#there is this absolutely average looking man old enough to be my dad with his stupid mop of grey hair

[daughterofhecata]

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[barksenji]

I posted this on reddit, but I've seen some gnarly posts about Venezuela here, so I'll post it here too.

"I'll try to answer all of them. I don't know if I can explain like you're 5 because I'm autistic af and English is not my first language, but I hope I can make myself understood.

I condemn practically everything about the government. In Venezuela, on average, only four out of 10 operating rooms in the country's main hospitals are operative, and the shortage of supplies in emergency rooms is around 37%, while in operating rooms it reaches 74%. As for my own experience, I have Classical Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, I had a shoulder subluxation and I still do, and I went to the Victorino Santaella hospital in my country, there's little personnel, to the point that in the area for traumatology you could see dry blood on the floor because there just wasn't enough people to clean it up. Not a little bit of blood, but a lot. If you want decent medical attention, you will have to pay a bunch of money.

I had a strangulated umbilical hernia, which again, is something that commonly happens with the EDS. My dad had to spend 4000$ dollars on the operation, which for us, is a unachievable amount of money. He had to sell his car, and beg his job for the rest of the money, because the car was old asf and only covered about 200$.

Many people say the government is progressive, it is not. In Venezuela the LGBTQ community has absolutely no rights, it's incredibly difficult for trans people to change their documents or access hormonal treatment. Abortion is not legal here, not even in rape cases, gay marriage isn't legal either, and domestic violence largely goes unpunished.

The minimum wage is around 3 dollars, my dad works in transit so he earns minimum wage, because I have so many medical emergencies he has to make illegal driving licenses in order for me to get treatment. It is incredibly hard for my mom to find a job.

If you want an overview of the whole political situation, this thread can explain it better than I can:

This also explains many of the faults with the government, really, there are too many, I can't count them all.

There’s also no freedom of speech in Venezuela due to Nicolas Maduro’s oppression. All the news channels that are available are on his side. CNNE was removed from Venezuela after doing a documentary on Maduro and also was DW. Our only way to inform ourselves are socials, and most venezuelans are speaking through there.

Maduro's government is not a socialist government anymore, it paints itself that way to outsiders, but it is not. Money that should be going to public institutions is not going to those institutions, hence why the hospitals are in such dire state and you have to pay for private clinics in order to get appropriate care. I don't know if you're familiar with the CLAP bags, The Local Supply and Production Committees (CLAP) is a distribution program of some basic imported foodstuffs promoted by the Venezuelan government since 2016 in which the communities themselves organized in committees supply and distribute priority foods through a modality of delivery of products, house by house at first, later distributed in a local of the community. The problem with these is that they're frequently infected with weevils, maggots, and even if they look "good" on the outside, they can be infected with bacteria and give you food poisoning. Worse is, some people are entirely reliant on these.

They're supposed to protect our indigenous people, but a Venezuelan indigenous leader who opposed the incursion of armed groups and illegal mining was shot twice while in a neighborhood in the capital of Amazonas state. Maduro is also the richest man in Venezuela.

In the protests that occurred in 2017, around 150 people died thanks to the armed forces and colectivos (paramilitaries on the side of the government), police came out with tanks (idk the name exactly in English) and ran over people who were peacefully protesting. Right now, I believe there has been 11 people confirmed injured, though there's probably more, since hospitals are asking for resources to treat the injured.

I think most of these payment methods are only available in Venezuela, but I saw a Paypal here and there, if you can help I'd thank you so much:

As for the self-sufficiency, I don't know. As I said, I'm 17 and heavily reliant on my parents. This country's also really not accessible for disabled people, I cannot go down stairs and have to walk with a cane, there's rarely a place where elevators are functioning properly: ironically, especially in hospitals. In the hospital Victorino Santaella, my dad has to carry me through a bunch of stairs, he has a bunch of hernias in his back so that's obviously no good for him. I'm also at heavy risk of fainting, so yeah.

Also: I don't know how the housing situation is in Venezuela statistic-wise, but for the young adults, is impossible to get a house. Houses can cost up to 100.000$ and more, the average job will pay enough for you to eat, buy toilet paper, basic needs and that's about it.

My friends, who were studying university, couldn't finish cause they had to get a job in a supermarket or bakery in order to be able to support their parent economically. It's horrible.

We also have no running water, when we do it's brown, our power goes off all the time and I have no health insurance"

Do I support María Corina? Or the opposition? I'm skeptical about them, they're still politicians, and Machado is a Zionist. I'm worried about idolizing these figures, deeply. But there's no alternative guys.

For gringos saying that we are supporting fascists, and whatnot. We have literally no other option. This didn't start with US sanctions, it just got WORSE with them. But these sanctions are a symptom, not the root of our problem.

Please, listen to venezuelan voices. If you're really a leftist, just a bit of research will be enough to convince you that this is NOT even a socialist government anymore.

[acheronist]

can you make sparknotes for the Red Wings players they are all the same person to me (sorry)

dw my darling i got you 🫡 here's the regular 23 man roster we've been skating this szn

forwards (+ this is going to be the number they wear on their jerseys, not their age)

jt compher (37) - won a cup whilst he was on the colorado avalanche (red wings long time beloathed nemesis rivals team), attended umich hockey with larkin and copp. deadpan dry asf tenderhearted weirdo. very good at hockey i like him

andrew copp (18) - 🎶get up and g-get down, 911 is a joke in your town🎶, local michigander boy playing for his hometown team, attended umich with compher and larkin, kind of fuck ugly but he's gritty and has a lot of love in his heart so we like him

alex debrincat (93) - another local michigander boy playing for his hometown team, really good at hockey, we rescued him from the ottawa senators (red wings short term/very recent beloathed nemesis rival team) and he likes it here more, haha lol lmao even. good at hockey!! kind of a sniper. also kind of fighty which is hilarious because he's about 9 inches shorter than the average nhl player. new dad and really loves it, brings his family to games all of the time. and he was our all star games representative this year !

robby fabbri (14) - how are you going to be a short italian-canadian kind of bisexual professional hockey player who mixes metals and has a standing eyebrow appointment. please pick a struggle. won the stanley cup w/ st louis and then got abandoned for being 'injury prone' and was sent to detroit in a 1 for 1 trade (the most humiliating of all nhl player trades imo). he and larkin and rasmussen are the only men left standing from the red wing's historic worst-ever season in 2019 where every game they looked like they were going to kill themselves.

christian fischer (36) - new bestie alert! huge locker room guy. okay at hockey (more of a playmaker than a goalscorer) but he's so fucking sillygoofy and funny i love to see this guy on my team. spent most of his career in arizona iirc, and basically he and gostisbehere came from the coyotes directly to the red wings as a buy one get one free deal.

patrick kane (88) - narcissict. arrogant. flop. old man who can't score anymore. history of assault and violent misdemeanors he never was punished for because he was the nhl's boytoy a decade ago. i hope he contracts sepsis from an unforeseen complication with his hip surgery and takes a long walk off of the rencen's roof and lands in the detroit river where he is frozen and then chopped up by an industrial ship's propeller. fuck this guy.

klim kostin (24) - beloved enforcer. used to skate for the edmonton oilers. his entire game is based around slotting in on the third/fourth line when necessary and whenever someone gets hurt he comes out swinging to establish the fact that the red wings are not to be fucked with. he doesn't start fights but he does finish them. notoriously big hearted and silly with his teammates. coincidentally wearing the same number as the red wings most famous enforcer from the 1980s, bob probert. my guard dog boy i love u

dylan larkin (71) - michigan native, umich grad, was the previous captain's rookie, the beating heart and soul of the team, carrying the weight of a century year old hockey team's legacy and all the ghosts that come along with that, never been to playoffs and hasn't won the cup yet. literally the miserable boyking of metro detroit. he's had to suffer a lot for absolutely no reason, but still manages to come and be our best and most important player every single night.

david perron (57) - he's old by nhl standards i.e. he's in his late thirties and has been playing for like a decade, so he knows his way around an nhl rink. french canadian enough that he's got an accent. big heart and soul guy, which i really wasn't expecting tbh! he's always standing up for teammates and has gotten in a few noteworthy fights (dylan got hurt so badly this szn that dp went rage-blind and ended up getting suspended for six games after fighting the opponents who hurt dylan)

michael rasmussen (27) - big fuck off scary intimidating canadian hockey lad. kind of awkward and bizarre. also kind of a doll if i can b honest. he's very shy and quiet in interviews but always has an insane serial killer look in his eyes whenever he's on the ice. was drafted high and then i suspect he had a lot of mental struggles about not being the player he was advertised/told to be? but the last few years he's stepped away from that role he thought he should be and started being himself and playing in a way that was obviously more comfortable, and he's taken huge huge productive strides and improved a lot. moose ily

lucas raymond (23) - our youngest babiest player!! he was our highest draft pick in a looooooooong time, and immediately went from prospect training camp -> regular nhl player, which is fucking crazy. he's exceptionally good at hockey, and has a reputation for coming in clutch with goals we need to win games. besties with moritz seider + jake walman + joe veleno.

daniel sprong (17) - i had no idea what to think of this guy at first but now i can't believe he's only been here for one season. it feels like he's been a wing for ages. he's one of our sniper goalscorers, except he shoots the puck with a lil too much sauce + with a feral desperation of a man afraid he was never going to score a goal again, every single time, which i love. also he stalks twitter and runs a team GC to forward memes that the fandom makes to the guys

joe veleno (90) - if bambi was a closeted italian canadian hockey player. wears an evil eye bracelet and also a crucifix? very meek and easy to bully, tbh, not our most productive goalscorer but also somehow he's very crucial to the emotional well being of the younger half of the roster? hes sillygoofy and a sweetheart and does his best every night which is all we can ask tbh. besties with lucas raymond + moritz seider + jake walman.

defensemen

ben chiarot (8) - resident manwhore dilf fashionista who knows he's sexy and loves to be a bitch on the ice. loves to be annoying and distracting @ the opponents during plays so the red wings can have space to move.

shayne gostisbehere (41) - escaped florida man turned into an nhler, sleeper agent defensive weapon that people tend to forget about. always busting his ass up and down the blue line. always looks sopping wet and really sad though? loves to shoot the puck and sometimes it even makes it to the net!

justin holl (3) - i'm hesistant to describe him as "good at hockey" but the boys seem to love him + he's silly enough to engage in the locker room antics + i've noticed him dealing out more hits lately which is always good.

olli maatta (2) - very very very steady in the most boring way possible. does his job and not an ounce more than necessary LOL but it's fine because he's good at what he does? a classic defensive defenseman.

jeff petry (46) - not… good? at hockey? but he is also a michigan native playing for the hometown team, and he's a veteran nhler, and he's a gritty sort of guy, so i like having him. he grew up in detroit proper, as well, because his dad played on the detroit tigers baseball team, so there's a lot of michigan sports lore going on in that household. also his kids are silly + love to come to games

moritz seider (53) - my sweet perfect darling defenseman prodigy. won the calder trophy because he was the most special and talented rookie in his first year in the nhl. breaking team records for defensemen at an alarming rate. was dylan's rookie, and is also frequently mentored by red wings defense legends. he's not a rookie anymore but you can still see how much responsibility he's shouldering and how much he takes after dylan's role modeled behavior/team legacy standards. good at handling tough responsibility vs staying silly anyways. hes my shining star and i luv him. generally he's paired up with jake walman on defense and they're a little bit married because of it. besties with lucas raymond + jake walman + joe veleno.

jake walman (96) - another guy who st louis abandoned and then ended up on the red wings and said "i want to spend my entire life and career in this city" . extremely silly. known for hitting the griddy whenever he scores important goals. big on video games + making tiktoks. tremendous locker room vibes guy, and very emotional and serious about proving his place on detroit's blue line. generally he's paired up with moritz seider on defense and they're a little bit married because of it. besties with moritz seider + lucas raymond + joe veleno.

goalies

ville husso (35) - looks like a haunted little porcelain doll. always sopping wet for some reason. very softspoken and european. mid-good level goalie, kind of needs to prove himself a bit now that alex lyon's gone completely off the shits and taken over starter goalie privileges, but i feel like there's no sense of animosity or competition between them? ville just strikes me as genuinely someone who's delighted and proud of his tandem partners for their successes, even if it comes at his expense / losing some of his chances to get ahead

james reimer (47) - idc about this man lol. he's either a very good goalie or an atrociously horrible goalie and you dont know what it'll be until the games already happening. passively homophobic christian behavior as well which i do not like to see. but he's also a veteran nhl player so in the beginning of the szn he was getting more opportunity than alex or ville.

alex lyon (34) - spent his entire career in the minor league/being traded between franchises where there wasn't really a space or need for him. got on the radar after keeping the florida panthers in their playoff race before losing, and then FL traded him to us. we've had goaltending agonies for years and then he's rolled up to detroit with something to fucking PROVE because he thought his hockey career was about to be over so he's skating every night like its do or die. after reimer and husso both were injured tho he finally got his chance to shine and oh baby he's been shining. unbelievably good at goaltending. big heart, very genuine, very funny, basically a male model as well, been to therapy and actually got something out of it, i would go to war for this man if he needed me to

[give-bucky-his-boyfriend-back]

Wrote a little ficlet about Cas beating John’s ass in heaven. Enjoy my little spite-driven story :)

Link

When John Winchester makes it to heaven he's very relieved.

God knows how he wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine, how sometimes his temper got the best of him, but apparently that wasn’t enough to get a one way ticket to downstairs.

His house is the same as the old Winchester home down on earth. He's sitting on the same porch he has known for so many years,it slightly creaks as he moves in his chair. He sips his perfectly cold beer, a soft summer breeze blows by. It's perfect.

Until it isn't.

He doesn't know who this weird guy in the trenchcoat is, he's never seen him before in his life, but he doesn't look exactly friendly as he appears out of nowhere and storms towards him. And are his eyes are glowing? What the fuck?

"John Eric Winchester!"

The guy his voice is loud, almost impossibly, and deep and gravely. John won't admit that this stranger that is currently standing about two feet away from him (hasn’t he ever heard of personal space?)and is screaming in his face is actually quite intimidating.

"How on earth you selfish, hateful piece of filth have managed to make it to heaven is beyond me."

What the hell is this guy on about?He doesn't even know him. John rights his back, showing whoever this crazy person is that he's not afraid.

"What's your problem,huh? I never even met you-"

"My problem -" Shit, his eyes are glowing again, though the rando was deemed slightly less intimidating by his use of airquotes -" is that you are a horrible father, with medieval morals and the anger issues of an average toddler."

"Listen up,dick. You don't even know me. You know nothing about my sons or the way I raised them I-" John protests.

Cas intterups him with a scoff. "Oh,I know your sons very well. Dean most of all. In fact, I talked to him only two minutes ago."

There’s a smug crooked smile on the stranger's face that doesn't reach his eyes. John doesn't like it one bit. It's almost like he had just told half a joke, waiting to drop the punchline.

"He woke up next to me from a nightmare. He told me he dreamt about a case you sent him on on his seventeenth birthday to "teach him a lesson" (those fucking airquotes again)? Forcing him to exterminate two nuns that were in love with eachother? Sounds familiar?" The guy spits at him seething with anger.

John should probably start thinking about what exactly he's hinting at, but his brain short-circuits after the first part of his sentence.

"That's impossible. You're a dude."

This seems to throw him off. He tilts his head and squints at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"You're a dude. Dean ain’t a fag, he ain’t-" This was apparently the wrong thing to say.

John is quickly hit with the realisation that this man probably isn't human when his fist lands on his face and not only breaks his nose, but absolutely crushes it. He feels the bones shatter as his nose is stumped entirely flat against his face. The tears start streaming before he can stop them.

"Never talk this respectless about your son ever again or I will personally drag you back to hell myself, is that clear?"

John cradles his nose with his hands and nods.

"Good." John hears the faint rustling of feathers and the asshole has gone as quick as he came.

--

When Cas appears in Dean’s bedroom he is still confused. He had just told Cas about a case he had been working with on his dad on his 17th birthday, when the angel had dissapeared immediately without saying anything.

"Cas what the hell? Where did you go?"

"Shh" Cas soothes him as he gently kisses his forhead. "Go back to sleep. I just payed a visit to your dad."

"My dad?" Dean is half convinced he's still dreaming because that doesn't make any sense.

"Yes. He called you a slur regarding your sexuality, so I punched him in the face and broke his nose."

Yes, now he's sure. He must be dreaming. This is simply to absurd to be real. Time to sleep.

Dean mumbles after he quickly presses a chaste kiss into Cas his cheek. "Good Night, Sweetheart."

His eyelids fall and sleep takes him under.

[kissorkill16]

When We Were Once Happy: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: A story before Trinity moved to Raven Brooks.

Chapter 12

Nicky woke up at 3:47, not because of a nightmare, he was just thirsty. So he got up to get some water.

Half awake, he can barely remember his way to the bathroom, so he ended up taking the long way. He managed to wake up a little to realize he was going the wrong way.

He turned around to go to the right direction of the bathroom, but...

"Which way was the bathroom again?"

He was fully awake now, fully aware that he had absolutely no idea where he was going. Great, things were changing.

Aaron remembered how he mentioned how his dad liked to change his own house around, like it was a mix and match doll. Like it was a game.

But right now, Nicky was too thirsty for games.

THUD

Nicky nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a loud thud come from behind him. He scrambled to find somewhere to hide, frantically trying to pull doors open, but every door he tried to open was locked.

Fortunately, the last door he tried opening was unlocked, and he immediately ran inside and slammed the door.

When he turned around, the first thing he saw was a bulletin board full of old newspapers and photographs. He walked towards it to get a closer look.

The newspapers were full of news about how Mr. Peterson built a new rollercoaster. The first one he saw was in Germany, the next in Bosco Bay, and the next one he saw was how he was being interviewed on his latest creation.

His eyes traveled to a desk, and he saw a lot of blueprints for a rollercoaster. He took a closer look at it, and he was more than surprised. This rollercoaster had so many twists and turns, so many ways to go, so many tunnels, it was enough to make the average human being barf their innards out.

Aaron has been dying to find out what his dad was going to build next, so maybe he could show him this blueprint. He took out his phone, made sure it was on silent, and took many pictures.

He nearly dropped his phone when the door was slowly pushed open.

"What the heck?! Who had such quiet footsteps that no one would be able to hear them?!"

He got his answer when he saw a familiar looking argyle sweater in the corner of his eye. The first place he thought to hide was under the desk.

"Just wait for him to leave."

He waited, and waited, and waited, and waited. He checked the time on his phone, it was 4:30. He peeked from under the desk and saw Mr. Peterson with his back turned, probably looking for a book or something.

"If I'm quiet enough, I could sneak out of here and get back to bed."

Nicky slowly stood up from under the desk, and slowly tried to tip toe out of the room, but luck was not on his side as he stepped on a creaking floorboard. He nearly peed himself.

Mr. Peterson turned around, and Nicky wished the ground would just open up and just swallow him whole.

"Nicholas, what are you doing here?", he asked.

Nicky couldn't form any words, his voice was stuck in his throat, and it was excruciating. "I...uh...I..."

"Well?"

Nicky was starting to feel queasy.

"Young man, this is my private office. You shouldn't be here.", Mr. Peterson nearly growled.

Nicky forced the words out. "I got lost looking for the bathroom!", he squeaked.

Mr. Peterson stepped towards him, and Nicky curled in on himself. For some reason, he saw his grandmother in his place. Stepping towards him in a menacing threat, looking like she was about to hurt him. Nicky could feel tears forming in his eyes.

"Please don't hurt me.", he squeaked.

Instead, Mr. Peterson slowly wrapped his arms around the boy and picked him up. He carried Nicky out of his office, down the long corridor, and back to Aaron's room. He slowly set him down on his sleeping bag, and tucked him in.

"Nighty night, Nicky."

And with that, he left.

Nicky was so confused, yet so relieved. Mr. Peterson wasn't angry, he didn't even yell at him, he just put him back to bed.

It's not that Nicky wanted Mr. Peterson to be angry at him, he was just surprised. But he decided not to question it any further, and tried to get some sleep, with only one final thought in his head.

"That wasn't another nightmare. I'm not with Bubba. When I'm here, she can't hurt me."

[weiryo]

Not A Chance 1.1 "Boys in eyeliner"

SANTIAGO

“Boys in eyeliner”

“You made me look stupid,” I mumbled, lifting the tiny mirror the one-armed girl next to me handed me up to my eyes. I could definitely hear Hitori’s laughter as I looked at the makeup she put on my eyes, she really did go all out on the eyeliner. Hitori started putting everything in her backpack, we were so bored from waiting we were beginning to get desperate for things to do. I never really imagined my first time meeting Hitori in person would be this boring. We had been waiting for the boarding school shuttle for about 3 hours inside the airport, and I guess it was not that long but it felt like forever. 

Hitori kept giggling every time she turned to look at me. 

I sighed. “Can I wash this off?” I asked. Hitori just grinned at me and reached for her bag, her prosthetic arm gripping the straps. I honestly wondered how it worked, but it felt rude to ask. 

“I'll get the wipes, but you have to believe me that you look absolutely stunning.” She teased me. I couldn't help but scoff at her comment, my dad would be pissed if he saw makeup anywhere near me, God forbid it's on my face. In a fucked up way it sort of comforted me that I knew he was far enough away that he couldn't tell what I was doing anymore. He had finally gotten so pissed off with me that he sent me off to boarding school, and what a coincidence that it was the same boarding school as my online best friend, Hitori. I'm happy she was here, she had gone to this school for years so she could tell me anything.

Hitori started wiping down my face, cleaning it of all the makeup. We were fortunate she did it at that moment because in just a few seconds the chaperone showed up with his grasp locked tightly around a boy's arm “Mr Vien, you cannot be wandering around everywhere. You stay with the group or I'll have no choice but to call your guardian… And wipe that horrible makeup off from under your eyes, you're a young man, not a lady.” he scolded the boy and practically tossed him next to me. I jumped when the boy sat down with a huff. The chaperone checked his phone with a grim look “The shuttle will be here in 10 minutes.” He announced in a booming voice. Everyone around us started rushing to put away everything they had taken from their bags. 

I watched as Hitori looked up from her bags and immediately smiled when she saw the boy sitting next to me “Andrew! You're back for another year?” She asked excitedly.

Andrew nodded and smiled back. He rubbed the eyeliner under his eyes with his finger, making it look even messier. “They can't get rid of me if they tried, and they've tried, " he told her, his eyes drifting to the direction I was in. “Who are you?”

I looked at him, he had the look of the average troublemaker, and he had a weird wolf cut like a child attempted it. “I'm Santiago Hernánez.”

Without warning he grabbed my hand and shook it. “Welcome to hell, I'm Andrew.” He said with a now cheery tone. I couldn't help but smile, his smile was strangely infectious.

A few minutes later the shuttle finally arrived and I picked up my things and got into the tight van, when I was pushed in by other students I winced in pain because I accidentally hit the bruise on my right bicep. When I rubbed my arm, a strange feeling hit me, like something would happen, like my whole life would be turned over more than it already has been. I settled into my seat next to Hitori and Andrew, it was time for me to go where every 16-year-old wants to go… a boarding school in Idaho.

[crimsonblackrose]

I do love the “tonight on the Equalizer” openings where they do what we’d think of today as spoiling the episode. Because this one...absolutely no clue what’s going to happen. Little girl calls the equalizer because the random adult guy in her life who believes he’s from another planet has people attacking him? Fascinating. I do kind of like these. I kind of miss them too. It’s why I think if I see enough gifs or something on my dash I might watch something because those are essentially a form of advertising the show, kind of like the old “Tonight on ____”. Like yes, I kind of want to watch that horror film because it’s been on my dash a lot or I do kind of want to watch that show. Because I don’t have enough context for it to be a spoiler even though I’m sure my dash is full of spoilers.

I cannot tell whether she believes him or just is like you weirdo, you are really not an alien from outer space but I’ll still keep you safe Mr. sewer man. 😅

Hi Mr. McCall, thank you for coming. My favorite random guy who lives in the sewers is in danger. He says an alien race is coming to kill us all. Okay what she actually says is “I better let him tell you whose following him. 😅”

This child’s facial expressions are great. (Another Home Alone actor) Mr. McCall: Shouldn’t you be in school? Child: Uhhh..... Also she saw him get hit by a car and helped him and that’s how she met Seti.

Amber: Seti, what’s wrong? Seti: I was told if I hug the earth they can’t find me.

“This is my friend Seti.” “I gathered.”

Seti: There’s darkness in you, and some light, you’ve been through a lot haven’t you? Mr. McCall: Oh dear oh dear oh dear Okay alright. Child I’ve got this, you go to school.

Seti: Don’t worry this one has a torn soul. Mr.McCall: A torn what?

Seti: There are only two kinds of sentient beings in the universe, builders and destroyers and you have been both. You are now an interstellar defender. Only you can help me. (Obi-wan you are my only hope)

local cryptid sighting.

Mickey: Hey! my dad said I had to come here and hang out with you, come back.

Seti, why does it look like you’re about ready to kiss Mikey? You know, just your average day in New York City. Knock on a door that leads down into the bowels of the city and a man (er...intergalactic being) pops up and kisses you and then tells you he won’t ride in your car because it burns holes in the sky but he will go for a walk with you because he’s starting to enjoy his legs.

Mickey, another torn soul, enjoy your date. Congrats on your new friend. Mickey looks so confused.

I love when they bring minor characters back. I feel like this psychiatrist that Wendell Pierce played had to have been a lot of fun. I mean in one scene he just takes a nap. Love that for him.

How do we show the inside of a kaleidoscope? How about computer screen saver?

They’re having a fun time going through Seti’s things.

Mr. McCall brings Amber and her mom for a visit with Seti and Seti has rigged Mr. McCall’s entire apartment to be the loudest siren filled place as soon as the door opens and then as soon as Mr. McCall steps in he’s like “I did good right? Don’t you love it?”

“Do you know where the brightest galaxy and collection of stars are?”

“No, where?”

“Inside of you.” You’re a collection of stars, made up of the universe so no matter what you’ll never be alone and even in the city where it’s hard to see the starlight, I’ll always be with you.

I like that everyone liked Seti. Like even the mom was like my daughter went out dad shopping and she picked the weirdest guy she could find and I approve of that for her.

“Are you telling me that thing he’s been carrying around isn’t from our planet?”

Mickey: “Hey man NASA doesn’t know.”

[phoenixyfriend]

Uncle Ben and Little Luke

AKA we combine several types of time travel for maximum Soft Chaos, let’s go

EDIT NOW THAT I’VE WRITTEN THIS UP: jfc this ended up much angstier than initially intended uhhhhhhhhhh sorry

So a common enough thing I’ve seen in time travel fics is characters getting de-aged when tossed back physically, to neither the age they should be in that time, nor the age they were from the time they left, but whatever is most convenient. This is usually de-aging OT Obi-Wan into his TCW self, for reasons relating to, chiefly, removing the damage of Tatooine absolutely destroying his body alongside PTSD-driven alcoholism, but also because fic writers are horny, and Ewan McGregor playing a late-thirties negotiator is on average more appealing to people than Alec Guinness playing a vaguely feral desert hermit.

So, here’s how it plays out:

We take Luke and Ben from some point in the OT. There are a variety of options depending on how angsty we want it to be. My first instinct is ‘right after Owen and Beru die’ but I want to have that sweet angst where Luke knows that his dad is Vader and that Obi-Wan was trying to convince him to kill his own father without telling him that.

We’ll go with shortly after Bespin, and then they end up significantly before TPM. The Obi-Wan of the timeline proper is, eh, let’s say eighteen. Not really ready to be a knight, but old enough that we don’t have to worry about “if we go save Shmi, do we somehow wipe out Anakin?” which is absolutely a worry. Anakin is a toddler, and is in no place to be evil, on account of being literally two years old. He can’t even explode people with his brain yet.

Now, Ben finds himself mid-thirties, as is traditional. He’s not upset at this, because his joints hurt so much less than they used to! His knees aren’t exactly teenage-perfect, but by the Force are they better than they were in the years before he died! His hair has color! He doesn’t have arthritis! And, goodness, no physical withdrawal symptoms! The psychological aspect is still there, but nonetheless, he’s in much better shape than he last remembers being.

Luke looks like he’s about six. He was recently twenty-two. This is not an upgrade. Ben keeps having to carry him. He can’t see over the counter when they enter a bar for information. He can’t enter the bar in the first place. He’s very annoyed by all of this.

Ben is not annoyed. Ben is having a lot of emotions, actually, but annoyance isn’t one of them. He didn’t get to help raise Luke the way he might have if Anakin hadn’t lost his shit, okay, he sees a small Luke and he wants to hug him and cry.

Luke would like to be able to purchase a speeder part without the lady at the stall asking him if he needs his “dad’s” permission.

Once they figure out when and where they are, they need to decide where and how to leave. There are general shenanigans to gamble their way into enough money to hire a ship. They are in the ass end of nowhere, but definitely not Tatooine. There appears to be a jungle. There appears to be a significant variety of man-eating creatures. There appears to be a temple to the Force of questionable origin. None of this is actually helpful, except for the moment they find a “baby’s first lightsaber” in the temple.

Luke only has one hand and, being a six-year-old, his body is growing too fast for him to bother with getting a wired-in prosthesis the way he could as an adult. He can get a more basic prosthesis, but nothing that attaches to the neurons. He’ll outgrow it too fast.

He’s tiny and he’s not used to doing things with just one hand. He uses the Force to do what one hand can't, and every time someone tries to tell him he's misusing the Force he whaps them with the empty sleeve.

So, you know, they find out what year it is. Ben has a breakdown. Luke is upset that he left behind his friends. Ben admits to him that Leia was his twin. Luke stares in horror because dude, she kissed him, you couldn’t have mentioned this earlier???

Ben points out that Beru and Owen were keeping Luke away from him for nineteen years, and then they had about three days of awkward travel to find Leia in the first place, and then Ben died. He didn’t have a whole lot of time to figure out how to tell him.

(This sparks an argument that lasts several days. All onlookers assume that Ben’s son is throwing a tantrum. He doesn’t correct them, even though this is a very valid reason to be upset, because the truth is much harder to explain.)

Sooooo they travel. Mostly, Ben plays Sabacc, cleans house, and pays their way towards Coruscant. Luke still really wants to learn to be a Proper Jedi, even though Ben is pretty sure that Luke would have... a lot of difference of opinion with the Temple, but sure. Coruscant. They can at least stop by, and see Qui-Gon, and Mace, and Quinlan, and Bant, and everyone else that’s still alive and not tragically deceased in the horror following the start of the Clone Wars and then the birth of the Empire, and Ben can have a nice sob over all his dead friends being alive again.

Ben is only barely holding it together while Luke is in the room with him at any given point. But it’s fine! It’s fine. He’s fine. All of his loved ones have come back to life! It’s great! HE’S FINE.

He is not fine.

Luke is also grieving all the people who haven’t been born yet, but he’s... significantly more okay than Ben is.

The closer they get to the Core, the more often people just assume Ben is Luke’s father, and then look shocked and uncomfortable when Luke flatly calls him by his name, and they just... compromise. This is the point at which Luke starts calling him “Uncle Ben.”

Ben cries in his bunk later that night. Luke overhears it and wonders how the HELL Ben is more unstable now, when there’s a chance to fix things and no Vader or Empire trying to kill or capture both of them, and all his friends are alive.

(Luke will later learn a lot about PTSD and realize this is actually a fairly normal situation, to process significant events and emotions only after gaining safety or catharsis.)

(Twenty years on a ball of sand with an alcohol addiction and debilitating fear of the man you raised as your own brother is not, in fact, safe or cathartic.)

At any rate, they’ve settled into that pattern by the time they reach the Inner Rim. The Inner Rim is the part of the galaxy at which they’ve collected enough money (and mental stability) to travel a little better, and to take a few more risks.

Risks like “manipulate people with those baby blues.”

Ben tells Luke that he’s a menace, after he pouts so cutely that he gets a free scarf added on to a purchase that Ben makes. Luke responds that Ben has no room to talk, since he flirted a free breakfast out of that one inn owner.

Also, Luke is currently physically six. That is objectively a situation that sucks. He deserves to use it for all it’s worth if he’s stuck like this.

“You know, if you keep wearing all-black and looking longingly at the velvet cape and Space Chanel boots, the temple is going to worry that you’re a darksider.”

“Uncle Ben... you told me, yesterday, that I sparkle so brightly in the Force that it’s almost blinding.”

“Yes, but the gloves--”

They don’t agree on this, but Ben relents. He does actually understand good fashion, unfortunately, and he’s not unaware of how much Leia taught Luke about such things.

Luke’s about forty years ahead of the curve, of course, but Skywalkers are prone to such things. It’s usually in regards to technology, granted, but...

They get to Coruscant. Ben is very obviously a Jedi. He knows all the right words and walks like a Soresu master and feels warm and comforting in the Force. They let him in with minimal questions. They note down “my first padawan left the order to have a child, but died shortly after; I consider Luke here to be my nephew, and have raised him as such,” and move on.

Luke is vaguely annoyed because he already had an uncle (and aunt) that raised him, but he admits that a person can have more than one uncle. He can live with this. Ben was more family to Anakin than Owen was, in some ways, so it’s kind of true. Luke is even working on feeling more childish affection for Ben instead of the complicated mess of emotions that come from being lied to about some very large and important subjects, and then seeing the person saying those lies have regular emotional breakdowns due to something as small as Luke saying he likes the curve of the hull on that freighter.

(Apparently he sounds just like his father did as a child. This is almost heartwarming.)

The thing is! The thing. The thing is, they almost make it to the Halls of Healing to get looked over for weird viruses, or Outer Rim Parasites, or whatever the hells needs to be happening. They almost make it without Ben having a flashback to dead younglings or brainwashed troopers or the declaration of a Sith Empire. They almost make it without incident.

Then Ben sees Qui-Gon, and freezes, and does not move again.

Luke cannot get him to restart.

People are staring.

They haven’t even made it to Medical, Uncle Ben, come on.

Young, local Obi-Wan comes over and asks if there’s something he can do to help. Or maybe this “Ben” knows Qui-Gon? Master Jinn doesn’t recognize Ben, but maybe Luke knows more?

Luke does know more, but what Luke actually says is “he probably needs a mind healer.”

(Ben will not appreciate this.)

(Ben is unfortunately standing in the middle of the hallway and completely unresponsive, and is unable to argue with this assertion.)

(Ben is pretty much proving this assertion entirely correct, actually.)

Obi-Wan is helpful, if a little bitchy in the manner of most late-teens individuals, and offers to help get Uncle Ben down to the Halls of Healing. It involves Obi-Wan gently pushing on Ben’s shoulders, and Qui-Gon offering to carry Luke so he can be in Ben’s sights (because Ben is a Mystery, and Qui-Gon is quite fond of those, so he wants to stay involved). Ben kind of just... shuffles on down.

There are medical tests. They ask about how Luke lost his hand. He refuses to talk about it. They ask how Ben got all his scars. Luke says he doesn’t know. They ask if he knows why Ben looks like he’s been through a war. Luke says it’s because he probably was.

They check for foreign viruses. They find evidence of thus-far-unpatented vaccinations. They ask Luke if he knows what he’s vaccinated for.

“How would I know? I’m six.”

They agree that this is a good excuse.

(It is not. He’s lying. They do not know this.)

They do some more tests. They find a lot of questionable medical bullshit in Ben’s body. Most of this is from the clone wars, but they don’t know this. Someone realizes they haven’t gotten a ping back from the Shadow Network regarding “do we have permission to pull the medical file of a Jedi that isn’t in the normal database? We’re assuming you know who he is, since we don’t.”

The Shadow Network does not know who Ben is.

The healers, of course, go “huh, that’s weird, but maybe the name he gave his nephew was fake. We can’t exactly ask ‘Ben’ for more details right now. We already had to sedate him. Let’s check the DNA!”

The DNA pulls up as Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The padawan who brought this guy in two hours ago.

“Huh, that’s weird. Let’s call in Kenobi and ask if he knows what’s going on.”

Obi-Wan absolutely does not know what’s going on.

They ask Luke.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, lying through his teeth and not even pretending otherwise.

“You’re not a very good liar,” teenage Obi-Wan tells him.

“I’m not trying to be,” Luke says. “Can you get Master Yoda? I feel like we’re going to need him.”

They normally wouldn’t get Yoda on the request of a six-year-old, but they also normally don’t have a catatonic thirty-something Jedi who looks like he’s been through a war popping up in the medical database as the pimply teenage padawan that broke his pinky trying to do a Badass Ataru Flip last week.

Or... whatever Luke i... is... oh dear.

“Young one,” Qui-Gon asks, while people whisper-shout behind him, not realizing he’s cutting the Correlian Knot and just asking the kid himself. “Do you know why your midichlorian count is so high? It’s almost unheard of.”

“Uncle Ben said my dad was the Chosen One,” Luke says, because he is capable of being a little shit and is actually really eager to let Ben deal with some of the fallout. He feels for the man, really, but he’s also tired of being the one to field every single question.

Also, the expressions that pass on Qui-Gon’s face are hilarious.

(Luke may or may not be more affected by his six-year-old brain than he would like to admit.)

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon says, sounding more than a little strangled about it.

It takes another three hours for Ben to wake up.

He listens to the questions. He hears what they say his ‘nephew’ said. He looks at Luke.

“Is this revenge for not telling you about Leia?”

“It’s not revenge,” Luke does not lie. “I just don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s pretty easy to explain.”

“It’s not my secret.”

“This is revenge for the Leia thing.”

“No,” Luke says. “Revenge for the Leia thing was when I ate a live frog in front of you.”

This is the point at which someone interrupts and points out that they appear to be stalling.

“Oh, he is,” Luke tells them. He gestures at Ben. “I can’t tell you more, because it’s more his story than mine.”

“I’m afraid, Master, that I am very likely to have an emotional breakdown if I allow myself to consider the reality of this situation for longer than the fraction of a second I already have,” Ben reports, full of false cheer. “Suffice to say, I am far from stable and have only held out this far for Luke’s sake.”

“Can you explain why you have my DNA?” Obi-Wan asks, as the person who’s most concerningly involved in this situation.

“You can,” Ben says, smiling like there is absolutely nothing wrong in the slightest, ever. “I’m you, from the future. I actually died and spent a few years dead before coming back. I’m not sure why I’m younger than I was when I died, but I appreciate being able to put on my shoes without my knees attempting to mutiny.”

“He needs a mind healer,” Luke reiterates, in case the strained grin hasn’t made it clear. “So do I, but not as much.”

“I have felt literally every person in this Temple save for Luke and Yoda die,” Ben reports, looking a shade more manic than a few seconds earlier. “It’s very overwhelming to feel you all being alive again. I may be approaching a mental breakdown, and I’ve been rather strictly advised against using alcohol to treat my traumas again.”

Luke kicks him in the thigh. It’s not a very hard kick, because he is very small, and he does actually like Ben. “I’m not letting you turn into an old drunk again.”

After several seconds of silence, a healer quietly suggests that everyone clear the room, and asks if someone could fetch Master Yoda as the youngling requested.

(THIS IS ALMOST THREE THOUSAND WORDS. I started it less than two hours ago. Why am I like this.)

[wri0thesley]

Ok, now I’m starting to think we’re following the same twitter circles because I saw that yesterday too! ✋😂 Definitely gave me pause to see Scara on there when he’s such a goddamn BRAT, which I admittedly do like but that doesn’t make for much of a daddy. Xiao didn’t belong on there either, you’re right, and at this point I’m genuinely convinced your average twitter user doesn’t understand the actual meaning of any word ever, because the gross misusage is legit out of control over there. I’ve long since given up the discourse lifestyle (or so I tell myself cmdkxmse) but some of the stuff I see truly tests my patience for fandom culture nonsense, as well as my self control to keep my mouth shut 😂

The bizarre obsession they have with “minor coded” characters is absolutely one of those things - for example, did you know that there were people trying to insist both Layla AND professor Faruzan are children? Truly, I wish you could’ve seen my face. 😭 Venti is easily the worst offense tho, I’m right there with you on that. It just doesn’t make sense from any perspective but honestly they probably deserve a medal for all the mental gymnastics they had to do to reach that asinine conclusion. He’s just as much of an old man as Zhongli is. His line at the end of the wine festival about feeling like some kind of grandpa should’ve been proof enough of that. lmao

((Zhongli IS my favorite Archon at least partially because he’s dad, daddy and grandpa all rolled into one 😂 but Venti fits the bill too, just in a different flavor. I’m low key convinced there’s some kind of correlation between that and the fact they’re the last remaining two of the original seven buuut I digress))

I like Nahida a lot too, she ended up being way more likable and charming than I originally thought she’d be but yeah, I’m SO ready to move on and delve deeper into the Deshret mystery instead. 👀 Somehow or another there are people who seem to have actually fallen for Al-Haitham’s bio insisting he’s the most normal, plain and unremarkable person to ever walk Teyvat and they’re starting to give up on the their theories but … if anything I think that just made him look all the more suspicious. lol Normal individuals don’t typically have to go out of their way to ensure they continue to appear normal. It’s very … Yoshikage Kira of him. 😂😂😂 Even if he’s not connected to Deshret (unlikely imo, given Cyno and the priest) I’d say he’s still got something going on behind the scenes and I can’t wait to find out what it is. Frankly tho I’m just so eager to go back to the desert again. It’s easily my favorite area in the game so far and also the Golden Slumber quest was just 10 out of fucking 10 imo. I need to know everything, see everything, experience everything. I also miss Dehya … a LOT. *sniffle* What do I have to do to have her top me? 😭

i follow almost nobody on twitter who posts like actual non-art things but the algorithm does like to show me discourse and lore posts (which . . . ok i won't complain about the second but the FIRST)....

GOD he was so . . . he was so grandpa in the whole of the wine event, i love him so much. he is so fun and lovely and also so melancholy at the same time. venti my beloved.

THE CONSTANT INSISTENCE THAT ALHAITHAM IS JUST A NORMAL NORMAL GUY DOING NORMAL NORMAL THINGS IS THE MOST SUSPECT THING ABOUT HIM. please. i don't like the desert very much (i hate the underground and i liked the first half of the desert quest but i am just avoiding doing the second because it's much less fun with less npcs to hang out with), but hopefully the apparently qol update we're getting that tells you the difference between underground and overground teleports will help there! mondstadt is my favourite region followed by inazuma (though the inazuma archon quest . . . oof). i am however extremely excited about SANDWORMS. i just think they will be cool!

[constellaj]

Can you please talk more about your very cool valerie and cujo concept ? Because honestly that's such a big brain take. I almost always see danny having cujo as a companion but never valerie. Is she going to ride cujo into battles instead of using the hoverboard ?

OKAY SO

in the reboot valerie has actually been fighting ghosts for a WHILE now. actually the audience finds out at the same time danny finds out-- when hes miles high in the sky going after a ghost and this RANDO comes outta nowhere. hold on i have some super rough sketches i did the other day for these bits

the "red huntress" is, according to her, Amity Parks *ONLY* ghost-busting superhero, and amity doesn't need another one;

at school of course danny is complaining about this rando getting on his case (he has no idea who she is) and hes rambling and yelling like "who does she think she IS??? i'm the SUPERHERO AROUND HERE" and sam just blankfacedly goes "dude, shes been superheroing for longer than you." tucker/sam pull up an article on valerie and her stunts from a while ago (altho shes of course just a "mysterious figure" and is more often than not cited as a cryptid, because at this point in the story ghosts are still largely a superstition in amity park) (to elaborate a little, my amity park isnt haunted primarily because of the fenton portal, but it just happens to be a ghost hotspot; val has been fending off ghosts for a couple years now)

at the same time theres also parallels between val/danny regarding the superheroing thing, eg val's dad would think its a waste of her time or too dangerous, etc. the above panel isnt like a final concept but i think it would be rly neat/funny if val also had a friend or two who was the sam/tucker to her secret identity (cant have it be paulina or dash tho bc reasons)

val brings cujo with her everywhere and he just sits in her backpack and he looks. real dumb. and causes so many problems.

danny is never gonna figure out her secret identity btw and she’ll never figure out his i just like it more that way (well except for the big plot twist/finale-ish episode but thats besides the point)

ANYWAY backstory ive rambled long enough as is dancing around the point UHHHHHHHHHHHH

cujo is valerie’s dog. also a halfa

(old art, no longer final)

val has had cujo since before he was a ghost he is just a very excitable lil pubby and she loves him very much

BASICALLY wulf (who is more of a typical wolf/dog and way more malicious) opened up a portal directly ON cujo a couple years ago as an attack

(last one is old art)

but because of how danny phantom rules are, this turned cujo into a halfa instead of outright killing him. this whole Incident(TM) of course gave val an anti-ghost vendetta in 0 seconds flat and now shes got it out for every ghost in amity, wulf especially. after getting over the terror that is your puppy now being able to shapeshift into a MASSIVE GLOWING GREEN DOG, she learned how to train cujo to use his ghostly abilities to their advantage so they can protect amity park better! in ‘normal form’ cujo still looks like a completely average dog (and has more difficulty flying etc without specific commands) so its not really suspicious

valerie hand-made everything else she uses to fight ghosts, including the costume and whatever weapons she has (I still haven’t decided on a signature weapon)-- no hoverboard at all (yet. seasons progress), instead, yes, she rides Cujo into battle! with a few whistles/commands she can have him fly, turn intangible, etc, helping them stay in pursuit of anything that dares attack amity park

i really wanted to keep cujo tied with valerie bc it felt weird to me that he was only used in getting val her powers and then just. didnt come up again (i know the afterlife “moving on” bit was implied but. youd think val would at least adopt a dog later or something). and i also really wanted to cut out vlad giving val her stuff and instead give her her own agency- she is a black belt, after all. so this is the final concept, and man am i pleased w it :)

she still hates danny and they end up being like absolute rivals and she doesnt trust a ghost as far as she can throw it but it becomes more of a bickering-over-how-to-save-the-day one than her directly trying to kill him (until he fucks up, majorly, and even then danny also gets on HER nerves intentionally because, hello, he’s the GHOST EXPERT here). and of course of course the ending of the red huntress DEBUT episode is 100% them having to set aside their differences and work together to defeat Wulf and his owner

[wolf-and-bard]

The Geraskier Soccer Parents AU of my dreams (in an early morning strike of weird-brain):

-Geralt knows he isn't the best dad ever. He tries so goddamn hard, but his job is demanding and consumes so much time and even with Ciri being seven already, he still has essentially no clue what he's doing. He sometimes falls into bed, half-dead, and she is the one to give him a good-night kiss. He sometimes forgets she prefers cheese and puts ham on her sandwiches. He is sometimes too happy to have her sleep over at her friends rather than invite them to their house. He doesn't read her all the children's classics, doesn't go trick-or-treating with her, doesn't even pretend Santa Claus is a thing. He isn't the best dad ever. He tries.

-There is one thing he never, ever fails to do and that is take Ciri to soccer practice. Ciri picks up and drops hobbies, interests, even tastes by the week, still unsure what she wants to pursue, but soccer isn't only her favourite pastime, it's theirs. Practice is twice a week and they have a ritual for it. Geralt picks her up from school and drives her there, she tells him about what the dumb boys in her class said, how her art project is going etc. Geralt is there throughout practice, tucked in between Foltest - a guy who is constantly worried for his daughter Adda to get hurt and also very much anxious for her to do well - and Tissaia - a woman who has not one, but three girls in Ciri's age group and several more in others, and knits like a magician - and watches. He takes notes, silently cheers for Ciri.

-After their games and while Ciri changes, Geralt chats with her coach Vesemir - who used to be Geralt's coach, but now prefers to train the girls' teams - about the progress of the team, upcoming tournaments etc. Sometimes when Vesemir is indisposed, Geralt even leads the practice. When Ciri is all done, Tissaia usually has another hat or mitten finished and Geralt and her drive with their girls to whatever food place the girls are in the mood for. They have an early dinner in which Tissaia lectures the girls on their form and in which Ciri is sometimes allowed to sit on Geralt's lap - but only if Fringilla or Yen don't tease hear about it - but in which she definitely gets to steal his milkshake (Geralt hates milkshakes). Geralt only praises her when they're back in the car and Ciri tells him he's too much of a softie with her and should be more like Tissaia. Should maybe marry Tissaia. They both laugh because that is never going to happen.

-Life is good that way. It's not perfect, it's not without bumps, certainly not without tears and scrapes, but whatever the job, whatever injury Geralt carries with him, however long he has to drive, he never, never ever misses soccer practice.

-The season's just kicked off in the year of Ciri's eighth birthday when Geralt and her arrive early on the field to find the stands empty save for a girl in the most ridiculously colorful excercise clothes and blond hair that is braided intricately around her head. With her is a man, maybe five years Geralt's junior. Ciri bolts towards them with a bright grin and Geralt is hesitant to follow. He knows neither the girl nor the man, but from what he can gather she wants to join the team which is just what they need as they're one girl short this season. "Hi, I'm Ciri, I adore your braids." Geralt holds back on the eye-roll. It's nice Ciri can make friends this easily, but his house already is a shrine for role-playing and board games, dolls and random DVDs and another friend means more things Ciri will want to try out. "Thank you," the girl replies and tilts her head to better show them off. "My uncle Jaskier braided them for me, I'm sure he can do yours too." Both girls look up expectantly at the man and Geralt only really notices him then. He is averagely built with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. His floral print shirt has three open buttons and his pants barely reach his ankles. He has the look of a flippant music teacher or a hipster coffeeshop owner. His eyes meets Geralt's and, wait, did he just wink? "I'd love to, dear," he says in a smooth voice that absolutely does not go straight to Geralt's guts. Geralt turns on the spot and decides to pressure check the balls, but he can hear the others giggling as Jaskier braids Ciri's hair. "I'm Priscilla by the way. What's up with your dad?" - "Oh, don't mind him, he's bad with meeting new people." - "Very intense." That's Jaskier. Oh, Geralt will show him intense.

-Ciri invites them to their after-practice dinner. Geralt wants to begrudge her that, but she and Priscilla have latched onto each other in record speed and Jaskier actually fights Tissaia on some of her more strict stances and he braids Yen's and Sabrina's hair too, only Fringilla doesn't want him to touch hers which he respects. Geralt and Tissaia glance at each other. Come to a silent agreement. They may not befriend Jaskier, but he's sunny and so good with the girls and they can use someone like him among their ranks, someone who doesn't have Calanthe's tendency for swear words or Crach's tendency to break out beer in the middle of practice or even Nenneke's tendency to relate everything to the workings of god.

-Jaskier is as faithful as Geralt, perhaps the only one who shows up every time without fail. Shani's parents only drop her off and Crach switches between  Cerys' and Hjalmar's practices and Tissaia sometimes texts Geralt to pick up her girls. Jaskier is there, every time, earlier than any of the others. He chats with Vesemir about his day-to-day, brings home-baked cookies for everyone, he cheers and whoops and tries very hard to understand soccer even though it's evident he doesn't. Geralt never wonders why it's him and not Priscilla's parents that come, it's none of his business. He begins to tolerate Jaskier, but he knows that is where he has to draw the line. He has his hands full with Ciri and his job and his brothers too. He can't afford friendships that extend beyond the field.

-Jaskier doesn't let him off though. He always takes the spot next to Geralt (technically an improvement over Foltest's sweaty visage) and prattles on and on, at least until the game begins. When it does, Jaskier divides his attention between the girls and the stack of paper on his lap which he annotates during practice. It's often either sheet music or the illegible scrawl of pre-teens or wonkily drawn instruments. Jaskier already told him, but from that too it is obvious that Geralt's hunch was right, he is a music teacher. Geralt finds his eyes darting to Jaskier's long fingers, nimble and calloused from the various string instruments he plays. Finds himself glancing at where Jaskier's tongue peeks out in concentration. He listens to the man's ramblings and hums his replies and comes to dislike the days when Vesemir isn't there and he has to focus all his attention on giving the girls a good practice. Not that he doesn't want to, it's just that having Jaskier at his back unnerves him.

-(Jaskier for his part doesn’t care at all about soccer, but he cares about Priscilla so he convinced her parents to let him take her; after that, she said it would be fine if he dropped her off and picked her up again, but Jaskier pretends he is super invested in the sport and the team and he is, but mostly he’s invested in charming Geralt)

-After an entire season of mutual pining and obliviousness, Tissaia decides she's had enough and rallies the other parents. She has Foltest organize a big party at his country house, has Nenneke promise to look after the girls (the woman doesn't drink) and has Crach whip out the finest spirits he has in storage. Calanthe makes a phenomenal playlist and it's Tissaia's job to get Geralt to the party (Jaskier's not a problem) and dress up nicely. Only Aridea, Renfri's stepmother, refuses to pitch in, but she's been a bitch anyway.

-When Geralt picks up Jaskier at his downtown flat he has to grip the wheel of his rover hard in order not to short-circuit. Jaskier has done something to his hair that Geralt can't name but that makes him go woozy inside. He wears a plain shirt that compliments his eyes and hugs his body just right and he looks high on life with color in his cheeks and the most dazzling smile. He's gorgeous. "Darling, don't you look dashing," Jaskier says excitedly and props his feet up on the dashboard, only after kissing Geralt on the cheek. Which is not fair. "Likewise," Geralt mutters, then blushes furiously. He didn't want that to come out, oh no. Jaskier either didn't hear or acts like it and they drive in silence to Foltest's country house. Well, aside from the songs Jaskier hums under his breath, some new composition no doubt.

-At first, Geralt thinks it's a nice enough party for someone who doesn't like parties. Foltest's grilling burgers, they all have cocktails, the music is mellow. Not that that stops Jaskier from swirling an already quite drunk Calanthe over the terrace in dazzling moves. Geralt wants to be swirled like that. "You really have it bad, don't you?" Crach comments when he notices Geralt staring. Geralt downs his beer (he's no cocktail drinker) and tries pointedly not to stare at how Jaskier's swinging his ass around.

-The buzz makes it easier and he relieves Foltest at the barbecue for a bit. But then Jaskier walks up to him, a little short on breath and grinning his most flirtatious little grin. It gives him fucking dimples. Sigh. "Hey you big strong man," Jaskier says. He smells like pineapple and coconut, but isn't even a little drunk. "Jask," he says, pointedly flipping a burger. "Foltest says he has an old karaoke machine in the shed, but it's too heavy for me. Help me?" - "...fine." Geralt gestures for Foltest to keep up with the meat and he and Jaskier make their way along a garden path that winds through thickets and by a small pond. The shed is painted blue and white and Geralt and Jaskier find it very much cluttered, but not dirty which is nice. Geralt only understands it's a trap when it's already sprung on them. The tiny click of the look is almost inaudible over Jaskier's anxious commentary of their search for the machine. There is only one small window and no light Geralt can see. Fuck.

-"Ehm, Jaskier?" he reaches out and gently touches Jaskier's shoulder which has the other man yelp and jump. Which doesn't bode well for what Geralt has to tell him. "I think we're trapped." The effect is immediate. Jaskier goes rigid, his breath catches. Is he afraid? Claustrophobic perhaps? Shit, so he can't be in on the joke. "Jask?" - "Geralt. I know we aren't the closest, but I need you to hold me right now." And he launches himself at Geralt. Maybe he is in on the joke? No, he's trembling too hard for that. Geralt catches him and does as asked. "I am absolutely going to die," Jaskier whines into Geralt's neck and Geralt can't help a small chuckle as he rubs Jaskier's back soothingly. This is... surprisingly nice for a trap. Also likely Tissaia's doing. Geralt has a rare idea. "What if I distract you until someone finds us?" he murmurs against Jaskier's hair and Jaskier draws back a little. In the half-dark his eyes glisten, widen when they meet Geralt's. "You would?" - "Close your eyes, Jaskier." Geralt feels a surge of daring, perhaps granted by the intimacy and seclusion of the situation. He catches Jaskier's lips with his own. When they part, Jaskier grins, shaking from something other than fear. "I thought you didn’t much like me," he whispers. "I thought I got on your nerves." - "Idiot." They kiss again and, faintly, Geralt can hear someone cheer from outside.

[jengajives]

Part two of my modern au. will Daeron ever actually meet the family? I don’t know

The Fëanorian house was big. Daeron probably should have expected it, just given the rumors he had heard before he even met Maglor, but it still surprised him with its immensity. It seemed a vast and artificial thing to him- somewhat unsettling if he was being honest- but the Noldorin leaning had always been toward excess and showmanship rather than the subtle, natural beauty his people preferred, so it was easy to calmly set his nervousness aside as simple culture shock. The lack of green anywhere beyond the perfectly manicured garden out front did make him feel somewhat squirmy inside, though; entering that glass and concrete beast was a daunting thought, even when he tried to explain it away. “We’re here!” Maglor said with a sort of nauseous cheeriness that conveyed no particular optimism. “Last chance to turn back.” Daeron craned his neck to get a look at the upper floors, currently glaring with an echo of the sunset behind them. “Wow.” “Dad designed it. It’s pretty, right?” Maglor actually looked over, read Daeron’s expression, and hastily went on. “Pretty horrible. Yeah. Really bad. Let’s go in.” As Daeron stepped onto the ceramic driveway, he was floored by another revelation: he had always thought Maglor’s car to be quite showy, maybe even to the point of tackiness, but seeing the other eight cars lined up nicely on the drive made him quickly change his mind about the rather conservative little blue Porsche. The first one he noticed was the cherry red supercar- it was hard not to look at it, to be honest, because it resembled a spaceship more than any other vehicle Daeron had ever seen. If he was ever unlucky enough to be standing behind it when someone turned the engine on, he’d pretty sure he’d get his eyebrows burned off or something. There was a Rolls-Royce parked next to it, painted a more subtle shade of midnight purple. Behind the two, a restored muscle car sat alongside an old hot rod, both opposite shades of green that made Daeron feel itchy to look at for some reason, and then came the pickup truck. It was the tallest car he had ever seen, iridescent black-to-green, and fitted with a downright obscene array of racks, lights, and speciality equipment, and with a deer skull mounted to the hood. One yellow Jeep and a small grey SUV looked very out of place at the front of the driveway even though they absolutely should not. Maglor had noticed him looking, so he pointed out who each car belonged to, but Daeron was so overwhelmed that everything went completely over his head. He did manage to pick out that the normal-looking ones belonged to Maedhros and to Maglor’s mother, though, and that was the only thing his overwhelmed brain could think of clinging onto. At least two of these people were a little bit normal-ish, at least. He could do this. While he stood staring at the cars, Maglor went on ahead, and he had to scurry to catch up. “Aren’t your parents divorced?” “Yeah.” Maglor gave him a look like that was the dumbest question he’d ever heard. For just a brief moment, Daeron worried it was, until he remembered which of them had a better handle on average family dynamics (ironically, it was the one without a family). “Then why is your mom coming to dinner?” “Why wouldn’t she?” They stopped in front of a big metal door, on what was the most intimidating porch he had ever seen. “She comes every month.” Daeron started to tell him that was weird, but Maglor was already reaching out to open the door, and he didn’t want to be overheard, so he just canned it and tried to look polite. As soon as the knob turned, Daeron was attacked by what appeared to be a red-brown blur. It burst from the cracked door and rammed into his chest with enough force to easily through him to the concrete, and Daeron couldn’t muffle a cry when he saw the glint of cruel yellow teeth and eyes belonging to a creature that knew exactly where it had to bite to end his life. Hot breath panted across his face, and a single line of drool drizzled nicely across the bridge of his nose. He was about to actually scream when he heard a sharp whistle and an even sharper voice. “Huan!” Immediately the creature bounded off Daeron’s chest and pranced out of sight. He only realized it was a dog when he saw the bristle tail swishing happily behind it. Maglor appeared above him instead, face swimming with concern. “Oh Valar. Are you okay?” “Sorry, chief!” Someone shouldered Maglor out of the way to fill Daeron’s view himself. One of the brothers already. Wonderful. “He’s still a puppy. Thinks everyone wants to play. I’m sure you know how that is!” The newcomer had the same basic facial features as Maglor, but he looked sharper all over, from the jaw to the cheekbones, even the teeth. When he grinned, Daeron got the impression he was a rabbit being played with before the meal. His hair was an unusual shade of pale blond, not quite Sindar silver, which Daeron had never seen on a Noldo before. It was almost white and caught the red of the sunset like melted wax. When Daeron realized he was being offered a hand, he took it and let Mystery Fëanorian Number One lift him to his feet. “You must be Mags’s new guy, huh?” The predatory grin flashed again. It was probably supposed to be disarming, but it put Daeron so on edge he jumped when the man clapped him on the shoulder. “Sindar, huh? Excellent. Amrod is going to owe me thirty bucks. Hey, Caranthir really isn’t going to like this, Mags.” He glanced around Daeron to where Maglor was standing stiff and awkward, face a mask of horrified embarrassment. “Dad probably won’t either.” “Celegorm...” Maglor finally groaned. His brother didn’t let him finish. “Hey, either of you want a smoke?” He tugged a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his worn-down jeans and held it towards the two of them. Because he was wearing just a white t-shirt that looked like it hadn’t been washed in a couple weeks, Daeron could see plenty of exposed skin, and the tattoos that covered Celegorm head to toe. Lots of deers, trees, wolves, and the like, though he did spot a rifle or two and a couple naked ladies as well. He had the words “WOLF PACK” printed across his knuckles. “No, thank you,” Maglor said flatly as he reached over to rest his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders. Daeron relaxed just a little bit at the touch. “Suit yourself.” Celegorm shrugged. He patted his thigh and the massive red dog came trotting over again; Daeron swore it gave him a dirty look as it followed its master by. “Have fun in there,” called Celegorm over his shoulder. “It’s just starting to kick off.” Daeron waited until he and his dog had wandered out of earshot before he managed a few strangled words. “Is he the one who... fucked Oromë?” “Yep, that’s him.” Daeron stared, dumbfounded, and slowly shook his head. “Charming.” “Do you still want to go inside?” Maglor asked weakly, and Daeron just nodded. He had come this far. Time to dive in.

[fanficsandthings]

Through the Years

A George Weasley Fanfiction 

A George Weasley x Slytherin reader story. Each chapter shares events in one year of George and reader's life together, starting in their first year of Hogwarts.

Word Count: 3.8k

Chapter 1: The Journey to Hogwarts

It had been a warm, sunny day when you heard an owl screech outside. You watched from the window as it swooped in by your front door, carrying a small letter in its talons. The brown tawny owl sat on the sidewalk for just a second before it hurried away again. You watched it disappear into the distant blue sky. As you walked to the front door you could see that your father was clutching the letter to his chest. It took him a good five minutes of staring at it before he handed it to you. It was your Hogwarts letter. You had been waiting all year to receive it, and your father was overjoyed now that you had. 

You weren’t exactly sure why he was so happy, but you caught him almost sobbing into your mother’s shoulder later that night when they thought you had gone to sleep. You thought for a moment that he was mad about your letter, but after you listened to them speak for a minute you realized that they were happy tears. You had grown up around magic your whole life. Your uncle and your grandparents were all brilliant wizards. Your mother was a muggle, sure, but that didn’t make you think that you wouldn’t get into Hogwarts. You didn’t show any magical ability until you were almost 10, but that fact never really crossed your mind growing up. You had gotten mad at your father one day, for something you couldn’t even remember now, but you were 9, and all that childlike anger boiled up inside you. It burned hotter and hotter until your face was burning red, and then the teacup that your father had on his side table exploded, sending scalding hot liquid onto the carpet and armchair. You expected him to be mad with you, furious even, but instead he had calmly asked if you caused that to happen. You said yes and then tried to quickly explain how you didn’t mean it, but you were cut off. You were being enveloped in a crushing hug and your dad picking you up and spinning and laughing. Laughing? Why was he laughing? You had just ruined his favorite teacup and spilled tea all over the floor. He set you down and took you by the shoulders. “I’m so proud of you.” You looked over at the mess you created, and he waved it off. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll clean it up. You’ve got magic!” He stood up and quickly ran into the next room, searching for your mother. You could hear him laughing down the hallway. “She’s a witch! I can’t believe she’s actually a witch!” Just over a year later, when your letter came, he was as overjoyed as he was the day with the tea. The next day you set out to London to buy all of your supplies. Your mother had stayed at home, but you and your father met up with your uncle in Diagon Alley. He and your father both worked at the Ministry together. He worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, while your father worked in close contact with the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He worked mainly in Muggle Studies, helping the Ministry to learn more about the average muggle. You were told once that it was one of the lowest jobs you could get at the Ministry, but your father seemed to enjoy it. It was how he had met your mother after all. You learned then to do your own research on matters, instead of just taking other people’s opinions as your own.   Once you had gotten all your supplies from Diagon Alley, you separated from your uncle to head back out into London. You were admiring your new wand, and the fine intricacies on it, when your father stopped to say hello to someone. The man he stopped was an odd looking fellow, with bright red hair sticking up from the top of his head. His clothed screamed pure-blood wizard to you, as they matched almost perfectly with what your grandparents wore; an old robe and a handmade vest. Your father introduced you to the man in front of him as Arthur Weasley, a coworker of his. You waved at him shyly before going back to studying your wand; you wanted to know every fine detail of it. You looked it up and down, from end to tip, ran your fingers over the wood to feel the texture of it. You were about to put it up to your mouth to see what it tasted like when another shock of red hair appeared in your peripheral vision. You looked up, tongue hanging slightly out of your mouth, wand inches from it. Two boys had appeared at Arthur’s side. They looked exactly the same and you had to blink a couple times to make sure you weren’t seeing double. Arthur apparently had twin sons. They were both wearing sweaters that looked almost similar to the ones your grandmother made you, but theirs had letters on them in bright gold yarn. An “F” and a “G.” “These are my boys, Fred and George,” Arthur introduced them. “Well, two of my boys. The others stayed at home for this trip. The twins are enough to handle by myself.” They both turned to look at you. You quickly brought your tongue back into your mouth and dropped your wand to the side. Before they could get a word out to you, their father said goodbye to yours and grabbed them both by their sweaters to push them past you. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” your dad called as Arthur walked away. He turned to you. “Those boys are in the same year as you. Maybe you’ll end up in the same house and can become friends.” You turned to look at the way they went. You could hardly see through the crowd and were just barely able to spot the redheaded father. Only one of the twins appeared to be with Arthur, and for a second you were concerned that the other had gotten lost in the crowd. Suddenly, a face appeared in front of yours. “Fred tied your shoelaces together while you were staring at your wand,” was all he said before he ducked back into the crowd. He headed back towards his father, who was now searching for him, calling out his name. It seemed that George was the nicer of the two twins. You looked down at your feet, and sure enough, they were tied together. One step and you would’ve been face first into the cobblestone. Why the one felt it necessary to come all the way back here just to tell you his brother was a bit of a jerk, you weren’t sure, but you appreciated it. Maybe you could be friends with at least George. Fred, you weren’t so sure about. You looked up at your father to see if he had anything to say, but he was staring at a map of London he had taken out of his pocket. He hadn’t seemed to notice the boy come back at all. ------------------------- September 1st, 1989 snuck up on you faster than you had ever expected it. You spent the last few days of your summer holiday with your muggle friends, as you knew you wouldn’t see them again until at least Christmas. It was hard to say goodbye to them, but at the same time you couldn’t be more excited to make friends who were actually magical like you were. Your father had an emergency at work, so it was your uncle who took you to King’s Cross that day in London. The station was busy and full of Muggles, but it was easy for him to find the correct platform, as he had been there multiple times before. You stopped for a moment to watch a few families make their way through the wall and onto the platform. Still a little bit nervous about using magic to this caliber, you had to be encouraged by your uncle to go through the wall. He took your trolley from you and stood you perfectly center facing the brick. “It’s really quite simple,” he said, bending down to your level. He pointed at the stones in front of you. “Just run straight at it. It won’t hurt you. I’ll take care of your luggage.” You nodded your head and took in a deep breath. Letting out the breath, you started with a jog, picking up the pace as you neared the wall. Your eyes closed when you were within inches of the wall, preparing for the impact. When no impact came, you opened your eyes to see the steam engine in front of you. Your feet stopped moving immediately. You turned around, a big smile on your face, to see your uncle enter behind you. “Welcome to the Hogwarts Express.” He bent down in front of you again to be at your eye level. “Remember, your father is very proud of you. He’s absolutely gutted that he can’t be here, but he wanted me to give you this.” He reached into the bag he was carrying and pulled out a disposable camera. One like what your mother would use when you went on holiday. “He wants you to use this to create memories and to remember the important ones. You can get it developed when you come home for Christmas.” You nodded at him in understanding. “Now, most of the pure-blood students probably won’t know what this is, so don’t let them get you down for using Muggle technology.” “There’s nothing wrong with Muggle technology,” you told him, matter of factly. “Some of it’s even cooler than magic.” He chuckled slightly at that. “I know, I know. But some wizards think everything made by Muggles is rubbish. Just ignore them.” “Or I could show them how cool it really is,” you said, reaching out for the camera. “Yeah, or you could do that.” He stood up in front of you. “Before I give this to you, I need a picture. Smile.” You stood in front of the train engine with the goofiest of grins on your face. Your uncle snapped the picture quickly and then handed you the camera. “Remember there’s only 26 pictures left on that,” he quickly informed you. “If you make a friend who has an owl, you can always write your mum to send you another one if you run out.” “Will do. Thank you.” You reached towards him and gave him a quick, tight hug. The clock on the wall behind him read 10:55. “I gotta go! Thank you again!” You ran off towards the train as he shouted his goodbye back at you. -------------------------- Finding a compartment to sit in was relatively hard, as they were mostly filled with upperclassmen. Towards the back of the train you eventually found a compartment with two familiar boys in it. They sat on opposite seats near the window, tossing something between the two of them. You knocked on the glass as you slid the door open. “Do you mind if I sit here?” “You sure about that?” one of them asked. “Percy didn’t warn you about us?” “I don’t know who this Percy is,” you told them, stepping into the compartment. “Why would he be warning people about you.” You sat down next to the twin who had on a blue sweater. The other one was wearing brown. “Percy’s our older brother. A third year,” Blue Sweater told you. “He’s been telling people that we’ll prank them if they share a compartment with us,” Brown Sweater said. They continued to toss the small object between the two of them. “Well one of you has already tried to prank me,” you said, looking between the two of them. “But the other one told me about it. So I know I can trust at least one of you.” Brown Sweater stopped suddenly, the small object in his hand. “You told her!?” He tossed the object at his brother, who threw his hands over his face in defense. The object bounced off his forearm, and you caught it as it headed your way. It seemed to be just a small rubber ball. The one who you now assumed was Fred continued yelling at his brother. “It’s not much of a prank if you tell them about it before it happens! I don’t know how I can even call you my brother anymore.” He folded his arms and pouted as he looked out the window at the passing hills. “Fred, stop being so dramatic,” George said. “She was a stranger. And our dads work together.” “You’re lying,” Fred said, now looking at George. “You told her because you think she’s cute.” Now both you and George froze. You could feel the tips of your ears burning hot. You squeezed the ball tightly in your hand as a sort of distraction from this conversation. George mumbled out some sort of defense, but you didn’t hear it. You were too focused on your hand, which now held some sort of slimy black goo. The ball had dissolved when you squeezed it hard enough. “You tricky little gremlins,” you mumbled, caused them to stop their bickering to look at you. “No wonder no one wanted to sit with you.” You stood up, the goo dripped off your hand and onto the carpet. You reached for the door with your good hand. “Hey, we didn’t mean to get you with that, we’re sorry,” George said. You could hear the sincerity in his voice. “Yeah, you’re the one who caught the ball,” Fred said. You turned around and held your black covered hand out towards Fred. “Catch this,” you said, pushing your hand quickly into his face. You let out a wave of laughter as you pulled your hand away and looked at Fred’s face. The goo had gotten into his hair and matted his eyebrows and smeared down the side of his face. George let out a snort as he got a look at his brother. “Good one,” he said, holding up his hand for a high five. You grinned as you slapped your hand against his, sending goo spraying against the train window. “Didn’t think that one through, did you.” “No, no I didn't,” George said, wiping his hand on the seat he was sitting on. You both looked over at Fred, who was still trying to get the goo off of his face, also wiping the contents on his seat. “You okay there, Freddie?” George asked his brother. Fred looked up at him and then over at you. “Yeah, just thinking of a way to get even is all.” “Good luck with that,” you said, reaching for your camera. The twins looked at you curiously. You snapped a picture of Fred’s face, still covered in goo. “What’re you doing?” Fred asked. “Blackmail,” you simply explained, stuffing the camera back in your bag. ---------------------- “Five other siblings?!” you questioned, quite exhausted from the thought of that large a family. “I couldn’t even imagine.” “Yes, unfortunately,” Fred said. “You’re sure to meet Percy and Charlie soon. They’re third and sixth years. Both Gryffindors. Our whole family has been Gryffindors, actually.” “I suppose that means you two are hoping to get the same,” you mused at them. They both laughed. “Not so much as hoping,” George said. “We’re more expecting. Family tradition and all.” “But it’s gonna be awfully dreadful if we get stuck in the same house as Percy for five years,” Fred added. You laughed at that. The twins really had an odd way of viewing their brother. “What about you?” George asked, lightly elbowing you in the arm. “Hhmmm? What about me?” you asked, looking up at him. “Siblings? Family house traditions?” George pressed further. “Oh no. None of that. I’m an only child,” you told them. “Grandparents were both Hufflepuffs and my uncle was a Ravenclaw.” “And your parents?” Fred asked. “My mother is actually a Muggle,” you informed them. “And my dad didn’t go to Hogwarts.” They both seemed taken aback by that statement. “Didn’t go to Hogwarts?” George asked. “Did his parents ship him off to a different country?” Fred added. “No,” you simply stated. “He went to a Muggle school. He doesn’t have magic.” “No way!” they both said, basically shouting at you. You were slightly shocked by their sudden change in attitude. “Your dad is a squib?” Fred questioned you. You looked between the two of them, severely confused at this point. “I’ve never heard that word before.” “A squib is a person who doesn’t have magical powers, but their parents do. Basically the opposite of a Muggle-born wizard,” Fred explained to you. “They’re very rare,” George continued. “The caretaker at Hogwarts is actually a squib. He’s the only we’ve ever heard of before.” You thought over this new information for a moment. “I guess it’s true that he was born to a pure-blood family, but I always thought it was normal for some wizards’ children to not have magic. Just like, as you said, some Muggle’s randomly have children with magic.” “That logic does make sense when you look at it that way,” George said. It was silent for a moment before Fred asked another question. “How did your dad get a job at the Ministry if he doesn’t have magic?” “Working in muggle studies, you don’t need much magic,” you explained to them. “Plus my uncle also works for the Ministry, and he put in a good word for him.” You sat in silence for another couple minutes. You weren’t quite sure what to say anymore after that conversation. It was getting late and you were to be at Hogwarts within the hour. “Hey,” George said next to you. “Yeah?” you asked him. “If I were you, I’d be careful with who you share that information about your father with,” he said. “Because some pure-bloods think everything made by Muggles is rubbish?” you asked, finishing his thoughts for him. “Well I wouldn’t put it that way,” he said. He mulled over his thoughts for a second. When he spoke again, it was soft, like he didn’t really want to say what he was saying. “But yeah. Some pure-bloods think they’re above everyone who is of mixed blood or Muggle-born. With your blood status, I don’t even know what they’d think.” “What about your family?” you asked, looking between the two of them. Suddenly you were very worried that you were telling your whole life story to two boys who were basically strangers. “What?” Fred asked. “You’re pure-bloods,” you said to them. “But your dad reminded me very much of my pure-blood grandparents. And my grandparents would never think like that.” “Neither would we,” Fred said, his brown eyes lacking any hint of mischievousness for the first time since you met him. “Our family doesn’t have much,” George said, “so we know what it’s like to be looked down on by other pure-bloods.” You let out a sigh and looked out the window at the darkening sky. The stars would be out soon, and they were sure to look pretty glittering over the lake by the castle. “I’m sorry that I accused you of that,” you said, tearing your eyes away from the window to look first at George, who quickly darted his eyes away from yours, then at Fred, who held your eye contact. “No worries,” Fred replied. “How about I make it up to you by showing you this,” you said, rummaging around in your bag. You pulled out the camera. “This is a disposable camera. It just takes pictures. Not any of the magical moving pictures, but pictures nonetheless. My dad wanted me to have it to capture memories.” “What kind of memories?” George asked, looking at you again. “Happy ones, I suppose,” you told them. “But also sad ones. One’s that make me feel like I want to remember the moment, no matter what. And you know what? I’d like to remember my first train ride forever. Would you two mind taking a picture with me?” The twins looked at each other and then back to you. “I don’t see why not,” they both said. You looked out into the corridor of the train and spotted a student who looked to be a year or two older than you. You got her to take a picture for you and thanked her as she walked away. “Do we get to see the picture?” George asked expectantly. “Not until I get them developed over Christmas holiday,” you informed them. “That’s months away!” they both exclaimed, falling back into their seats. Even though you had been apprehensive of Fred to begin with, you were quickly growing to like both of the twins. Looking over at Fred, he still had bits of black goo stuck in his hair. You were sure it would take a couple showers to fully wash out. Sitting back down next to George, you sat a little too close to him, your shoulders brushing as you tried to get comfortable. Quickly, you moved a couple more inches away, having remembered the comment Fred had made earlier. You could feel your ears burning hot again, and glancing at George out of the corner of your eye, you were positive that his ears were red too. ------------------------ The twins were right about their family tradition, as the sorting hat was barely on their heads before it sorted them both into Gryffindor. An older redheaded boy was cheering excitedly as they sat down at the table next to him and another redhead. As you walked up to stand in front of everyone to be sorted, you could feel your heart racing. You weren’t nervous; it didn’t matter where you were sorted, as you had no ill feelings towards any house. The scary part was the uncertainty of the future that awaited you. If you got sorted into Gryffindor, you were sure to remain friends with the twins. If it was any other house, you weren’t sure. The thought of maybe losing the first two friends you had made here was what scared you the most. You cautiously sat down on the stool, your eyes turning to the sea of students in front of you. You found Fred and George in the crowd, and they both gave you thumbs ups. Smiling back at them, you let out a deep breath. The hat was placed on your head, and you could hear it contemplating for a few seconds. “I know exactly where you should go,” it said. “Already?” you asked, looking up at the brim. “Yes, I’m quite certain,” it said. You sat in silence for another few seconds before it shouted out “Slytherin!”

[okay-victoria]

Random Personal Rant

For anyone somehow here not from the original thread, this started off me getting asked what finishing school is and me getting shit off my chest that is only mildly relevant about how I could both be of the social class that gets sent to finishing school and grows up on welfare.

With an understanding that in many parts of the world it wouldn't qualify as so, as far as the US goes, my dad is from what counts as a very old money family from Baltimore & Philadelphia. Both his siblings went to college and one now owns a major hedge fund, and his sister is married to a C-level executive at a huge conglomerate. His parents went to college. His grandparents went to college. All eight of his great grandparents went to college. My dad...did not go to college. He was not about that life, and while I don't mean it as an insult, when I say his primary occupation until I was ~5 was a drummer in a mediocre band I mean that he opened for a lot of great acts, and if you lived in the Boston to Atlanta area in the 80s you may have heard him play, but he was never a huge national name. But he wasn't an amateur band playing for free at some random local gig either.

My mom grew up on a chicken farm in a Mennonite family in Pennsylvania but also completely rejected her heritage and became a model, sort of like my father, of mediocre status. Not Giselle Bundchen, but had national contracts and if you have a Graco ad/box from 1990-1993 you might see both me and her on it. They met because my mom's friends placed bets, one each, on who could sleep with a member of their favorite local band first and my mom picked my dad and...my mom was actually supposed to go be a model in Tokyo and found out she was pregnant with me and couldn't go 😂

So, after my parents had two kids back to back with a third on the way and determined they needed lifestyles more in line with having three children, they became much poorer than they originally were because my mom stopped working and my dad, with a barely-passed-high-school education but needing a true "day job" worked day labor in construction. My dad's father was too proud to give us money/help if my dad didn't beg for it; despite having eventually four young children my dad never did so we ended up on all the state assistance programs one could imagine. My grandma jokes that dinners at my parents house were BYOC - bring your own chair, because we didn't own any.

My mother and paternal grandmother had no such pride issues and I live in eternal gratitude that my welfare childhood was not as crappy as it should have been because my grandmother would have my mom accompany her on grocery runs and buy us food without my father or grandfather knowing, and every Christmas and birthday my grandparents/godparents could give us the one big ticket gift all the kids wanted that year. But, on the other side, I once got stung by a bee inside my mouth because my brother threw a hairbrush through a cracked window at me and broke it and we couldn't afford to fix it for about two years and a hornet got in one day and rested himself in my coke can (my parents were the very American type that fed me coca-cola in baby bottles at age 8 when I was jealous of my younger siblings lol).

It is hard not to believe in "toxic masculinity" when two men warring over dumbass pride issues would rather their children/grandchildren go without food than suck it up and decide 'help' isn't the worst word in the English language, and you know you've only been saved by two women who came from totally different backgrounds and entirely disapproved of each other but reached out the hand to shake when it came down to toddlers getting the short end of the don't-bend-the-knee stick. It wasn't that either of the men were bad people, I loved them both and got along great with both, but on a societal level I feel they were socialized in a very fucked up way if that was the end result, as both claimed "male pride" in these instances [my dad took multiple thousands of dollars I'd saved from working during college from me during the 2008-2010 financial crisis and didn't tell me and that was the reason I was given for why I hadn't been informed/asked, because it would be too emotionally difficult for an adult man to ask a young woman. My graduation present was them repaying me 1/3 of the money they'd taken from me without asking because I'd like, trusted them when it had been in a joint account that was a holdover from when I was <18 and couldn't have my own bank account].

While in some ways my parents on the surface achieved the American dream of going from nothing to a bunch of money, the real factor in play was that my dad's father was the bank. My parents had no credit and couldn't get real loans. My dad worked construction and during the two major periods that flipping houses was very lucrative, he never had to get an actual loan or pay actual interest, he just had to ask his father to pay out cash and then repay him at a flat 2% interest rate that didn't even accrue over time, just...whenever you are ready, repay the value of the loan + 2%. Because my father was doing something productive, in these instances, my grandfather was happy to pay, because it wasn't giving away money, it was loaning it. I had a very weird situation of mostly being poor but like also getting taken to the "big donors" events at the Kennedy Center and my grandparents regularly buying me a dress as a child worth more than my mom's wedding dress and also needing to pretend I fit in with these people.

And look. When I say "these people"...honestly, by and large, most wealthy people, whether inherited or not, are not the assholes you want to imagine. Most of them are extremely nice. Most of them are generous when it comes to the less fortunate who are in their personal sphere of being. Most of them are just really out of touch. The 100% kindest of all of them that I know once relayed to me that she thought people would be happier if once a year they did what she did...go to the airport with a purse packed full of absolute necessities, buy a one way ticket to the most appealing destination on the flight board, buy your clothes and book your accommodations after you'd arrived, and come back after you felt you'd 'centered' yourself. She didn't understand why there were so many unhappy people who weren't taking this very obvious route to being happier. I didn't quite know how to explain that saying "most" people couldn't afford to do that either financially or from a job/career angle didn't even cover it, as "most" sounds like 70% instead of 99.7%.

I was both my parents eldest son and eldest daughter in the worst combination possible. I was the eldest son because I was the most stereotypically male of all my siblings, in everything from desire to physically fight the battles I was given to dislike of shopping/fashion to lack of emotional connection to my relationships, so I can now fix your average household plumbing/drywall/electrical issue better than most "city" guys I interact with and remain less clingy to them in the process. I was also very much the oldest daughter from a responsibility perspective, I managed our household and from age 10 - 24 managed the finances of our family business, my mom almost died giving birth to my youngest brother after a ruptured uterus that should never have happened in the first place if we had adequate insurance to get her a non-emergency C-section (I was just past 9 years old at the time) and I was informally withdrawn from school for two years to take care of the family when she couldn't because there is no paid parental leave in the US and we got double-fucked by the medical industry because she got a bad "mesh" put in and then had to have a further surgery to repair that which we also had to pay for and didn't have the money to win a lawsuit over.

I don't know quite how to put this, but in the deepest fuck you of the universe, my rich-immigrant-ggggg grandfather's money led to him owning banks, insurance companies, etc, and the family cashed out in a big way when their ownership was bought by and merged with what is now Cigna, one of the biggest US healthcare insurers, and my nuclear family specifically got screwed by the American health insurance industry, but anyway, we were the people selected for that karmic comeuppance so if you want to feel schadenfreude at my expense, I'll allow it without begrudging the sentiment, my family might have fucked up your family’s life too, not just their own.

I got up twice a night to feed my brother because my dad had to sleep unmolested in my room to get to work and my mom was too weak to carry my brother or even hold him against her while she nursed so I had to hold him up to her. Adjusting to living in a city and hearing lots of random noises all the time was not easy when I'd had mom sound instincts from age 9.

I learned to drive the fall my youngest bro was born because my mom couldn't and I had to get my middle brother to preschool and go the grocery store on my own. While I hold absolutely no ill will towards my father or grandfather for this and given that about 1/3 of my paternal family either has an autism diagnosis or should, I fully feel the struggles they both went through to be communicated with, my father wouldn't ask for help, and my grandmother that lived 20 minutes away couldn't give enough help because my grandfather refused to do a single dish on his own as that was outside their "marriage contract" type agreement and she couldn't ever stay with us overnight when there wasn't a clearly-communicated need, so they let the burden fall on a 9 - 11 year old child and that really shaped a lot of my life in both good and bad ways. My youngest brother is 22, and we have only just climbed out of the medical debt his birth left us with between my dad's life insurance and my oldest brother and I paying for the extra cost of out-of-state college tuition.

The irony of all of this is that because my father died before his father, when my grandmother dies, my siblings and I will all inherit enough money (as a non-blood relative my mom, despite keeping her vows to part at death and not having remarried in eight years, is cut out entirely) to make this a non-issue, but my grandfather couldn't conscience spotting his unluckiest child some money in the end of days to pay for my youngest two brothers' education and take that worry off my father as he was dying. The day before he died I had to hold him down in bed to keep him from trying to climb in his truck to go to work because he was so anxious about trying to provide for us in spite of his father having fuck you money, because his father didn't think it was fair to the other siblings (who, at the time, still owned a major hedge fund and were married to a C-level executive of a huge conglomerate). A day and a half later I went back to my job because at the time I was then the sole provider for the family and didn't want to risk asking for the standard week's bereavement leave when I knew I was capable of showing up at work the next day and was fresh out of college so hadn't built up a reputation yet.

My father worked the day each of us was born, so I suppose it is only fair and he smiled at the choice. In spite of what it may seem, I gave a baller and very heartfelt speech at his funeral to all his rich friends that over and above everything, he'd taught us how to be happy with our own lives no matter what, and multiple of them emailed my mom in the aftermath to say they'd reassessed their relationship with their children in light of it, although...tbh I kind of doubt that lasted and they probably changed nothing 😅. The last good talk I had with him, two weeks before he died [his liver was going and it sent toxins to his brain that de-personed him after that and he no longer recognized me as his daughter, but as his sister], I reassured him that though we would all be sad he'd gone, we'd live on just fine without him because that's how he'd raised us, and according to my mom that was what gave him the final bit of peace he needed. Although honestly, I don't think I will ever see the strength in another human again that it took my grandmother to sit next to him and stroke his hand and tell him to close his eyes and imagine he was happy on a beach and die, for God's sake, because he was unaware and in pain and just prolonging it for our sake by then.

That type of obsession my grandfather had with assessing his children and grandchildren on the basis of economic productivity and a very black and white idea of "fair" is one you don't easily forget, I promise you. My hedge fund uncle is currently positioning himself to screw us out of our inheritance because of janky writing in the will and I'm doing my fuck all best to gain the wherewithal to go toe-to-toe with this cold motherfucker in court as the oldest and representative member of my happily much nicer and softer younger brothers who I want to remain that way not because I even care that much about the money, I know what bills affect your credit first and what you can put off paying and all of us have good enough career prospects to do our own thing, but just because I want to give the middle finger to a man that was a multi-millionaire and drew lines on his milk and orange juice bottles when I came over so he knew if I drank what my parents couldn't afford when I was approximately six. Anyway, ask me why I support major reforms in wealth taxation. I don't care who it goes to, just not that guy, you feel?

Having expendable income was very exciting for a bit after I started working but once I got to the hateable point of assessing my annual bonus and internally complaining that I'd spent the money I should have spent on a Sauternes cellar to drop five digits on bedset materials (to be fair they are drop dead gorgeous, very comfy and the factory pays a living wage for people to handmake the sheets/duvets/pillows to people in San Francisco, which is not cheap, so maybe I did more good than harm with that), I two seconds later nodded to myself and went "the government needs to confiscate more money from me". The narrative is always that the "undeserving" will use it for dumb things they don't need like iPhones or refrigerators...?...but like...I could also have gone to Bed Bath and Beyond and bought a very nice sheet/comforter set for at most a tenth of what I paid so am I really spending it responsibly either....?....who is going to get more joy out of this misspent money....?....not me, that is for sure, I probably would have had more fun going to BBB and laying on all the demo beds and buying something there.

My lifelong dream, which may become possible if/when I do have something of an inheritance, is to provide food security for one of the many towns in the US were most residents don't have it. It's the thing I remember the most distinctly over the years. I never could quite believe it when I got to the point that I could just...pay to eat at a restaurant. One of the most disappointed my mother has ever been in me is when I was twenty five and confessed I actually had no idea how much a gallon of milk cost in a city grocery store besides that it was probably between $1 and $5, because I didn't have to know. For now I make a weekly drop off of my excess produce to a mom group I met under somewhat weird circumstances but I was walking through the cut-through that went through the low-income housing back to my apartment at like 2 AM on a Saturday and these moms were out there partying and smoking weed with their kids all strapped in strollers around or the older ones watched by a rotating member of the group and I felt very safe and like these moms had a very good vibe of both living their own lives [seriously for mental health parents but in most cases specifically mothers need to be able to keep up relationships with people their age] but keeping their children safe and accounted for while doing so and trying their fuckin' best against all the odds to figure out how to make that happen when life had dealt them a shit hand.

...anyway, looping way back to the original question of what finishing school is, when I was almost done with middle school my dad had built a legit construction business that then very quickly took off because we lived in a commutable zip code to the now-rich-in-their-own-right people he went to high school with who trusted him to redo their homes. We eventually moved to that zip code but I stayed and commuted back to my old high school. But, i was a pretty wild kid which my father appreciated for a long while because I would follow him around on jobs and enjoy doing physical labor, but once I was mid-puberty and also he had to maybe show me to his high school friends that did not fly.

I snapped - not broke, snapped - my left thumb and my parents had to trap me like a wild animal to get me to go the hospital. Then I got a deep cut that partially injured a tendon in my leg and at eleven I tried to beat the shit out of my dad to prevent him from picking me up to strap me in the car and go to the hopsital. Next I got a deep splinter due to my eternal-barefoot tendencies and it wouldn't come out so got infected and I refused to go to the doctor [another weird back story but I was minorly sexually assaulted [[to be clear, not raped or anything big traumatic]] when I was eight and had to stay in hospital for a week and my parents couldn't be with me all the time so I have a permanent heebie-jeebie about going to the hospital, not true anxiety, I will go if I know I need to and I don't breathe heavy or anything, and I'm actually not permanently weirded out by sex or anything, just doctors in hospitals specifically I kind of unconsciously try to justify not needing to the extent I can rationalize it] and my dad was tired of my antics so he was like "fine if you don't go I will slice your foot in half with a Swiss Army knife to get it out" and I called his bluff and laid down on the floor, stuck my foot on his lap, and he didn't really know what to do when a barely fourteen year old girl called his bluff so my brothers watched in fascinated but horrified awe as I got my foot sliced open spectacularly so that the infection/splinter could come out and I didn't even make a sound out of spite despite it being quite painful to my recollection almost twenty years later.

They saw me cry from pain exactly one time when while trying to break up a fight between all three of them (it was over ice cream) I got pushed and my ankle got dislocated and what actually made me cry was snapping it back in place and they realized it was not a joke. These dumb assholes that I love have ragged on me for "skipping" chores the day after I was in the hospital because the day before that I had to spend 18 hours running Thanksgiving as a good sub-hostess like I didn't have a serious infection that needed treating and couldn't rest because none of them were up to any task beyond peeling potatoes.

After the Swiss Army knife incident, my dad's discussion of sending me to finishing school became real, which I knew when my mom made me take a walk with her and talked about it. Finishing school is like...etiquette school....? In ye olden day when finishing high school was not the norm for anyone, wealthy men finished high school and wealthy women often went to "finishing" school to have a combined education on being a proper lady but also being able to hold a decent conversation with your presumably-educated husband, so it wasn't entirely etiquette non-academic. It was more just like "what a rich man wants in a wife" school, which was sort of household management and knowing enough about cleaning/cooking to correct the staff if they fucked up, how to be a polite hostess, and how to not entirely bore him when you were alone together and had done your five minutes of sex or whatever so actually had to have a conversation. In modern times it has obviously expanded to be less bleak.

I said miss me with that, I can be a girl on my own, so I went full throttle into the girliest sport they offer in high school and ever since have gained the inestimable advantage of knowing how to also use femininity to my advantage, which I am very grateful to my parents for making me learn. It would be great if we lived in a world where that didn't count, but it did/still does, and they really set me up to operate in all the worlds.

It is weird for me to tell the story to Internet strangers because it's one of those things that makes your parents sound terrible and abusive in the general tone of the Internet nowadays, and while I support gender nonconforming children I don't remember my childhood or parents that way. But, I feel like the bits and pieces of my life I've given don't always make a ton of sense together without the context, so here it is, and in the end, I think a number of parts of it are areas where you can probably understand where it makes me have the opinions I do when I write.

Anyhoo, this makes my life sound far worse than it is, I actually have a great life and I am not unhappy with it at all and feel I was on the whole blessed with many more turns of luck than unluck, so, please, do not take this as a depressed artist rant, it is more like a rant of a very energetic person who rants about a lot of things all the time and didn’t need to come out but just did because the question was asked and the time was right with my life being in a bit of flux to think about how I got where I am and where I want to go and why.

Always remember no matter what problems it seems like I have, if I didn’t solve them on my 2 year round the world traveling hiatus I took from working, it’s my own fault, I definitely had the time and money to solve them and just chose not to.

[magmahurricane]

Carey’s dad, Bernard! I gave him heterochromia based on my URL namesake, a childhood dog of mine named Pidgeon, who had one blue eye and one brown. 

Bio under cut! CW for descriptions of death, illness, and mentioned suicide! 

Name: Bernard Jess (Birth name: Ralph Ellis) Playlist: Here! (Spotify)

Age: 48 Occupation: Con artist Location: Varies; travels around Northamer in his RV Birthplace: Sand Blast City  Alignment: Chaotic Neutral 

Species: Dog (Based on tricolor Cavalier King Charles Spaniel) Sexuality: Bisexual

Personality: +Positives: Charismatic; Clever; Exuberant; Jolly; Optimistic; -Negatives: Conniving; Fraudulent; Cowardly; Selfish; Opportunistic A real “people person” at his core, Bernard knows exactly what to say to get people to drop their guard around him. Armed with his wit and a silver tongue, he picks his marks and runs his scams, playing his short cons and booking it at the first sign of trouble. While he isn’t shy about his lifestyle of lying, cheating and bullshitting his way through life, he does truly love his wife, and holds the memories of his mother and father close to his heart. Likes: Bluegrass; Country music; Whiskey; Swindling people; Dislikes: The law; working; his hometown; dwelling on the past; violence; hospitals  Hobbies: Acoustic guitar, fishing, storytelling, people-watching

Backstory (remember to heed the content warnings above!): 

 Born to Shirley and Maverick Ellis in the smog-filled, dome-covered rogues gallery known as Sand Blast City, Ralph had a fairly average childhood. While he attended school, his mother Shirly worked as a waitress in a dingy but well-known diner and his father, Maverick, worked the nearby mines. The Ellis family were very poor, and young Ralph often wore hand-me-downs and frequently struggled to keep up with his peers, making him a target for bullying. 

When Ralph was 9 years old, Maverick perished as the mine collapsed. Shirley took a second job in a desperate effort to both pay for his funeral, and provide for their son. Ralph found himself targeted by bullies even more, though found support from other children who lost family in the mines. Life went on, the Ellis’ struggling to make ends meet and cope with the death of Maverick. 

With no one to babysit, Ralph began heading into the diner after school, sitting at a booth and doing his homework. Over the years, he came to know its patrons, became familiar with its regulars and staff, and slowly began to master the art of people-watching. Ralph would sit, and listen, and watch these people - and got an earful of all the latest gossip. He learned that the man living in the apartment across had a nasty divorce and was a recovering alcoholic. The mother of one of his bullies was working the streets to keep food on the table. The stories of the neighborhood gambler, the old woman who also lost her son in the mines, the local politicians, of the baker who was having an affair, of the rich tourists who would make yearly stops in town - Ralph knew everyone. 

And just like that, school life had become easier. No one would dare cross Ralph Ellis, because Ralph had all the dirty laundry on everyone - kids were less keen on bullying him when he threatened to expose their families as drug addicts or whores, or when he could tear their family apart with news of an affair. It wasn’t long until Ralph realized the power he held over his peers, and began blackmailing them into doing favors, such as carrying his stuff, doing his homework, and buying him clothes -- for the first time in his life, Ralph was able to wear more than hand-me-downs from the local thrift store.  Life was starting to look up, and things were good.

Then it wasn’t. When Ralph was 15, his mother discovered she had cancer. They couldn’t afford treatment, and Shirley certainly couldn’t stop working her two jobs. Ralph took up a part-time job as a delivery boy, then a full-time job as Shirley’s condition worsened, dropping out of school to help. Within a year, she passed away. 

And suddenly, at the tender age of 16, Ralph found himself orphaned, and within a few months, homeless. Despite everything - his father working his whole life and dying in those rotten mines, his mother taking two jobs, and Ralph himself giving up his education and taking up work - the Ellis family just couldn’t get ahead. Honest work didn’t pay. But he remembered coasting along in school, being able to pull peoples strings and manipulate others into working for him. He remembered the woes and weaknesses of the people around him. In a dog-eat-dog world, Ralph was determined to make his mark and make the most of the lemons life gave him. 

Then, when Ralph was 19, a great plague swept over Sand Blast City. People were dying in the streets, and even more were panicking, desperate for a way to save themselves. Ralph saw an opportunity - his customers already trusted him, and he’d made it this far. It was time for his biggest, and riskiest, con yet. With a few local herbs, clean water, and a bit of cheap cold medicine, Ralph began marketing his miracle potion, promising immunity from the plague. With help from his silver tongue and the trust of the locals, the potions flew off the shelves. Ralph made more money than ever, and was, briefly, toted as a local hero. He knew he should have packed up shop and gotten the hell outta dodge, but he wanted to milk this operation for all it was worth. He stayed, intending to make and sell more of his miracle tonics… 

And then, the plague got him. 

 The virus wracked Ralph’s body. For days, he lay by his wagon, delirious with high fever, struggling for breath, believing this would surely be his end -- and it almost was. Family of his customers tracked him down, furious that their loved ones weren’t protected as advertised. They beat the sickly con artist, and left him at death's door.

Ralph survived by the skin of his teeth, although not unscathed; as if a reminder of his treachery and what he’d done, his lungs were ruined, leaving him athsmatic, with a persistent cough and physically frail. But Ralph was nothing if not determined - as soon as he was well enough, he high-tailed it out of Sand Blast City.

Ralph would spend the next 5 years as a vagabond con-artist, selling cheap or bootlegged wares, which he either stole from yard sales or breaking and entering homes, pulling cat-in-a-bag cons and change raising, and continuing with his snake-oil salesman act. He often found himself being chased out of town, or on the run from local bounty hunters for crossing the wrong people. He also began using different names, switching his alias every few months or every year. 

Then his life was changed when he stumbled into the Southern Baronies; an uppity, bountiful region famous for its large chao gardens and wine exports. It was then he met Margaret Blanche, one of Josiah Blanche’s daughters.

The Blanche’s were a prestigious family, renowned for their famous vineyard and exports, as well as owning the land upon which the Chao Garden was located. They were filthy rich, and acted the part -- which may be precisely why when Ralph, under the name ‘Bernard Jess’ - showed up, Margaret was smitten. ‘Bernard’ was exciting; he was handsome, charismatic, entertaining, funny, and judging by the stories he told the Blanche family, he led quite an adventurous life. Margaret had grown so bored of her life and wanted what Bernard had. Likewise, Bernard wanted what the Blanche’s had - their lavish lifestyle and money. He had come to them with the intention of robbing them blind, but found himself enamored with Margaret.

Josiah, of course, didn’t approve. He forbade the young couple from seeing one another, and had Bernard escorted from the property, deciding the young man wasn’t good enough for his daughter. Bernard knew he couldn’t really do anything about it, and focused on his cons with the other families in the Baronies. He and Margaret occasionally crossed paths during this time, and the two would spend time together in secret. Margaret fell more and more in love with the whimsy and rebellious attitude Bernard had towards life, and when it came time for Bernard to leave the Baronies, Margaret ran away with him

Life on the run together was golden. The two of them staged robberies, worked cons, and had made a small name for themselves. However, within a year, things suddenly took a turn when Margaret realized she had become pregnant. Fearing for her future, she pleaded with Bernard to take her back to the Baronies -- this had been great fun, but she was already tired of living off meager meals and on the run, and the pregnancy scared her. She wasn’t cut out for Bernard’s lifestyle, but promised him that upon returning, they would marry and he would join the Blanche family proper, and be able to leave this life behind.

And so they returned to the Baronies… Only to be humiliated by Josiah and the rest of the Blanches as they sneered and mocked and chastised Margaret for her stupid naivete and revealed that during her year-long romp with Bernard, they’d completely disowned her. Margaret, Bernard, nor their unborn child would see a penny of the Blanche fortune, nor were they even allowed on the property. Margaret was disgraced, disowned and suddenly, for the first time in her life, left with absolutely nothing. She was terrified and heartbroken, and all Bernard could do was be a shoulder to cry on - while knowing all too well this was his fault. 

Bernard managed to make a very small arrangement with Josiah to make things just a little easier; on the very edge of the Baronies, hidden out of sight so as to not tarnish the view of the Chao Gardens and beautiful manors, was a small trailer park known as Barrow Creek. Bernard convinced Josiah to at the very least buy them a small plot of land, allow them to set up a RV to live in so Margaret could, at the very least, have a roof over her head. Josiah agreed, and the young couple moved into their new home.

Carey was born that year.

Margaret hadn’t wanted the child; as far as she was concerned, this was more Carey’s fault than Bernard’s. It didn’t help that Carey had been born with a defect - her left arm hadn’t formed past the shoulder. The baby was weak, requiring constant care and attention, and oh, how Margaret wished to smother the life from it and be done with this burden.

It was only on Bernard’s insistence that Carey was kept alive and fed; already, he was scheming how to make the most out of the situation. He felt nothing towards his daughter but inspiration -- he could make this work to his advantage. A disabled child would bring out the sympathy in people, making his cons go a lot smoother. People would give money out of pity or adoration for the disadvantaged family, he could spin a thousand sob stories about how she lost her arm, open donations to go towards putting her in school or getting her a prosthetic - in reality keeping the money for himself - and the possibilities for profit were endless.

For much of her infancy and childhood, Carey was toted around during Bernard’s many schemes, helping rake in donations from charitable and kind people. As she got older, Bernard got Carey more and more involved in his cons, reciting lines with her and having her partake in more elaborate schemes. He also taught her the art of picking pockets, breaking locks, lying, and stealing. By age 7, Carey was doing all this and more, being made to cook and clean and was expected to earn her keep for living with them, with Bernard making sure she understood that she was a financial burden unto her parents, all while using his charisma and manipulation to keep her adoring him.

However, during all of this, Margaret’s mental health was declining. 

Gone was the bright, sheltered woman who wanted a life of risk and adventure - Margaret was bitter, angry, and jealous… but never directed any of it towards her husband, instead taking it out on their daughter and anyone else unfortunate enough to cross her path. She spent most of the day drunk and unhappy, or waiting for Bernard to return when he’d drive with Carey out of town to run a con. 

Bernard was oblivious, for a time - and when he did become aware, he tried to ignore the problem. The rising tension between Margaret and Carey, Margaret’s drinking problem, and their growing debt were all things he tried to brush off, even as Margaret attempted to drown Carey out of jealousy for her spending so much time with Bernard.

By the time Carey was 10, the Baronies were no longer safe for the Jess family. People had wisened up to their act, the bounty hunters were closing in, as was the law. Desperate to get some cash for the road ahead, Bernard conspired to rob the Blanche’s estate. It would be a final sendoff, the last big gig before the Jess family laid low for a long time. Margaret was eager to reclaim what she’d left behind, but Carey had grown ill from neglect. She was sick with pneumonia, and thus sluggish and of little help - and so Bernard put her on guard duty, to keep an eye out if the cops or other signs of trouble appeared. 

The heist didn’t quite go as planned.

In the end, the cops were called, and Bernard had shot and killed Josiah in an altercation. As Bernard and Margaret fled the scene, they left behind Carey purposefully, knowing the cops would stop for the small, sickly child. This allowed the couple to make a clean getaway, while ridding themselves of Carey’s burden. 

It has now been 13 years since that day. 

Bernard’s working alone now, with Margaret having taken her own life a few years ago. He carries that weight with him, knowing full well he ruined her life and that his neglect led to her deteriorating mental health. He still wears their wedding band, and insists on remaining loyal to her memory, though he does oftentimes feel lonely. 

It’s difficult to pin where Bernard is at any given moment, as his cons often see him travelling all over Northamer. He’s still running his cons, hoping for that one big break and dodging bounty hunters and cops at every corner, keeping his past and his regrets close to his heart and hidden under lock and key.

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If your still doing fic recs, could u rec any soft stevetony ones?

absolutely!! this got pretty long so ive hidden most of it under a read-more so i don’t annoy people. a couple of authors feature more than once. ive tried to avoid that as much as possible, but if an author features more than once - take that as a sign that they have rly good stuff for soft stevetony

disclaimer: don’t forget to leave kudos and comments for every author!! (a disclaimer i regrettably forgot to add to previous fic rec lists but will be adding from now on)

soda pops: @starklysteve

If anybody asks, Steve would smile and say it was very romantic. Very Tony. Because if he went into any further detail, nobody would quite believe him.

Tony, on the other hand, would laugh and say that Steve’s in love with a man in a can. So, really, it wasn’t outside the natural progression of things.

me voy pa’l pueblo: @firebrands

two times steve walks away, and one time that tony walks with him.

/ or, my very fluffy take on my bingo card prompt "farewells." steve is on vacation when he meets tony.

fill for my stony bingo prompt: farewells; also for bookworminaslump on tumblr who asked for a tourist/knowledgeable local au!

Tumblr Ficlets:  @omg-just-peachy (this is 115 chapters of stevetony being soft!!)

A collection of enough tooth-rotting fluff to last a year, all in one place.

tender offerings: @omg-just-peachy

Five times Steve carried Tony to bed.

the best thing (is that it’s happening to you and me):  @captainstarkreportingforduty

Or, five times the team saw Steve Rogers and Tony Stark in love.

Sweet On You: @miniblackraven

It’s the 1940’s and Tony is working as a Donut Doll for the Red Cross. His job is to go around to various military bases and offer comfort food and conversation to homesick soldiers. He’s come to expect a lot of things in this job, but he doesn’t expect to fall in love with Captain America, the hottest most awkward soldier Tony has ever met.

Bespectacled Avengers Society (Membership of One):  @baffledkingcomposinghallelujah

Tony gets glasses. Glasses get a Tony. Steve loses his mind and walks into walls.

a flower crown for your love: @anthonyed

"There, there," Pepper cooed. "Tony likes flowers?" she said with a shred of doubt in her tone. But when Steve peered up, she's smiling her bright toothy smile. He squinted and she sighed, dropping her hand from his shoulder. "He does." she insisted. "Even more so than me."

if this was a movie: @omg-just-peachy

“One of our seniors is being generous with his time this year—by force of his own actions, but generous none the less—and he’d be happy to help you, I’m sure. Tony Stark? I’ll set something up for later this week. I think between the two of you you’ll be able to pull your average up enough to make it through to playoffs,” Coulson said, with that ever-hopeful lilt in his voice.

Or, Steve needs a calculus tutor, Tony is available, but how is Steve ever supposed to focus when he's been in love with Tony for ... his entire school life?

you take me higher than the rest (everybody else is second best): @firebrands

tumblr fill for adi & anthonydarling, who asked for "'Prank' war, but the kind to see who can make the other blush the most in public" from this prompt list

amore mio:  @brucewaynery

Tony has had it with Steve being dumb and reckless out in the field, he has a family to think about now, Steve promises him that he'll be with him, kingdom come.

(initially based on that one headcanon about Italian Tony yelling and gesticulating at Steve but Peter thinks he's doing some weird dance and tries to copy him, but it got very fluffy very quickly)

Lost My Mind in a Coffee Shop: @betheflame

“Boyo,” Bucky muttered to his best friend. “I swear to God that if you don’t ask that man for his number soon, I will create a Grindr profile for you and you will not like it.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I am here to finish grading, not hit on men.”

“Can you not do both?” Natasha smirked. “Nearly tenured, historical genius, feels like something you should be able to multitask.”

&&&

In which Steve is a history professor and Tony's an engineering one and Bucky owns the joint where they have their meet cute.

AU-gust Chapter 7: @iam93percentstardust 

stevetony, childhood friends AU

Right Up The Road: @gottalovev

The day at the senate committee in Washington DC wasn't supposed to end with Tony and Steve transformed into animals by a baby witch. That said, the 350 miles trek back to the compound to get help promises to be quite an adventure too!

(or the adventures of Cat!Tony and Wolf!Steve - and how to readjust when you're back to human!)

i’ll take care of you: @elcorhamletlive

“Hi.”

Steve blinks. The sound of loud thunder roars outside, but he doesn’t jolt, too focused on the image in front of him to be startled by the noise.

He has no idea what to say, and he isn’t sure if the shock is because of Tony’s absolutely sodden state – his hair glued to his forehead, his clothes dripping with water, forming a small puddle in front of Steve’s door – or because he wasn’t expecting to see Tony for at least three more days.

“Hi?” he says, a little tentative, before his brain catches up to reality. In his defense, he was getting ready to sleep when Tony knocked. He looks at what Tony is holding – a wet mess that seems to have been a flower bouquet at some point. “What are you doing here?”

The Tally System:  @betheflame

Everyone on the team knew about the tally system.

Whenever Steve would save Tony - whether from a monster or from his own stupidity - he’d say, “tag”. Whenever Tony do the same, he’d say, “your turn”. Thor thought it was adorable, Clint thought it was ridiculous, Bruce refused to register an opinion.

Natasha thought it was something she could work with.

what’s mine is yours: @robertdowneyjjr

5 times Tony stole Steve’s clothes, and 1 time Steve returned the favor.

or

For a billionaire, Tony Stark really doesn't pay for a lot of what he wears.

I like Shiny Things But I’d Marry You With Paper Rings: @betheflame

Rhodey: I just confirmed with Sam that he’s going to make sure he cooks tonight and that his entire team is briefed. I’m heading over now to strategically arrange a fuck ton of ficus trees to block them from gen pop.

Pepper: They’re not getting engaged in a prison, Jimmy.

Rhodey: Tony Stark and Steve Rogers show up to Circe on a Saturday night in May and you watch every person in that restaurant turn into someone I’d rather arrest than eat with.

****

In which Tony and Steve get engaged, but they're kind of extra about it, because they are always themselves

the road to the stars: @shell-heads

Tony is seven years old when he sees the ballet for the first time and meets his future pas de deux partner.

His father is invited to sweet-talk politicians into a new weapons deal and explain his latest idea for their program, and his mom goes to catch up with old friends she hasn't seen in years, but Tony goes because his mom had smiled down at him and told him he would love it.

His mom's never wrong.

-

In which boy genius Tony Stark meets girl wonder Natasha Romanoff at the ballet, and they fit their broken little pieces together to make something beautiful on the dance floor.

Steve? He's just a dumb, awful, chaotic, extremely supportive older brother that really should just shut up and admit he likes Tony a lot more than he pretends, because Natasha only has five people in the world she likes; it only makes sense her two favorites would fall in love with one another.

They always were a little slow, though.

A Second Chance To Take it Slow: @omg-just-peachy

Tony loves his adopted son, Peter, but that doesn't stop him from wishing he had someone to do this whole parenting thing with. After a failed one night stand, Tony's parent-teacher conference with Mr. Rogers comes with quite the surprise.

Wake Up!: @randomstufffromotherblogs

Tony came home from a business trip and is woken up by his husband and their three-year old.

pull me closer to love:  @captainstakreportingforduty (part of a series)

“A Mother’s Day card? For... Tony?” Steve clarifies, and can’t help the smile on his face as six familiar little heads nod in response.

“But... guys, Tony’s not—“ he pauses and takes a breath, any explanation dying in his throat against the excited gleam in everyone’s eyes. “Why do you guys want to do that, hmm?"

compromises:  @robertpattisons (when i looked up OP on tumblr, this is the blog i was directed to - but i sincerely apologise if ive gotten it wrong)

Steve should have expected it, he really should have.

There were regulations that came with dating Tony Stark. Things that were clear and things that they needed to work through.

Things like how Steve always got strawberry ice cream, while Tony got rocky road. Or when Steve needed to get his homework done before he was down to make out - even though Tony always got his way.

Things like that were clear

all that you are is all that i’ll ever need: @natasharxmanov

Tony Stark and Steve Rogers announced their engagement on Good Morning America through Tony Stark’s previous secretary now CEO, Pepper Potts. And over this past weekend, I got the chance to sit down with them both, to visit their home and attend their gala, all to write this article about the most powerful couple in the world.

(Or, the fic in which Tony and Steve get married.)

(i won’t ever) trade my mistakes: @brucewaynery

Toddler Peter, painting a masterpiece with his dad.

aka: a dumb amount of family fluff to help you power through the week