella story: if the shoe fits (2016) - this was a movie. it happened. i vaguely remember how ridiculous it was and sometimes i felt secondhand embarrassment. i don’t remember what about specifically, but i remember the emotion. sofia carson is a talented singer. i think she’s a decent actor but this script was Bad.

elle: a modern cinderella tale (2010) - i only watched this one because i was bored out of my damn mind and saw it on youtube. i felt bad for all the actors because this script was terrible. i don’t recommend this unless you’re about to sit down with your squad and make fun of it.

apparently descendants is on the “cinderella adaptations and references” list on imdb but i refuse to put it on my list because it’s not a cinderella-specific adaptation and i don’t like the descendants franchise. now, if we’re going to discuss a quality series about the children of fairytale characters, that would hands down be ever after high. but that’s a different topic for a different day.

thus concludes the ranking no one asked for but i felt compelled to make. thank you and goodnight

[gerec]

The Master of Charlton Park

Chapter 6 - Part 2

Part 1

Indeed the days became easier as he made up for lost time, spending hours doting on a growing Edie with Emma at his side. So much had already changed in the few weeks he’d stayed away; Edie was smiling now, gripping their fingers with her tiny hands, and growing more and more aware of the world and the people around her. With relief they noted that she had a calm disposition, and did not cry unceasingly as some babes did for reasons unknown. It was easy to love her and to be charmed by her presence, and Erik could feel the veil of gloom gradually dissipate, from his own spirit and eventually from the entirety of Charlton Park.

His tears were truly happy ones, the day he heard the sweet sound of his daughter’s laughter for the first time. He wrote of her progress each night in a journal he kept by the bed, addressing them always to Charles though he knew not when – or if – they would ever be read. It grieved him still, that his lover was missing so much of Edie’s life, and being deprived the joy of seeing in person every milestone she met and new skill that she learned. But the sharp pain of that absence ebbed gradually into a dull ache, the separation made more bearable whenever Charles’ sky blue eyes looked up at him from Edie’s precious face.

As the warm days of summer edged slowly into fall, Erik found his mood steadily improving, and each new morning seemed less onerous than the next. It was not the same without Charles – and Erik knew that he would never recover fully from that loss – but every moment he spent in Edie’s company brought him great joy and a much needed sense of purpose. He even managed some goodwill towards McCoy when word reached them of his engagement to Raven, though a part of him would always begrudge their happiness gained at the expense of his own family’s future.

“Perhaps it is time that we called on the Xaviers,” Emma said after dinner one evening, soon after  McCoy’s most recent appointment with Edie. “I think it would be most appropriate to extend our well wishes in person, and offer our congratulations. We are indebted to Dr. McCoy after all, for delivering Edie safely, and of course I’ve grown rather fond of Raven over her many visits here at Charlton Park.” Erik stilled even as his heart leaped painfully in his chest, clamoring eagerly at the thought of seeing Charles again after months apart. It would be difficult he knew, to be in the same room and not be able to speak freely or to touch, but Erik would suffer any discomfort or awkwardness to see for himself that Charles was content and in good health.     “How soon can we go?” Emma smiled. “I’ve sent word already that they should expect us tomorrow. Does that please you, oh husband of mine?” “Indeed it does,” he answered, laughing as he swept her up into a spontaneous and heartfelt hug. “I do not know what I would do without you in my life, dearest Emma. I am lucky to have such a friend as you.” “On that I can certainly agree,” she teased, though she made no further remark on his obvious excitement. He slept barely a wink through the night, so anxious was he over the impending visit, and it was barely morning before Erik was springing out of bed. It felt like hours later before he and Emma finally set off in the carriage, with messages from some of the household specifically for Charles. Though Erik wanted desperately to bring Edie along it was not appropriate for a social call, and so she was left in the capable hands of Ms. Salvadore for the afternoon. He thought instead of the precious gift he carried in his jacket – one he’d procured solely with Charles in mind – and hoped it could be a small consolation for their daughter’s absence. Their arrival anticipated, they found themselves ushered quickly though with great formality into the study by the Xaviers’ butler, into the room where he had negotiated Charles’ surrogacy with Kurt Marko just a year ago. The man was already waiting, along with both Charles and Raven, though Erik had eyes only for the lover he’d so missed. “Welcome, welcome, Lord and Lady Lehnsherr, to my home,” Marko said, and Erik made a valiant effort not to roll his eyes at the ownership claim over a place that did not bear his name. He caught a glimpse of a smirk on Charles’ face - as though he knew exactly what Erik thought of his stepfather’s words - though it was there and gone again in a flash. “Thank you Mr. Marko,” Emma returned, and Erik was content to let her deal with the pleasantries, his attention focused entirely on Charles who stood at the other end of the room. He looked even better than Erik remembered, skin flush with colour and his eyes sharp and blue, and when Charles smiled at him - a little shy, but still warm and affectionate - Erik’s poor heart threatened to burst from his chest. “—congratulations on the engagement. You must be so very pleased with the match.” Marko waved away the servant who brought in tea for the party, and gestured for Raven to serve in her stead. “Ah yes. I have to say it came as a bit of surprise, though I can’t say I’m displeased with the choice, given the circumstances.” Emma frowned. “I’m sorry, but what circumstances? I assure you Mr. McCoy is a most respectable choice for Miss Xavier, and he has a great future ahead of him in London’s finest hospitals.” “Oh no I wasn’t referring to McCoy,” Marko answered, sending an impatient glare towards Raven when her hand trembled slightly as she poured his tea, “I was talking about Charles and Captain Rogers. Wasn’t that the reason for your visit? I thought, given how well you’ve always treated my stepson that you came for him? To extend your well wishes on his engagement to the Captain?”

[carmenlire]

What’s in a Name

read on ao3

Damn it.

Alec sits up a little, away from the wall of warmth behind him, and reaches for the nightstand. He refuses to open his eyes as he slaps half-heartedly half a dozen times, hand finally finding his phone to turn off the obnoxious alarm.

He swipes across the screen and the bedroom descends back into silence. It’s totally dark, the December gloom not the only thing to blame. Alec’s alarm goes off at five thirty sharp every day.

He doesn’t want to get up.

As he settles back into bed, Magnus’s arm tightens against his stomach. The two of them lie there for a while, enjoying the calm before the storm.

As the power couple of New York, they rarely have days off and Alec’s schedule is teeming with appointments and a perpetual list of tasks to check off.

Alec isn’t a morning person. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t regularly wake up at the ass crack of dawn, sometimes with as little as forty five minutes of sleep, but it means that he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t get a thrill from having to leave Magnus, warm and pliant, alone in bed. He doesn’t enjoy his feet connecting with ice cold floors and showers where he’s half asleep and swaying on his feet. His morning runs, a necessity and more dreaded force of habit now than anything else, don’t make him think of rainbows and butterflies and puppies.

They make him miss his boyfriend and his bed and just five more goddamn minutes of sleep.

He doesn’t truly feel like Alec, proper shadowhunter, Head of the Institute, until he’s had his morning coffee. Before that, he refuses to be a person.

Alec is three seconds from going back under when he feels lips against his spine.

That feather-light touch is enough to bring him back from the brink. He focuses on Magnus’s mouth, trailing kisses along his shoulders and sighs, content, but just a little regretful as he flips over and sees his boyfriend, sleep-rumpled and adorable. His eyes are closed but there’s a little smile on his face and Alec can’t resist moving in and kissing him. Soft, chaste, just a meeting of lips. When he pulls back a few seconds later, he sees Magnus staring at him with unglamoured eyes, glowing faintly in the dark.

“Morning, darling,” he says, voice raspy as his eyes slip closed, lifting an arm on autopilot so Alec can wriggle closer until his head is tucked under Magnus’s chin and he can throw a leg over his hip.

They lay like that for a few minutes, Alec’s internal clock ticking all the while. This is often Alec’s favorite part of the day. It’s not unusual for him to come straggling back to the loft at midnight or even later. This time, however, these twenty minutes before he has to get up and become one of the most influential people of the Shadow World is precious and Alec often thinks that it’s the only thing that keeps him sane during frustrating meetings and ruthless political machinations.

He doesn’t respond, just noses along Magnus’s chest, breathing in the faint sandalwood scent that means comfort and home and love.

Alec enjoys a last moment or two as he plays over his schedule for the day. He has a conference call with a few other institutes in North America and he needs to reprimand one of his men for insubordination during the morning. Between various administrative duties that never go away, he also wants to squeeze in some time to check in on a few training sessions.

Alec can tell that Magnus has fallen back asleep by the way he’s breathing and the dead weight over his waist, so he carefully pulls out of his hold, cursing under his breath as the chilly air touches him.

He uses the bathroom, splashing water on his face in a valiant effort to wake up before he pads to the closet, throwing on sweats and a hoodie, lacing up his Nikes, and he’s heading out the door.

It’s cold as shit and it takes the first two miles for Alec to warm up. He runs through the streets of Brooklyn, cursing snow and the cold and having to be a productive member of society, but he hits his stride and by the end of his ten miles he’s sweating but energized. He stops by Starbucks and orders an extra hot mocha with an americano before making his way back to the apartment.

He sets the cups down on the kitchen, taking a last swig of chocolatey caffeine, before ducking into the shower. He turns the water to scalding, stripping out of his disgusting clothes and stepping into the hot water.

Immediately, he shivers, but it’s a good feeling, steamy water heating cold flesh and icy bones. He stands under the spray for a few minutes, soaking it in, before he reaches for the shampoo. The rest of his shower is militaristically short-- the one deviation from his time before Magnus is the quality of products. He’s found that he, too, loves the sandalwood body wash and his hair just feels nicer when he uses conditioner that isn’t ninety percent water.

Alec turns off the water and reaches for a towel, scrubbing his hair before wrapping it around his waist. He brushes his teeth and then decides it’s too cold to shave, dabbing cologne onto his neck and wrists instead of aftershave.

He wastes a few minutes trying to comb his hair into submission before going into the walk-in closet and getting dressed. He steps into a pair of boxers before deciding on an olive green cable knit sweater and black jeans. He’s doesn’t have any meetings today so he can dress down a little.

He walks over to the bed, going around to Magnus’s side and just looks at him for a few seconds. He’s on his stomach, face smashed into the pillow with the covers pulled up to his neck. Alec smiles at the sight before leaning down and kissing his hair, running a hand down his back and murmuring, “Bye, babe, I hope you’re dreaming of me.”

Magnus snuffles a little but doesn’t wake up and Alec leaves the bedroom, turning off the lights as he goes.

With the bedroom door shut, Alec moves a little more freely, not afraid of disturbing Magnus. He goes over to the foyer, putting on his combat boots and peacoat, looping a scarf around his neck before going back to the kitchen and grabbing his coffee. He reaches for a post-it note, scrabbling a little message to Magnus before sticking it on top of the americano cup. Humming as he takes a sip of his still hot mocha, his eyes skim the loft, thinking of anything he may have forgotten before he grabs his keys and cell and heads out the door.

It’s just after 7:30 now and the streets are buzzing with commuters as Alec makes his way to the Institute. Alec expertly weaves through the crowd, soaking in New York in all its glory. He’s a New Yorker born and bred, and it warms his heart to see his city in such a way.

It’s a few weeks before Christmas and Alec walks past dozens of storefronts decked out in red and green, adorned in twinkling lights and tinsel.

It makes something clutch in his chest. It’s pretty damn picturesque.

Alec knows he has a reputation to uphold, both among friends and strangers. He’s surly and standoffish and likes to pretend he’s above certain things. The truth is-- and only a few close people know-- is that Alec has a romantic streak a mile wide and he loves the decorations and very feel in the air this time of the year. It’s whimsical and fun and makes having to work twelve hour days a little more bearable.

Alec’s just draining the last of his drink, head tilted back, when a little boy who can’t be more than four years old walks straight into him. He’s bundled up in a puffy coat and jeans, with a bright purple hat on his head. He was holding his dad’s hand but as Alec looks around, he sees that the boy must have gotten distracted with the festive shopping display a little ways down the block.

The boy looks up at Alec in wonder, probably at his height, and mumbles, “Sorry,” looking a little embarrassed.

Alec is set to respond when the dad chimes in. “Hey, sorry man. His eyes must have been wandering.” The dad’s eyes linger on him, but Alec doesn’t notice as he crouches down in front of the boy.

“Hey, buddy,” Alec says.

The little boy grins shyly at him. “ Hi, mister.”

Alec smiles, holding out a hand. “My name is Alec. What’s yours?”

“Antoni.”

Antoni returns Alec’s handshake, chest puffing out at being asked to do such an adult gesture.

Alec points to the Christmas display. “Did you see something you liked?”

The boy’s eyes light up and he starts jumping up and down. “Yeah, I did! It’s the Captain America shield in the window. I asked Santa for one for Christmas!”

Alec nods encouragingly. “That’s awesome, buddy!” After meeting the father’s gaze, seeing his nod, Alec turns back to Antoni and winks. “I have a feeling you’re going to be very happy on Christmas morning.”

He stands up and ruffles the kid’s hair before nodding at the dad and continuing on his way.

Alec doesn’t see the dad watch him walk away or the way Antoni’s eyes are glued to him with awe as he whispers under his breath, “I just met an elf.”

Alec loves kids, he’s always had a soft spot for them, and he always tries to be a little extra nice when he runs into them-- sometimes literally. He remembers what his childhood was like and if he can make a kid smile or feel okay, even if it’s just for a minute, he wants to do it.

He looks forward to having children of his own someday.

Alec ducks into another coffee shop a block away from the Institute, ordering his second coffee of the day, and paying with his Clave-issued credit card. He might hate the bastards, but he can’t deny that they’re generous with work expenses.

Alec’s smiling as he walks across the courtyard in front of the Institute but he lets it die on his lips as he opens one of the ornate front doors.

He might not be a tyrant like Maryse Lightwood in her heyday, but he runs a tight ship. People don’t scuttle out of his path when they see him headed their way but he demands respect and excellence. New York is one of the busiest cities in the world and as such they’re held to a firmer standard than some other locations.

It doesn’t help their case that Alec is constantly trying to implement revolutionary progress-- he needs his shadowhunters to stay on their shit.

It helps that he doesn’t particularly like most people, too. Alec might be happy and soft for a few people but they’ve earned a spot in his inner circle. The few hundred shadowhunters under his command haven’t earned the privilege of knowing him.

Alec takes a sip of his latte as he nods to a few people who glance in his direction. He keeps up his stride though, not stopping until he meets Jace near one of the computers.

“Hey, what’s up bro?”

Alec shrugs. “Nothing much, just the usual. I have a few calls to make this morning.” He pauses. “Actually, have you seen Bluefield?”

Jace thinks about it for a minute before shaking his head. “No, he hasn’t come down yet. Hang on a sec, let me check the schedule.”

Jace turns back to the screen, typing in a few phrases and entering his password again. Once that’s done, the Institute’s schedule pops up, a list of everyone’s shifts available by the day, week, or month.

Both of them take a few minutes to look it over and Alec raises a brow as his eyes go cool.

He and Jace share a look.

“Bluefield was supposed to be in the command center almost an hour ago.”

“Isn’t that right.”

Alec’s lips quirk in an approximation of a smile and Jace can’t help but feel a little bad for the bastard.

Alec looks over at Jace, “Would you--”

“Yeah, I got it. He’ll be in your office in ten.”

Alec grins and claps Jace on the back before turning to make his way to his office.

He slows a few feet away, looking over his shoulder and calling out, “Remember, we have a meeting at six to discuss strategic planning for the next quarter.”

Jace rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know, I’ve gotten an email alert and everything. Go do your Head of the Institute thing, Lightwood.”

It’s Alec’s turn to roll his eyes as he resumes his walk.

Izzy’s probably still in bed-- she wouldn’t have gotten in from patrol until almost dawn-- so Alec makes it to his office without interruption.

He unlocks his door, sweeping it open and walking in before letting it close behind him. He shrugs out of his coat, hanging it on the rack immediately to his left, unwrapping his scarf and doing the same.

He shoves the sleeves of his sweater up before going over to the fireplace and throwing a log onto it, igniting it and standing for a minute or two as the fire builds up, as it eases the chill from the air.

Alec’s always loved the hybrid mix of technology and traditional decor shadowhunters favor. This Institute has weapons and innovation decades, if not centuries, ahead of mundanes but there’s something to be said for iron framework and ornate heirlooms and fireplaces that are impractical and inefficient in the twenty first century.

Alec sits at his desk, booting up his computer, and reaches for his coffee, taking a lingering sip as he waits to log in.

Resignedly, he looks at the corner of his desk where there’s a mountain of mission reports to approve and Alec wishes he could get a secretary.

It’s definitely not out of the realm of possibility and he laughs as he imagines Jace in the corner of his office working at a miniature desk, permanent scowl on his face as his eyes glaze over in boredom.

His thoughts break off as his computer chimes the start-up menu and he’s entering his password when his phone vibrates with a text.

Alec fumbles to take it out of his pocket but he’s rewarded. The text is from Magnus and when he opens it, it’s to see a frankly adorable selfie. Magnus is in the kitchen, holding the americano up to his lips as he pouts at the camera. The attached message says thank you, Alexander. A cup of coffee doesn’t make up for you abandoning me this morning though :(

Alec snorts a laugh and is just in the process of responding when his door opens unceremoniously, revealing a bleary-eyed Bluefield. It looks like he’s just rolled out of bed as he takes a few steps into the room.

“What do you think you’re doing.”

Alec’s voice freezes him in place. There’s steel in his tone and ice in his eyes.

Alec is not amused. He is the Head of the Institute and anyone with half of a functioning brain cell knows not to simply walk in without permission.

Especially when the door is closed.

Especially when they’re already on extremely thin ice.

Bluefield looks confused, offering, “Jace told me you wanted--”

Alec cuts him off. “I know what Jace told you. Jace told you to come to my office. He didn’t tell you that you were invited in. You knock when entering a Head’s office, Bluefield, and you wait until they tell you to come in.”

Bluefield immediately takes a defensive approach, copping an attitude. “Look, I don’t know why you wanted to see me--”

“Let me stop you right there,” Alec cooly says. “First, have a seat.” He waves a hand in a gesture that only a few would know was sarcastic and waits until Bluefield is sitting before he continues.

He raises an eyebrow, clinically. “You don’t know why I wanted to see you? Why I might have requested this meeting?”

Bluefield jerks his shoulder in an approximation of a shrug.

“Answer me when I ask you a question.” Alec’s voice whips through the room.

Alec dreads insubordination meetings. It’s always because the person in question is just an asshole or occasionally because of that plus they have personal issues with him. It’s a pain in his ass to deal with because those people just don’t change. Very rarely is the problem something that is a misunderstanding or something easily fixed.

But, Alec’s always been the number one bitch in the New York Institute and he can match surliness in spades.

Plus, now he has authority on his side.

Bluefield looks down at his shoes and Alec patiently waits. Silence doesn’t bother him and it’s one hell of an effective tool.

After a long minute, Bluefield mutters, “I don’t know.”

Alec looks at him expressionless as he starts to talk. “Well, let’s see.” He ticks off each item as he recites it.

“You’ve blatantly disobeyed mission orders I’ve given you, putting yourself and your team in danger. You’ve disrespected Ms. Lightwood, the Weapons Master at this Institute, calling her undeserving of her position and disregarding critical information she gave you about your seraph blade. You’ve missed several shifts, claiming a variety of excuses, and you’ve shown nothing but contempt for me as the Head of this Institute, talking back and denigrating me behind my back.”

Alec leans in, one elbow on his desk as his eyes bore into Bluefield. “Now, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think about me. You can think I’m the devil incarnate for all I care but you will respect me. You will obey me when I give an order and you will listen to anyone who is your superior-- which, considering you’re a new recruit, is basically everyone.

“You’re part of a team. Even if you leave New York, your new institute will become part of your team, too. You’ll be one among dozens, if not hundreds, and everyone needs to do their part. I’m not talking about the sanctimonious ‘shadowhunters are the last line of defense against the apocalypse’ line of bullshit that they like to spout in Idris. I’m talking practicalities. I’m talking about the fact that you might be the thing standing between another person and death. You might be the only thing that keeps someone-- shadowhunter, downworlder, mundane-- alive out in the field.”

Alec’s voice hardens further. “How do you expect anyone to want to work with you when you’re such a goddamn asshole that you can’t make sure you bring a working weapon with you on patrol? How do you expect me to treat you when you can’t pay me the simple courtesy of not lying to my face?

“I don’t care what you do on your own time. You work the same amount of hours as everyone else and you get the same amount of time off duty as everyone else. Use those hours as you want. I don’t give a shit who you fuck or where you go. Do whatever the hell you want. But you will show up on time, you will put that Academy training to good use, and you won’t be dead weight in this Institute, Bluefield.

“You were assigned to New York. You’re here for the next two years unless I decide otherwise and let me tell you, shadowhunter,” Alec pauses deliberately, not letting Bluefield break eye contact as his voice drops threateningly. “If I decide to transfer you, you will not like it. This is my city and my Institute and I have high standards. I refuse to let those standards slip because an inexperienced recruit with a stick up their ass thinks they need to act tough or whatever the shit. We’re going to hammer out your attitude right now or I can send off those transfer papers to Wrangel Island within five minutes. Your call.”

Alec relaxes back against his chair and waits for Bluefield’s next move. The little shit isn’t so smug now, Alec thinks, and he takes a sip of lukewarm coffee as the silence continues.

He can do this all goddamn day.

Finally, Bluefield raises his eyes and meets Alec’s stare.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry. What was that?”

Bluefield clears his throat, voice louder as he repeats, “I’m sorry for the way I was acting, sir.”

Alec’s expression doesn’t change but there’s a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. “That’s what I thought. Now, tell me what the issue is and we’ll see if we can fix it.” Alec takes a minute to look over Bluefield. He notes the rumpled hair and wrinkled clothes. He’s set to resume talking when he sees Bluefield’s hand. It’s bruised and refuses to close.

Alec’s quiet for a long moment as he thinks through the past twenty minutes. His voice has lost it’s glacial edge when he starts again.

“Look, I’m really not a bastard to my people just for the sake of being one.” His mouth quirks as he continues, “Bigoted assholes? Sure. But if there’s something going on here that I’m unaware of, then you need to tell me. I’m not a mind reader but I do my best to be a fair leader. When my people talk to me. Otherwise, I just have to go on whatever information I am given and if that creates another issue, I don’t know until someone tells me.” Alec takes a quick sip of coffee. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Bluefield is quiet for several minutes but the silence this time around is different. It’s not hostile or defensive. It’s contemplative and Alec inwardly cheers when Bluefield straightens a little, when he plucks at his shirt a little, self consciously.

“I, uh, I didn’t want to be transferred here.”

“Why is that?”

Bluefield doesn’t say anything for a moment and then his gaze flips up to meet Alec’s, like he’s searching for something. He must find what he was looking for because he takes a deep breath and says, “My boyfriend was assigned to Budapest and it’s hard being away from him.”

Alec nods slowly as he thinks about what he’s just learned. Ah, to be young and in love.

Alec’s only twenty five but just the thought of being separated from Magnus by such a distance makes his heart rebel. He can only imagine what it would be like if he had just turned eighteen and was fresh from the Academy.

“Well, Connor, thank you for telling me what’s wrong,” Alec says, soft note in his tone. “It doesn’t make what you did okay, but at least I have a reason for your behavior now. Is there anything else you want to tell me while we’re here? Something with me or my staff in particular?”

Connor swallows hard. “No, sir. New York is actually pretty amazing. It just sucks being so far away from him, especially since everything is so new and he’s so far away. I guess I was just mad and taking it out on everyone.”

His eyes are downcast as he continues. “I didn’t mean for Caitlyn to get hurt yesterday. I tried to deflect with something else when my blade fractured but I wasn’t fast enough. I checked on her last night and she’ll be fine but I’m so sorry I let her down-- that I-I let you down, Mr. Lightwood.”

Alec sighs before standing up and going around the desk, half sitting on its edge as he pats Connor’s shoulder. “I might come across as cold, Connor, but I really am here for everyone and while I won’t say that everything’s okay, I will say that I understand how you’re feeling and that these things can happen. Just, next time you go in the field, make sure that you’re properly debriefed and that all of your weapons are in perfect working condition.

“Thank you for confiding in me and I’ll see if there’s anything I can do about your situation to make your term here with us easier. You were at the top of your class, Connor, and I thought having you here would be a benefit. Now that we’ve talked this out, I want to see the Bluefield that earned top marks in Idris, alright?”

Connor smiles, just a little, and Alec pats his shoulder again before he jerks his chin toward to door.

“Dismissed.”

Connor gets to his feet, nodding to Alec before he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

Alec blows out a breath as he returns to his seat.

Fuck, if it’s not one thing then it’s another. Alec adds contact Budapest Institute to his mile-long to do list and swears as he sees the time. He has six minutes before his conference call with North America and he uses that time to run to the restroom and log into his email, getting a quick look at just how much shit is waiting for him.

The conference call lasts two hours and in that time Alec bangs his head-- quietly of course-- against his desk fourteen times.

He keeps count.

There were half a dozen institutes on the call and every Head except Atlanta is a long-winded ass. The purpose of the call was to discuss how to improve Downworlder relations across the entire continent and while Mexico City and Atlanta were enthusiastically on board, the others were taking a lot of convincing.

Alec was supposed to be point leader, brought in by Chicago, but the call was getting more frustrating by the minute. He had projections and his own experience to extrapolate on but he couldn’t get a word in edgewise without Vancouver talking over him.

Everyone’s tempers were rising and when Toronto makes a snide comment about Magnus, Alec cuts in.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but we’re here to discuss shadowhunter business and our relationships-- professional, Mudwick, so get your head out of your ass-- are important to maintaining peace within the Shadow World and, in fact, improving it. I won’t tolerate insults against my character or that of my boyfriend’s.

“In fact, I think this call has dragged out long enough and we’ve attained all the progress we will for the day. I bid everyone adieu and I hope our next talk will be more productive with a more equal percentage of input from each party. I’ll email everyone the notes and we’ll continue this next Thursday. Goodbye.”

He hangs up, ignoring Vancouver’s blustering, and spends the next forty five minutes typing up the call minutes and sending out annotated versions to each participant.

He’s just hitting send on the last email and opening up his inbox to start going through his email when his office line rings.

“Lightwood.”

“Howdy, Lightwood. That was one hell of a meeting, wasn’t it?”

Alec grins, relaxing in his chair, as he tucks the phone between his shoulder and ear.

“It was indeed, Jackson. Can you believe Canada?”

Jackson laughs on the other end. “Of course I can,” he says sarcastically. “They’re always a pain in the ass but if we want to do this thing we need to get them on board, too. Much as it pains me to admit, Canada has a lot of territory and their downworld population is a little more concentrated. I think they have twice as many vampire dens as I do here in the south.”

Alec hums, thinking. “Isn’t Sheffield supposed to be stepping down next month? We can only hope his successor isn’t such an uptight, bigoted douchebag.”

Jackson barks out a laugh, quiet for a moment before he speaks. “I couldn’t agree more, man. We’ve always had comparatively friendly relationships with the downworld down here in Georgia and I just don’t understand why y’all yankees have to be such a thorn in my side.”

Alec chuckles. “Well, hopefully I’m one yankee that you don’t have to worry about.”

“If that ain’t the truth.”

The two of them talk for a few more minutes, going over goals for next week’s meeting and catching up in general-- with Alec promising that he’ll bring Magnus down for a long weekend soon-- when his other line beeps.

He ends the call, switching lines to see that the South Africa Institute wants to discuss new training opportunities. He spends the next hour and fifteen minutes in an involved conversation with their Head, discussing possibilities for the summer and debating different ways to keep their shadowhunters entertained in their yearly training refresher.

After that call concludes, Alec stands up, stretching out the kinks in his back before drinking the last of his coffee, grimacing as it’s gone cold and kind of gross now. It’s almost two and Alec runs a hand through his hair as he makes his way to the door. He walks along the corridor, stopping periodically for mission updates or to sign documents and finally makes it to the training room.

The Academy is out of session for three weeks in December and the students take turns rotating through Institutes, training in different locations and seeing how real operations look. This week New York is hosting the six to eight year olds and Alec stops in the door to watch the proceedings.

He laughs as a little girl takes her opponent to the ground and immediately does a little victory dance. The instructor is working with another group near the front of the room and Alec watches as one of the pairs near the back try a sequence a few times, frustration increasing every time it doesn’t work out.

He walks over to them, crouching down as they all turn to take him in.

“Hey, guys, what’s up?”

There’s a girl in pigtails with a missing front tooth that steps up, explaining, “We’re trying to spar with the new move the instructor showed us but we just can’t get it right.”

Alec makes a point of looking thoughtful. “Why don’t you show me what you have to do and we can see if we can work it out?”

The girl immediately goes into a combat stance, feet shoulder width apart and fists up. She lunges forward and Alec tries to look appropriately cowed as he gently matches her, not letting her get him on the floor immediately. After a few minutes, though, he realizes what she’s doing wrong.

Sometimes people just need a win, though, to buoy their confidence, so when she roundkicks his stomach with particular vengeance, Alec goes down in dramatic fashion. He stays down for a few seconds, moaning pitifully, before he rolls over to his back.

The pair is looking at him with wide eyes but he sees satisfaction in their gaze and he smiles a little, internally. Fuck knows that he could’ve done with some encouragement when he was their age and if they think they took the Head of the Institute down, it will give them some incentive to get even better.

They listen attentively as he tells them what they did wrong and how to improve-- and what they did well. Alec never understood harping just on the bad things when someone could do a hundred things right but just one thing wrong. He stands up, wincing exaggeratedly for show, and holds up his hand for high fives, which the pair return enthusiastically. He nods to acknowledge the instructor looking over in his direction before turning back towards the doorway.

Magnus is standing there, looking at Alec with soft eyes, and Alec flushes a little.

He slides an arm around Magnus’s waist as he reaches him, pretends that he doesn’t hear the girl who took him down yelling cooties as Magnus tilts his face up to meet for a greeting kiss.

“Good afternoon, darling,” Magnus murmurs.

“Hey, babe,” Alec replies.

Alec guides Magnus down the corridor and they walk to his office. They pass the weapons room and Alec sees Bluefield listening attentively as Izzy lectures him about the seraph blade laying on the table between them.

They enter Alec’s office and Alec heads to his desk, seeing a dozen more mission reports in the tray. He sits down. Magnus stands across the room, giving Alec a once-over, before he walks over, going to where Alec is, pushing his chair back and moving until he’s half sitting on the desk, legs bracketing Alec. Alec’s eye level with Magnus’s stomach and he rolls his chair forward until he can rest his head against Magnus, his boyfriend running a hand through his perpetually-disheveled hair.

Magnus usually doesn’t visit the Institute unless Alec’s missed plans or they have a lunch date-- or he’s there in an official capacity.

Which is when Alec remembers what today is.

He pulls back and Magnus just looks at him with an arched brow.

“It’s the fifth.”

Magnus chuckles, smiling a little quizzically at him. “It is.”

Alec glares at him in mock affront. “You’re here to update the wards.”

Now Magnus looks confused. “Yes?” He pauses. “What did you think I was here for?”

Alec knows he’s pouting but he can’t help it. He mumbles under his breath.

Magnus huffs out a laugh, reaching a hand out to stroke down Alec’s cheek. “I’m sorry, love, but I didn’t quite catch that.”

Alec looks up, feels heat climb up his neck as he says, “I thought you were just here to see me.”

Magnus’s eyes go soft and he hums a little, thumb brushing against Alec’s cheekbone. “As lovely as you are, Alexander, I’m here as the High Warlock of Brooklyn, not as the luckiest boyfriend in the world.”

Alec smiles a little as he places his hands on Magnus’s hips, pulling until he gets the hint and straddles Alec.

“What was I thinking,” he murmurs. “You must be so busy, Mr. Bane, that there was nothing but business on your mind when you came by.”

Magnus grins as he settles against Alec, winding his arms around Alec’s neck and leaning in until his breath brushes against Alec’s lips.

“I am a busy man, Mr. Lightwood, but I always make an exception for my most loyal client.”

“Should we discuss price then, Mr. Bane? I know you demand exorbitant rates-- only fair since you guarantee complete satisfaction.”

Magnus eyes dip down to Alec’s mouth and his tongue dips out to wet his own lips as he whispers, “Oh, I think we can come to an understanding, Mr. Lightwood.”

“Mr. Lightwood?”

Alec jerks upright as his heads whips toward the door.

Damn it.

Jace is standing at the door, face impassive, but his eyes are dancing with glee. Alec has just opened his mouth for a biting retort when Jace doubles over, laughing so hard that he’s wheezing. It takes him a few minutes to get himself back under control and in the meantime, Magnus shares a silent conversation with Alec.

They both roll their eyes at Jace, agreeing that he’s a child.

Once the wheezing has stopped, Alec feels it’s safe to start talking.

“What the hell, Jace, how many times have I told you to knock--”

Jace gets defensive, offering, “That rule is for everyone else. I’m your parabatai--”

“That rule is for anyone whose name isn’t on the damn door, you insufferable dumbass--”

“I didn’t think that applied to me, though--”

“I don’t even feel bad for what you saw or heard,” Alec says, firmly. “This is my office and the door was closed, so really you brought this on yourself.”

Jace squawks as Magnus smoothly climbs out of the chair, hand going to Alec’s nape and playing with the hair there as he observes Jace with an impassive expression.

“Always a pleasure meeting with such an esteemed leader, Mr. Lightwood. I look forward to future negotiations but I really do have to update those wards now.”

He winks at Alec before strolling casually past a sputtering Jace and out the door.

Alec glares at Jace. “Get out,” he says without ceremony. “I have eighty emails and three dozen reports to sign off on before our meeting.”

Alec turns towards his computer before he looks back over at Jace. “What the hell did you want anyway?”

Jace shrugs. “I was bored-- the meeting isn’t for another three hours and I’m not on the patrol rotation today.”

Alec looks at him, deadpan. “Take Clary out for a late lunch and get out of my hair.” He holds up a sheaf of papers. “Unless you’d like to help me with the spring budget numbers?”

Jace hightails it out of his office and Alec just shakes his head, clicking on an email and starting sloughing through his inbox. It takes him two hours and leaves a dull headache.

People are such idiots, Alec reflects, and no matter how high their position there’s always room to annoy. Alec answers inquiries about basic protocol, follows up with the various committees he’s part of, and answers a dozen questions about his operation in New York in particular. There’s an email or two that requires special research and he prioritizes those for tomorrow morning.

Alec looks at his watch and sees that he has forty five minutes until the meeting. With that time, he goes through the mission reports, skimming before signing off on them. There’s nothing of interest except for the incident with Caitlyn last night and Alec’s glad he’d worked late last night as he was there to talk with her after she’d been to the infirmary.

He was a more hands on leader than his predecessor and he liked checking up on his people, especially when they were injured, to show that they were appreciated and that he actively cared about them as people, not just soldiers.

He sets the last report on top of the pile and takes out his stele, drawing a rune and the pile disappears, off to the archives in Alicante. He makes a few notations for his own records and when that’s done he slouches in his chair before seeing that he has ten minutes until Jace and Izzy will be in his office.

He takes that time to grab a cup of coffee from the kitchen and when he rounds the corner he sees Isabelle walking to his office from the other side.

“Hey, what’s up? You’re five minutes early?”

Izzy laughs, “I wanted to update you about the weapons budget before we began. Nothing formal, I just wanted to let you know that the Iron Sisters made these sweet dual wielding blades and I wanted to purchase half a dozen-- but they’re about twenty percent more expensive than the traditional blades so I’ll be a little low for next month to compensate.”

Alec nods as they walk into his office. Izzy follows him over to the desk, stopping in front of it as Alec walks around, reaches for a pen and post-it to jot the information down to deal with later this week.

Jace walks in as he’s fixing the note to the bottom of his computer screen, shutting the door behind him with his foot, hands full with a folder and eating a cookie.

“Where did you get that,” Izzy commands. “The ones in the kitchen are stale.”

Jace grins and speaks, crumbs flying everywhere. “I took Clary to this bistro for lunch and they had a bakery section.”

He holds his arms up as Izzy advances on him. “I bought a dozen.” His head jerks in the general direction of the kitchen. “I left the box on the counter with strict instructions to leave you one.”

Izzy stands down, looking mollified and Alec lets out a deep breath.

While Jace didn’t have an official position, everyone knew that the Lightwood siblings were close-- Alec regularly met with the two of them to discuss problems or prospective plans he was thinking about.

The three of them head over to the seating area in the corner, Izzy and Jace sharing the couch while Alec settles into the chair opposite them.

“Alright, I want to talk about some plans for the spring. Really, I just need to run some ideas by you guys about combat training and budgets--”

Alec breaks off as his door opens without warning, smile immediately coming over his face as he sees Magnus stroll in.

“Hey, you.”

Magnus looks over his shoulder as he closes the door, takes in Izzy and Jace. “Hey, yourself. If this is a confidential meeting, I can head out. I just finished with the wards and wanted to let you know--”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alec says, waving a hand to gesture him over. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

Alec misses the look that passes between Jace and Izzy but Magnus doesn’t. He walks over to his boyfriend, notes the shadows under his eyes, and resolves to whisk Alec out of here as soon as he’s done with this little meeting.

Alec’s head tilts back as Magnus comes closer and when Magnus places a hand on his neck, thumb stroking over the deflect rune, he sighs, relaxing into the touch.

Magnus grins. Alexander is just a tall teddy bear, really, and he tunes out the conversation as it ebbs and flows around him, focused more on Alec than whatever vitally important topics his boyfriend needed to discuss.

Alec rarely excludes Magnus from meetings or about work concerns, but Magnus likes to keep things in perspective-- he knows most shadowhunters and the Clave wouldn’t appreciate just how much Alec has shared with him.

It helps that he could observe Alec for centuries and not grow bored. Magnus is in the middle of thinking about what to have for dinner-- he’s feeling takeout seeing as Alec looks exhausted and his own day hasn’t been a breeze-- when Alec reaches up and takes the hand that was still on his neck.

He doesn’t stop talking, his authoritative voice doesn’t pause as he continues his diatribe on whatever, but all the while he’s interlacing their hands, playing with Magnus’s fingers in an unconscious move that betrays his familiarity and comfort with him.

It’s not surprising, for fuck’s sake everyone, especially Jace and Izzy, knows how devoted they are to each other but it makes something warm bloom in Magnus’s chest all the same.

It’s not particularly surprising to him, after all. Lilith knew Alexander loved physical contact, he soaks up affection like a sponge, but when he looks up Magnus sees Izzy’s eyes glued to their joined hands. Magnus raises a brow but Isabelle just shakes her head, smiling a little as Alec winds down.

Jace responds and Alec looks thoughtful as he brings their hands up to his face, running them over his cheek, ducking a quick kiss to Magnus’s knuckles before he’s shutting down whatever Jace had just said.

Magnus loves this boy so much. He’s a constant surprise of the very best kind and Magnus never gets enough of how demonstrative Alec is when he’s comfortable-- their loft, on dates, with just his family as witnesses-- and increasingly in public.

It makes it all the sweeter that Alec doesn’t even realize what he’s doing, his focus on hammering out whatever him and Jace are discussing.

The dichotomy of Alec is endlessly fascinating to Magnus. He knows-- was confronted once upon a time-- that Alec is surly and can be downright brutal, his temper running hot or icy depending on the situation.

He can be blunt to the point of being rude and standoffish and frighteningly cold to whomever hasn’t earned his respect. He’s a consummate professional, a brilliant leader and tactician, but there’s no denying that his boyfriend can be a bit of a dick.

Truthfully, Magnus finds it adorable and just a bit funny. Alec’s wrath and annoyance is never directed at him and it’s too entertaining-- a little hot if he’s honest-- to see Alec freeze anyone in their tracks with his abrupt manners. Authority screams from his voice and posture and that effortlessly displayed power is lovely to see.

Oh, Magnus knows that Alec will always be grumpy in the mornings or menacing when he doesn’t get enough sleep. But, it’s endearing. Morning Alec with his boyfriend is sleepy and just wants to cuddle before facing the world. Magnus loves being the eye of the storm for Alec, the safe harbour, the place of comfort. Magnus has laughed more than once when Alec had gone directly from being clingy and achingly soft with him to a commanding leader or snappish big brother.

Magnus doesn’t take that privilege for granted.

His thoughts break off as Jace and Isabelle stand up, Alec having obviously concluded the meeting. He nods to both of them and they leave the room within the minute.

The office is silent. Alec leans back in his chair, probably ruminating on whatever they’d discussed and Magnus moves until he’s directly behind Alec. He leans down, wrapping his arms around his neck from behind, puts his mouth to Alec’s ear, whispering, “Ready for home, darling?”

Alec startles a little, turns his head until he can look at Magnus. He smiles, but it’s a tired smile, full of love and relief as he noses along Magnus’s cheek.

“Home,” he confirms.

Magnus sneaks a kiss onto his nose before stepping back, letting Alec stand up. Alec pauses when he’s upright, looks over his office before putting on his coat and scarf. He puts the fire out and turns to see Magnus waiting for him.

Goddamn, he’s tired.

Magnus reaches a hand out and Alec meets him halfway, lacing their fingers together.

“How do you feel about pizza for dinner, love?”

Alec’s stomach chooses that moment to growl and he smiles sheepishly at his boyfriend. “Great. I’m starving. I haven’t had a chance to eat anything today.”

Magnus tsks before waving a portal. Still holding hands, Alec follows Magnus and they land in the loft.

Alec looks at him, deadpan. “If I had known how we were traveling, I wouldn’t have put my coat on.”

Magnus shrugs. “I have to keep you on your toes. It wouldn’t do for you to grow bored with me.”

Alec’s gaze warms as it roves over Magnus’s face. He tugs on his arm, pulling him close, before murmuring, “Never,” and kissing him. It’s soft, and lingering, and a balm to another exhausting day.

Alec pulls back as he smells pizza wafting through the loft. He arches a brow. “Really?”

Magnus just smiles. “We’re starving and you look dead on your feet.” He turns towards the bedroom, calling over his shoulder. “You know you love it, Alexander.”

Alec mutters, “I love you,” but he doesn’t think that Magnus hears him as he follows. They change into pajamas without delay, and Alec feels the weight settle over him. He loves his job but damn if it isn’t demanding.

He walks into the bathroom and sees Magnus taking his makeup off. He takes a few steps until he’s standing behind him and hooks his chin over his shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist.

He sighs again, but this time it’s like a breath of fresh air.

Magnus hums as he finishes, reaching a hand back to run through his hair. Alec just stands there, supported by Magnus and waits until he’s finished.

Once he is, Magnus turns in Alec’s arms, widening his stance so Alec can lean into him more.

“Ready for dinner, darling,” he asks, softly.

Alec makes an unintelligible noise in confirmation before he’s pulling back. They walk to the kitchen island together and each take a few pieces, settling on the couch. Magnus puts on a rerun of a nineties sitcom and Alec eats mechanically.

The pizza is delicious and he knows he needs the fuel since he’s only had a few cups of coffee today, so he eats with single minded focus.

When he’s done though, he sets his plate on the coffee table and then moves so he can wrap around Magnus, who’s now enjoying a glass of wine while watching tv.

Magnus chuckles a little as Alec slings an arm around his waist and throws his legs between his. He takes a sip of wine and his other hand goes to Alec’s hair, smoothing it, scratching lightly at the scalp.

It feels so good and Alec melts against him, eyes slipping close. They sit there together in the low light when all of a sudden Magnus is shaking him.

Alec’s eyes open and he blearily looks at Magnus who’s smiling softly. “Go to bed, Alexander. You’re falling asleep on top of me and you know how uncomfortable it is for your lanky ass to sleep on this couch.”

Alec just burrows deeper into Magnus’s side, shaking his head. “No. Comfy.”

He’s already over halfway back to sleep when Magnus shakes his shoulders. He huffs out a dramatic sigh, aggrieved. Magnus laughs.

“C’mon, up, darling. I refuse to listen to you complain in the morning when there’s a crick in your neck.”

Alec stands, swaying a little, and shuffles to the bedroom. He stops at the threshold when he realizes Magnus isn’t with him. He turns around to see Magnus filling his wine glass.

“Aren’t you coming?”

Magnus looks up, shaking his head. “It’s only eight. I want to work in my study for a few hours. I’ll join you later.”

Alec nods before walking into the bedroom and shutting the door behind him. Magnus was more of a night owl than his own early bird and Alec knew it might be after midnight before Magnus retired for the night.

He all but falls into bed, thinking that sleeping for the next ten hours sounds heavenly. He hadn’t gotten back to the loft until almost two in the morning the night before and today had dragged on, no matter that he’d kept busy.

His last thought before he falls back under is that he doesn’t mind as long as he always has Magnus to come home to.

Magnus, for his part, has half a dozen orders to fulfill for tomorrow. His own day hadn’t been too demanding, just a few clients and a meeting with a Siberian warlock about a petty dispute with another high warlock.

When he finishes the last potion he sees that it’s half to midnight and he puts his materials and ingredients away.

Magnus never minds when Alec goes to bed early-- he’s usually grateful. Alec operates on much less sleep than he needs and it gives Magnus some alone time to do his own thing a few nights a week.

He turns off the light and makes his way to their bedroom, carefully opening the door. It’s a full moon and through the gauzy curtains, Magnus sees Alec face down in the bed, hugging a pillow.

He climbs into bed and barely has time to settle before Alec is moving, shuffling towards him in his sleep. He has a faceful of hair as Alec moves half on top of him and Magnus laughs, silently, at how much of a damn octopus Alexander is, even in his sleep.

Magnus breathes deep, letting it out slowly as he thinks about tomorrow and next month and next year.

As long as he has Alec, he’ll be okay.

He drifts off with those thoughts, at the knowledge that he falls more in love with his shadowhunter every day.

He pulls Alec closer and falls sleep with a smile.

[gigi-etoileur]

Precious Things

The sky had already begun to pale from inky violet to fading lavender as she charged down the path and into the family gardens. On another night, Ghislaine might have stopped again to consider how it might look beyond the swathe of arcane shielding that held the last of the world in its care. But not this night.

This night, her as-yet-budding frame railed against a blooming vine, caught on the gossamer filaments woven into her hair as she rushed past. She spun about, swatting at the tendrils with an embittered cry, until at last the silk-lined satchel she carried was pitched unceremoniously at a nearby statue- an alabaster priestess poised in prayer, peace on her parted lips with her arms open wide.

Schoolbooks, strewn about the spiral stone walkway, lay in their disheveled mess in the priestess’ shadow, and she found a place beside them to match. She hadn’t thought it would come to this- had left the Lucineum that day in a flurry of words meant to wound, with daggers for eyes and ice in her veins. But it all became so painfully beyond her young self the moment her knees hit the ground, and she was powerless to contain the wretchedness that spilled over when it did.

“What troubles you, Stella?” The soft voice beset with an ageless beauty and experience well beyond their walls was a far greater contender, however, as was the warm hand that squeezed at her shoulder. She swallowed her tears, hiccuping lightly as she lifted her head.

“Mamé...” she whimpered childishly in spite of herself, crumpling like a discarded note card into the elder woman’s arms. The serene figure with her soft smile was very nearly a fixture herself in those gardens, a presence who fit seamlessly into the quiet glow of starlight roses and the gentle murmur of flowing water. But to Ghislaine, she was simply ‘grandma’.

Of course, Vierinne Étoileur was in fact Ghislaine’s great-grandmother, and a venerable warrior-priestess even before the breaking of the world. Once a cherished remnant from a time long since slipped through their fingers, she had led her family with all the grace and cunning of a queen. As the years passed, when her daughters and their daughters grew into the business of life in their secluded Suramar, she had stepped instead into a life of prayer in her beloved floral temple. 

Ghislaine had often found her there, for stories and songs as a girl. And perhaps it had been her intent to find her all along when she’d barreled into those peaceful surroundings, a storm cloud in a sea of stars.

The story came trickling out in fits and starts, soon becoming a veritable downpour of prepubescent humiliation that was surely hard to follow. But follow the elder priestess did, listening calmly to the tale of how Mireille Alarin, Ghislaine’s playmate and friend for as far back as she could remember, had that day decided in a fit of spite to read aloud a note in which Ghislaine confessed to liking a boy by the name of Zachael.

“He was right there, and everyone started laughing, Mamé,” she explained, voice wavering between haughtiness and hurt. “It’s all because she likes him herself. I should tell everyone about her ridiculous poems.” But as foolish as it would seem a century after the fact, not once did Vierinne dismiss her story. The former matriarch simply hummed her acknowledgment, threading soothing fingers through her great-grandchild’s hair until her anger slowly began to abate.

“My Stella. I would give you this,” she broke her relative silence then, only enough that the girl might hear. And as her tearful rendition of the day’s events tapered off, Ghislaine felt the touch of cool fingers graze her nape, leaving a weighted warmth behind with another sweep of her hair. 

Reaching up in turn, she took hold of the pale piece of crescent-shaped opal hanging from a thin thread of silver around her neck. Lifting it to the fading moonlight, she marveled at the way its delicate riot of colours refused to stay still for more than a second, like lights on the water, or a gathering of Wisps at play. A stillness set in, until she didn’t think twice about tucking her head into the soft silk gathered at Vierinne’s shoulder. 

“Why is it so many colours…?” she murmured, forgetting for the moment to cleave to indignation, wonder instead taking hold of her. The elder priestess, with calloused hands and inborn elegance, gave a smile Ghislaine could hear.

“Because Mother Moon is many things. Night after night, Her light guides our path, and Her darkness keeps us safe. Even now, She tends to our skies, our seas… and all who seek Her.” All at once, the young girl found herself given over to the old stories, of a Sisterhood veiled in moonlight, their ranks as fierce and formidable as they were faithful. She smiled in turn, silver-lined ears perked and listening.

“In this, we know Elune is our Mother. But we know that She is also the Night Warrior, who carries the valiant dead to their place among the stars. Of course, She feels anger when Her people are wronged, when She is wronged.” Her great-grandmother’s words filtered into Ghislaine’s imagination, sinking in with a certain stilting in her belly. For her part, Vierinne’s arms only wrapped tighter around her.

“And yet, She is ever the Wise Lady too. She gives when She could take. Builds, when She could be tearing down. Forgives, when She could hold onto hurt forever. She teaches us that anger is a tool, to be channeled towards something truly worthwhile… and that, Stella, is a very precious thing.” 

That was the first time Ghislaine felt it, a subtle shift of weight and warmth, memory given life in the core of that pendant. It took only a moment, just a press of the priestess’ thumb into the centre of its curving shape, and the scent of jasmine flower and cooling ash was fresh in the air.

Decades would pass and she would feel it still, through the loss of their world and into the gaining of another… long after her great-grandmother had passed from both. Even in the outskirts of Rustberg Village, sea-bound and streaked with grey, Ghislaine could feel that gentle whisper of presence, of warmth and wonder that sought to stay her hand. She had forgotten, for a moment, where she’d come from. Who she was. There were plenty of things better left behind, she knew, but this… this was not one of them.

It had taken a bit of effort, once she’d set out to procure the necessary elements, between a meeting with some refugees, and a favour or two called in with old acquaintances from Shal’aran. The jaunt and subsequent hike through the scarred lands at the foot of Mount Hyjal had been the toughest part, by the end, but she would spare no expense, be it time or tender, once her mind was made.

When at last it was done, she had returned home cool-headed and calm, with a perfect cut of polished white opal. Left raw rather than shaped, its natural asymmetry would be fully on display, colours dancing this way and that, and never quite the same way twice. Her thumb smoothed gently along its rough centre, a sharp indentation that led to a slanted peak, its weight and newly imposed warmth bearing a familiarity in her hand. 

It may be that it wouldn’t carry much meaning to an onlooker, but that it now existed, cradled gently in her palm, meant a great deal to her in and of itself. She would see to giving it as planned at their earliest convenience, the final step in a worthwhile endeavour. And as she looked out the window and into the growing evening below, even out towards the crowd beginning to funnel into the quaint tavern with its amber lights, she let a hand drop to the barest hint of concave swell, low in her belly, fingers smoothing along the gauzy edges of her blouse.

(( @audemus-dawnspark for vague af implied mention, lol. Oh and also my babes at @heartoftheravenwra of course! ))

[it-was-so-human]

I long to be near you

Loving him was easy. Loving his father, however, was unbearable.

Inspired by bad fake leaks and my lack of self-control.

After he joined the Night’s Watch, Sansa never imagined she would see Jon Snow hold a babe of his own.

(But she has witnessed many things since then that she never expected to see.) 

A little boy born in the North, his Dragon Queen mother dying while giving birth to him.

“Robb Snow.” Jon’s voice hitched as he croaked out his son’s last name.

War and distance and time kept him from marriage and it is not something he will ever seemingly forgive himself.

She had calmly suggested the new Baratheon King could legitimize his nephew—give him the Targaryen name—but was met with a firm refusal. There was still much unrest, and Jon had no desire for politicking and future precarious claims to any throne.

His son was safer a Snow.

He finally, reluctantly, painfully, handed the fur-bundled babe to her.

Stroking his sons wrinkled brow for a last time, he murmured that there was work to do, but he would be back soon.

There was still work to do in the world of the living, but Sansa didn't say that aloud. Let Jon escape his horrors by venturing again behind what remained of the wall.

And in doing so, leave the bundled would-be but never-to-be princeling in her arms.   Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North, stood carrying his child in her arms as he rode away—stopping only to turn and offer a small farewell wave.

Once before he left her with his direwolf and temperamental lords, then again with diminished grain supplies and injured soldier, and now with heartache and another's child. Jon Snow has always left her.

That he would let Catelyn Starks' daughter care for a child not her own...

...to raise a bastard child... one resulting in a betrayal of sorts... 

...the irony of it certainly did not escape Sansa.

It should mean something that he trusts her with something so precious, so she swallows past the hurt.

She shifts the babe in her arms, surprised how right the warm weight felt against her.

Jon can leave, they all leave after all.

But she's the Stark in Winterfell now.

- - -

It was not fair.

What a terrible way for a story to go. Surviving so much cruelty in the world, amassing great armies and fighting great wars, only to die giving birth to her child.  

It was not right, it was not fair. It was like a bad tale written by men who did not want women to fly too far.

The woman should have been able to see her son. Smell his baby smell and hold him close to her breast.  

She did not even get a chance to give him a Targaryen name, instead her son bore the name of the man that usurped her family. (But also the name of a brother that was loved and did love dearly.)

At least little Robb was conceived of two parents in love. Jon loved the Queen, this Sansa knew. He adored her at times and hated her at others, growing frustrated as the war went on yet he always had a passionate longing for her. As a child, Jon dreamed of honor and duty and Sansa was the one who grew up dreaming of love. 

Yet the gods didn't listen. (Sansa Stark ended up being the one very good at duty.) 

She could envy Jon that love he was able to have.

She's never felt warmth with another, let alone any heat of passion.

Instead, if she is lucky, she may live as the spinster Lady of Winterfell raising his love child.

Sansa doesn't have the respectable battle scars of war, the marks that decry bravery and strength. 

She has the scars of a young girl all alone in the world. No valiant stories here, just quiet survival.

She tries with what she has, managing the diplomacy of ruling the north. But she was no fighter, no conqueror.

Maybe if she was fiercer he would respect her. Think if her as the true Warden of the North and not just some nursemaid, not worth more than to leave his bastard with her and just--

No. No. No.

Jon would never willingly leave his son. This much she knew.

She shook her head, from bitter unnecessary thoughts—looking down to observe the child in her arms.

What a pretty babe he was, with a perfect little baby nose, pink bowed lips, and a mop of dark ringlets.

And dark violet eyes—almost black but in the firelight their true hue was undeniable

Baby Robb blinked up at her with those strangely familiar eyes, releasing a heart melting soft baby coo.

(She would never again call her perfect little nephew a bastard.)

- - -

She might never have children of her own. There was no man she wanted to make her Lord Husband, no need of a courtly knight to protect her.

No desire, not yet. If she could rule without one, she would. She was the lone Stark in Winterfell. Her brothers gone, her sister married and gone South. Her... Jon mourning in the North.

He didn't keep his promise to watch over her for long after all. 

Jon can't watch over anyone now. But Sansa can. And she does. She watches over Winterfell and the concerns of the northern lords and the rebuilding of the villages. And she watches over a beautiful babe who gives her a gummy smiles. Sansa may never marry, never see realized dreams she had as a child.   But what's to say there could not be love. - - -

Robb was sick. Coughs rattling his tiny body and sending pangs of fear through her. All night long she sat by his bed, pushing back his curls and panicking every time at the feel of burning skin.

Children got sick, she knew this—the maester reminded her of this—but he was so small and so very warm.

In the morning, his fever broke and she released a choked laugh as he gave her his sweet smile.

For the next week, she carried the child around with her, only relenting him to his nurse in order to feed.

The tot calmly played in her lap while Sansa went over letters and ledgers and listened to her advisors.  

If anyone found it unbecoming of the Lady of Winterfell carrying the babe around the castle, no one said anything. They only smiled fondly at two of them. - - -

“Ma - ma” Robb called to her at night. He must have picked up the sounds from his nursemaid’s children.

She sits by his bed, fighting an urge to weep.  

“I'm not your mother, my sweet boy. Your mother was...” She swallows back ill feelings; it hardly matters now.

So she whispers to him a fairytale of a beautiful young girl, with long flowing golden hair and a strong will, who had three powerful dragons.

Your mama might not be with you, but I'll love you enough for her.   - - -

Jon came back for a visit early. Could not stay away from his boy. His eyes—it was always his overly expressive eyes—held his pain when he said goodbye again. He grasped her hands tightly, pressing a kiss to them. "Thank you, Sansa" - - -

Months later, Sansa knew what would happen next. What would have to happen next.

Jon returned again, his son sleepily rested on his lap but his chubby hands still reached for Sansa.

Jon had come to tell her he’s taking Robb away. Going South for good now. Taking his son with him.

The anger and bile and sorrow rose in Sansa like storm waves. He's my son. Mine.

She might never have another but even if she had ten more—Robb was hers. He had left the boy in her arms to care for and love and he would just take him away?

Sansa will live to regret this, but at least she'll live.

(She can't be expected to do so without her son.)

((How many things will be taken from her? How long her sentence for girlhood frivolousness?))

Jon Snow did not love Sansa like he once loved his Targaryen queen.

But he could marry her.

- - -

Part 1 of 2 

Also on AO3

[mercurygray]

Writing prompt: Anna and Hewlett, after reuniting and working through all their shiz, have a second (successful!) wedding at Whitehall. Fluff, smut if you wanna take it to their wedding night, tears of joy; I'd take any and all, thank you :)

Anon, sorry this took so long - this was a great prompt but it hit right in the middle of a mess about plagiarism in the TURN fandom and I had to move in a slightly different direction to distance myself from a project that I think someone else is working on.

So. A bit of domestic fluff.

Gentle Tyranny

An Annlett drabble

She was waiting for him, just as she always did.

As much as Edmund loved the stars, there was something indescribably wonderful about coming inside after his studies and seeing her in the midnight firelight, her mind lost in a book or a piece of mending, completely at peace. He’d told her more than once he wished she wouldn’t, for the sake of her eyes, but she wouldn’t listen - every night it was exactly the same.

Except that tonight she had some company - two smallish bodies, curled into her lap and along the rest of the settle, sleeping as soundly as if they were in their beds. He leaned over her carefully to kiss her cheek and examined the sleeping children. “They wanted to wait up for you,” she explained, her voice soft. “A valiant effort that lasted perhaps an hour.”

The larger of the children stirred, turning a bleary eye upward. “Papa…”

Edmund smiled, putting down his papers and picking up his eldest son with a little groan. How big his children are getting. “I think it is bedtime for you, Herschel,” he said quietly, brushing a stray lock away from the boy’s face.

“Wanna see stars,” Herschel mumbled, at the same time burrowing his face further into the lapel of his papa’s soft studying banyan.

“And you shall, my boy, you shall,” Edmund replied, shifting his weight a little so he could carry him upstairs. “But not tonight. Tonight it is time for bed.” He turned, watching Anna lay aside her book and pick up the other child, who slept as soundly as anything, her hair as dark and fine as her mother’s. “It’s a good thing Cassie stayed abed,” he remarked quietly, “Or we wouldn’t be able to get them upstairs ourselves.”

Anna only smiled.

The stairs seemed too tall while carrying a sleeping child of five. Perhaps it was that Herschel was getting heavy or he was getting old - he didn’t quite know which. But every creak in the stairs and every carefully opened door was also somehow precious to him, as precious as the child he was carrying. He laid Herschel down into his bed and tucked the covers around him, kissing his forehead and smiling as his son’s sleepy mouth turned upwards at the corners a little, falling back into sleep again.

“Good night, Andromeda,” he whispered, turning to his daughter, tucked in beside her sister, her hair a dark flash on the pillow next to the nimbus of Cassie’s pale, fine hair. “Good night, Cassiopeia.”

The children help him mark the time - if Herschel was five, then it was eight years since the war had ended and seven years since Anna had agreed to marry him, and if ‘Meda was four, then it was three years since he sold Whitehall and moved them off Long Island to this newer, house across the sound, nearer York City proper, for Herschel had been two then, and 'Meda only one, and Cassie wasn’t even a thought yet until  Edmund showed Anna their new bed in their new bedroom and she thanked him for moving them out of the house that had pained her for so long.

It had seemed the better bargain, when Abraham Woodhull had promised it to him - one man who wanted a house to fill with books and papers and another man with a house he wanted nothing more to do with. But Whitehall had come with its own ghosts, though they troubled him less as time went on. He saw Richard in empty rooms and even after he’d filled them with his things the memories of him still lingered, shadows half-seen in the corners of looking glasses and at the edge of candle-lit circles.

And he knew Anna saw more ghosts than he. She’d known the house longer, with more of her hopes and dreams wrapped up in the woodwork - and dashed on the floors, too. (He forgot, sometimes, that in her youth she had meant to marry Abraham.) But somehow she endured it. Raised children in it.

There were good memories, too  - sipping madeira by the fire and talking into the night about philosophy, playing the pianoforte with his officers, the wedding night that had been so long postponed. If they ever returned to Long Island, he thought he might even be able to point out the spot on the lawn where they had begun again, she holding a letter she had once forged and he finding, once she had let him read it, that he could not look at her and hate her any longer.

What followed after that was a longer story, but it ended here, in their house, filled only with their memories, carrying their children up to bed. “Did you see your comet?” she asked, once she’d returned from banking down the fire in the parlor.

“Not tonight,” he admitted. “My calculations may be off a little. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Will you take Herschel with you?” she asked, shrugging out of her bodice and skirt and running a hand through her hair. Edmund allowed himself a moment to appreciate how she looked in the darkness of the room, a corona of candlelight around her head. “If he brings his soldiers he’ll quiet down soon enough.”

Edmund thought of the little lead figures, lined up across the usually pristine carpet in his observatory - and the sore feet he’d doubtless have after he stepped on at least one. “He’ll fall asleep,” he reminded his wife. “But yes, I’ll let him sit up with me.”

“Good. Now can you help me with this knot?” Anna asked, her mind clearly on other matters now that the business of Herschel was settled, and he turned, fiddling with the fastening on her stays for her.

“You will tie them too tight,” he admonished, fingers picking gingerly at the knot. “And you’ve no need of it, you know that.”

“I think they won’t do me much good, at this point.” Edmund looked up at his wife, ready to do battle with whatever demon she was fighting with about her figure, but she was smiling, in a somewhat apologetic manner. “But my calculations may be off a little, too.”

There was wonder in this, too, that he could not disguise, no matter how quickly she sprang the news on him. “No - another?” She smiled and nodded, pressing his hand along her belly where he could just feel the taut, rounded curve that, after three children, he was coming to know so well. “So soon?”

“It is not soon, Cassie is nearly three. And my husband has been very attentive of late,” she reminded him, butting him gently with her forehead in gentle admonition. “Are you pleased?”

“Only if you are,” he replied, taking her hands and letting them hang between them. “Herschel will demand a brother,” he observed with a smile, which made her laugh again and rest her forehead against his, their breathing mixed, bodies arched together into their own private cathedral.

“Herschel cannot get everything he wants.”He wanted to stay there for hours, to let the feeling of joy sink in, but he knew it was folly. A hundred things could happen between now and then, some of them bad and some of them good and none of them predictable in the slightest. The bed and sleep beckoned, and they went, but he could not help holding her close as she drifted off, her breathing slowing until it was barely perceivable. Another child! His heart was alight with it.  

This had not been his path, once - once he would have looked around at a house filled only with papers and books and telescopes and called himself content, but no more. Now he was more apt to move a battery of toy soldiers from atop his notes and fix a position so that a doll might also view the stars, and end the evenings in his observatory carrying sleeping children up to bed. And to all this there was to be another baby - another battery of sleepless nights and shoulders sore from carrying a restless babe, and dozens of missed observations and irritable children to boot.

Alas that love, so gentle in his view, should be so tyrannous and rough in proof.

And, Shakespeare in mind, Edmund Hewlett went to bed smiling.

–

I was re-watching Season 1 and that exact Shakespeare quote is one that Hewlett and Richard Woodhull quote to each other when talking about Abe and Anna’s shared romantic past, and I thought - hey, isn’t this applicable to where Anna and Hewlett kind of are at this point in Season 4?  In context in Romeo and Juliet, I think Benvolio says the line with a little bit of sarcasm, and I imagine the same eye-rolling emphasis in how Hewlett imagines it at the end.

[spiderwritings]

Lethal Love Part Two~Spiderman-Imagine

PAIRING: Peter/Spider-Man x You

WORDS: 1467

WARNINGS: mention of knives, death

A/N: Sorry if this isn’t as exciting, i’m hoping to crank it up a notch in the next part (if you guys want it). Thanks for all the love on part one! Keep sending me suggestions and requests! love ya babes ;) enjoy!

     Peter ran towards his closet, frantically pawing through his clothes in an attempt to find a tux for the New York Gala tonight. May had mentioned the Gala casually after hearing about it on the news when he had gotten home from school, and he instantly knew he had to go. He was almost positive you would be at such a huge gathering of New York’s wealthiest. He silently cursed himself as he realized he had ditched his tux on the night of homecoming last spring. He was running out of time, so he decided to do something risky and probably wrong, but it was for the greater good...right? He quickly stripped off his sweater and jeans, replacing it with the red and blue suit and adorned himself with his mask.

     He stood on his fire escape, considering what he was about to do. Was it even worth it? Would he even be able to stop you if you even were at the gala? He had tried his hardest to stop you last time...well, admittedly not his hardest, since he did fall victim to your seduction and manipulation, but still, it was a valiant effort for any teenage boy. Though on your part, the kiss was all a plan to escape and handcuff him to a freaking pipe, (which he will never get over) he still couldn’t get you out of his head. It was driving him crazy. He initially started tracking you as a way to protect seemingly innocent lives, but he couldn’t deny that he a small bit of him just wanted to see you again. But now, he was out of leads and out of luck. You kept working your way through the worst of the rich and powerful leaders of New York and he was kept busy with purse snatchers and calculus homework. He missed the excitement of being with you, so he decided the risk was worth it. He held up his hand, shooting a web at a nearby building and jumped into the night.

     He eventually made his way to the closest men’s clothing store and swung into the open door, causing a bigger commotion than he intended as he knocked racks of shirts onto the floor in his grand entrance,

     “What’s going on here?” a man in a uniform walked over, who Peter presumed was the manager. He stared at the racks of clothes on the floor with a confused expression that was quickly replaced with shock as he spotted the superhero guiltily standing over the mess. “Spider-man!?”

     “Uh, hey! I need your help.”

     “You need...m-my help?” the manager stuttered, pointing to himself in surprise.

     “Yes! I need a suit, and I need it fast.”

///

     “Thank you,” you politely accepted the flute of champagne from a waiter who happened to be walking by. You knew in this mission that appearance was everything, so you fruitfully sipped at the alcohol he had granted you. Aside from calming your nerves, it would also help you blend in with the dozens of other people around, all laughing and drinking like they ruled the world, which they essentially did. You were surrounded by New York’s elite: the businessmen, the politicians, the heirs and heiresses to huge fortunes, all filling up the grand banquet hall in their finest gowns and suits. You were proud to say you fraternized well with the group, as your polished vernacular and red ball gown made you analogous to the prestigious crowd, at least from the outside. Though, in your mind, you were like a caged animal, scratching to find a way out of this situation. You just needed to do your job and get out, but that was proving to be very difficult as your target was nowhere to be found.

     As the night went on, the knifes in the holster on your thigh seemed to grow colder and colder, sending chills down the skin underneath it. You were desperate to find your target and complete your mission, but in all your mingling with New York’s finest, you had yet to find him.

     Your target was Harrison Fox, a cunning business man who had made his fortune at the expense of his childhood best friend and former partner, Lloyd Montgomery, who had contacted you into the mission. He claimed that Fox had stolen his idea for a new company then brandished the profit for himself, (as well as just being a cruel and unforgiving man) but it wasn’t your job to ask questions or judge. In this line of work there is no room for doubt.

     Halfway through the event, you noticed a man in the corner of your eye, but not the one you had hoped to see. He was young, maybe eighteen at most, likely the son of a wealthy businessman, and he was staring at you. He had brown hair that was combed back neatly and a crisp black tux that seemed like it had just been taken off the mannequin. He walked over to you where you were chatting with the governor’s wife and politely interrupted.

     “Excuse me, ma’am, may I interrupt for a quick dance?” He asked, his hand motioning towards the dancefloor where couples were slow dancing in the center of the banquet hall to a well-known jazz band.  

     “I’d be honored,” you turned away from him and excused yourself from the conversation you were in and walked toward the dancefloor with the man’s hand on your back guiding you. You knew you couldn’t draw suspicion towards yourself by declining the dance and there was a better view of the entrance from the dance floor, so you mentally adjusted your plan of action as you grabbed onto the man’s shoulder with your right hand and clasped his hand with your left and began to sway back and forth. His grip was strong and his hands were rough and callused, which only could be acquired from years of extreme use of them. This set off an alarm in your head; no son of anyone at this gala should have worked a day in their life.

     You looked up at him. There was something very familiar about him, his voice, his lips. Your mind worked quickly, connecting all the loose ends and you stifled a gasp, your red lips parting as you gaped up at him. He looked down at you, noticing the look of surprise and realization on your face.

     “I’m impressed,” he chuckled. I really didn’t think you’d figure it out that fast. You look great by the way. I like the red dress much better than the cat suit.” You narrowed your eyes.

     “Why are you doing this? Aren’t there more pressing matters than me in all the crime of New York?” His eyebrows furrowed.  

     I-I don’t know. I just...feel the need to stop you.”

     “Stop me? What, are you upset I bruised your precious ego?” You smirked at him, loving the red blush that crept over his cheeks.

     “It-It’s more than that!”

     “I’m not a dangerous criminal, spidey,” you retorted, causing him to flinch at the nickname. I’m an employee. I’m taking out the bad guys, just like you. Trust me, I won’t pull a trigger unless I believe the world will be better off because of it.” He smirked down at you.

     “Oh, sweetheart,” he leaned down and whispered in your ear, sending chills down your spine. “You made it very clear that I should never trust an assassin.” You were about to reply when your gaze shifted from his face to a man with salt and pepper hair entering the room through the large doorway behind your dance partner: your target. Peter looked down at you, noticing the darkening in your focused eyes. 

     “Hey,” he said softly, cupping your cheek with his hand. “Don’t do this...kill, I mean. This isn’t the right way to go about things, take it from me.” You gazed up into his warm brown eyes, seeing the innocence you once possessed. You hesitated for a moment, getting lost in his eyes, then remembered who you were and what you had to do. You did not take orders from anyone, especially a man who parades around in red and blue spandex. 

     “Yes,” you shot back. “I really do. And if you get in my way again, you’ll be next on my list.” You stepped away from him, your heels clicking on the marble floors, and followed after the man you came here for, leaving Peter standing in the middle of the dancefloor alone. He watched you leave, your red dress draping behind you like a cape. Peter stealthily followed you to where you had managed to get your target alone. Peter frowned, anger flooding into his mind. He knew he wasn’t done with you quite yet.