#then they can both retire and move to the country and just visit periodically

[firebirdsdaughter]

Don't mind me…

… I'm not finally having the courage to catch up on Tiger & Bunny s2 and crying about it.

I'm not.

I'M NOT

[ladylooch]

You can save for the next flashback day but what was Lexi’s thoughts about moving to Switzerland when Nico retired did she genuinely not care or was she unsure at first about uprooting her and her families whole life

Let's dig into this more below!

If Lexi was being honest, in the initial conversation with Timo and Emma her first thought was "no, you guys just stay 🥺". Then immediately she reprimanded herself for being so selfish. Then she flipped back to "Nico and I can convince them to stay." It's not that she didn't like Switzerland. She has spent enough time there at that point to know how beautiful it was, how kind everyone was, but also experienced how out of place she continued to feel as an American. Not from anyone that said or did anything, just from the concept of being the only non-Swiss native in the group. An outsider... always the one who needed the English menu brought to her while all the kids knew and understood Swiss German even.

Nico and Lexi had the lake home that Nico built in Switzerland before they were together. They had since done renovations to it, including expanding it once, and it became the perfect summer home for them. But... it's in a remote part of Switzerland. Not in a big city. Lexi had concerns about that especially for them coming from such a busy metropolis - schools, grocery stores, language issues, accessibility, living in the mountains! How would that change their life in ways they maybe didn't quite understand? It was a lot to digest. Not just a new city, but basically a whole new way of living.

Leaving her friends... She had a great group of friends still in NJ/NY that she formed when she was a nurse and leaving them, plus starting over at an older age, in a new country, with a language and cultural barrier... felt daunting. She knew, realistically, she could make friends. She does have connections in and around town through the three Swiss nationals in the group. But she worried about having something for herself outside of the family. Making friends as an adult is so hard and it was just as hard as she thought it would be.

The education system in Switzerland is different than the US and getting all three girls into schools AND being advocates for them made her brain mushy. Nico, trying to be sweet and supportive, had a tendency to wave off some of these concerns like "I'll handle it." But that's not what Lexi wanted. She wanted to understand- to be able to do her own research- not just be told by her husband what to expect.

Lexi was going to go move to a country she would not be considered a citizen in for quite some time. She had concerns about the dynamics of what could happen because the kids were dual citizens, and Nico was a Swiss citizen with a green card, but she would have a waiting period to be granted the opportunity to apply for citizenship, regardless of how long her and Nico had been married. Although extremely unlikely, those worries affected her and she would wake up at night with dreams of being deported and separated from their family.

Ultimately, all of those worries were things that they could navigate together. There were solutions and compromises that could be made to ease some of the big change.

Also, Nico and Lexi have significant wealth and status, so their journey to living in Switzerland is much different than the average person deciding to move there. Nico tries to tell Lexi this, but it's something she had to experience when she got there to really understand what Nico meant.... So, easy enrollment for the girls including specialty tutoring to get them caught up with heir classmates, easy healthcare access, tons of sponsorship benefits from Swiss companies helping them adjust to their new living arrangements, attorneys and tax professionals to navigate being expats and Americans etc. In the end, it's a change they both are so happy they made. They enjoy visiting the U.S. but going back to Switzerland is truly going home for both of them.

[succstosucculent]

The Edwin and Charles Live til Old Age AU is Taking Off

And I just thought, even though I’m too busy to properly develop this AU right now, I can share a few headcanons as to how I think their lives would’ve gone

TW/CW: referenced child abuse, referenced domestic abuse, offscreen minor character deaths, divorce, WW1, probably WW2, period typical homophobia (briefly alluded to)

Let’s start out with Charles Rowland. I imagine he left home the moment he legally could, just sort of coasted from job to job until he ended up where he currently is, as a beloved radio host blasting popular throwback songs across the airwaves. Charles calls to check in with his mum, doesn’t bother visiting his dad’s grave (Paul Rowland dies in this AU in 1991 because he never gets better and continues treating his wife like shit), and he gets to see his daughters every weekend until they’re old enough to decide not to see him themselves.

Charles tried his best not to become the father and husband his dad was, but in turn he ended up bringing his own dysfunctional behaviors into his marriage, and he and his wife probably divorced. His daughters would call his parenting style smothering and overbearing, although never to his face, because then he’ll cry about how much he wanted to be a good dad for them and they’ll feel bad. They mostly want Charles to go to therapy, but that would require admitting something is wrong first, which, you know, good luck with Charles admitting something is wrong until it’s too late.

The closest thing Charles gets to therapy is his bimonthly visits to Mr. Payne’s grave. He’ll buy them two pork pies from the petrol station on the way, put one on the grass as he eats the other one and talk about his day, his work, his family, etc.

Which I guess leaves Edwin Payne’s life to fill in. According to a cursory Google search, Edwin was born in the winter sometime around the turn of the year from 1899 to 1900, which gives him just enough time to experience the horrors of WW1 before the armistice was signed on Nov 11 1918. I don’t know what horrors he could’ve experienced exactly, it’s almost worse to leave it up to the imagination, tbh, but Edwin comes back to England a changed man.

The middle years are kind of a big question mark to me, as I haven’t exactly worked those out yet. Would Edwin have gone back to serve his country in WW2? He’d be in his forties at that point, so while it’s not a no, per se, he might also leave it to the younger men to handle while he helps out the war effort at home. All I got is that eventually, around the late 1950’s to early 1960’s, Edwin opens a bookshop or a magic items supply shop (or a mixture of both?) together with his ‘business partner’ *ahem* Mr. James McNally, an OC. They successfully run the bookstore/magic store together until well into the early ‘80s, until McNally dies of a heart attack in 1985. Edwin then sells the business, retires, and moves into the old folk’s home because at this point he has no surviving family members to look after him, and he never conformed to societal expectation to marry a woman and have kids. So he’s all alone for a good three years until a bright-eyed, energetic volunteer named Charles Rowland stops by with some mates from his school for some community service hours. Eventually, Charles continues visiting Mr. Payne well after his required service hours have been filled 🥹❤️💙

[luvhughes43]

https://www.tumblr.com/luvhughes43/762521546150526976/thinking-about-baby-blake-at-skating-competitions?source=share

OH 😃 Thanks for breaking my heart...

Now I'm thinking about her and jack being each others' best friends and how hard it must have been for them to be apart from each other 🥲 I mean, they were together from the womb (and even before that) and suddenly they're forced to be apart in order to pursue their dreams...and maybe, selfishly, they both (but mostly jack) wish that they could just be together again even though it means one of them has to give up what they love...........

BUT ALSO baby blake seems like the type to just be like "Don't worry mom and dad! I'll be fine on my own! You can just watch the boys so you don't need to travel so far!" and also "Don't worry guys! You don't even have to watch this competition! It's not even a big one!" And she says it every time because she doesn't want anyone staying up late for her or worrying when/if she falls during a jump.....and it kills her to say it because deep down all she wants is for her family to be there with her or to watch her skate her program even if it's not live....

im sorry😭😭

its hard because the split happens as soon as the family moves back to the usa. so not only are they being separated but now theyre in a new country and neither of them really know anybody. jack definitely wishes that one of them quit their sport so it wasn't so hard but at the end of the day they both love what they're doing so it was never really a question. they try to stay in contact as much as they can but blake was already competing in major competitions (ISU juniors, etc.) that it was so hard for them to be as close as they were.

they were definitely separated from age 13 till basically blakes injury (do we think she quarantined with her family? because if she was living with other family members so she could skate theres a high possibility they didnt get reunited until their 20s (of course they visit each other - but still)). it definitely makes blakes move to nyc after she retires from skating so much fun. she goes from seeing her twin only a few times a year to basically being neighbours. blake dating nico and being a part of the team that way also helps solidify hers and jacks bond which is soo special !! they definitely spend so much time together now that theyre closer.

baby blake is sooo truly a sad girl😭 this is the time in her life where her coaches abuse was really starting to increase and build pressure and the distance from her family didnt help at all. it made it easier in a sense, because blake knew she didnt have to try so hard to hide what was happening behind the scenes (she definitely struggled with an ed, injuries, mental abuse, etc.).

it was the absolute saddest/hardest period of her life but she truly loves figure skating and would do anything for the sport !! shes also so young and without her parents around she doesnt understand the scale of the abuse she faced until shes older and starts to unpack what happened to her in therapy.

she was soo the type of kid to tell her parents/family that she didnt care whether they missed her events !! i think her family also had a hard time connecting with her figure skating so it was just easier (not saying its right) to overlook her smaller competitions. it was definitely a really hard adjustment to make but her family did watch all her live streams. she just wished they couldve showed up in person more.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

hi, i am looking for a very specific johnlock case fic on ao3 with an au where they are in america and on the oregon trail, possibly traveling to wyoming, or probably just western america!lock in generally. thanks! :)

Hey Nonny!

Ahh, I don’t know which fic this is, but I have a few American AUs in my MFL list, maybe one of them is it? If anyone knows which one it is for sure, let us know!!

AMERICAN AUs (TO READ)

Gone and Changed by cwb (E, 4,617 w., 1 Ch. || Farm/Ranch American AU || Teenlock, Friends to Lovers, Angst, High School, Summer Vacation, Swimming, Hot Weather, Oral Sex, Car Sex, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Falling in Love, Mutual Pining) – John and Sherlock are best friends, until John goes and changes. Part 1 of the Just Like That series

At All Material Time by dizzylittlesunflowers (T, 7,029 w., 1 Ch. || 1930′s Farm/Ranch AU || One Shot) – When John Watson first met Sherlock Holmes, the dark-haired stranger had told him he'd never make the mistake of falling in love. Set in 1930's Southern America, the mysterious Holmes family move into the deserted house opposite John Watson's farm. Intrigued with the strange newcomers, the young farmer lets his priorities slip. But not without consequence.

How to Sleep with Your Enemy in One Semester by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (M, 9,699 w., 6 Ch. || College / Uni Professors AU || Professor John/Sherlock, Enemies to Lovers, Rivalry, Bickering, Office Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Domestics, John’s Beard, Idiots in Love, Humour) – Visiting professors John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are longtime academic rivals — and now unwilling office mates — at a prestigious American university. When their tense arguments give way to an undercurrent of mutual attraction, their war of wits turns into something more personal — until it goes off course. A party, a phone number, and deserted office at night might just bring them back together.

The Rainbow Connection by honeybee_motorcyles (M, 13,161 w., 7 Ch. || Post-TRF, Autistic Sherlock, American Road Trip, Understanding, Communication, PTSD Sherlock, Regression, Aspergers, Angst and Fluff) – A Road Trip is the best cure for Sherlock and John's relationship.

Wild Skies by darkestbliss (E, 13,339+ w., 9/? Ch. || WiP || American Farm/Ranch AU || Age Difference, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Bottom Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Teen Sherlock, Summer Camp, Older John) – Sherlock Holmes, show jumping champion turned druggie, is sent to a small, remote ranch in Wyoming for the summer as part of his rehabilitation process. There, he meets John Watson, a beautiful and good-natured ranch hand who was raised by the West.

The Reawakening of John Watson by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (E, 20,463 w., 14 Ch. || Historical 1800s American/Victorian AU || Artist Sherlock, Writer John, Angst with Happy Ending, Bisexual John, Period Typical Homophobia, Sensuality, Experienced Sherlock, Pining, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Love Confessions, Flirty Sherlock, Frottage, Outdoor Sex, Trust Issues, Minor Character Death, Sexual Tension, Colorado / London, Rimming, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs,  POV John) – Trying to escape his troubled past in England, John Watson has started a new life in the American West. When he meets the handsome artist Sherlock Holmes, a smoldering attraction is sparked, complicating his quiet, carefully guarded existence. Maybe taking a risk with Sherlock is exactly what John needs to feel alive again...

Learning Curve by thpontiacbandit (M, 41,422 w., 22 Ch. || Teacher / Parent AU || America, Fluff and Smut, Parentlock, Frottage) – John is a Kindergarten teacher. One of his students, a boy named Henry Holmes, refuses to speak in school. John is determined to get to the bottom of it, and that is how he meets Sherlock Holmes.

The Bone Fiddle by htebazytook & Vulgarweed (E, 61,167 w., 13 Ch. || American Historical 1970′s AU || Appalachia, West Virginia, Vietnam War, Watergate, Murder Mystery, Case Fic, Drama, Humour, Romance) – In November 1973, Vietnam vet John Watson returns to his family's old home in Arthel County, West Virginia, deep in coal country. His low expectations include recuperation and boredom. Instead he finds a ruined landscape, a series of grisly murders, and one of the world's weirdest neighbors. Part 1 of the The Bone Fiddle series

Next Right: Welcome to Westbound Rest Area 818 by elwinglyre (E, 73,618 w., 16 Ch. || American Unilock AU || Bunk Beds, Anonymous Sex, Homophobia, Closeted John, Roommates, Angst with Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Music, Rape/Non-Con, Hurt John, BAMF John) – Sherlock Holmes dreams of escape from his smothering family and space to breathe. Studying chemistry at the University of Michigan, he's almost far enough away to fill his lungs. Almost. While John Watson dreams of being a doctor, he also dreams of being with another man. John knows that with hard work and study, he can make the first a reality, but he's certain the second can never be. Until a secret encounter in the dark at Rest Area 818 changes everything. When Sherlock meets his new roommate, John Watson, he sees a man in the closet. Sherlock hides from no one. Except from his own family, a detective inspector who wants his evidence returned, and his secret encounter at Rest Area 818. Setting late 1970s, Michigan, USA. POV third person alternates between John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock, P.I. by Callie4180 (E, 83,264 w., 11 Ch. || Magnum P.I. Fusion || Past Relationships, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Canon-Typical Violence, Stalking, Creepy Moriarty) – For the Fall TV Sherlock fusion project. Sherlock, P.I. is an American television show that follows the exciting adventures of genius private investigator Sherlock Homes and his friends as they live their lives on the beautiful island of Oahu in Hawaii. Sherlock solves crimes as he wrestles with the ghosts and demons of his past.

Boyfriend Material by PoppyAlexander (E, 151,282 w., 58 Ch. || American Hockey AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Closeted John, POV John, Pining, Casual Sex / Hook Ups, Rom-Com) – Boston Brawlers' team captain John Watson longs for two things: a championship before he retires, and a boyfriend. Assigned to room with goaltender Sherlock Holmes--known around the league as both a genius and a "weird dude"– on Brawlers' roadtrips, John discovers the things they have in common that lead to an easy friendship and a convenient arrangement.

Nine and a Half Weeks by CumberCurlyGirl and Kameo (E, 175,094+ w., 35/? Ch. || WiP || American AU || Different First Meeting, Daddy Kink, Bottomlock, Anal Plug, Riding Crops, Spanking, Light Bondage, Anal/Oral, Aftercare, Posh John, Virgin Sherlock, Homophobia, Sugar Daddy John, Rimming, Coming in Pants, Light Dom/Sub, Past Sherlock / Victor, Light BDSM, Public Sex, John in a Kilt, Vibrators, Happy Ending) – Sherlock Holmes is about to graduate from high school in midwestern America. Despite his intelligence, his prospects are bleak due to poverty, an indifferent, alcoholic father and poor choices. One day, at work, he sells a riding crop to a handsome blonde Brit and his life is changed. He doesn't know what hit him - until he does. This is a story of a journey to love and self-acceptance and explores many themes along the way: drug abuse, grief, coming out, age difference, consent. Lots of sex but so much more.

Just Like That Series by cwb (E, 201,462+ w. across 4 works || Series WiP || American Teenager / Farmer AU || Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Angst, High School, Summer Vacation, Swimming, Friends to Lovers, Car Sex, Mutual Pining, Falling in Love, Kissing) – John and Sherlock are best friends, until John goes and changes.

The Devil's Blaze by DulcimerGecko (E, 296,121+ w., 25/? Ch. || WiP || American Cowboy / Rodeo AU || Vet John, Case Fic, Texas, Slow Build, Manipulative Sherlock, Masturbation, Developing Relationship, Dancing Lessons, Drunk Sherlock, Safe Sex, Blow Jobs, Horny John, Cowboy Sherlock, Cowboy John) – Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only Consulting Equestrian Expert, is the individual called when horse owners are out of their depth. At the behest of his elder brother, Sherlock travels to Amarillo, Texas, to investigate why a valuable bucking stallion has seemingly gone berserk for no reason and killed his trainer. The local authorities suspect the owner of fraud and possible animal abuse, but Mycroft sees parallels to an unsolved case from the 1980s wherein a racehorse killed a groom. Complicating the situation is John Watson: bronco rider, rodeo veterinarian and one of case’s primary suspects... Part 1 of the The Devil's Blaze series

[kanri-tea]

Ageswap! AU

Some headcanons for a HypMic ageswap! Au

Except everyone's ages are all over the place lol.

Ichiro is 32, Jiro is 30, and Saburo is 27

Samatoki is 29, Jyuto is 25, and Rio is 26

Ramuda is 30, Gentaro is 34, and Dice is 34

Jakurai is 14, Hifumi is 22, and Doppo is 22

Sasara is 31, Rosho is 31, and Rei is 16

Kuko is 32, Jyushi is 31, and Hitoya is 14

Otome is 19, Ichijiku is 26, and Nemu is 23

Buster Bros!!!

Ichiro is a bit of a mess, but he's getting better. He used to be pretty bad, working as a debt collector for Mozuku, doing drugs, and drinking, etc., but thanks to his brothers, he's gotten out and gotten clean.

Unfortunately, during that period, his relationship with his son, Rei, turned sour and Rei ran away at a fairly young age. Ichiro has been trying to repair his relationships, especially with Rei, but Rei isn't interested or receptive at all.

Jiro and Saburo live together, Jiro as a PE teacher at a middle school and Saburo as a white hat hacker/computer security stuff.

Jiro and Saburo's relationship with Ichiro isn't the best, but after Ichiro started getting clean and shaping up, their relationship has improved enough to form a team.

Jiro and Saburo are aware of Rei's existence but haven't actually met him before.

Mad Trigger Crew

Not huge changes here, Samatoki still works with the Yakuza, Jyuto is still a cop, and Rio is still Rio.

Jyuto isn't quite as experienced in being a corrupt cop as canon, so Samatoki makes sure to cover for him whenever he stumbles.

Samatoki is a big brother through and through, so he keeps an eye out for both Jyuto and Rio. His relationship with Nemu is okay, though sometimes she thinks he's the dumbest fool in the world.

Rio is more than well-aware that his survival cooking is not for the faint of heart. He finds it hilarious how Samatoki and Jyuto stutter and flinch whenever he brings it up, as well as how easily they falter under his puppy eyes.

Fling Posse

Ramuda deliberately makes sure as little people know his actual age as possible

It's one thing for a 24 year old to act cutesy and call girls "onee-san," it's a whole other thing when it's a 30 year old, no matter how cute and small he is

Ramuda finds Jakurai small and cute, so he sometimes goes and harasses coo over the boy, though, there have been times where the cops have been called for suspected pedophilia.

He's free from all the Project lambda stuff since it got exposed years ago and after a long hospitalization, he's completely healthy. You might even run into another clone occasionally, though they're all split to the four winds, each having chosen to pursue their own dreams.

Gentaro still is a writer, though he usually wears normal clothes. Honestly, he's way too old to continue to wear a kosode and hakama everywhere. It is way too hot out, plus he's not in his 20s anymore, when he thought it was cool and unique.

Dice is Dice. He's a gambler, though he does make sure to keep enough money around for rent and food. He's old enough that he's not so dumb enough to gamble away everything. Plus, he doesn't want to worry his daughter, Otome. She's already pissed at him enough.

Dice and Otome have a fairly good relationship, though that might just have been a result of Dice being an attentive and easygoing parent and never having to live with each other. Otome cares a lot for Dice, though she hates his gambling addiction.

Matenro

Everyone's pretty sure Jakurai is a mob boss or something. There's no way 14 year old should be able to live alone and be financially well off. Jakurai just smiles through everyone's suspicions, and since there's no proof, no one can do anything about it.

Jakurai acts like a literal angel, though, if you anger him, he might actually stab you (*cough* Ramuda *cough*). Jakurai, Hitoya, and Rei are friends, though no one knows how are when, they just are.

During the TDD era, Ramuda, Ichiro, and Samatoki acted a bit like pseudo-parents for him, though nowadays, while they do their best to keep an eye on Jakurai out of a sense of responsibility, Jakurai is content to ignore them.

Doppo and Hifumi are together and happily so. They still tell most people they're just roommates, due to Doppo's lack of confidence, but they're pretty content together.

Hifumi still works at a host club, though he does fumble sometimes from having less experience. Sometimes he doubts himself because he's not as old as his peers at the host club.

Doppo is just as self-deprecating as always, though there's a whole helping of fatalistic humor as well. His favorite way to relieve himself of stress is to hug Jakurai.

Both Hifumi and Doppo love Jakurai and really worry if a 14 year old living alone is okay. They like taking turns hugging and cuddling with the boy and Jakurai is somehow okay with it.

Dotsuitare Honpo

Sasara is in a pretty happy relationship with Rosho. They've moved past their issues in their youth and are now together.

They live separately, though that's mostly because of convenience for their workplace rather than because they want to

They planned to move in together soon, but their plans are put to halt when they meet Rei

Rei is a student at Rosho's school. He's not a bad student, just a bit inattentive and laissez-faire when it comes to others.

Rei helps them out of a bad situation and shows that he's good with a hypnosis microphone, but nopes out of the situation before either Sasara or Rosho can talk to him. He gets caught by Rosho the next day at school though.

Somehow, he gets roped into joining Dotsuitare Honpo, but there's a gleam in his eyes that tell Sasara that he's pretty pleased with the outcome.

When they find out that Rei lives on his own in a really rundown and small apartment, they freak out a bit and then try to make him move in with one of them.

It... kind of works? Rei still works on a near daily basis and insists on paying rent, but at least he's not living in a shitty apartment anymore.

Rei isn't used to people caring for him, having pretty much raised himself, and it shows. Any bout of affection is waved off with a laugh, light teasing, or a strained grin. When Sasara and Rosho find out that his dad is Ichiro, Sasara gets a little bit more than just mad at at his former teammate.

Bad Ass Temple

Kuko is a full-on monk at the temple, having taken over the temple after his father's retirement. He met Jyushi there, who was praying for luck for his next concert.

Kuko has calmed down a lot since being a teenager. There's still bouts of anger sometimes, but he's mostly exasperated, especially at Hitoya. Kuko is super interested in Jyushi, but not sure how to make his intentions clear without startling the other man or inciting Hitoya's ire.

Jyushi is still a sweetheart, though he's not as permanently attached to Amanda as before. He's a very popular idol/music artist, primarily is visual kei, though he does do other things.

Hitoya originally was a homeless kid, though he did occasionally crash at Jakurai's place. His pride wouldn't let him do it too often, scared of becoming too reliant on the other boy or showing himself as weak.

Jyushi met Hitoya when he was in Tokyo for a concert. Somehow, he convinced the boy to come live with him. He took him back to Nagoya and that's where he's lived since.

Hitoya is very, very protective of Jyushi. He thinks Jyushi is too naive and air-headed for an adult, so he does his best to protect Jyushi from his stalkers and any other people that could hurt him. He's a bit of a hothead and comes off as overzealous and even hissing at people who stand too close to Jyushi.

Jyushi is very patient with Hitoya and thinks he's the cutest kid in the world, an opinion that Kuko very much disagrees with.

Kuko sometimes feels like apologizing to his father after dealing with Hitoya, because damn, was he ever this bad as a kid?

Chuuoku

Otome is young, but she's not stupid. The world sucks and she's doing her best to make it a better place, especially for women. Being responsible for an entire country is overwhelming at times, so she's grateful for Ichijiku's help.

The men vs women agenda isn't quite as fervent as it is in canon, and Otome does her best to include all LGBTQ+ in her equality agenda

Ichijiku still hates men, but she softens a bit when it comes to Otome. The girl is young, but dang if she isn't doing her best.

Nemu willingly works with the Chuuoku, though she is very tired of her brother's dumbassery. Seriously, who actually calls themselves Mr. Hardcore without being embarrased?

Otome used to live with her mother, but she got sick of all the "being a lady" BS that traditional family spout and ran away once she was old enough. Dice being her dad, helped her settle on her own and sending whatever money has sometimes.

Once she overthrew the government, she has a steady home and paycheck, so she regularly sends money and visits him. Thankfully, the money is never spent of gambling because Dice finds it too precious to throw away like that.

[dreamofelectricmareep]

What’s our sorely-missed Calzona and company doing RIGHT NOW?

Headcannons from your favorite Calzona-obsessed and barely updated fangirl!

Callie is the chief of ortho at NewYork Presbyterian, with a huge research grant to take her artificial cartilage to clinical trials and to finish her and Derek’s work on robotic limbs for amputees. Amelia is consulting on her late brother’s work and flies out help (and see her friends) every few months. Callie is loving the baby time she gets with Scout during Amelia’s visits, and is not-so-subtly eyeing Arizona whenever a baby is in sight. Arizona begrudgingly agreed to be the face of NY Pres’ campaign for the robotic limb research, and Callie really loves pointing out to coworkers and patients alike that the hot blonde plastered across banners and walls and elevators is the woman she comes home to every night. The Chief of Surgery at NY Pres announced his upcoming retirement recently, and Callie just learned she’s been placed on the short list for his replacement.

Callie works just a short subway ride from the Robbins-Herman Center for Women's Health, where Arizona’s carts have reduced maternal mortality rates by a decent percentage. Herman is licensing off the rights to the carts across the country given how promising the results have been. Nicole and Arizona are teaching a promising “flock” of students. Nicole insists on referring to them as a flock, with Arizona being their mama bird, as she is Dr. Robbins. Arizona pretends not to be amused by Nicole’s less-than-stellar running joke, but she secretly loves being the rare, exotic mama bird, helping the new nestlings learn to soar in the field that she and Nicole are pioneering, saving lives in the process. Somehow, Nicole manages to, despite the blindness, always know exactly what’s going on, be it in a surgery or in Arizona’s love life. 

And Arizona’s love life is, for the first time in a long time, super awesome. She and Callie are stronger than ever, going into their relationship with better boundaries, coping mechanisms, communication skills, and understandings of each other. What hasn’t changed is the easy chemistry, laughter, and palpable, mutual attraction Arizona and Callie always seemed to share. Originally, Arizona had rented the apartment across the hall from Callie’s, but once her year-long lease was up, she, Callie, and Sofia, now a proper family again, made themselves comfortable in the far-more-spacious penthouse, with surprisingly low rent. Well, it was surprising until they found out that Carlos Torres of Torres Enterprises had ventured into Manhattan real-estate. He wanted nothing but the best for his Calliope, but Arizona doesn’t believe in handouts, so they pay a fair but below market-price rent for the four bedroom apartment. Between visits from Amelia and Teddy with Scout and Allison, Callie’s pleading looks, and her surprising ability to sic Sofia on the baby train, Arizona got on board. Callie and Arizona are in the process of becoming registered foster parents, as well as putting applications in with a few adoption agencies. 

When they realized that the fostering/adoption process would be much simpler if they were married, Callie popped the question (it was her turn, after all) during dinner at a three Michelin star restaurant. Callie had previously made a list of all the restaurants in New York she wanted to try, and although Arizona is a far less intrepid eater, she’s been holding her own on the adventure. Arizona said yes, not that it was even a question. After all, they’re Callie and Arizona, the great love story. They’re meant to be. Callie and Arizona had a quiet (legally-binding!) ceremony at their local courthouse with Sofia, but plan to have a destination wedding in Spain with the whole GSM gang once COVID travel restrictions lighten up. Sofia, a genius like both her moms and her dad, got to skip fourth grade and is loving fifth grade. She’s really excited for middle school, regularly claiming she’s all grown up now, but she’ll always be her moms’ baby girl no matter how many grades she skips or how old she gets. She has weekly FaceTime calls with Zola on her brand new phone. Arizona was staunchly against it, as The Colonel’s daughter, but seeing as Sofia took the subway on her own, Callie talked her into it.

Callie and Arizona keep up with all of their Grey-Sloan Memorial friends, past and present, but are definitely thankful to have gotten away from the drama that seemed to follow them around in Seattle. Meredith, aside from her comatose period during her battle with COVID, has done a remarkable job keeping them in the loop, with Maggie filling in when Meredith couldn’t. While Callie and Arizona couldn’t visit Meredith when she was sick, they hounded Bailey and Webber with endless phone calls for progress reports. Bailey was beyond happy to hear that the wedding she officiated ended up in a happy marriage, despite what she referred to as a little bump in the road. Richard is also happy he no longer has to be Arizona’s wingman, but the whole GSM gang still gets together for weekly trivia nights on Zoom every Wednesday, at Richard’s insistence. And whenever Callie gets into a disagreement with her soon-to-be former chief at NY Pres, one reminder that she is a close personal friend of Webber and Bailey seems to end with her getting her way. She promised she wouldn’t use that to her advantage, but she does. Her temper still gets the best of her, but not when it comes to Arizona or Sofia, which is all that really matters to Callie.

Arizona was overjoyed to hear about April’s move thousands of miles closer. She has booked train tickets to Boston for herself, Callie, and Sofia to help with the move. Sofia can distract Harriet, Arizona can be her type-A control freak self and make sure every box is put exactly where she thinks it should be, and she can stare at Callie’s ass while she carries boxes around, so, for Arizona, it’s a win-win-win-win scenario. Her apartment-warming gift to April is a very large Expedia gift card so that she feels obligated to visit Arizona often as she can get away from work. To say Arizona misses the woman she’d never have expected to become her best friend is an understatement.

Alex is still a little bitter he missed a number of years of the twins’ lives, but Arizona is helping him through that and he and Izzie are doing well. He’s, of course, the star at their dump truck Kansas hospital (not that Arizona would ever use that characterization to his face), having been Arizona’s protégé for all these years. He still calls Arizona when he needs to make a plan for a complicated case. Sometimes the cases he calls Arizona about aren’t all that complicated, but both Alex and Arizona know it’s Alex Karev’s way of checking in and catching up. He isn’t one to admit to calling people just to chat.

Cristina is hoping to make a trip out to see her god-daughter, who she still refers to as a chicken, when the pandemic restrictions relax. Until then, she and Callie talk every couple weeks, catching up on the latest groundbreaking, kick ass procedure Cristina has brilliantly invented. She says she’s married to her work, but there is a Swiss surgeon at the hospital who seems to be infatuated with Cristina, from what Callie can gather. And it appears to be mutual. Cristina is still not one to gush about boyfriends, but Callie can get bits and pieces in conversation. Every so often, Callie, Arizona, and Sofia get fancy Swiss chocolates in the mail, with a note to keep sending pictures of Aunt Cristina’s little chicken.

Addison has an open invitation to join the Robbins-Herman Center. Arizona even offered to amend the name, but Nicole was none too happy at the prospect of getting her name booted from second to third. But, again, the Robbins-Herman-Montgomery Center makes it sound like they are a man. Addison is still mulling it over, happy with her life, friends, and family in LA, but Callie and Arizona are still trying to wear her down. And Addison still regularly reminds them to thank her for Callie’s gay awakening, She was, after all, the first one to point it out.

Mark is beyond thrilled to see that all of his yelling has been working, not that he’s getting the credit. Now that Callie and Arizona woke up and aren’t missing the best part of life, Mark can enjoy watching Sofia grow up with Lexie by his side. Sofia is certainly growing into her Sloan looks, and will certainly be a heartbreaker once she gets a bit older. 

[greenelight]

despite    knowing    that    atticus    chose    to    retire    from    his    dangerous    job    ,    mason    knows    he    definitely    missed    it in some way.    he    went    from    traveling    the    world    to    suddenly    staying    in    one    place    for    once    in    his    life    &    while    he    knows    he's    happy    to    be    there    with    him    ,    he    understands    his    need    to    go    out    &    explore.    mason's    own    best    friend    hannah    is    just    like    that    &    he    never    guilted    her    or    said    anything    when    she    could    only    stay    for    a    short    period    of    time    during    visits.    as    atticus    makes    breakfast    &    starts    talking    about    the    museum    ,    mason    smiles    a    bit    as    an    idea    comes    to    mind    ,    setting    his    book    aside    &    letting    his    legs    swing    a    bit    from    where    he    sits    on    the    counter.

❝    we    could    definitely    do    that    ,    ❞    he    starts    in    a    sing    song    tone    ,    smile    widening.    ❝    or    .    .    .    we    could    also    maybe    .    .    .        take    a    vacation    somewhere    ?    get    out    of    the    country    &    do    something    fun    ?    travel    together    for    once.    ❞    he    waits    to    see    atticus'    response    ,    wondering    how    he    would    takes    to    the    idea    of    traveling    without    the    premise    of    searching    for    something.    ❝    i    know    you're    happy    being    with    me here in new york    ,    but    i    can    tell    you're    a    little    restless.    man    ,    you    are    really    like    my    best    friend    in    that    way.    kinda    funny    how    similar    you    both    are.    ❞    he    chuckles    ,    jumping    off    the    counter    &    moving    behind    the    taller    man    ,    arms    wrapping    around    his    middle    as    he    lets    his    head    rest    against    his    shoulder.    ❝    it    could    be    fun.    a    nice    ,    safe    vacation    ,    just    the    two    of    us.    ❞    he    sighs , kissing his back.    ❝    only    if    you're    comfortable    ,    of    course.    i    don't    travel    much    myself    but    ,    maybe    i    could    start    if    you're    there    with    me.    ❞

He'd been retired for a few months now, something he was still trying to get used to. The whole staying in one place thing was a big difficult, but Atticus liked that he got to stay with Mason the whole time. He especially liked when @greenelight had the whole day off, and they got to have breakfast together. He stood at the stove, making hashbrowns while his boyfriend read at the table behind him. “ I was thinking, maybe we could go to that one museum today. The one down the street from the book shop. ”

[my-darling-boy]

what about California suits you poorly?

A LOT and I’m so stressed I’m just going to vent about it, I’m sorry I need to let this out:

1. Weather is fucking awful in so many counties, especially where I live. It gets to 110-120F in the summer for 2 months, half the year it’s 90+. We get rain/grey skies MAYBE in total for 2 weeks out of the entire year. I’ve suffered for years from reversed seasonal depression (where you get so much sun you get depressed) which means my mental health is only at it’s best in the cold or with grey skies and gloomy weather, can’t take pills for it because of the side effects. I also have a skin condition that flares up in the heat which means I can’t go outside, at the worst part of the year, for anymore that 30 seconds without stinging horrible pain over my whole body, can’t get the injection to take care of it cos that’s just one more injection I’d have to worry about

2. We’re on constant wildfire watch about half the year, sometimes more. We’ve been at risk of evacuating 3 times but thankfully haven’t had to ever evacuate. However, my grandparents have had to twice and I have family that lost their houses in the Tubbs Fire which also destroyed my home town and so many people are still displaced from the fires. Even counties that don’t have to evacuate suffer from the purple-red zone for air quality due to smoke and I have high sensitivity to smoke which means I have a constant sore throat for all of fire season which is like 7 months out of the year and I would prefer not to look out my window and see a charcoal sky or a burning Star Wars Tattooine red sunset so often that it becomes normal.

3. I dunno what ads are shown in other states about California, but unless you are a millionaire, but I’ve found it’s near impossible to live here without at least two roommates all working a 40 hour week. Everyone my age has roommates or a partner mainly cos it’s so difficult to live on your own. It is in the top 3 most expensive states in the country. Low income housing 2 minutes away from me is priced at $600,000-$700,000 and the homes just next to those in gated communities are $1,000,000+. “”“Affordable””one bedroom flats just near me are $2,500-$3000 a month. And I don’t even live in a major city. If I moved out now, I would be classified as living in poverty with what money I have. For a look at how bad it’s gotten, my dad’s childhood home in the 70s was once $100,000 and it just sold last year for over $1,500,000.

4. There are no outlets for my career or job wants. At all. My main interest/knowledge is in Western Europe around that 1880-1920 period and mainly around WWI, and I reenact a British soldier. I love that history, theatre, art.... but on the off chance I had $60,000 a semester to go to the universities here I wanted to get a degree after transferring from a junior college, I have nowhere to apply that here. There are practically zero WWI events for me to reenact here, minus Newville and a couple others and there is no target audience for all my WWI writing and art because barely anyone gives a damn about WWI here (the Joke I’d always hear in school was “WWI? What even was that?” and we would learn about it for MAYBE two weeks out of 12 years of schooling). There aren’t museums I’d want to work at here, there aren’t shops I’d love to work for, there aren’t historical places I feel attached to to work there. I cannot tell you how fucking ECSTATIC I was to see actual WWI items in museums in England because I’d never seen anything like it here!! Like??? I could’ve fucking cried because I was so happy to be in a place where my interests had meaning to people?? Like last time I was there, literally a man in an elevator got into a Deep conversation with us about how sad WWI was and how it’s still emotional for people which was WILD because here I’m always told to “be smart and get interested in something that actually matters”. Like I’m sorry but it is SO draining to be so passionate about something it feels like no one around you ever cares about

5. The Style I specifically have is SO unnecessarily pricey to have here. California never had an Edwardian Period the way they did in the countries I studied, which means that there are, surprise, pretty much zero places to buy clothing/items from that period and if you do happen to find them, they’re outrageously expensive and the cuts of the garments aren’t even the ones I’m looking for, for instance, because America had slightly different fashion. No one here sells the clothing I dream of having, I have to order a majority of my stuff from England meaning it costs A LOT and I pay like $80+ in shipping for some things. My reenactment gear is so expensive to have shipped here as well!! I’m also so ://// cos I see all my friends from Europe just going out and causally finding items I’d love to have at decent prices cos they’re just staple antique shop items there which would be classified as rarities here. Like...... to know I could just walk into a physical shop somewhere and pay £15 for a collar or something that would’ve cost me $45 to have shipped here is just AAAAAHHHH??? Like the only reason why my dream life Brand isn’t as developed as I would like is because that Brand just doesn’t exist anywhere here and it’s so disappointing

6. Additionally, I plan on going to Europe when it’s much safer to travel anyway throughout my life just to visit all these places I want to, if I don’t end up living there somewhere, but flights from California to these places are so expensive because I’m always traveling so far and my flight is always 11-12 hours straight which would be fine if it wasn’t in cramped quarters filled with strangers

7. Ultimately, I just feel so alone and empty here. I look out around me and see an American capitalist wasteland, Hollywood drama in my backyard, stark blue skies with a blazing unforgiving sun, no places I Vibe with, no place I feel interested to live, no place I feel interested to work at, and nothing to be happy about. My parents are planning to move after my dad retires, my grandparents on both sides are getting quite older now, and my family on both sides I’m not all that close with, I used to see a lot and now I see maybe once every 1-2 years. I’m not a little kid anymore and it’s just time for me to leave and everything just feels so wrong about living here in ways I don’t even have words for

8. Adding: the job situation here has been so bad for a long time and because of that, I’ve reached a point where I’m selling my car to have the money I need to move out! I’m either going to have to find a place to live where I can walk or take the metro or something because I don’t have cash left over to by another car once I sell the one I have so RIP

[scotianostra]

 Johnny Ramensky, the Scottish safe cracker was born on April 6th 1905 in Glenboig, Lanarkshire.

This is the type of story that would make a great film, so settle down to enjoy the life of the man born Jonas Ramanauckas, who became known as  John Ramsay, Gentleman Johnny, and Gentle Johnny

His father was a miner who died when Johnny was young and the young Ramensky also became a miner. It was while he was down the pit that he learned his skills with dynamite which were to prove so useful to him in later years.

Johnny drifted in and out of trouble from the age of eleven and moved to the Gorbals area of Glasgow during the Depression with his mother and two sisters. He developed an amazing physical strength and acrobatic ability but in order to obtain some money, he became a burglar, specializing in robberies involving climbing up external rone-pipes to gain entry to premises. He also developed skills in picking locks and safe-cracking with explosives.

While his activities were criminal, he had his own code of conduct and raided business premises rather than people's homes. And when he was caught, he never resisted arrest. His philosophy seemed to be "if you are caught, you are caught - it's all part of the job".

His life of detention began at age 18 when he was given a term in Borstal but later he served various terms in both Barlinnie and Peterhead Prisons. He eventually spent more time behind bars than outside. It's often easy to sentimentalise and sugar-coat the past, there was something about him which meant that even the police who snared him and the courts which he frequented as regularly as others visit their local supermarket, regarded him as somebody who was more interested in eluding an alarm and breaking a code than becoming rich from his forays.

Johnny was married during one of his spells out of prison and the couple had a baby daughter. But in 1934, while he was serving a sentence in Peterhead, he was told that his young wife was dead. He was refused permission to attend the funeral and Johnny's sense of justice was outraged. So he made the first of many escapes from the prison.

  In 1942, he was serving yet another jail sentence in Peterhead Prison. The army offered to give him special commando training and Johnny accepted. After all, it meant he was out of prison, earning a wage - and fighting for his country. Part of a crack commando unit, he was dropped behind enemy lines and used his skills with both explosives and burglary to good effect, stealing important German documents.

During the war in Italy, he entered Rome with the first troops to reach the city and blew open the safes in 14 foreign embassies - all in one day!

For his commando service and dangerous exploits, he was awarded the Military Medal and given a free pardon at the end of the war. But not longer after his return to Glasgow he was back to his life of burglary and was caught and jailed again.

In November 1955 he was sentenced to 10 years’ "preventive detention" at Peterhead Prison, which should have given him a few privileges. But he found there were none. He served over two years with exemplary conduct and still there was no move to the better conditions of "preventive detention". So Johnny responded in the only way he knew how - he escaped. Of course, he was later recaptured but he was at least given an opportunity to put his case to the prison authorities - which achieved nothing. Johnny escaped (and was recaptured) from Peterhead (Scotland's strongest jail) no less than five times including three times in 1958. Sometimes the prison warders didn't know whether he was inside or outside the prison. His fifth escape evoked wide-spread sympathy amongst the public which was illustrated by a song "The Ballad of Johnny Ramensky" by Norman Buchan (a Member of Parliament), which was printed in the Scotsman newspaper, and another musical tribute, Let Ramensky Go, was penned by none other than Roddy McMillan, the star of Para Handy.

Not long after starting a prison sentence in Barlinnie in Glasgow, Johnny was in the exercise yard and suddenly threw off his boots and shot up the wall, using cracks in the mortar as toe-holds. He reached a roof - but could get no further. Equally, the warders couldn't get him down - and Johnny was demanding to see the Chief of the Prisons Department! Attempts to reach the roof were met by a barrage of roof slates - watched by a growing audience outside the prison walls. He stayed out on the roof for five hours, eventually coming down when it started to get cold.

In 1962 Detective Superintendent Robert Colquhoun (retired), said "Like most policemen who have come in contact with Ramensky, I find him an engaging character, the kind of man who, applying his brain to another, more acceptable, type of occupation, could probably have made good." Before he had retired, DS Colquhoun received a message from Johnny (who was once more in prison). He had heard that the policeman was seriously ill. The message contained his good wishes for his speedy recovery, plus the advice that he’d been taking too much out of himself chasing Johnny around! As he grew older and the escapes continued one question was being asked: Why does he keep on doing it, at his age and in his state of health? A police officer who knew him well said "Johnny never expects to get far when he breaks out now ... he's just got to do it to prove that he still can."

Johnny remarried and started a second family during his all too short periods out of prison but persisted in his life of crime into his old age - by which time his abilities as a cat burglar were beginning to fail him. In 1972 he collapsed in Perth Prison and died shortly after in hospital. In addition to his family, the many people who attended his funeral came from both the law enforcement and the law breaking sides of society. Whatever his faults, Johnny Ramensky was respected by them all. His obituary appeared in every Scottish national newspaper.

That's not the end of Johnny Gently though, he lives on at Peterhead Prison, now a museum where Ramensky served so many years behind bars, has created a exhibition space which highlights different aspects of his career.

I couldnae find the Roddy McMillan  version of Lat Ramensky Go, but former BBC Young Traditional Musician of the Year, Claire Harings makes a great job of singing it, the lyrics below are the original version, Claire sings a slightly different version. 

Let Ramensky Go

There was a lad in Glesga town, Ramensky was his name Johnny didnae know it then but he was set for fame

Now Johnny was a gentle lad, there was only one thing wrong He had an itch to strike it rich and trouble came along He did a wee bit job or two, he blew them open wide But they caught him and they tried him and they bunged him right inside

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

And when they let him out he said he'd do his best but then He yielded tae temptation and they bunged him in again Now Johnny made the headlines, entertained the boys below When he climbed up tae the prison roof and gave a one-man show

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

But when the war was raging the brass-hats had a plan Tae purloin some information, but they couldnae find a man So they nobbled John in prison, asked if he would take a chance Then they dropped him in a parachute beyond the coast of France

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

Then Johnny was a hero, they shook him by the hand For stealing secret documents frae the German High Command So Johnny was rewarded for the job he did sae well They granted him a pardon frae the prison and the cell

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

But Johnny was in error when he tried his hand once more For they caught him at a blastin', and it wasnae worth the score

The jury pled for mercy, but the judge's voice was heard Ten years without remission, and that's my final word Ten years, my lord, that's far too long, wee Johnny cried in vain For if you send me up for ten I'll never come out again

Oh give me another chance, my lord, I'm tellin' you no lie But if you send me up for ten I'll sicken and I'll die

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

Now Peterhead's a fortress, its walls are thick and stout But it couldnae hold wee Johnny when he felt like walking out Five times he took a powder, he left them in a fix And every day they sweat and pray in case he makes it six

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go..........

Here are some reports on him.......[1958:] Twelve hours after Johnny Ramensky had done his fifth and most baffling "vanishing act" in Peterhead jail yesterday it was not known whether he was INSIDE or OUTSIDE the prison. This was admitted late last night by a Scottish Home Department spokesman. Here is the sequence of events leading up to the cracksman's third escape in ten months.

Because of rain, 45 prisoners, including Ramensky, were being exercised in one of Peterhead's large prison halls. At 1.40, the exercise ended and the squad began a 50 to 70-yard march, in organised lines to the tailor's shop. At 1.43, they arrived at the shop WITHOUT RAMENSKY.

The alarm was raised. Every corner of the prison was searched. But there was no trace of the "King of Peterhead". No rope or ladder with which he could have scaled the jail's 18-foot wall was found. One theory was that Ramensky had a key to the back door of the tailor's shop, which is only ten feet from the wall. For it is believed that he had a key for the tailor's shop door on his October break-out. Out went the word to police all over the country:

 "Ramensky's free again."

Two hunts went on - in swirling snow and at temperatures below freezing point - for the 53-year-old convict who, despite ill-health, had made another freedom bid. Throughout the whole of the North of Scotland road blocks and police checks sprang up. Tracker dogs went out. A strong cordon was thrown round the immediate prison area. For on his last bid in October, Ramensky was found, after 40 hours of freedom only 200 yards from the prison. It was ill-health that beat him then. He collapsed after a child spotted him in a barn.[...]. 

Last night people living in the Peterhead area spoke of him without fear. For he is known as "Gentle John" and those beside the prison take bets on how long he will stay free. His escape in February this year lasted 24 hours, before he was caught in Peterhead's main street wearing a warder's cap and a long black coat.

One question was being asked: Why does he keep on doing it, at his age and in his state of health? A police officer who knows him well said last night: "Johnny never expects to get far when he breaks out now ... he's just got to do it to prove that he still can.

"Here is a description of the clothes worn by the wartime Commando who cracked safes behind enemy lines: Brown moleskin trousers, brown battledress tunic, brown jersey, blue and white striped shirt, black leather shoes ... and possibly wearing a cap. (Daily Record, Dec 18)

The six-day hunt for gentle Johnny Ramensky was called-off last night. And baffled police admitted: "There are still no clues." [...] The authorities believe that 53-year-old Ramensky, if still alive, is bound to make a mistake sometime, or to leave a clue somewhere. It is understood that police opinion is split over the reason for the absence of a "trail." Some feel he is dead in the sea, but others are convinced he is in the Peterhead area, possibly quite near the prison, and is being fed and sheltered. (Daily Record, Dec 23)

[1959:] Johnny Ramensky (53), the safe-breaker who made a sensational jail-break from Peterhead prison, remaining at liberty for nine days, is back in prison. He was caught at Persley, on the north bank of the River Don about three miles from Aberdeen. A police spokesman said after the capture that Ramensky was looking wonderfully well, apart from being footsore, and considering the long period he had been on the run. He was dressed in blue dungarees and a green jersey and his shoes were cracked and torn. It is understood that no police charges are impending against Ramensky on account of his escape. There have been no reports of break-ins or thefts. His fifth escape has evoked wide-spread sympathy amongst the public. During the war Ramensky was an instructor to Allied agents in blowing safes. (Weekly Scotsman, Jan 2)

[legendaryorangeloot]

This is "The Union Screaming House", a short story I wrote as an alternate-universe American M.R. James story (which is why it's not got fully modern language when describing people's race and ethnicity, and the language/spelling in general is idiosyncratic in the way that letters from the <1900s tend to be.) I wrote it in one huge burst on a road trip with my partner from Milwaukee to St. Louis, and never really edited it, but I think it's true to the style and form of the author I'm trying to pay homage to, so all the weaknesses I can see are present in the source works and serve to make it more accurate (sorry, Monty James. you know I love you.)

Dec 22, 18--

My dearest Daniel - I write to you about events which recently occurred in the small town of Union, Mo., feeling certain that they will prove of interest to you, for your personal collections of curious supernatural tales and revolutionary literature. I suppose, as I shall leave no descendants, you may publish my full confession after all parties involved are deceased - such is the advantage of having much-younger friends, I suppose!

We were traveling across the midwestern states at a leisurely pace, hoping to recuperate my equilibrium after the trial in which I had recently defended Mr. W-- S-- against numerous charges of murder, about which: the less said, the better. It had become our custom over a period of weeks to seek out remote roads and tracks and follow them to their sources, which almost invariably were villages and towns with unusual “claims to fame”, such as one that boasted an underground lake, another with what they claimed as the oldest living tree in the state. This proved a diverting experience, and I greatly enjoyed conversing with many of the “oldsters” I met outside general stores and hearing tales of the War, and of their luck or lack there-of in the agriculture business. The endeavor was beginning to allow me to leave behind the feeling of grave wrong-doing that had dogged me since the verdict of the S-- trial, but what replaced it in Union may yet prove to be worse.

It was on one of these rather aimless treks that we found ourselves in Union, home of some 700 people. It was a chill autumn night, and darkness fell early, no later than 5 o. clock. Bryan, who was acting as driver, refused to travel in such a rural area after dark (wise, owing to his appearance - as you may recall from our last visit, Bryan is light enough to pass for “black Irish” stock, and usually does so successfully, but in the more… concerned areas of the country, he has been sometimes “found out”, with all the concurrent discriminatory rigmarole… sneaking “my servant” into my lodging-house rooms has been quite the risky undertaking in some of these towns.) At any rate, we obtained the name of a local widower who would be willing to rent a room to me for the night, and allow Bryan and our four-horse team to stay in his guest house and lavish stables, respectively.

Mr. R--, a sprightly gentleman of maybe 55 years, proved a quite gracious host, and commenced to give me a tour of the property, which was called Blackwater Woods. We walked around the barn, various outbuildings, and past many pastures and livestock holding-pens, before approaching the enormous main house. It was built in a style quite unlike the modest but modern homes of Union proper, and appeared to be designed in the manner of a frontier cabin, but on a scale so large that it made it seem slightly ridiculous, as though perhaps it had been constructed to display at a Worlds Fair and not for humans to inhabit at all. Mr. R-- was oddly reluctant to show me around much of the house in detail, as he had the farm-buildings, but he invited me to dinner and after-dinner drinks and cigars politely enough after escorting me to my second-floor room, which had clearly been a woman’s “boudoir” prior to being pressed into service as a guest room. I changed clothes and washed up with alacrity, eager to get the dust and grime of the road off my person, and still had ample time left to explore my surroundings. The room was large, and sparsely-furnished, but feminine touches from the prior inhabitant (Mrs. R--, I assumed at the time) still remained in the form of a silver-backed hairbrush near the vanity mirror, a jewelry box which played a tune when opened (I shut it quickly, as the mechanism appeared to be functioning not very well, and the too-slow tune rendered me oddly soporific), and a gauzy canopy hanging from the four posts of the bed, which I imagined was intended to be exotic in the manner of a harem, but was instead exotic in the manner of tropical anti-mosquito netting. I was oddly moved by this nod to concepts of Romance and Beauty in such a rural locale, and smiled to myself in the mirror, only to quickly blanch and whip my head round to look when I saw the form of a woman - a dusky-skinned woman, with high cheekbones and full lips - materialize behind me, visible in the mirror! In retrospect, I believe it was not just my terror at being accompanied at a time I believed myself alone that caused me to react so immediately and physically, but that the woman so obviously required help. She could hardly have communicated it more clearly than her facial expression did, even if she had plainly said “Help me!”. When I turned to look where I had seen her standing, near the enormous limestone fireplace, there was no-one there, and looking back in the mirror, she also did not re-appear. But there lingered in the air a smell - you are the only one I could tell this to - a womanly smell, but one that was attractive to me, in a way, which, I know you know, I have not experienced before (or since).

For all those reasons, I was deeply shaken as I went down to the dining-room to eat with Mr. R--. I thought that perhaps I could ask questions about the room’s former inhabitant, but each time I tried to broach the topic, Mr. R-- cut me off with florid tales of inconsequential things, which would have been greatly entertaining, had they not distracted me from my goal. I learned many interesting tid-bits of the area’s history, but was unable to discern a reason for the visage of the woman to appear, or what help she might require. I did learn that the “guest house” where my beloved Bryan now stayed was, in fact, former slave quarters, and this did not sit well with me. I was also able, by making some off-hand comments about the food, to learn that indeed we were alone in the house entirely, the woman who had cooked the meal being employed only at the dinner-hour and returning to her home in Union after serving. I do not remember what we ate.

After the meal, we retired to Mr. R--’s study, and he poured us generous doses of a bourbon of exceptional quality. The study, unlike the rest of the house, was furnished in an extravagant style that would not have seemed much out of place in the wealthiest salons of London or Vienna. Presumably for this reason, it was kept locked at all times with a latch and bolt-lock on the door, and keyed locks on the single window, to which, Mr. R-- explained, he held the only keys. I sipped at my bourbon as he spoke at length about various topics, and realized soon that he was drinking his as though it were water. I saw my opportunity to perhaps gain more information about the mirror woman, so I surreptitiously poured out the rest of my liquor onto the Turkish carpet, and proposed a refill, then another, then another, which I disposed of in the same way. As Mr. R-- became first tipsy, then outright intoxicated, I steered the conversation to the topic of the room I now stayed in. “Was it your wife’s chambers?” He appeared startled by this question and was quick to say, in a brusque manner, “No. It was used for brief, er, overnight stays only, for no-one in particular.” He attempted to change the subject after this answer, but I could see him beetling his brows at me from time to time as we spoke on less consequential matters. The evening wound down soon after this, and I excused myself to my room.

Upon reaching my room, it was no more than ten minutes before I heard the tip-tap of tiny pebbles being flung at my window, the typical sign from Bryan that he was waiting unseen below and wished entry. Never had I more needed his strong and steady presence, his welcome simple physicality, the comfort of his arms - I hope that you do not mind, and rather believe that you will enjoy this part, as unsatisfying as it ended up in reality - and I began to ready myself even as I quietly opened the window, using the heel of my hand to press against my rapidly-stiffening member in preparation for our reunion. But it was not to be, for the Bryan that hoisted himself through my window after climbing up the ivy and planks on the side of the house was not amorous, but terrified. I immediately asked what the trouble was, and he said that we must go, and that he needed to show me something in the “guest house” - which I shall refer to as the slave quarters from now on, as this is more relevant to its position in the story - after which we must flee this house. He used this exact word, “flee”, and it was one of the ways I knew just how serious this revelation he had for me must be.

We both climbed down the side of the huge house as quickly as we could, and dashed across the moonless dark of the lawn, past the garden and woodpile, to the former slave quarters, a squat building greatly resembling Indian long-houses I have seen, but made of sturdy split logs and patched with something between mud and cement. A fire burned inside and smoke spiraled up from the small chimney, and when we reached it and went indoors, shutting the pine-plank door fast behind us, Bryan first kissed me fiercely and quickly, then went on to say “I found this account written on bark, stripped from the walls of this house, hidden in one of the straw mattresses. But it is more than half in slave pidgin and picto-grams, and what English is used is not very grammatical. Do you trust me to tell you the contents truly?” and by way of reply I kissed him tenderly, pressing my forehead to his, and squeezed his hand, saying “With my very life.” He replied that it hopefully would not come to that. He showed me a long strip of bark with writing on it, and what I could read conformed to his translation, which I will put here in more colloquial ways of speaking, for clarity: “Last winter Margaret was called to visit Mr. R-- after sunset and never did return, and he said that she ran away, but never bothered to tell the lawman, or offer a reward for the return of a servant, and I think sometimes that I see her in the upper window, but never except at night when fires are burning in all the rooms of the house. Now he has arranged for me to come to the big house secretly after dark and I fear that I, too, will never return. If you find this, look for me. Meliora.”

We stared at each other wide-eyed as I put together the pieces in my mind and I said to Bryan “I know what we must do, but if you do not like it - I also do not like it - I understand if you must simply go and ready the horses for our escape.” He said that he would accompany me even to the gates of Hell, and I said that it hopefully would not come to that. We went to the great woodpile beside the house and found an axe and hatchet, and used the latter to break the lock of the front door, and went directly to my room. As quietly as one can accomplish such a thing, we began dismantling the room - we moved the furniture to the center, and started using the tools as pry-bars to remove boards from the wall. It was not long before I heard a stifled cry behind me and saw Bryan kneeling near one wall, pulling forth what was unmistakably a winding-shroud, stained with old blood, containing naught but dark skin, bones, and black hair. As I came over to assist him, I stumbled and fell against the limestone mantel, and broke it away, and the falling rock opened the boards of the floor, where more gauzy shrouds were hidden beneath, and my heavy axe smashed the fire-warmed stone at the back of the fireplace, where a recent, beautiful corpse, matching my mirror apparition exactly, lay in surprisingly dignified repose. This kind of noise would wake anyone, even the bourbon-soaked Mr. R--, who entered the room just at that second, and it is hard to say now which sight shocked him the most greatly. But he had no opportunity to say anything about it, as Bryan fairly flew at him from across the room, holding his hand over Mr. R--’s mouth, and the hatchet’s handle across his throat in preparation to strangle the life from him. “No!” I hissed quickly. And Bryan’s expression in that moment caused me to die inside, seeing how fast he thought I would side with the despicable murderer Mr. R-- over the love of my life, due only to our shared skin color, but I put this aside to say my actual piece, which was “We have to make it look like an accident.”

We frog-marched Mr. R-- downstairs, and forced him to unlock the study, confiscating the keys afterwards. We tied him to the heaviest chair using his own silk smoking-jacket, and I touched a brand from the fire to the Turkish carpet I’d soaked with bourbon earlier in the evening, and we did not spare the struggling, squealing Mr. R-- another look as we walked from the room, hands clasped, to return the axes to the woodpile before driving away.

I trust that, after your actions in Lawrence, this story will please you, rather than shock you. I hope that I have done your revolutionary spirit proud in administering fair and equitable justice. After long discussion, I have decided to prove to Bryan that his assumption in the moment Mr. R-- entered the room was entirely wrong, and we depart for France, together, next week. The keys from Mr. R--’s house, we will throw into the Atlantic Ocean, and never mention the sorry incident again.

With love,

Your friend,

J. Schiffmann

[crewhonk]

Of The Line (10)

Summary: Ross presents the “Sokovia Accords”, Steve receives some news, the team flies to Geneva and London, a question is asked, and an old familiar face reappears. 

Warnings: Funeral, Fluff, Sad!Steve

Songs: “I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes)”- The 1975 / “Waves”- Dean Lewis / “River” - Bishop Briggs

Words: 3.9K

Till The End Masterlist / Of The Line Masterlist

______________________

YN was swaying back and forth in her chair, across the table from Steve and in between Sam and Giovanna who were both pretending (far better than YN was) to listen to the Secretary drone on and on about something to do with golf. 

YN had dealt with powerful white politicians her whole life. She had learned the ins and outs of international governments to help her and her dad stay under the radar and live as legally as they could for the first sixteen years of her life, and having Secretary Ross look at her as if she was no more than a spec of dirt on a white shirt reminded her just how much she didn’t like the American government. 

She was openly not paying attention, sure, it was an immature move, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care much about what he was talking about until Giovanna passed her a note from her notebook. 

‘this guy is totally never going to be the white man of the month.’ She read and chewed her top lip to stop a smile.

‘stan twitter would, in fact, be disappointed.’ She passed the note back and heard Gio breath through her nose a little too loudly. 

‘seriously, if he has to talk about golf for much more I might just leave. Or die. Whichever comes first.’ Giovanna passed back and just as YN was about to pass another note back that read something about a double mystery death, Sam caught her wrist, not looking at her, but at the secretary who was already looking back. 

“And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” Natasha asked, a cool, easy tone to her voice. The Widow voice that sent a chill straight up YN’s spine. 

“How about "dangerous"? What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?” He replied, stalking back and forth across a screen that was used for mission briefings. The first word YN could think of, but with tremendous guilt, was the word ‘Terrorist’.

“New York.” Ross moved and pressed the switch which turned on the screen behind him, and YN sucked in a breath as she saw her father as Hulk, soaring from building to building until a pile of debris landed on the person filming. The video cut out, and YN dug her fingernails into her palms, refusing to look up from her fists at Steve or Giovanna or Ross who she knew were all watching her for any reaction. 

“Washington.” The three Insight helicarriers, firing on each other. The destroyed Triskelion. A helicarrier crashing into the Potomac and throwing up a massive wave, engulfing citizens and the camera. Sam was the one to look down, the movement caught by YN’s periphery. 

Steve watched his teammates react to the footage rather than the footage itself, and seeing the hurt on their faces was so much worse than the carnage on the screen. 

“Sokovia.” Steve watched as YN’s head shot up, her eyes glassy as she scanned the screen for any trace of her dad— any video of him the day he disappeared. When there was nothing, he watched her brow furrow and her bite her lip and he extended his leg under the table to rest his foot on top of hers. She looked up at him and blinked away a tear, smiling shyly at the motion of comfort and nudging his foot back with a twitch of the corners of her mouth. 

“Lagos.” Steve watched as YN’s eyes moved from his to the screen again, flinching when she saw Steve in the background with his uniform top unzipped— great purple splotches leaving no normal skin tone behind as Natasha pressed her fingers to his ribs. Steve watched as Wanda turned her chair away from the screen and watched as Giovanna took Wanda’s hand in her own. 

“Okay. That's enough.” Steve said sharply, and Ross nodded with a grim expression, shutting the screen off. 

“For the past four years, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.” He placed a thick book on the table in front of Wanda who read the title and pushed it down the line towards YN who read the words the ‘Sokovia Accords’ on the title page. The United Nations symbol was just under the title and she raised an eyebrow incredulously. 

“What is this” YN asked, flipping over the first page and feeling Sam peek over her shoulder. She pulled her feet away from Steve’s (much to both parties dislike) to sit up straighter as she began to read.

“The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries . . . it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary.”

“The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we've done that.” Steve grumbled, watching YN begins to disappear in the words she was reading— something she only did when she was wholly focused on something. Or concerned.  

“Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” Steve glared up at Ross who was standing over him, challenging the older man to say much else about Bruce Banner to his face. 

“Neither of them are a threat to any living person.” YN snapped, not taking her eyes off the paper in front of her. Her cool voice was betrayed by the way her hand holding the book shook angrily. 

Ross only shrugged. “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes . . . you can bet there'd be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That's how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground. Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.”

“And if we come to a conclusion you don’t like?” Giovanna snarled quietly. Ross smirked, and Giovanna wanted nothing more than to rip that smile off his face with her freshly done acrylic nails. 

“You retire. Talk it over.” 

_________________________

The had moved to the living room soon after Ross had taken his departure— the meeting room appearing too stuffy for the whole team who had each decided their viewpoint on the Accords. YN stalked into the room last, book in hand and handed it to Steve who held his hand out for it. In another situation, she could trick herself into thinking that he was holding his hand out for her, but the tension in his and her shoulders told them both that this was not The Occasion. 

She stood a foot to the left of Steve, on Sams flank as Rhodey pointed his finger aggressively at his friend. 

"Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor, which is one more than you have.” 

“So let's say we agree to this thing. How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?” Sam asked and Rhodey scoffed, pinching his nose. 

“117 countries want to sign this. 117, Sam, and you're just like, ‘No, that's cool. We got it’.” He glowered and YN was reminded of the way she used to talk to Giovanna when they were younger and mocking each other. 

“Rhodey.” YN snapped, and both Sam and Rhodey looked up in shock at the sharpness of her voice. Even Steve, who was skimming through the tray looked up, eyebrows raised. He never expected her to take his side after everything that had been through, but seeing the fire in his eyes made him feel something flutter feebly in his chest— something like hope. 

“Think about this logically, okay?” She started. “We aren’t going to be able to do anything under this council if it’s anything like what the treaty describes. It’s a version of the Security Council, and you and I both know that that's not going to work.”

“Why wouldn’t it work?” Giovanna asked, and YN turned to her. 

“Well, each country that’s apart of this council would need to meet quickly if we needed to be somewhere. First problem. The second problem is that if every member has a ‘no’ vote, the issue is immediately dropped and can’t be re-visited.” YN explained, sitting on the couch across from Giovanna. 

“Which means?”

“Which means if it’s something domestic— in America— Russia and China won’t let us do anything because our country is a competing superpower with them. They don’t want us to succeed. And if it’s something international, other countries are going to say no because while this Treaty is garbage, Ross was right. We do act without restraint, and while we should be in contact with some form of government this is not the way to do it!”

“We can’t go against the United Nations, YN!” Rhodey said, exasperated. 

“They have no means of treaty enforcement anyways! What’s the worst they could do, okay?” YN shot back quickly. She was not going to submit to a government leash unless it was a damn good leash. 

“I have an equation.” Vision piped up, and YN’s head spun towards him she almost got whiplash. She had genuinely forgotten the robot was still a part of the team. 

“Oh, this will clear it up.” 

“In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.” He explained slowly, and YN crossed her arms and leaned back against the cushions, offended. 

“Are you saying it's our fault?” Steve voiced her thoughts for her.

"I'm saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict breeds catastrophe. Oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.” He replied, and YN rolled her eyes so hard she felt something pop. 

“Boom.” Rhodey finished. 

“Did you just say ‘boom’? How old are you?” Giovanna asked, half angry, half amused. 

“Tony. You are being uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal.” Natasha piped up and YN looked at her uncle, who was covering his face with his hands until Natasha spoke. 

“It's because he's already made up his mind.” 

“You were in on this?” Giovanna almost shrieked, and Tony flinched. 

“It’s the middle ground, Kid.” He replied, voice sad. “There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys.” And Giovanna let out a sound of protest. 

“Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don't give up.” Steve sighed.

“Who said we're giving up? We’re not giving up.”

“If we’re signing something to make us sit and wait on our asses and just do what we’re told, yeah— we are giving up.” Giovanna barked as she rose to her feet. YN mirrored her. 

“Maybe Tony's right.” Natasha’s voice was quiet as she spoke and everyone looked at her in shock. “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off—“

“Aren't you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?” Sam cut her off and Natasha bit her lip nervously. She and Sam had ended up getting…. Close to each other and seeing him about to tear her a new one made almost everyone uncomfortable. 

“I'm just— I’m reading the terrain. We have made some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.” She said carefully and Sam shook his head, turning his back on her. She dropped her expression to her lap and pinched her wrist. 

“Nat, it doesn’t feel right,” YN whispered in the sudden, pressing silence. 

“I’m done with this bullshit. I’m not signing anything.” Giovanna growled and stomped from the room. Before YN could make a move to follow her, Steve’s phone went off, and he rose as well, halfway to the door before he said ‘I have to go’.

Torn between which persons o follow and comfort, YN turned to Wanda who had appeared at her side. Her touch was gentle on her hand, and she felt Wanda’s calming powers flood her body. A sharp turn from their time on the African Coast. 

“Go to him. I’ll make sure she’s alright.”

“Thank you, Wan.”

________________________

YN tore off after Steve jogging to see if she could catch up with him. She turned the corner of a hallway just in time to hear the sound of a stairwell door ‘click’. She walked to the door and pressed the handle, opening it and letting herself in. There was the sound of a sniff from a flight below her and she tried quietly down the step, stopping only when She saw Steve sitting on a bottom step, curled in on himself. 

She walked down the steps and sat beside him, the left side of her body against his right, as she rested her head on his hunched shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his large bicep and traced patterns in the crook of his elbow. 

“What happened,” YN asked, voice soft and steady and enough to make Steve look up at her. His eyes were red again— they seemed to be more red than any other colour these days, and her heart broke. 

“Peggy’s dead.” He whispered thickly, voice shaking and chin wobbling. When he said the words out loud, his face crumpled and he dropped his head into the crook of her neck, whimpering. She pulled away slightly, pushing him back before climbing into his lap and awkwardly straddling him on the step. She was immediately greeted with his trunk-like arms wrapping tightly around her waist, face pressed into the fabric of her shirt as his body shook with the will to not cry in front of her. 

She wrapped her arms around his head and shoulders, pulling him tighter to her and combing her fingers through his hair as soothingly as she could. 

“You can cry, Steve. Please, cry.” She whispered, knowing the grief he was going through— the loss of an old life— a life before this team and this life in New York. 

He gave a great, shuddering gasp and once he pulled her so close to him she thought she would disappear into his body, he let out the most heart wrenching, gut turning sob she had ever heard. 

Steve Rogers was now, and officially, a broken man, crying into the arms of the last, truly good thing in his life. 

________________________________

“You’ll be fine, okay?” Giovanna said, standing beside YN and staring at the church in London she knew held the funeral of Peggy Carter. 

“What if I’m intruding on a moment or something. This is weird. And a bad idea.” YN rushed, turning around and making to walk away, only to be stopped by Natasha with both arms on each of YN’s shoulder. 

“He wants you there. I know because if Clint died I wouldn’t want to be alone.” She said, staring hard enough into YN’s eyes she had to look away. 

“Okay. Yeah. Sure.” YN mumbled, curling her hands into fists and turning back at the grand church doors. Just as she took a step forward to enter the church, they swung open. 

A blonde stepped out, then. Her mid-length hair was curled just slightly and her skin was perfect and it seemed to glow under the sun. Her pantsuit was classy, yet form-fitting and it showed off a beautiful, strong figure. She was tall, too— taller than any of the three women watching her walk towards them. 

“Can I help you?” She asked, and her voice sounded like honey dripping on perfectly toasted white bread. 

“We’re— uhhhh,” YN tried to say, but she was honestly blown away by this woman.

“We’re here to see if Steve Rogers is still here, we wanted to make sure he was okay. Well, as okay as someone can be in his place.” Giovanna piped up, and YN was flooded with gratitude for her. 

“He’s going to need a few weeks to be okay, I think. With everything going with the Accords and that girl who ran away and now this— it’s like his world is falling apart.” She said solemnly and the other three women tensed. YN raised an eyebrow and shifted her weight to one foot. 

“Who are you, again?” She grumbled, and a smile blossomed on the blonde strangers face. 

“Sharon Carter. I was Steve’s neighbour for the year and a bit he was in Washington. I don’t think I caught your name, though?” She explained and offered her hand for YN to shake. 

“I’m YN Banner. The girl who ran away.” She shook Sharon's hand with a grip that was a little too tight and Sharon’s smile fell off of her perfect face. 

“I’m sorry— I—“ She tried, but YN cut her off with a slow smile. 

“It’s okay, Sharon. Thanks.” She let go and led them all into the church, leaving her new friend on the steps alone. 

“Bitch,” YN grumbled when Natasha and Giovanna caught up to her in the foyer. 

“We are in a place of God, YN.” Giovanna chastised and YN only rolled her eyes angrily. 

“Perfect bitch.” She replied and Giovanna coughed, smacking her in the arm. Natasha only smirked.

All previous amusement or contempt was cut off by the sight once they entered the main cathedral. Steve was leaning against one of the pews, head bowed and silhouetted by the glowing light streaming in the stain glass window over the stage. The sight was beautiful and sad, and everything to do with Steve Rogers. 

“Go, we’ll join you soon, okay,” Natasha whispered in her ear and she nodded, nervously stepping forward and walking down the aisle. Steve, ever the one for impeccable senses, looked up at who was walking towards him. His shoulders slumped in relief when he saw it was her, and He pushed off the pew, making his way to her and meeting her halfway. 

His solid arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her close, and she only wrapped her arms around his neck and pull him to rest in the crook of her neck. 

“I’m so sorry, Steve.” She whispered, and he hugged her tighter, nuzzling his face into her. She wasn’t sure if it was to be closer to her or to wipe tears and snot onto her shirt, but frankly, she couldn’t care less which was which. 

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” He mumbled, and she scratched the back of his head soothingly. They could have stood there in the heart of the church for seconds or hours or years before Natasha and Giovanna joined them. For their sake, Steve let YN go, and she remained by his side. 

“Who else signed?” Steve asked, looking over at Natasha and wiping his nose. 

"Tony. Rhodey. Vision.” She listed, her voice soft. 

“Clint?” 

“Says he’s retired.” YN hummed, smirking. She hoped Laura was doing okay— with the baby and Clints never-ending desire to remake the house. 

“What about you two?” He looked from Giovanna to YN, and Giovanna scoffed. 

"I’m not signing if it kills me, but dad wanted me to come to the signings to 'see it with my own eyes’.” She mocked her father's voice and everyone could see how hurt she was with her father decision. 

“You’re so dramatic, always.” YN teased quietly. She looked up to Steve, then and her gaze was warm and everything he wanted to drown in. “I’m not here for that. I’m here for you.” 

He could have died right there and then.

_____________________

YN and Steve strolled the down the street in London to the hotel he was staying in. He had taken her arm in his— ‘for the sake of being a gentlemen’— he had said, but it had made YN flush bright red, nevertheless. They had chatted about the beauty of downtown London, and the accents and the few times he had been here with Peggy for meetings and awards. The conversation lulled into a comfortable silence before a thought came to YN.

“So, you’re retiring, then.” She commented, and he sucked in a breath, squinting into the distance as if trying to spot something on the horizon. 

“I guess, yeah. Never thought I would do it so young, but I guess so.” He hummed, looking down at her and smiling. There was a peace in his eyes she had never seen and it made her heart swell fondly. 

“You are too then.” He replied, and she shrugged.

“I’m young enough. Maybe I’ll get an official degree or two— be like a normal 22-year-old for once.” She said and he chuckled. 

“I don’t think you could be normal if you tried, Sweetheart.” He nudged her and laughed when she let out a squawk of indignation, pushing him away playfully. 

“Excuse you!” She laughed, and he giggled right back, throwing an arm over her shoulder and pulling her close. 

“Well, since we’re just a pair of retirees, when we go back to the States, would you maybe wanna— I don’t know—“ He stumbled, his voice was nervous and the natural flush of his cheeks seemed to be getting darker by the second. How Steve stayed single for his whole life, she didn’t know. An image opened in her mind, then— a sight of an impossibly shy, small Steve Rogers with a second-hand suit and a bruise under his eye nervously asking a pretty girl out and her heart grew warm. 

“Ask me, Steve.” She smiled, her voice serious and firm and inviting. 

“Wanna grab dinner or something? Maybe a movie?” He mumbled, and she reached forward and wrapped her fingers through his. He looked up at her, then— his face a glowing ray fo hope and a small smile on his lips. 

“Just us?” She whispered, and he stepped closer, pulling her chin up to look at him in the eyes. 

“Just us for as long as you want it to be, my girl.” He mumbled and her stomach flipped aggressively in her body, making her sway and heat up ten more degrees. 

“Then yes. It’s a date.” She whispered, slightly leaning forward on her tip-toes and he ducked his head slightly.

“I’m looking forward to it, then.”

“Steve! YN! Hi!” A chirpy voice appeared from somewhere to their left and YN wanted to take Sharon's hair, and throw her into the busy street.

“Sharon, hey.” Steve greeted her warmly and with a hug and the butterflies that were fluttering in YN’s belly turned into scorpions, angry and venomous and red hot. “YN, this is Sharon! Sharon this is YN— the woman I was telling you about last week!”

“We’ve met.” YN interrupted coldly, shocked by the news that Steve and Sharon hung out regularly. She took a side-step away from him and Sharon seemed to swoop in, further greeting him with a hug that made YN want to snarl.

“Yeah,” Sharon smiled nervously. “I’m really sorry about that, by the way.” She seemed genuine, but the scorpions in YN’s stomach were stinging and painful so she just offered Sharon a tight smile. 

“It’s fine. Like I said. I think I see Sam at the bar, I’m gonna go say hi.” She grumbled and without saying goodbye to Steve, turned and walked into the hotel. 

________________________

“She’s really nice, YN.” Sam offered pathetically and pushed another beer in YN’s direction. YN just frowned and took a sip.

“She could shit rainbows and I wouldn’t give a damn.” She bit back and Sam laughed. She had always, always liked Sam, so it was nice that he was here for her.

“He likes you, YN. He really does, he’s just… oblivious to a fault.” Sam commented and she lifted her drink. 

“I’ll fucking cheers to that.” She took a sizeable gulp and glared over at the place where Steve and Sharon were sitting and laughing like friends. 

“Wait— hold on.” Sam stopped YN from opening her mouth and motioned for the bartender. Instead of paying attention to what he was saying, she watched gloomily as Steve and Sharon left the bar together and into the lobby. 

“YN— look.” YN tore her eyes off of the now-empty doors, and to the TV which was now at full volume and showing the wrecked remains of a large, shiny building. YN squinted and read the news broadcast title and a noise of shock and anxiety left her throat. 

‘United Nations Bombed’

The sound int he room seemed to turn down in volume, and all she could hear was the broadcast that was certainly going to change her life in one way or another. 

“More than 70 people have been injured. At least 12 are dead, including Wakanda's King T'Chaka. Officials have released a video of a suspect who they have identified as James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. The infamous HYDRA agent, linked to numerous acts of terrorism and political assassinations.”

YN and Sam looked at each other, shocked and anxious and looking ready to vomit. 

“We need to get Steve.” They said at the same time and they both got up, threw a fifty dollar bill on the counter each and ran out of the bar. 

_______________________

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[sapphicsaro]

anya || infinity war

here is the next installment of the “anya” series. i tried to put as much fluff as i could before it got depressing... 

enjoy!

---

“Ahh!! She’s gonna get you Anya!! RUN!!”

The little girl giggled and ran as fast as she could, her mother chasing behind her, arms reached out to grab her daughter. The three, almost four, year old was laughing hard, running towards her father, her mother close to catching her.

Just as she neared her father, Natasha grabbed the toddler from behind, lifting her into her arms. “Gotcha!” she growled into the little girl’s ear, dragging her down to the grass with her. She hovered over her daughter, who could not stop the giggles from coming out of her. 

“No! Ha, ha! No, mama!”

“And now, I’ll use my secret weapon... TICKLES!” 

“No!!” Anya laughed as Natasha took her fingers and tickled her young daughter’s sides. 

Little Anya’s giggles were even louder now, and Clint ran towards his two girls. “I’ll save you, Anya!” He grabbed Natasha from behind, pulling her down on top of him as he laid on the ground. He held her close to him, restraining her, “Get her Anya!”

Anya got up, climbed on top of her mother and flopped against her, “I got you!!”

“Oh no!” Natasha shouted, faking her fear, as she wrapped her hands around the small child’s body. “You got me!”

Anya continued laughing, now wrapped in her mother’s arms, her father below them both. 

It seemed like a picture perfect moment. A family of three playing outside on a beautiful day, running through the backyard of their farmhouse in the rural country. This didn’t look like the family of two assassin parents with their unexpected child; for once, the Romanoff-Barton family seemed like every other mother and father with their child. 

Clint rolled over, knocking Natasha off of him, Anya still tightly wrapped in her arms. Natasha moved, placing Anya upright in between her two parents who stayed lying on the ground. 

Clint looked over at Natasha who smiled widely at her daughter; she was so beautiful. 

She noticed him staring and looked back over, “What?”

He shook his head, smiling, “Nothing.”

“Mama, Papa? Can we eat dinner soon?” 

Clint chuckled, “Of course, pigeon. What do you feel like eating?”

“Hmm... sandwiches?”

Natasha smiled, “Is that so? Well, I must say I’m an expert on how to make the perfect peanut butter sandwich. If that sounds good?”

Anya nodded, “Yes please!”

The three got up, Natasha carrying the three year old in her arms, and made their way back to the house. As they walked up the steps, Natasha placed Anya down, grabbing her hand.

“Go wash up with papa, I’ll start lunch.”

Natasha watched her little girl head up the wooden stairs with her father, laughing as her dad kept poking her sides. 

This was the longest she had gotten to be home since Anya was born. After letting Steve and Bucky go, Tony had warned her they would be after her, and she ran. A bottle of hair color later, she was back in Missouri, her little girl snuggled up in her arms. She wasn’t retired like Clint, but she definitely had fewer missions. 

Which meant more time at home. 

Natasha no longer spent her days fighting and killing; instead, she was making pancakes and playing tag with a three year old. It was nice to have a break every once in a while, and after the team was torn apart, this was the perfect time. 

She still went on missions when Steve called. She needed to. 

Clint had this wonderful ability to stop his work and be perfectly fine being a stay at home dad. She couldn’t do it. She needed to continue fighting; Clint understood that. 

But, she made more of an effort to be home. After Vienna, and seeing her daughter scream when being separated from her, she knew she was going to have to spend more time in Missouri for her daughter’s sake. 

So, she had found a balance of work and home. 

Look at her go; progress. 

She cut the peanut butter sandwiches diagonally, one for her, one for Anya, and a peanut butter and jelly for Clint. She got apple juice into a bottle for Anya, and poured two glasses of lemonade for her and her husband. Natasha got the table set when she heard the little pitter patter of her daughter’s footsteps coming down the stairs, Clint close behind. 

Anya had changed from the striped shirt and overalls she had ruined while playing, and into a baggy sweater and leggings. Natasha came over, lifting the young girl and placing her on her booster seat at the table. 

“Here you go missy. Make sure you eat it all, and finish your juice.”

“Okay, mama.”

Clint came around the corner, silent, and leaned against the doorframe.

“What?” Natasha asked, clearly something was wrong. 

“You got a phone call.”

Oh.

“Which phone?”

“Your work phone. It was Steve.” 

Natasha took her seat at the table, taking a sip from her lemonade. “Did he say what he needed?”

Clint sighed and went to the table, sitting down in the chair across from her, their daughter glancing between them periodically. “He’s stopping by tomorrow morning. There’s another mission.”

Natasha, her mouth full, just nodded. 

“You have to leave again, mama?”

Natasha swallowed, “Maybe, маленький (little one). Is that okay?”

Anya took a sip from her juice, nodding. “Duty calls!”

Clint laughed, “Who taught you that?”

“Uncle Tony.”

“Of course,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Well, we’ll see what he wants tomorrow. Maybe it’s not what we think.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot how often Captain America likes to just drop by and visit by calling your work phone and being vague.”

“Clint.”

“I’m just saying, think realistically.” He took a big bite of his sandwich, “He wants you back for a mission. So, let’s have some fun together before you leave again.”

Natasha raised her eyebrow, “Movie night?”

Anya’s face lit up, “Movie night??”

Clint smiled, “That’s what I was thinking.”

Natasha locked eyes with Clint, knowing the two needed to speak in private about this phone call, but kept the mood light for now, for their daughter. 

Movie night was a tradition to help Anya with the transition of Natasha going away. She would get to spend the whole night with her mom, cuddling, eating snacks, and would be so tired that she easily fell asleep. If Natasha left without doing a movie night, Anya’s anxiety took the best of her and Clint would be up all night trying to ease her mind. 

And thus, tonight would be a movie night. Anya always got to pick what they watched. Clint would sigh, and Natasha would remind him that she is a three year old, and to knock it off. 

Tonight’s selection was Brave. Wow, what a shocker. A movie about a redheaded archer? Why wouldn’t it be their daughter’s favorite?

After their meal, Clint started to clean up and Natasha sent Anya to go play in the living room, knowing that they were going to have to talk. She sat down at the table, watching him scrub their plates. “So we going to talk, or are you going to keep pretending like you’re fine?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His back stayed to her, hands still scrubbing away at the dishes.

“If you don’t want me to go, I need you to say it to me.”

“Who said that?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “Clint.”

He turned off the water, finishing the last dish, and dried off his hands. “It’s not that. I don’t not want you to go.”

“…but?”

“If you think I’m ever going to say I want you to go, it’s not going to happen. I obviously love having you here, and us being all together. But, I know work is important.” 

Natasha stood up, walking closer to him, arms crossed. “So, you’re fine with me going?”

“Of course. I just-jeez, I don’t know. I’ll...I’ll miss you,” He said, looking down at the ground. 

Natasha closed the distance between them, pulling his arms around her as she rested against his chest. “You know I miss you guys too, it’s just-”

“You need to work, I know.” He rubbed her back, pushing his face into her (now blonde) hair. “I miss the red.”

She laughed against him, “I heard a rumor blondes have more fun.” She looked up at him, and he bent down, giving her a kiss on the lips. 

“Yeah, but you were freaky as a redhead, too.”

She slapped his chest, “Our child is in the other room!”

“Well, how do you think she got here in the first place?” He laughed.

“I swear to god…” She tried to pull out of his arms, but he just pulled her closer.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Forgive me, I was joking!”

She kissed him once more, “You’re lucky I like you.”

“That’s exactly what my other wife says,” he said, smiling. 

Natasha smirked, “Well maybe your other wife can fuck you tonight after I tuck our kid into bed.” She walked away, leaving Clint in the kitchen, mouth dropped open. 

— 

Clint and Natasha have seen Brave far too many times. But it made their daughter happy, so who were they to say no to another round? The family cuddled up on the couch all together, Natasha against Clint, Anya against Natasha.  

The coffee table in front of them was coated with snacks from popcorn to cookies; Clint was in charge of the food and, honestly, it was mostly for him then Anya. Anya was resting on her mother, back to her chest, her tiny hands over her mother’s. She was intently watching the screen, even though she almost had this movie memorized. 

The little girl bounced in her mother’s arm as Merida shot her arrows, Anya’s face beaming at the screen. Natasha laughed, glancing over at Clint, who shrugged his shoulders, “What can I say? Everyone loves a good bow and arrow.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, and Clint kissed her before placing a small kiss on Anya’s head. 

“Papa, look! It’s like you!”

Natasha smirked, “You two are practically twins.”

Clint pretended to toss his hair, “I know.” 

Anya shook her head, “No papa, I’m Merida! See? Red hair!” She tugged at her short red head curls.

“Yeah, daddy, don’t be ridiculous,” Natasha said, smiling as she placed a gentle kiss on her daughter’s cheek.

They continued this for the rest of the movie, cracking jokes, sneaking kisses, and watching Anya’s excitement as the princess on screen did anything. 

Normally, Anya would begin to get tired, calming down in Natasha’s arms, eyes struggling to stay open, but this wasn’t the case tonight. Natasha couldn’t blame Clint because Anya hardly ate anything (one cookie an hour ago, and some popcorn would hardly keep her this awake). The movie was starting to end, and Anya quieted, but was still wide awake in her mother’s arms. Clint looked over, seeing his daughter’s eyes get big and her bottom lip sticking out slightly.

“What’s wrong, little red?” 

Natasha glanced down at her daughter, the credits starting to roll on the screen, “Anya, are you okay?” 

Anya turned in her mother’s arms, facing both of her parents, “Yeah. I’m just going to miss you mama.” She curled into Natasha’s chest, her mother wrapping her arms around her and squeezing her gently.

“I’ll miss you too.” Anya was still pressed up to her mother’s chest, eyes squeezed shut as her mother rubbed circles on their back. Clint half-smiled, leaning over to kiss his wife, and placed a hand on their daughter’s back, reassuring her.

Anya lifted her head, and Natasha kissed her nose, “Papa will be here the entire time, and I’ll be back before you know it.”

The little girl smiled slightly and nodded, “Okay, mama.”

“I think it’s bedtime though, my child,” Natasha said, looking over at Clint for backup.

Clint glanced at his non-existent watch on his wrist, then back at Anya, “Mhmm. Most definitely. All little girls under four must be in bed immediately. Or the tickle monster is going to come and get them.”

Anya’s eyes went wide, “No!”

Clint nodded furiously, “Oh yes.”

Anya pushed her way out of Natasha’s arms, running towards the stairs, her parents both slowly following behind. 

“Nice one, Clint. Let’s scare our child right before bed.”

Clint shrugged, “Is she going to bed or what?”

Natasha slapped his chest lightly, “I hate you.””

Clint grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips, “No you don’t.”

They finished getting upstairs, both heading into Anya’s room to tuck her in.

Natasha and Anya recited their poem, the little girl snuggled into her blankets, her mother sitting on the bed beside her. She ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair, rubbing her fingers across her cheeks too. 

Clint walked over, pressing a kiss to Anya’s forehead, “Night night, Merida.”

Anya giggled, “Goodnight, papa.”

“I love you, goober.”

“I love you too.”

Clint left the room, leaving Natasha with their daughter. Anya’s eyes stayed opened, not wanting to sleep still. Natasha smiled, nudging Anya to scoot over, as she laid down in the tiny bed with her. Anya rested her head on her chest, listening to her mother’s heart beat, Natasha’s arm wrapped around her little one, tracing small circles on her skin. 

“Are you getting sleepy yet?”

“A little.”

“Hmm, what will help you get to sleep?”

Anya shrugged, “Moon song?”

“Moon song? What, are you too old for La Vie En Rose?” 

Anya giggled, “I like them both. I just want moon song tonight.”

Natasha grinned, cuddling closer to her baby girl, “Okay. You start it off.”

Anya little voice sheepishly began, “I’m lying on the moon...”

“My dear, I’ll be there soon... It’s a quiet and starry place... Times we’re swallowed up in space ... We’re here a million miles away ...”

Anya’s eyes began to get heavy. 

“There’s things I wish I knew... There’s no thing I’d keep from you... It’s a dark and shiny place... But with you, my dear, I’m safe...”

Her eyes shut.

“And we’re a million miles away.”

Natasha kissed her head, “Goodnight маленький (little one).”

Anya grumbled, “G’night. I love you.”

“I love you more than you’ll ever know.”

—-

“She out?”

“Like a light.”

“Damn, one more point to mama. I don’t know how you do it.”

Natasha smiled, stripping off her sweats and stealing one of Clint’s shirts for bed. “Tonight I had to sing, too. Our child is getting picky.”

“Like father, like daughter.” Clint had only his boxers on, heading into the bed. 

Natasha flicked off the lights and crawled in beside him, resting her head on his bare chest, pressing her lips to his skin. “Mhmm.”

Clint tilted her head up, hand under her chin, and pressed his lips to hers. “I’ll miss you too.”

“It’s just another mission. I’ll be back soon.”

“I know. It just... It just feels different. I don’t know why.”

Natasha sighed against him, “I’ll be home before you know it.”

He held her close, breathing her in, “I know.” 

Her eyes met his, and she pulled him down for another kiss. He smiled against her lips, and pulled her on top of him so she was straddling his legs. 

This was another perk of being home. Sure, Anya was the first positive, but having the chance to be with her husband was definitely another plus. 

Truthfully, they both missed the sex. 

It was hard not to miss it. Back before Anya, it was almost impossible for the two to keep away from each other. Now, they had to wait until bedtime and make sure she was actually asleep or else they would have another incident like two months ago. Luckily, they were still clothed for the most part, but boy, were they caught off guard. 

Tonight, the sex was passionate. Much more “making love”, then “fucking”. 

Ah, domestication, how it changes everything. 

He placed kisses against her neck and jawline, as he entered her, her eyes rolling back, fingernails digging into his back.

Yeah, she was going to miss him, too. 

——

Natasha left early in the morning. Steve landed in the quinjet, and she was gone in less than an hour. Natasha kissed the sleepy Anya goodbye, and hugged Clint tightly, him placing a sweet kiss to her temple.

“Kick some ass.”

The jet left, and the father-daughter duo was left alone. 

“You want pancakes?” He whispered.

The little girl, her head resting against his shoulder, nodded, “Yeah.”

The rest of the day Anya was a little quiet, obviously missing her mother. Clint did everything he could to ease her mind; he was going to spoil her today. 

He decided to take her into town, going to the local shops, just for her to look around. She picked out some things, including two new toys, and a small music box that had a ballerina spin when it was opened. She kept opening it up the whole day, the soft music getting stuck in Clint’s head. 

Anya started perking up around dinner time, as Clint started cracking jokes while they made his “famous” pasta. He couldn’t get enough of her giggles. 

She was clingy, constantly asking to be held, which did not mind Clint at all. He obliged, letting her snuggle up to him as much as she wanted. 

Natasha called later, damn timezones made him confused. But she told him about Wanda and Vision, and how she was headed back to their New York home. 

Things were complicated; she might not be home as soon as thought. 

He told her to take her time, he could hold down the fort here; just kick ass and get home safe. 

Anya told her about the music box, pressing it up to the phone so her mother could hear it. 

“It’s beautiful, honey.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too. Be good for papa, okay? I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Okay.”

“Uncle Steve, Sam and Rhodey say ‘hi’, Anya.”

“Hi.”

“I love you so much, маленький (little one).”

“I love you, mama.”

She slept in their bed that night, using her mother’s pillow which smelled like her shampoo. 

She knocked out.

——

The next morning, Anya woke up at 6am, for what reason? God knows why. But, Clint got up with her, rubbing his eyes from exhaustion, and went to make breakfast. He put her in her booster seat, giving her paper and crayons to keep her occupied.

Today’s menu? Pancakes again. Wow, such a creative dad. 

Whatever. It was easy and didn’t take long to make. Plus she liked them.

He stopped behind Anya’s chair, plate full of cut up pancakes balancing in his hand, bending down to kiss the top of her head, “Hey Birdie, breakfast.” 

Her focus stayed on her drawing, switching from crayon to crayon, not even noticing the fluffy piece of pancakes placed in front of her.

“Hello? Earth to Anya? It’s time to eat.”

She continued furiously scribbling away, gripping the red crayon tightly, “Just…one…second…” She put it neatly back in the box and smiled, “Done.” Anya looked up at Clint, eyes wide, “Do you like it?”

Clint hugged her from behind, “I love it, Birdie.”

She picked up the paper, once blank, now with a doodle of the Avengers and her in front of the team tower. “It’s all of us! I drew Uncle Tony here, but if you look in the sky, you can see his suit flying. And here is us: you, me, and mama.” She handed it to Clint whose fingers traced over all of his team, before landing on a very colorful interpretation of Natasha, with bright red hair. “I colored her hair red so we would match, even though mama’s blonde now.”

He chuckled, “It’s perfect, Anya.” He kissed her head once more, “Now, please eat and maybe mama will call us later.”

“Okay!”

Clint scarved down his own breakfast (which if Tasha were here, he would been chewed out for eating: “Really Clint, pancakes again?”) before cleaning up after Anya. Somehow that kid gets syrup everywhere. 

Clint picked her up, “Go change and we can play outside.”

Anya practically leapt out of her father’s arms and ran to her bedroom, changing at the speed of light out of her Star Wars pjs (which were so wonderfully gifted to her by Sam last Christmas: “The kid needs a good cinematic education!”). 

She put on her favorite sweater and leggings, her hair still braided from when Clint did it the night before and the two made their way outside to play.

He hadn’t been in contact with Natasha today, although it was early and she was probably busy. She did call him when she landed in the tower yesterday, which probably inspired Anya’s drawing. She continued saying that “things were complicated”, and mentioned how “Thanos” had “big plans”, but they were unsure of what they were exactly. 

Thanos?

He remembered when their missions were executing weapons dealers. Not aliens and magical stones. 

He could hear the slight concern in her voice, but she would never admit to it. Fuck, they were trained assassins. They shouldn’t be scare of shit. (Except wasps, fuck wasps.)

She could handle another big, stupid alien. He wasn’t worried.

“Look papa! I can do a cartwheel!” 

“Nice one, pigeon!”

Anya ran back towards him, smiling widely, “Can we shoot targets?”

“Of course we can baby girl.” He picked her, grabbing their practice bows and arrows, and heading towards their makeshift target on the tree. 

Anya was good for a three year old. Sure, she missed the tree completely sometimes, but other times she managed to hit the target without her dad’s help. Yet, more often than not, she still would end up shooting arrows far past the tree, giggling as Clint jokingly sighed before fetching them back. 

She did it once more, this time Clint thought on purpose, laughing loudly as he trudged to pick up the arrow. “You’re lucky you’re cute!” he shouted, heading back towards her.

Her giggles stopped. “Papa?” Anya stood still, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Clint ran to her as fast as he could, kneeling down in front of his three year old. “What’s wrong? Are you okay-”

“I don’t feel good papa.”

He held her shoulders, looking at her face, tears still streaming. “I got you baby-”

“I’ll be good, I promise, I’m sorry about the arrows-“

“Shhh, shh, you’re okay.” He refused to let go of her, her body starting to fade slowly away.

“Papa?”

And just like that she was gone: dust in his arms.

What. 

Clint fell to his knees.

There were no words, his baby disappeared, right there in his arms. He couldn’t speak, just tears flooding down, then a gut-wrenching scream. 

---

author’s note: i am so sorry. please don’t hate me lol unfortunately the next chapter is equally as sad bc of endgame. BUT! i’ll start writing happier fics soon!

[zaffrenotes]

(1)Your thoughts on TRH chapters are really good and raise many (many) issues that TRH has and the latest chapter is no less. The ranch of Bianca named after Jackson makes no sense either and I felt it is really weird too. But to ease my thoughts I came up with headcanon that maybe the ranch was brought by both Jackson and Bianca when they were married.... Like we don't know how Drake's parents met and maybe they met when Jackson was in college or something in States and they

(2) they fell in love and married and MAYBE decided to settle in Texas for simple life and brought a Ranch and lived there for sometime ( Drake does say their parents visited the river often before they were born so..) .. and for some unknown reason Jackson took up job as King’s guard and maybe they both moved to Cordonia ( may be Jackson wanted it be a temporary thing) and kept Aunt Leona in charge of ranch thinking they can come back again.. and when Jackson died Bianca came back alone.

Your theory is an interesting one, Nonny, and it got me thinking about the whole situation more as well. This got… much longer than I thought it would.

THEORY 1: BOUGHT A RANCH, HAD TO SERVE

Your theory could make sense. We don’t know how long the ranch has been operating, only that Drake’s parents got married there, and Leona ran it while Bianca was in Cordonia. They very well could’ve met and fallen in love in Texas, deciding to buy the ranch after their wedding. That makes sense for naming it the Walker Ranch, but what would’ve caused them to relocate to Cordonia?

So we know Cordonia’s close to Greece, and they’ve used locations in Croatia for scenes of what the kingdom would look like. Let’s pretend that Cordonia’s sandwiched between the two countries, so their culture/customs/etc. are a combination of the two.

Male Greek citizens (born in Greece and/or have at least one Greek parent) have to serve mandatory military service (also called conscription) of at least 9 months in the Army, and 12 months with the Navy or Air Force. If/when discharged from active duty, they still serve in the Reserve forces, where they’re subject to being recalled for 1-10 days at regular intervals. This military service is mandatory for men between the ages of 19-45; women are accepted but are not required to enlist. You can get a waiver to avoid serving, but it’s not guaranteed. 

Croatia’s military service used to be mandatory, but conscription was abolished in 2008 so enlistment is voluntary. Males and females between the ages of 18-49 can serve in the military. 

Greece and Croatia don’t have monarchs ruling over the country the way our fictional Cordonia does, but for the sake of argument, let’s say Cordonia has a similar system in place for their military forces - men and/or women between the ages of 19-45 could, at the very least, be drafted into military service if they didn’t willingly enlist. The exception to this would be to train and serve as a member of the King’s Guard for a shorter period of time.

I don’t know much about military life, but I know an active tour of duty (for US military) can last anywhere from 6 months to four years, and active soldiers tend to serve more than one tour.

Instead of X months/years of active military service and the possibility of being called back for duty for the next 20+ years, one could become a member of the King’s Guard for, let’s say, 10 years. Once that time is up, they’re free to continue on as a King’s Guard, or retire. It’s a high risk position, considering you’d have to lay down your life for any of the royal family, so they could compensate accordingly. Most King’s Guards stay on since they’ve already put in the time.

Let’s say that not long after getting married and buying the ranch, Jackson was drafted to serve. He opts to go with the King’s Guard to minimize his time/service to Cordonia, and Bianca goes with him to help him settle in. She asks Leona to look after the ranch so she and Jackson don’t have to spend the first few months of marriage apart, and Leona agrees, thinking it’s just a temporary thing. Bianca extends her stay to a year; Leona gets a little irritated but agrees to keep looking after the ranch, and once the King’s Guard equivalent of boot camp is complete, Jackson and Bianca visit Texas as often as the job will allow.

And then Bianca discovers she’s pregnant. I can see her being the type of wife/mother that wouldn’t want to deny Jackson the ability to be an active parent to his own child, so she makes the difficult decision to stay in Cordonia, promising Leona that she’ll work out some kind of schedule where she and Drake (and Jackson, if he can get time off) would come back to the ranch a few times a year to help Leona, until Jackson’s time with the Guard is up.

Cue more bitterness from Leona for having to look after things, but she does it for family.

And then Savannah comes along, and traveling alone with two kids several times a year for weeks at a time is too much for Bianca to handle. Jackson’s duties with the King’s Guard increase so he takes less time off, and Bianca’s visits to Texas become fewer and far between. They’re able to plan one family trip to Texas, but Bianca and Leona have some kind of falling out while they’re there, and that’s the reason Drake and Savannah have only been to the ranch once.

Walker family stays in Cordonia, and Jackson dies. Maybe something happens on the ranch and Leona calls Bianca for help as a last resort, Bianca goes…and ends up staying in Texas.  

THEORY TWO: GOLDEN CHILD AND BITTER BETTY

One theory that I’ve been playing with is that the ranch was in Bianca and Leona’s family for at least one generation, so that their parents owned the property. Perhaps Bianca was the favored child, and whenever and however their parents passed, the ranch was left to her and NOT Leona. Bianca would then go on to meet and marry Jackson, and she makes the decision to rename the ranch in his name; he’s her family now too. Just as she’s about to show him how to be a rancher, something happens and he’s called back to Cordonia - maybe Jackson’s father passed and he was on the King’s Guard and he feels the need to serve as well, or we use the King’s Guard incentive from Theory One.

This could explain some of the bitterness coming from Leona, compounded by having to manage the ranch for Bianca when she moved to Cordonia with Jackson and they started their family.

Maybe having kids in Cordonia wasn’t what they planned, and they reasoned staying a few more years wouldn’t hurt, while Leona was still there to manage the ranch for Bianca. Cue more bitterness on Leona’s end. Then Jackson dies trying to protect the royal family; Bianca’s grief-stricken and doesn’t know how to cope on her own, and add some kind of setback in Texas that results in her leaving Cordonia. Maybe she thought it would only be for a few weeks while Drake and Savannah were still in school, and ended up being a whole thing so she just stayed.

That’s my theory, to work in why Leona seems to have problems with Cordonia/nobility in addition to the ranch name. If we’re lucky we’ll find out at least some of what happened in the next couple chapters, because it looks like we’re going to have to help the Walkers in Chapter 8. [Personal note - I REALLY don’t want to help them out of whatever issues are going on.]

[rimalovegood]

Hey quick question, would all the ikemen be in the same universe? Or that wouldn't work cause of time periods? What do you think lol

Actually I’ve thought a bit about this…but the short version is: it’s possible for all beside MidCin.

I think it’s safe to say MidCin it’s set on it’s universe because it happens on a fictional country (or countries) and doesn’t feature any clear time period, it’s more like a classic fairy tale setting. (you could argue about the Sirius visits Stein story but during it it’s said he was transported to other world, it never states it is the land of reason)

Now for the others games, they all start off in a setting that follows the same time line and rules that our real world till the normalcy is disrupted by something supernatural… now the origin of said supernatural phenomena changes from game to game… for Ikevamp, Ikerev and DTL it is attributed to diferent kinds of magic meanwhile for ikesen it’s supossed to something scientifically explainable… thought you could argue the wormwhole is not very different from magic…. I mean it allows bending the rules of time and space just like the other two and follows a somewhat predictable pattern like the door in ikevamp and the rabbit hole on ikerev…. also it’s not exclusive, we could say this world allow both the existence of magic phenomenom like the rabbit whole, the count’s door and whatever that cherry tree does on dtl (sorry, I didn’t understood well how does that work) while more scientific paranormal stuff like the wormwhole also exists…also it would mean that “the land of reason” it’s quite a misleading name

The real problem starts with the time line… Ikerev doesn’t count on this discussion because by going to live on Cradle Alice doesn’t change history also I’m taking out Ikevamp because for most, the vampires don’t change the story besides putting in XIX century Paris a bunch of people that would be weird seeing, but it’s stated that all those figures died before going to the mansion so they fulfilled their role in history (even Arthur that someway exists twice on that time period)

But DTL is set on the Edo period which is closely related to the Sengoku. For the Edo period to happen Nobunaga has to die in Honno-ji, Hideyoshi has to take over his unification effort and Ieyasu has to stablish the Tokugawa shogunate… And now it’s where it gets tricky…because MC saving Nobunaga’s life changes that course of events…but like we see in all stories she returns to the future it doesn’t change much… but it does change stuff, on Yukimura’s route she even notices changes on the Sengoku travel guide. but that is not the point; the only scenario in which the change of leadership from Nobunaga to Hideyoshi ever happens is on Nobunaga’s route where he retires to control his army from the shadows in order to “dissapear from the history books”, also in an event (Heart Spark “clean up war”) it’s stated quite clearly that the decisive battle between Ieyasu and Mitsunari was avoided by MC’s presence on the time period. On the other hand on both Ieyasu’s and Hideyoshi’s routes the MC is convinced that someday they both will take the place history gives them,

And as you can see it’s getting quite confusing…

Other point to take into consideration is that on Sasuke’s route when he and MC return to the future and are having their last date before going to live on the Sengoku. They are set to visit the “Angel and Devil brothers pancake only bakery” (a clear reference to Vincent and Theo) and watch “Alice on the land of reason part II”

it would be fun to see the mansion’s inhabitants living there for 200 years, seeing the world change around them and somehow Vincent and Theo decide “we are going to move to Japan and open a pancake store” but it would also be very weird considering the reason they became vampires… so it’s probably just a little easter egg that could be written off as a coincidence. 

Also it would mean that in the ikesen universe ikerev is a fictional story… but on ikerev world Alice in wonderland is also a fictional story so nothing says they could not be on the same timeline.

Basically I think it’s up to us to decide whether we consider it’s one or several timelines, I usually take them separately but also crossovers are fun so I don’t have a clear preference.

Thanks for letting me ramble about this anon!! also, sorry for the long post

[radiumeater]

Alcoholics Anonymous is famously difficult to study. By necessity, it keeps no records of who attends meetings; members come and go and are, of course, anonymous. No conclusive data exist on how well it works. In 2006, the Cochrane Collaboration, a health-care research group, reviewed studies going back to the 1960s and found that “no experimental studies unequivocally demonstrated the effectiveness of AA or [12-step] approaches for reducing alcohol dependence or problems.”

The Big Book includes an assertion first made in the second edition, which was published in 1955: that AA has worked for 75 percent of people who have gone to meetings and “really tried.” It says that 50 percent got sober right away, and another 25 percent struggled for a while but eventually recovered. According to AA, these figures are based on members’ experiences.

In his recent book, The Sober Truth: Debunking the Bad Science Behind 12-Step Programs and the Rehab Industry, Lance Dodes, a retired psychiatry professor from Harvard Medical School, looked at Alcoholics Anonymous’s retention rates along with studies on sobriety and rates of active involvement (attending meetings regularly and working the program) among AA members. Based on these data, he put AA’s actual success rate somewhere between 5 and 8 percent. That is just a rough estimate, but it’s the most precise one I’ve been able to find.

I spent three years researching a book about women and alcohol, Her Best-Kept Secret: Why Women Drink—And How They Can Regain Control, which was published in 2013. During that time, I encountered disbelief from doctors and psychiatrists every time I mentioned that the Alcoholics Anonymous success rate appears to hover in the single digits. We’ve grown so accustomed to testimonials from those who say AA saved their life that we take the program’s efficacy as an article of faith. Rarely do we hear from those for whom 12-step treatment doesn’t work. But think about it: How many celebrities can you name who bounced in and out of rehab without ever getting better? Why do we assume they failed the program, rather than that the program failed them?

When my book came out, dozens of Alcoholics Anonymous members said that because I had challenged AA’s claim of a 75 percent success rate, I would hurt or even kill people by discouraging attendance at meetings. A few insisted that I must be an “alcoholic in denial.” But most of the people I heard from were desperate to tell me about their experiences in the American treatment industry. Amy Lee Coy, the author of the memoir From Death Do I Part: How I Freed Myself From Addiction, told me about her eight trips to rehab, starting at age 13. “It’s like getting the same antibiotic for a resistant infection—eight times,” she told me. “Does that make sense?”

She and countless others had put their faith in a system they had been led to believe was effective—even though finding treatment centers’ success rates is next to impossible: facilities rarely publish their data or even track their patients after discharging them. “Many will tell you that those who complete the program have a ‘great success rate,’ meaning that most are abstaining from drugs and alcohol while enrolled there,” says Bankole Johnson, an alcohol researcher and the chair of the psychiatry department at the University of Maryland School of Medicine. “Well, no kidding.”

[...]

AA truisms have so infiltrated our culture that many people believe heavy drinkers cannot recover before they “hit bottom.” Researchers I’ve talked with say that’s akin to offering antidepressants only to those who have attempted suicide, or prescribing insulin only after a patient has lapsed into a diabetic coma. “You might as well tell a guy who weighs 250 pounds and has untreated hypertension and cholesterol of 300, ‘Don’t exercise, keep eating fast food, and we’ll give you a triple bypass when you have a heart attack,’ ” Mark Willenbring, a psychiatrist in St. Paul and a former director of treatment and recovery research at the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism, told me. He threw up his hands. “Absurd.”

Part of the problem is our one-size-fits-all approach. Alcoholics Anonymous was originally intended for chronic, severe drinkers—those who may, indeed, be powerless over alcohol—but its program has since been applied much more broadly. Today, for instance, judges routinely require people to attend meetings after a DUI arrest; fully 12 percent of AA members are there by court order.

Whereas AA teaches that alcoholism is a progressive disease that follows an inevitable trajectory, data from a federally funded survey called the National Epidemiological Survey on Alcohol and Related Conditions show that nearly one-fifth of those who have had alcohol dependence go on to drink at low-risk levels with no symptoms of abuse. And a recent survey of nearly 140,000 adults by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention found that nine out of 10 heavy drinkers are not dependent on alcohol and, with the help of a medical professional’s brief intervention, can change unhealthy habits. We once thought about drinking problems in binary terms—you either had control or you didn’t; you were an alcoholic or you weren’t—but experts now describe a spectrum. An estimated 18 million Americans suffer from alcohol-use disorder, as the DSM-5, the latest edition of the American Psychiatric Association’s diagnostic manual, calls it. (The new term replaces the older alcohol abuse and the much more dated alcoholism, which has been out of favor with researchers for decades.) Only about 15 percent of those with alcohol-use disorder are at the severe end of the spectrum. The rest fall somewhere in the mild-to-moderate range, but they have been largely ignored by researchers and clinicians. Both groups—the hard-core abusers and the more moderate overdrinkers—need more-individualized treatment options. The United States already spends about $35 billion a year on alcohol- and substance-abuse treatment, yet heavy drinking causes 88,000 deaths a year—including deaths from car accidents and diseases linked to alcohol. It also costs the country hundreds of billions of dollars in expenses related to health care, criminal justice, motor-vehicle crashes, and lost workplace productivity, according to the CDC. With the Affordable Care Act’s expansion of coverage, it’s time to ask some important questions: Which treatments should we be willing to pay for? Have they been proved effective? And for whom—only those at the extreme end of the spectrum? Or also those in the vast, long-overlooked middle? For a glimpse of how treatment works elsewhere, I traveled to Finland, a country that shares with the United States a history of prohibition (inspired by the American temperance movement, the Finns outlawed alcohol from 1919 to 1932) and a culture of heavy drinking. Finland’s treatment model is based in large part on the work of an American neuroscientist named John David Sinclair. I met with Sinclair in Helsinki in early July. He was battling late-stage prostate cancer, and his thick white hair was cropped short in preparation for chemotherapy. Sinclair has researched alcohol’s effects on the brain since his days as an undergraduate at the University of Cincinnati, where he experimented with rats that had been given alcohol for an extended period. Sinclair expected that after several weeks without booze, the rats would lose their desire for it. Instead, when he gave them alcohol again, they went on week-long benders, drinking far more than they ever had before—more, he says, than any rat had ever been shown to drink. Sinclair called this the alcohol-deprivation effect, and his laboratory results, which have since been confirmed by many other studies, suggested a fundamental flaw in abstinence-based treatment: going cold turkey only intensifies cravings. This discovery helped explain why relapses are common. Sinclair published his findings in a handful of journals and in the early 1970s moved to Finland, drawn by the chance to work in what he considered the best alcohol-research lab in the world, complete with special rats that had been bred to prefer alcohol to water. He spent the next decade researching alcohol and the brain.Sinclair came to believe that people develop drinking problems through a chemical process: each time they drink, the endorphins released in the brain strengthen certain synapses. The stronger these synapses grow, the more likely the person is to think about, and eventually crave, alcohol—until almost anything can trigger a thirst for booze, and drinking becomes compulsive. Sinclair theorized that if you could stop the endorphins from reaching their target, the brain’s opiate receptors, you could gradually weaken the synapses, and the cravings would subside. To test this hypothesis, he administered opioid antagonists—drugs that block opiate receptors—to the specially bred alcohol-loving rats. He found that if the rats took the medication each time they were given alcohol, they gradually drank less and less. He published his findings in peer-reviewed journals beginning in the 1980s. Subsequent studies found that an opioid antagonist called naltrexone was safe and effective for humans, and Sinclair began working with clinicians in Finland. He suggested prescribing naltrexone for patients to take an hour before drinking. As their cravings subsided, they could then learn to control their consumption. Numerous clinical trials have confirmed that the method is effective, and in 2001 Sinclair published a paper in the journal Alcohol and Alcoholism reporting a 78 percent success rate in helping patients reduce their drinking to about 10 drinks a week. Some stopped drinking entirely.I visited one of three private treatment centers, called the Contral Clinics, that Sinclair co-founded in Finland. (There’s an additional one in Spain.) In the past 18 years, more than 5,000 Finns have gone to the Contral Clinics for help with a drinking problem. Seventy-five percent of them have had success reducing their consumption to a safe level. [...] In the United States, doctors generally prescribe naltrexone for daily use and tell patients to avoid alcohol, instead of instructing them to take the drug anytime they plan to drink, as Sinclair would advise. There is disagreement among experts about which approach is better—Sinclair is adamant that American doctors are missing the drug’s full potential—but both seem to work: naltrexone has been found to reduce drinking in more than a dozen clinical trials, including a large-scale one funded by the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism that was published in JAMA in 2006. The results have been largely overlooked. Less than 1 percent of people treated for alcohol problems in the United States are prescribed naltrexone or any other drug shown to help control drinking. To understand why, you have to first understand the history. The American approach to treatment for drinking problems has roots in the country’s long-standing love-hate relationship with booze. The first settlers arrived with a great thirst for whiskey and hard cider, and in the early days of the republic, alcohol was one of the few beverages that was reliably safe from contamination. (It was also cheaper than coffee or tea.) The historian W. J. Rorabaugh has estimated that between the 1770s and 1830s, the average American over age 15 consumed at least five gallons of pure alcohol a year—the rough equivalent of three shots of hard liquor a day. Religious fervor, aided by the introduction of public water-filtration systems, helped galvanize the temperance movement, which culminated in 1920 with Prohibition. That experiment ended after 14 years, but the drinking culture it fostered—secrecy and frenzied bingeing—persists.In 1934, just after Prohibition’s repeal, a failed stockbroker named Bill Wilson staggered into a Manhattan hospital. Wilson was known to drink two quarts of whiskey a day, a habit he’d attempted to kick many times. He was given the hallucinogen belladonna, an experimental treatment for addictions, and from his hospital bed he called out to God to loosen alcohol’s grip. He reported seeing a flash of light and feeling a serenity he had never before experienced. He quit booze for good. The next year, he co-founded Alcoholics Anonymous. He based its principles on the beliefs of the evangelical Oxford Group, which taught that people were sinners who, through confession and God’s help, could right their paths. AA filled a vacuum in the medical world, which at the time had few answers for heavy drinkers. In 1956, the American Medical Association named alcoholism a disease, but doctors continued to offer little beyond the standard treatment that had been around for decades: detoxification in state psychiatric wards or private sanatoriums. As Alcoholics Anonymous grew, hospitals began creating “alcoholism wards,” where patients detoxed but were given no other medical treatment. Instead, AA members—who, as part of the 12 steps, pledge to help other alcoholics—appeared at bedsides and invited the newly sober to meetings. A public-relations specialist and early AA member named Marty Mann worked to disseminate the group’s main tenet: that alcoholics had an illness that rendered them powerless over booze. Their drinking was a disease, in other words, not a moral failing. Paradoxically, the prescription for this medical condition was a set of spiritual steps that required accepting a higher power, taking a “fearless moral inventory,” admitting “the exact nature of our wrongs,” and asking God to remove all character defects. Mann helped ensure that these ideas made their way to Hollywood. In 1945’s The Lost Weekend, a struggling novelist tries to loosen his writer’s block with booze, to devastating effect. In Days of Wine and Roses, released in 1962, Jack Lemmon slides into alcoholism along with his wife, played by Lee Remick. He finds help through AA, but she rejects the group and loses her family. Mann also collaborated with a physiologist named E. M. Jellinek. Mann was eager to bolster the scientific claims behind AA, and Jellinek wanted to make a name for himself in the growing field of alcohol research. In 1946, Jellinek published the results of a survey mailed to 1,600 AA members. Only 158 were returned. Jellinek and Mann jettisoned 45 that had been improperly completed and another 15 filled out by women, whose responses were so unlike the men’s that they risked complicating the results. From this small sample—98 men—Jellinek drew sweeping conclusions about the “phases of alcoholism,” which included an unavoidable succession of binges that led to blackouts, “indefinable fears,” and hitting bottom. Though the paper was filled with caveats about its lack of scientific rigor, it became AA gospel. Jellinek, however, later tried to distance himself from this work, and from Alcoholics Anonymous. His ideas came to be illustrated by a chart showing how alcoholics progressed from occasionally drinking for relief, to sneaking drinks, to guilt, and so on until they hit bottom (“complete defeat admitted”) and then recovered. If you could locate yourself even early in the downward trajectory on that curve, you could see where your drinking was headed. In 1952, Jellinek noted that the word alcoholic had been adopted to describe anyone who drank excessively. He warned that overuse of that word would undermine the disease concept. He later beseeched AA to stay out of the way of scientists trying to do objective research. [...] As the rehab industry began expanding in the 1970s, its profit motives dovetailed nicely with AA’s view that counseling could be delivered by people who had themselves struggled with addiction, rather than by highly trained (and highly paid) doctors and mental-health professionals. No other area of medicine or counseling makes such allowances. There is no mandatory national certification exam for addiction counselors. The 2012 Columbia University report on addiction medicine found that only six states required alcohol- and substance-abuse counselors to have at least a bachelor’s degree and that only one state, Vermont, required a master’s degree. Fourteen states had no license requirements whatsoever—not even a GED or an introductory training course was necessary—and yet counselors are often called on by the judicial system and medical boards to give expert opinions on their clients’ prospects for recovery. Mark Willenbring, the St. Paul psychiatrist, winced when I mentioned this. “What’s wrong,” he asked me rhetorically, “with people with no qualifications or talents—other than being recovering alcoholics—being licensed as professionals with decision-making authority over whether you are imprisoned or lose your medical license?