#they generally have an unspoken agreement to never bring it up because of their dad

[chisatowo]

Killing and maiming. I need to stop finding unit swap 25ji songs this is getting ridiculous

[reaperintheroses]

The dating

Previous part ~ Next Part Hey everyone! Holy shit the love on the first part is unreal! Thank you so much! The feedback means the world to me and I love this second part so much more! this series was requested by @psychshawnjuleshanluke and I want to give the fattest fucking shout out ever to @itscheybaby. Without her help this chapter simply would not exist. Make sure to pay homage to them because they basically co-wrote this entire thing and told me how to block over half the scenes, and forced me to take breaks. Love you bunches and bunches!!!! Also I'm having a little joke with Chey about a line in this part so, which line made you laugh out loud? Warnings: Swearing, kissing on government property (hehe), kissing in general,public singing, flash mob, of age drinking, bars, drunk people, gaslighting, fighting, mentions of sex, Mav being a corny dad

Top Gun: Week eight

You kept your steps light as you walked down the narrow hallway. It was far past eight pm and you wanted to avoid any unnecessary human interaction. All of a sudden you heard a door open next to you and you grunted as you were pulled inside the room. You went to draw back when you suddenly inhaled the sharp scents of citrus and sandalwood, something that screamed distinctly Rooster. You relaxed immediately in Bradleys arms and leaned up to kiss him; you felt a distinct safety that you hadn't felt all day. You finally relax in your own skin. 

You giggled softly as he lifted you off of your feet and drew you in closer to the empty conference room. He placed you on the table as he drew away, softly, resting his forehead against yours. "Hi," you felt his breath tickle your eyelashes. "Hi yourself." He planted a kiss on your forehead as you leaned forward into his chest. "So, as much as I love sneaking around like this, I had a question for you." You drew back so you could look at him fully. "Sure, what's up?" Bradley brings his bottom lip in between his teeth as he looks at you. "I think I want to tell people about us, but not tell them-" he hesitates, playing with a gentle lock of your hair- "like just stop hiding it. Not mention anything but stop hiding it, you know?" You nod along to his words, in full agreement. You were nervous about things like this, but you knew how important it was to Bradley. "How about we go to the bar or something this weekend, as a date?" You raise your eyebrows as he seems to chew over your words, taking in the suggestion. "Let's do it." 

Safe to say that by the time Friday night rolled around you really began to regret your decision. You looked at Rooster in the driver's seat, glancing down quickly at his knuckles before back at his face. "Just don't say anything, act like it's been this way all along." You nodded at his words before opening the car door. You stepped onto the asphalt and waited for Rooster to walk around the car. He grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers. You walked up to the door, hand in hand and that gave you just the smallest bit of power. So when he looked at you with an unspoken question in his eyes as his unused hand ghosted over the doorknob, you nodded, ready to enter the belly of the beast.

You and Bradley smile at colleagues and friends as you make your way up to the bar. Bradley slips his hand into the back pocket of your jeans as you both stand at the countertop, careful as to where you place certain items. You never know if Penny made up a new policy since last weekend. You smile at the brunette woman as she walks up to both of you. "Hey, what can I get y'all?" You and Bradley turn to each other and in the tenth of a second have a non-verbal conversation. You nod for him to go first. "I'll take a coors light," you raise your eyebrows at him before reaching out your hand with your palm towards the ceiling. "What?" You frown at his question as he looks at you like you've grown a second head. "I'm just having the one." You roll your eyes. "That's what you always say, keys flyboy." He tosses his head back with a groan before reaching into his pocket and slapping the keys into your open palm. You close your fingers around the keys before slipping them into your front pocket. Penny watches the exchange with amusement before grabbing the beer for Bradley. You watch as someone calls his name with an enthusiastic wave. He bends down to plant a kiss on the crown of your head before walking away.

"Oh I'll just do a soda water, someone needs to drive and help sneak his drunk ass back into base." Penny laughs as she crouches behind the bar to grab your water. "And I'll start those tabs for you?" You take a sip of your water as you watch Rooster talk to some old friends of his. "No, just put them on one tab please." She raises her eyebrows at the statement. "So, how long has this been going on for-" she trails off as she turns around to open the tab- "Three weeks, I haven't told my dad either so if he comes in here don't say anything." She makes the motion of zipping her lips as she smiles at you. "Go have fun, honey." You smile at the woman before turning away from the counter and into the bar.

Thirty minutes later you were in the middle of a game of darts with Phoenix when you heard the music that was making up for the background noise in your conversation suddenly go out. You looked up at the sound of various groans in the bar and set down the dart in your hand on the table next to you. You watch as Rooster sits at the piano placed in the middle of the bar that was probably older than you, and sigh softly as he begins to play a gentle melody. The gravitational center of the room shifts. There's no more loud arguing or the sound of cue sticks hitting pool balls; everyone's just watching Rooster as he begins to play. He sets his beer atop the piano and you note smugly to yourself that it was not a coors light and that he wasn't having "just the one." With both hands free, he begins to muster a gentle familiar tune out of the old piano. You grew up hearing this song, Carole humming it as she cooked; your dad singing softly under his breath as he shaved in the bathroom. You knew what was coming, and for the first time in the twenty-seven years that you had known Bradley, you weren't looking forward to it. You watch at the edge of your seat as he sucks in a breath before opening his mouth, and you know that the night, along with the rest of the weekend has begun. "You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain!" Everyone in the bar responds. Bradleys become their sun, their orbital point. You sigh as you hear Phoenix sing the lyrics next to you. You turn around and roll your eyes at her. "Not you too," She sets her beer down on the table and grabs your hand. "Are you kidding? He's your boyfriend, you get this for free all the time, save some for the rest of us!" You scoff at her as she begins to dance along. "Everyone gets it for free, he does it on his own!" She shakes her head at you before throwing her head back to yell along with everyone else, "Goodness gracious great balls of fire!" You try and grab your hand back, wondering if it was too late to go run and hide in the bathroom. You look at Bradley as he looks around the room. "He's looking for you, ya know." You turn and look at Phoenix, panic racing through your body. "He can keep looking, I'm not going up there!" She raises her eyebrows before grabbing your hand again and tightening it like a vice. "Natasha, please!" Your voice is barely a squeak and she drags you through the crowd and towards the piano. You try to drag your heels, but it's no use. She drops your hand when you've reached the piano. You smile gently at Rooster before trying to backtrack but in one motion he picks up his hand and puts two fingers through one of your belt loops at the same time Phoenix pushes your shoulders forward. Once Bradley makes sure that you're safely on his lap, he returns his hand to the piano. "You're fine, so kind. I'm telling the world that you're mine, mine, mine, mine!" You throw your head back in laughter at the lyric change before deciding that you were here to have fun. "I chew my nails and I twiddle my thumbs!" You felt Bradley stutter for a moment in surprise before whooping loudly and continuing to sing along with you. You cheered and clapped along with the rest of the bar when the song came to an inevitable end, smiling into Rooster's neck as he cheered.

Rooster laughs into your neck as you both stumble into the parking lot. "Okay big guy, let's get you out of here." You pull his arm further across your shoulder to help support him. "Oh I am so into you," you roll your eyes. "You're drunk," you open his car door and nearly collapse under his weight as you help him up into the car. "Drunk words are sober thoughts, baby." Ignoring the fluttering that arose in your stomach at the pet name, you shut the door as he leans on it and walk to the other side of the car. You reach your hand into your pocket, fishing for the keys before pulling them out triumphantly and putting them in the ignition. Rooster laughs at nothing again, and in a tenth of a second you decide two things. One, Bradley was a giggly drunk and a lightweight. Two, there was no way in hell that you were doing to be able to get him into the base without getting in trouble. You put the car in reverse to get out of the parking space before you shift back into drive. As you turned out of the parking lot, you turned right instead of left. Without even thinking about it, you began to drive towards your dad's house.

You knew that he was out of town for a meeting and wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning, so you sent him a quick text to tell him that you were staying the night before unlocking the door and pulling Bradley through the threshold. You just had to make sure that you left the place exactly as it was and leave absolutely no evidence of Bradley ever being here. You pushed your boyfriend up the stairs and into the bedroom your dad had reserved for you in case you ever wanted to stay over. You grabbed his hand once you shut the door behind you and led him over to the side of your mattress, pushing his shoulders so he would sit down. "Mmh, I like this." You rolled your eyes as you pushed his arms up and grabbed the hem of his shirt. You pulled it up and over his head before tossing it somewhere on the floor behind you. You reached down for his belt buckle as he began to lean backwards. "Come on Bradley, we're almost done and then you can sleep." His eyes shut as he turned onto his side, wiggling his body fully onto your mattress. You shook him slightly, trying to wake him again, "No no no no no, oh forget it." You slipped off his shoes before flicking off the light, using your phone's flashlight to light your way as you went about your night routine. You turned on an alarm on your phone for four-thirty am so you would have time to clean without feeling rushed and make something for your dad to eat for dinner. You loved your father to death, but he could barely cook pasta without burning the water. You climbed under your comforter and turned off your phone's flashlight. As you shut your eyes, you felt a comforting weight fall across your waist. You interlaced your fingers with Bradleys own before finally falling asleep.

You felt the bed next to you shift and you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and picked up your phone. It glared back that it was three-eleven am. You placed your phone back on the table, face down, ready to roll over and go back to sleep. You felt the bed shift again and your eyes shot open in annoyance. You were greeted with Bradley booking around your room, panicked. "Hey," your hand shot out to comfort him, "It's three am, you've got time. Go back to sleep." He turned around to fully face you. "Where the hell am I?" You sighed. No use trying to go back to sleep now. "You had too many drinks at the Hard Deck. It would be pointless trying to sneak you back on base so I took you to my dad's house so you could sleep and not disturb anyone else." He looked at you with wild eyes. "I need to go." He shot out of bed, grabbing his shirt off of the floor and throwing it on. You raised your eyebrows when you realized that it was on backwards before throwing the comforter off of your legs. "Bradley, my dads not home, you can go back to sleep and we can grab breakfast before we go back to base." He lifted his palms at you in frustration. "I heard someone making a ton of noise thirty minutes ago. If your dads not home then we've got bigger problems." You shook your head in disbelief. You walked over and opened your blinds, looking at him as if to say 'See, idiot you're overreacting.' You looked at the drive way, "See he's not here you can rel- oh shit." You trailed off as you looked at your dad's car in the driveway. Next to Bradleys. Fuck.

You both began rushing around the room, trying to find Bradleys, sock that you had accidentally thrown under your bed, then you spent five minutes trying to get Bradley unstuck from under your bed, before you grabbed his hand and planted his keys into his open palm and opened your window. "Just try to be quiet and walk lightly when you land, there's gravel. Also try to duck under the windows, I'm right above the kitchen." You smiled slightly at the irony of the situation. It felt like you were in high school all over again. "I'm sure he's asleep, just be careful and- are you even okay to drive? Wait I might have a breathalyzer in my bathroom," Bradley leaned down, silencing you as he grabbed your face in his hands, kissing you softly. Almost as if he sneaks out of his uncle's daughter's window every weekend. "We don't really have much of a choice, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? " You nodded at the statement as he climbed out of your window. You watched as he scaled the side of the house before jumping down and landing on the gravel below. He looked up as if to wish you goodnight before he froze, bathed in the light from your kitchen window. Specifically, the kitchen window that was right above the sink. The light that was almost never on unless you or your father were using the kitchen. You open your mouth slightly in confusion; it's probably nothing. All's well, no drama. Bradley continued to look into the kitchen window before seeming to snap out of the daze he was in. "What are you doing, go!" You whisper yelled at him before shutting your window and closing the blinds.

Your alarm went off half an hour later; you had already stress cleaned your entire room and decluttered your bathroom. You got dressed into your uniform, and you spent twenty minutes more than usual putting your hair up into a bun. You looked at your phone and groaned when you realized you still had three hours before you had to leave.

You shined your shoes, unpacked and repacked your extra backpack that you kept at your dad's house; cleaned the glass on your picture frames, and dusting each of your shutters individually, before deciding that you were being pathetic and it was time to go downstairs. You premade your dad a dinner of beef lasagna before starting breakfast. You started the coffee maker and grabbed the sleeve of bread from above the stove. You placed two pieces of bread in the toaster and then grabbed out a pan and carton of eggs. You worked in silence as you watched the sun rise from the windows in the kitchen. You set the bar counter and place down the plates.

While you waited for your father, you opened your email on your phone, looking over the predicted flight path from your training you were supposed to complete today. Right as you finished submitting a request for a two thirty take-off time, you heard footsteps behind you. You placed your phone down on the table and smiled at your dad. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to get rid of the sleep shadowing his features. "Morning, honey." You picked up your fork and began eating as he sat down, blindly going through the motions of eating his breakfast. You watched as the food slowly breathed life back into him.

"So," he started as he picked up a piece of egg on his fork. Here we go. "When I got home I could've sworn that Bradleys car was in the driveway. Then as I was making myself a glass of water before I went upstairs to bed he appeared right in front of me in the window. What's that about?" You raised your eyebrows at him from your place across from him. "Dad, why would Bradley be here?" He shrugged at you as he laid his fork down. "I don't know why would Bradley be in my house at three-thirty am on a Saturday morning." You rolled your eyes. "Dad, Bradley hasn't talked to me since you pulled his papers from the academy unless it's a necessary conversation." Your dad frustratedly waved his hands before staring at you. You took in a breath as you repeated to yourself 'I am in the Navy, I am an unstoppable motion, I will not break.' "Let's look up what it means when you see an old friend who's drifted away from you in a dream." You picked up your phone to get a break from his eyes on you, but you felt them baring into your forehead and that was almost worse. "When you see an old friend in a dream it often means that the pressures of current life are too much and you yearn for a time when life was simpler." You placed your phone back on the table. "I'm sure the time will come to sort out everything with him." You wipe your mouth with your napkin before placing it on your plate. You stood up and reached across the table to grab his plate as well. You cleaned them both off and placed the dishes in the dishwasher. "It felt so real." You rolled your lips in between your teeth to avoid any involuntary facial expressions. 

"These types of dreams always do. Hey, I need to get back to base-" You turned around to face your dad- "Can you drive me? I ubered here last night." He looked at the oven, confused. "It's only five-twenty, do you really need to go already?" You nodded. "Alright, give me twenty minutes and we can go." You nodded your thanks as you began cleaning the kitchen again.

The ride back to base was comfortably silent. He pulls up to the front door and you remember how it feels to be in high school again. The only time your dad would drop you off was before he had to leave for a few days on an assignment and you wouldn't see him. You reached over the center console and gave him a short hug. "I made lasagna for you to have for dinner, it's in the fridge. All you have to do is put it in the oven, there's instructions on top of the seran wrap. Don't let it sit in the oven for longer than forty five minutes or it will burn." He smiled at you as you drew back. "Thanks, sweetie. I'm sorry for assuming about Bradley." You opened the car door and bent down to look at him. "It's alright, love you dad." He grinned and repeated the statement before you shut the door and he drove off. 

You cracked your neck while your plane was being marshaled. You were ready to shower and watch a movie with Rooster. It had been a long flight and an even longer amount of training while you were in the air. You gave a thumbs up to the marshal on the ground before killing the engine and opening the plane. You unbuckled your harness and climbed down to the ground, willing to put off unnecessary maintenance until tomorrow. You unbuckled the chin strap on your helmet before cracking other joints in your body that had stiffened while you were in the air. You smiled at Phoenix as she ran towards you, expecting a joke or a story about something that happened in the locker room while you were in the air. So you were incredibly confused when she held up your phone instead. "Dude, your phone has been blowing up for the past twenty minutes. It was annoying the hell out of everyone in the common room." You raised your eyebrows at her before grabbing your phone from her hand. Your eyes widened at the notifications that greeted you. You had five missed calls from your dad and one unread message. You tapped on the message and felt your blood chill at the six words that greeted you, "Come over for dinner, bring Bradley." Shit.

You hadn't seen your father, or Bradley for that matter, this silent in years. The only sound was the scrapping of forks and the occasional sound of wine glasses hitting the table. Bradley clears his throat next to you and you groan internally. "Wow babe, this lasagna is super good! You'll have to send me the recipe." Your dad pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth at the word babe, and you slam your foot down on Bradleys under the table. His breath lapses and you almost feel bad. You pick up your wine glass and gulp down the remaining contents.

"So, honey," you look up with a false smile, not yet ready for this conversation, "when were you going to mention this." You tuck your hair behind your ears as you lay your fork down on your empty plate. "I wanted to wait a little bit, sort out things first." The moment the words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them. Your fathers face grew red as he made full eye contact with you. "You wanted to wait a little bit to mention that you're- you're canoodling with my RIO'S son who I've spent my entire life trying to protect?" You scrunch your eyebrows at the words. "Canoodli- Bradley stop laughing." Your voice falls flat as you notice your boyfriends shaking body next to you. Your father opens his mouth and it's like the dam broke all at once around you. Bradley started yelling, trying to explain himself, and your dad started to point fingers, angry and confused. "Both of you, cut it out!" Maverick slams his hands down on the table and swivels his body to look at you. "And you, young lady!" You gasp and stutter as he fumes at you. "Young lady? I'm fucking twenty-seven!" You stand up to level with your father, not wanting him to be able to look down at you. "Why would you lie to me about this?" You stared at him with a dumbfounded expression. "Because I knew you would reach like this! Oh yeah dad that was Bradley who you saw in the window last night, he was too drunk to drive so I brought him here. We've been dating for the past three weeks, now who wants dessert? I think there's ice cream in the freezer?" You wave your hands around in frustration as he throws his head back and groans. "Pete, can you really blame her? You're proving her point." You hunched your shoulders as Bradley spoke from beside you. You didn't want him to be forced into the battle. "Are you fucking serious? How could you do this? There's plenty of girls just on base that would go out with you, date you. Why her? Why my daughter?" You throw your head into your hands as your dad continues to curse Bradley. The arguing turns into white noise behind you; all you want is to go home.

"Because I fucking love her, okay! I have been in love with your daughter since I was seventeen." Your head snaps up as you hear the statement. The kitchen around you falls silent and it feels as if your entire world comes together and implodes in a matter of milliseconds. The earth tilts on its axis and your breath becomes labored, "You- you what?" 

Taglist under the cut (if you want to be added to the series tag list either drop a comment or give me a little electronic kiss!

@n3ssm0nique @katiemcrae @hotch-meeeeeuppppp and obviously @itscheybaby (twice for good measure)

[lovelyamneris]

George + Jerry, “The art of not being an idiot is extremely challenging for me.”

I've been hoarding this ask in my inbox for God knows how long I'm so sorry anon. Then I wrote like three quarters of it and posted about that and was immediately hit with writer's block. Here's my attempt at trying to write more seinfeld content for you <3

[Ao3 Link] [Full Series]

It’s early on a Saturday and Monk’s diner bustles with its usual crowd of regulars. George and Jerry are sitting across from each other in a booth by the window; George with a strawberry pastry and hot coffee and Jerry working on his third consecutive double espresso.

Sun pours in and blankets their table with warm early morning light. It’s intimate; in the way that drinking coffee every day with your oldest friend is intimate once it's a routine.

“So do you think that’s funny?” Jerry is asking, doting over a notebook of incomprehensible scribbles, “Are people allowed to laugh at that sort of thing these days or would it be considered a mood killer?”

Jerry is pretty sure that the audience wouldn’t throw tomatoes at him like he’s in a bad Shakespearian play, but stranger things have happened.

George half shrugs, “I don’t know. How would I know?”

“Well, I assumed as a fellow human being you’d have an opinion.”

“Comedy is subjective.” George says waving him off, “Just improvise or something.”

“Surprisingly harder than you think.”

The last time Jerry tried to improvise on stage the only person in the audience laughing was Elaine. And technically she was laughing more at his expense than she was at the joke. Cue the metaphorical tomato throwing. Jerry stares at his notepad and pouts. Why is it so difficult to figure out if his joke is funny or not? Kramer laughed, but perhaps that’s a bad sign.

A moment passes and when he looks back up from his notepad George is about five shades paler. Jerry recognizes the look immediately. It’s the ghostly expression of a man doomed to come face to face with the consequences of his own actions. Never a good sign for George.

“What’s wrong?” Jerry asks. Despite the courtesy of asking the question, he doesn’t seem too concerned by George’s sudden change in demeanor. He’s used to George’s sudden waves of panic. It’s like his default.

“Does that look like Lindsay to you?” George’s voice cracks.

“Psycho sadist Lindsay?” Jerry looks around the diner theatrically, “The one who thinks you got wacked by the mob? Where?”

“In our booth by the door.”

From where they’re sitting, Jerry can only see the side of her head, but it’s definitely Lindsay. She seems a lot happier than he remembers. Back when she was with George, she always had the face of someone who’s just accidently bitten into a lemon. Kramer even called her lemon face once, which was an awful moment for everyone involved.

“That’s her alright.” Jerry confirms, “What do you think she’s doing here?”

“I have absolutely no idea!” George shrinks down in the booth to hide from her, “She knows I get the diner in the breakup. It’s part of our pre-breakup agreement!”

“Ah, the pre-breakup agreement. The prenup of the dating world.” Jerry nods understandingly, “While I’d usually agree with you on that, I think faking your own death gives her a loophole.”

“I died while we were together!” George counters, whisper yelling. He looks awfully frazzled and generally insane, “She’s basically my widow. How does she think you feel having to see my widow at your favorite diner? It’s outrageous!”

Jerry considers this. Ever since the infamous incident with the fancy plates, he’s instinctively crossed to the other side of the street when he’s seen her in public. He’s not sure he’d be able to hold it together if she asked him about his best friend and said best friend’s terrible fate at the hands of the mob. Cracking a grin would probably not be an acceptable response.

And George is technically right. If he was actually dead, Jerry wouldn’t want to see Lindsay at the diner. It would undoubtedly cause a chain of events starting with him thinking about George and moping around about it (Jerry’s not sure he’s capable of moping, but he’s too afraid to find out) and ending with him being all sad and ruining his comedy routine. How are you supposed to be funny when you’re busy thinking about your dead friend?

Jerry relents, “Well, I can’t argue with that logic.”

“What do I do?” George panics, shrinking further down in the booth, “She’s going to kill me, Jerry!”

“I think you’re overreacting. So what if psycho Lindsay sees you? It’s the nineties. Is a dead man not allowed to have a strawberry pastry without persecution?”

George deflates, “You’re not taking this seriously. Lindsay is going to kill me and you’re making your little jokes about it. Great. Thanks a lot.”

“Hey, it’s not like you didn’t bring this on yourself. Even Elaine said she knew this would come back to haunt you eventually. It’s about time you face the music.”

George doesn’t think that sounds appealing at all. He’s gone his whole life avoiding the music. Why should he face it now! In fact, only people who have given up in life subject themselves to the music. If you’re still alive and breathing then it’s your God given right to avoid the music.

“How does Elaine know about the fancy plates?”

“Kramer told her.”

“How did Kramer know?!”

“I told Kramer.”

And of course. Of course, everyone in filled in and up to date on George’s suffering. He shoots Jerry a scathing look and Jerry returns it with a lopsided teasing grin.

Jerry glances down at his empty cup of espresso and frowns. The whole lemon faced Lindsay debacle has distracted him from what’s most important. Caffeine. He’s sure that the waitress is avoiding him because George is causing a scene. Or maybe Jerry is being cut off like he’s a drunk at a bar. Are they allowed to cut you off from caffeine? Is there an unspoken caffeine limit that only waitresses and baristas know about? He decides to investigate further.

Just as he's about to signal for the waitress, Jerry makes eye contact with Lindsay. Her face drops and suddenly she has that lemon faced expression about her again. Uh oh. Lindsay says something to her friend and gets up from her seat, making her way across the diner and towards them.

Jerry gives an enthusiastic wave, the type of wave that you’d give an old friend you’re seeing for the first time in a while. After all, Lindsay was always friendly to him. And she was one of George's most humor-inclined girlfriends! Maybe she'd be able to tell him if the joke was funny or not.

George stares at him in horror, “What? What’s happening?”

“Buck up, buddy, looks like she’s coming over.”

George makes a face like he’s been hit by a bus, but he defeatedly slides back up in his seat. Suddenly Lindsay is beside their booth, arms crossed.

“So, I’m guessing this is a Weekend at Bernie’s situation?” She asks. Jerry appreciates her humor. She seems pretty chill for someone who just found out that her boyfriend has risen from the dead.

“Good guess.” Jerry says conversationally, “Actually, George was getting too cramped in his coffin. He doesn’t do well in small spaces and decided to call the whole death thing off. Good idea if you ask me, the whole funeral thing is always a bit too theatric in my opinion. Like we get it. You're dead. Move on."

“Real classy.” Lindsay shoots back, but Jerry can tell that she liked the joke, “By the way George, I knew it wasn’t real when I called your parents to offer my condolences and your dad laughed at me. Anything to say about that?”

George shrugs, the gig is up as they say, “Admittedly, the art of not being an idiot is extremely challenging for me.”

Lindsay rolls her eyes, "You know what, I don't care." She heads back over to her friend and doesn't look back.

“Huh. She took that pretty well.” Jerry says when Lindsay is out of ear shot, “The way you talk about her I assumed her reaction would’ve been far more deranged.”

“Trust me,” George says seriously, “If you weren’t here she would’ve unhinged her jaw and swallowed me whole like a snake.”

“Too bad. I would’ve liked to see that.”

Finally, the waitress comes back over and Jerry orders another espresso. He considers his joke again.

“Should I ask Lindsay if she thinks the joke’s funny?” Jerry asks seriously. Lindsay is still sitting across the diner with her friend, “I need a woman’s perspective.”

George shrugs, “Jerry, I’m telling you right now, just improvise. Or do the lifeguard bit again. It’s your best.”

[littlespoonevan]

okay this took me forever bc i could not for the life of me think of a tattoo to cover up ian’s  that was actually like. nice but also relevant to monica (bc despite my feelings about her i don’t want to take that sentiment away). i’m happy with the one i chose though so hopefully you like it too <33

(quick reminder: i’m not accepting anymore prompts at the moment while i work on the ones in my inbox <3)

*

Ian is standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom brushing his hair back out of his face with a comb when he hears the water cut off in the shower. A moment later he’s on the receiving end of a damp side hug as Mickey winds the hand not holding up his towel around Ian’s waist to balance himself while he leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Mm hey,” Mickey greets warmly and Ian pauses in his ministrations to smile at him in the mirror.

Dropping his comb, he turns and settles his hands on Mickey’s shoulders, absently massaging the divot of space beneath Mickey’s collarbones with his thumbs. “Hey. You doin’ anything today?”

He knows Mickey has the day off and days off for Mickey – especially rare weekday ones – usually result in him not surfacing from bed until at least 11:00 before he has a late breakfast and parks himself on the couch for the rest of the day. But today he’s already up and showered and it’s not even 10am. The way Mickey ducks his head when he asks the question also suggests he does have something on.

Which is a little weird – if only because Ian also has the day off since he’s changing rotation from days to nights this week.

“I, uh, I’ve got an appointment in a couple hours,” Mickey says evasively and Ian frowns.

Mickey only ever talks like this when his dad’s involved and Ian will shoot Terry himself if he’s after getting Mickey caught up in his shit again. “What kind of appointment?” he asks, not sure if he really wants to hear the answer.

Mickey must be able to tell where Ian’s mind goes though because he looks up and rolls his eyes. “A real appointment, dumbass,” he says. “At a tattoo parlour.”

Ian instantly feels himself relax and lets go of Mickey to put his comb back in the medicine cabinet next to his morning meds. “You getting a new tattoo?”

Mickey doesn’t answer right away and when he does the words are mumbled at a barely audible volume. “Fixing one actually.”

Ian pauses, turning around to face Mickey again. Mickey’s busying himself with tightening the towel around his waist, pointedly not looking in Ian’s direction. Ian takes the time to let his eyes drop to the tattoo sitting on Mickey’s chest before he steps forward again, brushing his fingers over Mickey’s forearm and coaxing his arms away from his torso. “Mick.”

Mickey looks up at him, letting Ian pull his arms around his waist and releasing a sigh that comes out more resigned than bashful. “Guess I figured since you’re stickin’ around I should probably make it look the way it’s supposed to.”

Ian smiles even though his heart squeezes a little painfully in his chest. He hates that he ever made Mickey doubt the fact he would stay. He reaches up, running the fingers of his left hand over his name. He does it on purpose so Mickey will see the wedding ring and remember. This is forever now. “Can I come with you?” he asks, looking up from Mickey’s chest to meet his gaze.

“Why?” Mickey says, shrugging like he doesn’t care but Ian can tell he probably does. “The guy said it shouldn’t take that long.”

“Well, if we’re in a fixing tattoos kinda mood maybe I should do something about the one on my back.”

Mickey’s face twists into a familiar grimace at the mention of the obnoxious boobs on Ian’s shoulder before going slack with surprise. “You’re gonna cover it up?”

It’s Ian’s turn to shrug. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I mean, I know Monica’d probably find it hilarious but it’s ugly as shit.”

Mickey snorts at that, a sort of no arguments from me, pal!

“And I’ve finally got enough money put away to afford to get something big enough to cover it. I could call and see if they can fit me in too?”

Mickey considers him for a moment before his mouth ticks up at the corners and his hands squeeze Ian’s hips. “Guess we got a date, Gallagher.”

*

They’re led into separate rooms when they get there. Mickey had already had a consultation but Ian hadn’t, not to mention the fact Ian’s is a significantly longer job than Mickey’s. He likes the idea he came up with though.

He’d started thinking about cover ups almost from the minute he’d gotten the tattoo but not only had it been too expensive, he’d also had no fucking idea what to get. He still wants it to be something for her because no matter how fucked up things got and no matter what she’s done, he still misses her. But as time passed the more he’d started to think maybe he wanted it to mean a little more than that too.

In the end he’d settled on something that he thought fit for both of them.

He’s had a general picture of what he’s wanted for a while now and when he shows it to the tattoo artist – Benny, his nametag says – he sketches a couple of his own mock-ups for Ian to choose from. It’s gonna take a couple of hours so he texts Mickey while Benny is prepping his shoulder and tells him he doesn’t need to hang around for him if he doesn’t want to.

Mickey texts him back a succinct, “Whatever, Gallagher,” and that’s the end of that until Mickey texts him again approximately forty-five minutes later, saying, “I’m gonna go get lunch, want me to bring you back something?”

Ian buries his smile against his arm where he’s got it braced in front of him in the chair and tries to remain completely still as he texts back.

Ian: My usual. Thank you <3

Mickey: Whatever

Mickey: <3

*

Mickey takes his time, obviously choosing to eat his own lunch at the mall and kill some time so Ian’ll be almost done by the time he comes back to the tattoo parlour. Ian hears the bell jangle above the door in the main room about five minutes before Benny finally sits back and says, “Okay, you’re all set.”

Ian relaxes in the chair before he remembers he hasn’t seen it yet. He extricates himself from the awkward position he’d been in for the past few hours and makes his way to mirror in the corner of the room, turning around and craning his neck. He catches sight of the corner of it before Benny appears next to him with a handheld mirror so he can get a better look.

It’s perfect.

Sure enough, Mickey’s waiting for him when he comes onto the main shop floor, lunch in hand, and Ian flashes him an affectionate smile before he goes up to the counter to pay.

Other than Mickey asking him again what he got and Ian telling him he’ll show him when they get home they don’t talk about their tattoos on the way home. Not that Ian can really think of much else – he’d been so anxious about covering up his own tattoo, he’d forgotten why they’d even come here in the first place. What Mickey did.

It’s a lot to process – the level of devotion that tattoo shows.

It’d felt like someone had taken a knife to Ian’s own chest when he’d first seen it. Like a giant declaration of all the ways Ian had fucked Mickey up. Now though, now Ian feels it for what it is. Unconditional love.

By some unspoken agreement they both head straight up the stairs when they get back to the house, following each other into the bedroom and closing the door behind them. When they’re stood face to face beside the bed Ian finally opens his mouth to speak.

“You first,” he requests quietly, the moment feeling oddly intimate as Mickey glances down, shrugging off his jacket before reaching for his t-shirt.

Ian watches with rapt attention as he pulls his shirt over his head, eyes zeroing in on Mickey’s chest as soon as he lets his arms fall back to his sides again. There’s tape over it but Ian can still see it clear as day. He lets out a breath and steps closer, fingers hovering above the letters. The extra “l” fits in seamlessly and other than the ��h” being a little on the small side in order to make it fit, you’d never know it wasn’t there in the first place.

Ian looks up to find Mickey staring off to the side, a faint splotch of colour on his cheeks, and Ian bites down on a smile, carefully turning Mickey’s chin back towards him. “I love you,” he says softly, darting in to steal a kiss. It’s enough to make Mickey relax and lean into him, which is all Ian had wanted really.

“Alright, your turn,” Mickey says when he pulls back. “Enough with the secrecy bullshit.”

Ian huffs a laugh but obligingly steps back and pulls on the hem of his t-shirt. Once he gets it over his head he tosses it on the bed and turns around, feeling oddly nervous for Mickey’s reaction.

Mickey doesn’t say anything right away but after a beat Ian feels the gentle pressure of Mickey’s fingertips right around the outline of the tape and he knows what Mickey sees. A compass with a rope intricately woven around it.

“I wanted something for Monica but I wanted it to be for me too,” Ian explains, unprompted. He turns to face Mickey again and finds him watching him carefully, like he’s trying to work something out.

“I felt really fucking lost for a long time after everything that happened,” he continues quietly. It’s hard to look Mickey in the eye but he forces himself to anyway. “And I know I kinda have a habit of running away from my problems but…I always want to come home. To my family. To you.”

Mickey’s throat bobs at the last part, hands twitching for a moment at his sides before they reach up to land on Ian’s shoulders. “What’s it got to do with your mom?”

Ian gives him a half-hearted smile. “I looked it up; Monica means advisor.” He lets out bemused laugh, shaking his head. “She’s- She didn’t give me good advice,” he says seriously because if nothing else he wants to remind Mickey that he knows Monica played some role in their relationship ending all those years ago. “I know that now but- she did show me what I didn’t want my life to become.”

Mickey nods, expression softening like he understands.

“And…she was lost too,” Ian adds, blowing out a breath. “I don’t think she ever had anyone like you to remind her she had something worth coming back to.”

Mickey stares at him for a moment, a myriad of expressions flickering across his face before he cups Ian’s cheek. “She could’ve come back for you,” he says solemnly and Ian smiles, covering Mickey’s hand with his own.

“I know,” he murmurs. “We were never enough to make her stay though.” Ian presses his forehead against Mickey’s. “You make me want to stay.”

Mickey doesn’t say anything to that, just draws him into a kiss filled with surety and love. Ian wraps his arms around him and kisses back, pouring everything he has into it. Because really, in a lot of ways, Mickey should probably be the one with the compass tattoo considering all the times he’s managed to make his way back to Ian right when he’d needed him.

But he likes it. The past couple of years he feels like he’s found himself again. And in doing that he found Mickey again.

And he’s never, ever letting him go.

*

[pastelgrungewrecker]

Home Movies and Haunted Eyes

If I could save time in a bottle The first thing that I'd like to do Is to save every day till eternity passes away Just to spend them with you

“How come you take so many pictures, anyway?”

Mimi’s hands tightened on her little camera- an old, beaten thing; with a chip on the lens’ plastic casing and the color worn away where it screwed onto the body of the device. She swallowed her tears and smiled at her firehaired sister.

“....Just in case.”

Se asked again, before they got the invitation- why she took so many photos of such... trivial things. Of family lunches on a Monday afternoon. Of Quickdraw laying on his back in the yard to watch clouds, moments before Chrona leapt onto his midsection like a swandive.

“Cause one day, it’s all I’m gonna have left to give you.”, she said quietly- before the door opened and Perceptor dried his eye and croaked her name.

“Th- The memorial, is...”

“The G9 memorial?”

“Y-Yes it’s... Three days.”

Dani and Quickdraw scrambled to their feet, the other siblings seeming to materialize out of the cozy haze of their home as Mimi hugged her father as tight as she could, in arms that life made strong and gentle and warm before she pulled her phone from a pocket.

She spoke in low tones, avoiding Quickdraw’s concern and Chrona’s suspicion until Dani- bright Dani, burning Dani- stomped forward and demanded she answer Quickdraw’s unspoken question.

For the first time, the only time, she snapped at her sister in a voice colder than they’d ever heard.

“It’s a memorial for the fucking DEAD Laudanum, now sit your ass DOWN.”

Percy gently rapped his knuckles against Mimi’s shoulder, trying and failing to scold her with a look as Whirl came in from the backyard and demanded to know what was going on, why Chrona had sprinted onto the deck and hollered for him til she coughed.

Mimi sighed, walking Perceptor to the couch with her voice softened and avoiding the shocked stares of her siblings. She let Perceptor cling to her, let his shoulders shake.

“The memorial for the Garrus 9 mission is in three days.”, she said softly, “And Perceptor is taking it really hard-”

“They-”, he coughed to clear his throat, “They want me to speak. At the service.”

Whirl’s expression softened- stoic and calm; he stepped softly to Perceptor and knelt down, braid swinging in and out of view as his head tilted.

“Are you going to?”

“Y-Yes. I. I owe it to Top Spin, and Twin Twist. And everyone. The crew, I’m-”

“Do you want the family there, Percy?”

“We can’t- We can’t have the children there; I mean, Mimi needs to be, they were...”

“Perceptor; we can’t hide the kids from death forever.”, murmured Whirl, “You and I both know everything’s eventual- one day it’s gonna be us in caskets.”

“But-”

“I want to go.”, blurted Dani, “I mean... I. We don’t.... We don’t really know... anything about the Wreckers that our parents were such good friends with. We don’t know what you went through, and we WANT to, right guys?”

Kickback nodded sharply with arms crossed over her chest, Chrona reappearing and giving a soft “Yeah” into the room as Quickdraw’s eyebrow raised in agreement.

“And, maybe selfishly....”, continued Dani, “...We wanna understand. We know that, like- there’s certain. Alarm tones on our phones we can’t use, cause they make you and Papa Whirl have an attack. Or they make Mimi start crying and we have to get Papa Ratch. We want to understand WHY- the only thing we know of Garrus 9 is what they told us in school.”

“And it wasn’t much.”, Kickback chimed in, to her sister’s relief, “I mean, for God’s sake Papaceptor- My history teacher said you were a reenactment actor when he first met you! This is... kind of our family history, right?”

“In. In a way.”, said Perceptor quietly, “It... certainly had an effect on your family, but you are all so young, I couldn’t-”

“Wreckers take care of their own.”, whispered Quickdraw, with cybernetic eyes narrowed like Whirl’s good eye so often did, “History or not, Papaceptor... You’re hurting. And so is Mimi. And we’re your family, aren’t we? Raised by Wreckers- and Wrecker’s Daughters.”

Perceptor looked at Quickdraw in surprise, Whirl humming in intrigue at his son’s sudden firm stance.

“Mimi taught us all that, remember? Wreckers care for their own. You and Papa Whirl take care of each other and all the dad’s, and they return it. You take care of Mimi and she takes care of you. Mimi... Takes care of all of us. And we’re gonna do the same for her.”

Chrona huffed a laugh, popping up next to Mimi, “Besides, we need to find some sweet blackmail stories on Big Sister over here- not fair she can use my pigtail pics against me!”

Whirl snorted softly, and Perceptor managed a creaky smile, and sighed, “...Alright. I... It would. It would help me keep it together. If my family was with me. All of my family.”

“Then it’s settled.” said Whirl as Drift clattered in through the backdoor, “Make sure to answer with a plus... however many are going. I’m not doin’ math after dealing with a hippy tryin’ to eat the fuckin’ garden AGAIN.”

“I didn’t!”, yelped Drift, trying to pull his dirty shoes off.

“YOU’RE GROWIN’ FUCKIN’ WEED IN THE TOMATOES AGAIN, WHILE EATIN’ ALL MY TOMATOES!”

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Three days came, and went. The family filed out, loading into two vehicles as dawn started to rise over the horizon- showing Perceptor and Whirl and Mimi and Drift in her half-dead four door. Smoke trailed from Perceptor’s cracked window, and Mimi simply pretended not to see him toss half a pack of menthol cygarettes into her glovebox next to a steel lighter.

Whirl made a disapproving noise. Mimi shot him a look. The car went silent.

The drive seemed to take too long, Mimi white-knuckled and Perceptor dead eyed as Drift fidgeted almost uncontrollably. Mimi sighed.

“A couple hits off of ONE, Dri-dri.”, she said sternly, “And try not to ash my upholstery?”

The hiss of a match.

Silence.Mimi glanced in the rearview, seeing Cyclonus smiling in melancholy as he no doubt fielded questions from the siblings in the van as Ratchet drove with his face pensive and dull.

The gates of a graveyard rose high in front of them, and she breathed deep as the wheel creaked from her grip.

“Pull over.”, said Perceptor softly, ice riming the words like they had so very long before this family had been built.

She nodded, waving a hand out her window as she did to signal to the van carrying the rest of them. Perceptor waited until the parking break creaked it’s exhaustion before taking a heavy drag and exhale- before passing it to the side. 

Whirl and Drift looked alarmed as Mimi accepted with hands shaking hard enough to blur.

“Mimosa what in the name of-”

“It’s just something we did.”, was the answer in unison.

Smoke curled around Mimi’s words, she let her eyes drift shut for a moment, and then handed the last drag back to Perceptor. 

“Are we ready, then?”, she asked, rubbing her lips together like she had just applied lip balm to get rid of the nagging tingle.

“As ready as I can be.”

They unbuckled seatbelts and shoved open car doors, stretching in the sunlight as Perceptor and Mimi walked around to the trunk. It clicked with a turn of her key and a tap of a code to show relics of days long forgotten. She helped Perceptor buckle on the old, thin armor- bulletproof and matte dark. She tightened the holsters around his thighs in ritualistic silence as her siblings watched and slowly began to understand.

She stood, and nodded, and turned to let him attack her hair in the same grieving quiet.

Her prosthetics groaned slightly as her weight shifted, her hair slicked back to match her father’s and glasses she rarely wore perched on her nosebridge in a match his scuffed reticule.

“Why are they....”, whispered Drift as Whirl coughed quietly.

“Sign of respect.”, said Whirl, gesturing at his own appearance- his braid and old patch, still emblazoned with the sigil that dominated his past with blood and bullets.

“We’re Wreckers. And you only leave one of three ways. Dishonorable discharge, dementia...”

“Or death.”, said Mimi quietly.

“But... weren’t you vetoed, Whirl?”

“Yep, from a few missions.”, he said, “I was still active on the roster. Still called in a few times between my.... Other activities. But never relieved, never truly removed. Never gone, just put on standby.”

Quickdraw looked at the somber faces, something seeming to click in his head, “.... Are you still on standby now?”

Whirl looked down. Perceptor looked away. Mimi breathed deep.

“Yeah, they are. The Wreckers were never formally dissolved, kiddo.”, she said, “And, by technicality, they could call me in too.”

“But you-”, began Quickdraw.

“It’s the same way Rodimus is a Wrecker.”, she said gently, “He ran with them for a decent while, against the Swarm mostly. But he’s still... Wrecker adjacent, so to speak. They could tap him to replace missing faces on the roster. I was raised on the Trion- Springer’s ship.”

“You knew SPRINGER?!”, squeaked Kickback.

“Yeah, unfortunately.”, she grimaced, “He’s a huge jerk, by the way. Don’t talk to him- he’s never liked Si-si, or Dri-dri, or Papa Birdy.”

“Feelin’s mutual.”

“Whirl, no.”, sighed Drift.

“Anyway... Come on.”, said Mimi, “We’d better get walking.”

“Walking?”

“Bad luck to drive in a graveyard, even if there’s roads.”, said Drift.

“It’s disrespectful too- unless it’s a hearse. Only exception.”, said Perceptor as gravel crunched under their feet, “Mostly because the hearse, or the coffin’s transport in general, is necessary. Bodies are heavy, and caskets are solid.”

“Why isn’t there any hearses around here, then?”, asked Chrona, before feeling the air crack like sugar glass. 

Mimi squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then spoke, “...Because it’s a memorial. For a mission that didn’t let anyone bring any remains home, Chrona.”

Chrona stuttered, and fell quiet. Dani and Kickback reached out in unison, catching Mimi’s hands.

“...Did you and Papaceptor. Know anyone on the mission?”

Mimi felt the air in her lungs chill over, and she nodded, “Yeah, li’l gremlins.”, she said with a weak half smile as her eyes began to leak, “I knew Top Spin, and Twin Twist. And Mister Magnus too. And I knew Rotorstorm, for a little while, and even Pyro and Guzzle and Auntie Verity. You remember Auntie Verity?”

“Yeah.”

“And... Uncle Ironfist. Uncle Fisi, I knew him too. And I... I knew Papaceptor.”

Quickdraw gasped.

“Papaceptor had to go on that mission, you see.”, she said, chest already jumping, “And... And very awful, terrible things happened. And so many people died, for... for nothing, really. For something the government needed.”

The family walked in silence, led by Mimi and Perceptor and the shine of tears.

“And only a few came back. Grandpap Kup. Pap Impactor, who you’ll meet today. Aunt Verity. Uncle Fisi. Springer. And Papa. And Mister Max. You might see him today too.”

The family noticed the crowd, the somber crowd, with Ultra Magnus of the Line Ambus the most somber of all as he stood upon the dais.

“Top Spin and Twin Twist were the first people I called Papa.”, whispered Mimi softly, “Before me and Papaceptor had anybody else.”

She smiled at her siblings, letting go of Dani and Kickback’s hands before hooking her arm with Perceptor.

They walked forward- ignoring salutes and red eyes as they walked up the stairs- weaponry heavy around and under their clothes. Magnus shook each of their hands, and nodded for them to go stand with the rest of the survivors of that ill-fated mission.

Kup patted Perceptor’s shoulder, eyes clouded slightly yet still sharp, and grinned at Mimi around his cigar.

Verity patted the seats next to her, her face lined past its years.

As Magnus’s voice sounded, Mimi let her eyes hover half-closed, letting her head lean against Perceptor’s shoulder as he patted her cold hand.

||She was a child again, patting the console and sobbing- tears were streaming, she had heard Papa’s voice, she HEARD it and why isn’t he home yet. Mister Magnus WHY he was supposed to be home in time for MOVIE TIME, don’t you understand that he PROMISED; you need to go save him! That’s what enforcers do, don’t they?

Her little prayers being met with fear and anxious hushing, the rumble of the engines as they circled the pickup zone frantically searching for a signal- for anything. Any signs of life.

She remembered the carnage come home. She remembered Fisitron and his odd eyes- they shook in place like he was always reading the world- his odd eyes closed and his face sickly pale.

She remembered Verity, blankly wiping smears of blood and tears and saliva from her face and armor and staying so silent no matter how many times Mimi’s tiny voice called her name.

And then Si-si - silent and cold and gone too far away for her to touch. Walking past her with weakening steps as she toddled behind him, calling for her Papa to wait- not so fast, her legs is only little.

“Si-si, why are you crying? Si-si- Don’t cry, I can help!”||

Perceptor patted her hand, seeing tears rolling down her face and she blinked herself back. Mimi looked at him, smiled weakly, and looked away- releasing him to take weakening steps to the podium- to let his voice sound out clarion and cold and edged in ice and blood.

Like it had so long ago.

Her prosthetic legs shifted, and she looked just in front of the popup stage they sat up to see headstones that guarded no bodies. Graves she knew held empty caskets.

She felt her stomach freeze over, felt her eyes dim down like permafrost.

And in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but be surprised her name wasn’t on a gravemarker; to memorialize the childhood that died the day the Wreckers came home.

[little-werewolf-oven]

If you're still doing the writing prompts, Harringrove 10 & 45! :) Also I just want to say that I really love the Parent Trap, your fic is a gem!

(THANK YOU!! I’m hoping working these little drabbles will help me get back to finish Parent Escape with the panache you all deserve!!  In the meantime hope you enjoy this little bit!)10: A hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.

AND

45: Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.

Steve shifts in his bed, stirred awake by the alarm blaring in the other room.  He doesn’t have to look at his clock to know it’s 6 am, and that Billy’s alarm will go off at least two more times before he actually gets up.  Steve huffs out a put-upon sigh and does a crunch to get himself in a sitting position, yawning and scratching at his chest before flinging his feet around to land on the floor.  

For the past six months this has been their ritual: Billy sets an alarm, Steve wakes up to it, the light sleeper that he is, and gets started on his day.  About thirty minutes later Billy comes barreling through the kitchen, grabbing his things and running out the door.  It wasn’t long into this weird arrangement before Steve was brewing his roommate a to-go mug, sometimes even making him some toast, and once or twice, when he was feeling especially generous, a breakfast sandwich.  

This is apparently one of those mornings.  Steve’s feeling good; the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the cool spring air, still heavy with dew, is wafting through the open kitchen window.  He loves mornings like this, loves that he gets to experience them in his own space, at his own pace, without his dad harping at him about not living up to his potential, or his mom complaining about what the neighbors have done to their yard.  He never appreciated little moments like these in that house.  But how could he?  Can’t appreciate something that never existed in the first place. 

He goes to work putting the sandwiches together: toasted English muffin, slice of American cheese, fried egg with the yolk strategically broken and folded, and a sausage patty.  Puts one on a plate, wraps the other in a napkin and sets it next to the travel mug of coffee already filled and ready to go: one cream and two sugars.  

He sits back in the rickety kitchen chair, sipping at his coffee from his “#1 Grandma” mug Dustin had gotten him last Christmas, reading the funny pages as he hears the alarm go off for a third time, quickly followed by a, “shit, fuck” and the sound of Billy bumping around his room.  Steve grins.  He doesn’t have to be at the station until 8, still has plenty of time to shower and primp his hair, could even clean up the dishes, but Billy normally did that when he got home.  It was kind of an unspoken agreement between them; Steve takes care of things in the morning, and Billy picks up in the afternoon.  What’s weird is, a year ago no one would have thought he and Billy would be able to stand living in the same town as one another, much less the same apartment.  And now here they are, domesticated as cats.

Billy stumbles into the kitchen, shirt half on, jeans unbuttoned, hair uncombed, and still looking better than any of the one night stands Steve had brought home in the past four months.  It’s unfair, is what it is.  He pushes down any burgeoning feelings that might be creeping up as he watches Billy open a cabinet, curse, then shut it, before noticing the breakfast spread set out for him.  Grins into his mug and pretends to focus on the paper as he hears Billy say, “Fucking yessss,” followed by the tell-tale sounds of a bag opening and things being shuffled about, the heavy footfalls of boots coming toward him. 

“See you tonight,” Billy says, leaning down as Steve cranes his head up and over, lips meeting in a brief kiss before Billy’s swinging his messenger bag over his shoulder and walking out the door.  Steve goes back to reading the funnies, gets through a whole panel of Garfield before the reality of the situation hits him, and he has to put the paper down and lean back, fingers running through his hair as his brain tries to catch up.  He and Billy kissed. They kissed.  And he just… like it was… they KISSED…

The door slams back open and Steve jumps out of his chair, heart racing as he watches Billy stand in the open doorway, bag still on, unmoving as they both just stare at each other.  And then he’s dropping his bag to the floor, taking long deliberate strides until he’s against Steve, pressing him into the edge of the table, hands cupping his face as he kisses the ever-loving daylights out of him. And Steve had never really understood that phrase before, but now, he gets it.  Because the way Billy’s holding his face, his jaw, the way his lips move against his, the way he opens his mouth just enough to get a taste of tongue… it’s like the rest of the universe just fell away.  Day, night, time itself has ceased to exist, it’s just Billy and his hands and his tongue and the table digging into his side.

“Mph,” Steve groans, hands grabbing at Billy’s shoulders, pushing him away but not letting go, holding him out just far enough that he can take in the near dazed look on his face, the heady want in his eyes, before crashing their faces back together, using the leverage to push away from the table, slamming Billy’s back into the refrigerator.  From there it’s a dance of dominance, giving and taking, moving them from the kitchen to the living room, nearly tripping and dying over the coffee table Steve had insisted they needed, and finally making it into Billy’s room.  Clever hands and deft fingers unbutton and tug, leaving a trail of clothing behind them, until Billy’s pushing a shirtless Steve onto his bed, kicking off his own pants as he follows him down. 

“I gotta-” Steve gets out between kisses, “I gotta… I’ve got… work in…”

“Call in,” Billy says, lips moving down to Steve’s neck. 

“Mmm, you’re missing class…”

“You think I give one single fuck?” He raises his head so they’re nose to nose, Steve nearly going cross-eyed to keep looking at him.  Billy pets a hand through his hair, sliding it down to grip at his neck, “you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?”  And this… this is news to Steve.  He’d always assumed they’d gone from outright antagonists to reluctant classmates to tolerant housemates to kind of friends, and yeah sometimes he maybe looked a little too long or laughed a little too hard at one of Billy’s jokes, but that was just, he was just…  Billy lowered his mouth back down to his, and all other thoughts flew from Steve’s mind.  None of that mattered, now that they’d made it here. 

Billy eventually lets Steve up to call into work, poking at his side and absolutely ruining any illusion that he’s home with the flu.  An hour later the rumbling of both their stomachs bring them back to the kitchen, which looks absolutely ransacked, complete with a stray dog nosing through Billy’s messenger bag, back door still wide open, and magnets, postcards, and a month old shopping list littering the floor in front of the fridge.  

“I’ll take care of this, you make me a new sandwich?” Billy asks, watching as the dog chews on his napkin-wrapped breakfast, the plate where Steve’s had been now cracked and on the floor.  

“Sure thing,” he says, going for the stove, but is stopped by a hand on his waist. 

“Hey,” he turns to look at Billy, hint of nervousness showing on his face for the first time, “this, is this good?”  

Steve smiles and leans in to give him a soft kiss, comfortable, like they’d been dating for years, “Yeah, so very good.”

[captainkippen]

hi how about mary’s song (oh my my my) by taylor swift and tyrus for the song inspired one shots! i love your writing

Fun fact, this is my favourite Taylor song.

Mary’s Song

-- a tyrus fic

Cyrus was seven years old when TJ Kippen and his family moved in next door. Their first meeting wasn’t the smoothest, what with Cyrus accidentally running TJ down on his new bike and all, but it kicked off something incredible. They say the greatest romances are the kind you never expect but Cyrus wasn’t sure that was true.

Their dads build them the treehouse when they were eleven. It was a joint effort to give Cyrus and TJ somewhere to play that the adults could keep an eye on so they’d stop running into the street outside (too many narrow misses had occurred with Cyrus and cars) but it didn’t do much to stop the two from getting in trouble. It was an even sort of structure, twelve feet up in a tree that sat between the border of their two gardens, and perfectly safe as long as you didn’t jump down the ladder. They lit it old camping lamps and fairy lights dug out of the Goodman family’s garage so in the summer evenings when all the grownups were having drinks the boys could climb up and escape for a few hours in the dark.

At night, the treehouse was magical. It had an air of secrecy and enchantment that made it feel like stepping into another world altogether. Cyrus loved it more than any place he’d ever been and it was possible that TJ loved it even more. They would lie down in there and gaze at the stars, which peered out through the tall tree branches, talking about anything and everything. It was an unspoken agreement in the treehouse; a place of confidence. Any secrets you told would not leave those walls. It was safe.

“TJ?” Cyrus asked one night when they were twelve.

TJ turned his head and looked at Cyrus right in the eye, making his throat go dry and tight. That had been happening a lot lately, Cyrus couldn’t begin to explain why. The two of them laid side by side looking at the bright moon through the window. Reality felt miles away.

“Yeah?”

A pause while Cyrus mustered up the courage followed, but TJ waited patient as ever to hear him out.

He took a deep breath. “I. I think- I’m gay.”

“Oh. Okay,” TJ said, then turned away again.

Cyrus frowned. “Okay?”

“So you don’t have a crush on Andi then?” TJ asked, turning his eyes to stare at the ceiling. Andi was one of his best friends, a girl he’d known since elementary school, she was awesome but he couldn’t imagine having a crush on her. Cyrus stared at him. The tips of his ears were going red.

“No…” He said, then, “Do you?”

“What? No!”

“Okay… good,” Cyrus said slowly. “Glad we got that covered.”

There was another brief pause which might have been silent if it didn’t seem like Cyrus could almost hear the cogs in TJ’s brain working. He’d really thought his best friend might have something more to say about him coming out than ‘oh, okay’. In a strange way, he found himself a little annoyed at the lack of reaction. And why on earth would TJ think he had feelings for Andi?

“You know,” he said. “It’s okay if you do have a crush on Andi.”

“I don’t!”

He wasn’t sure he believed him.

TJ sat up a little, pushing up on to his elbows and turning to look at Cyrus again properly. “So… do you have a crush on anyone?”

Cyrus looked away to pick at his shoes and mumbled a negative. TJ narrowed his eyes.

“Liar,” he said, poking him. “Tell me the truth.”

Cyrus sighed. “Fine. I might… I kind of like Jonah.”

“Jonah Beck?!”

He nodded.

TJ groaned. “But he’s the worst. He totally hates me.”

“But he doesn’t hate me,” Cyrus said, struggling not to laugh at TJ’s expression. “‘Sides, he’d probably hate you less if you didn’t act like such an idiot around him.”

At that, TJ grabbed a pillow and thumped him with it. It was with the ensuing pillow fight that the conversation was brought to a staggering halt, and they spent the rest of the night clearing up stray feathers, promptly forgetting all discussion of crushes. Or at least, that was what happened for Cyrus. Unbeknownst to him, the thought of Cyrus liking Jonah lingered in TJ’s mind for many nights to come.

*

Watching tiny white feathers flutter down out of the tree house window from where they were sat on the patio, the boys’ parents smiled and exchanged looks sweet amusement. Over the years, barbecues in the garden had become one of their favourite group past times. The Goodmans and Kippens were as good friends as their sons.

“One day those boys are going to grow up and get married,” Mr Kippen joked, listening to the distant sound of teenage laughter as he took a swig of his beer. “Attached at the hip they are.”

“Oh man, can you imagine the chaos they’d produce if they had kids?” Todd, Cyrus’ stepfather, laughed in return.

Neither of their wives laughed, they merely just looked at one another with identical knowing smiles, and Mrs Kippen rolled her eyes as she raised her wine glass.

“To our sons, for bringing us together,” she said, and it was with a great cheer that the rest of them clinked their glasses together in a toast.

*

At fourteen, playing dares had become TJ’s favourite thing. He’d become friends with two boys, Lester and Reed, who were as reluctant to talk to Cyrus as he was to talk to them. They were the popular kind of boys known for being loud and obnoxious in class, causing trouble, and generally being a nuisance. The two of them gave him an uneasy feeling, but he didn’t dare voice that to TJ. He didn’t want to be seen as uncool. Sometimes he wished he had the courage to - it might have stopped TJ from dragging him to all their awful hangouts.

There was one day in particular spent out on the dirt tracks where the bikers spent their time, Reed and Lester smoked and TJ talked to them about something incomprehensible to Cyrus while he hung back and watched on with thinly veiled disgust. An hour in a couple of unfamiliar girls showed up and it was no time at all before Reed was rounding them all up into a circle on the ground, announcing they were going to play truth or dare, which made TJ grin wildly. The uneasy feeling was a firm brick in Cyrus’ stomach. He wanted to go home and watch the collection of terrible eighties movies that TJ’s dad had dug out of the garage for them last week. Sitting in the dirt with a group of people he didn’t trust was not his first choice on how to spend a Saturday, especially with a sleepover game involved.

“You in, Goodman?” Reed asked. There was a challenge in his tone that made Cyrus want to tell him to go shove it, but instead, he just sighed.

“I’m in.”

He should’ve known Reed was up to no good.

Two rounds in, and that’s when it happened. He heard the words, but didn’t really register them, he’d been a little zoned out with boredom. Then TJ was leaning towards him, saying something, and at first Cyrus just nodded in confusion. Then, TJ reached up to cup his face and he pulled away startled.

TJ had been dared to kiss him.

“Igottago,” Is all that he could say as he jumped up and sprinted away, his heart pounding, and he could hear TJ shouting after him as he went. He didn’t stop. He ran all the way home.

Later, and by later I mean by about half an hour, TJ found him hiding in the treehouse under a pile of blankets.

“Cy?” He asked quietly.

Cyrus lowered the blanket from his face to peer at him. TJ looked shamefaced, shuffling his feet awkwardly and biting at a hangnail. Guilt sat heavy in his eyes. They looked at one another in silence for a moment before TJ sat down with a sigh.

“I can’t believe you ran this whole way,” he complained. “How did your lungs not give out?”

“I’m good at running away from my problems,” Cyrus joked half-heartedly. “You know that.”

“You don’t usually run away from me though.”

“You’re not usually a problem.”

TJ let out a huff and grabbed the edge of the blanket Cyrus was tucked under, wiggling until he was shoved up against him and blanketed neatly under it too. He lay on his side, one eyebrow raised and looking at his friend, while Cyrus stared at the wall ahead unwilling to meet his eye.

“Wanna tell me what that was about?”

“Not really.”

“Cy.”

“Ugh. Fine. I just… I don’t like your friends, okay?”

TJ snorted. “Yeah. I figured that out, but don’t deflect I know that’s not what this as about. C’mon, talk to me. You know you can tell me anything.”

That was the annoying thing, Cyrus knew he was right. He rolled on to his side, only a little reluctant, to look at him as he spoke.

“I didn’t want my first kiss to be a dare.”

TJ frowned. “You haven’t had your first kiss?”

“Don’t you think I would’ve told you?”

“Oh. I just- I don’t know, I just thought that time we played seven minutes in heaven at Andi’s… you and Jonah might’ve- I thought you guys kissed.”

“We didn’t.”

The guilt in TJ’s eyes returned. “Hm.”

“I would’ve told you,” Cyrus said quietly.

It was another few moments before Cyrus mustered up the nerve to speak again.

“I want it to be with someone who loves me.”

“What?”

“My first kiss. I… I just want it to mean something, you know? I don’t want it to be done because of a dare.”

TJ smiled. “Yeah, I get you. I’m sorry about all that.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. And don’t worry, I won’t make you hang out with Reed anymore. I know you don’t like him… I guess I just kind of wanted you guys to get along, you know?”

“I’m sorry,” Cyrus said. “I tried. I really did.”

“I know. It’s okay, not everyone gets along all the time,” TJ said, then he paused. “Cy?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you said you wanted your first kiss to be someone who loved you.”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

Cyrus stared at him.

“I’m just sayin’, if you wanted to get your first kiss out of the way, I could…”

“You’re offering to kiss me?”

TJ shrugged at him and grinned. “Nobody better to have your first kiss with than the person who knows you best in the world, plus I know I’m cute. You could do a lot worse.”

Cyrus snorted. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“I do.”

The kiss was lovely as far as first kisses go. Soft, tingling, and the kind of kiss that made you warm from your cheeks down to your toes. In the future, the memory of it would keep Cyrus awake at night while he touched his lips and thought about the way TJ’s hair fell into his face when he laughed. It was beautiful.

They ended up falling asleep up there together, eyes drifting closed from the hazy warmth, and didn’t wake up until they were called in for dinner.

*

At seventeen, Cyrus and TJ had their first serious fight. It was late at night, coming back from a party, and they both sat in the front of TJ’s truck with the anger threatening to boil over any moment. Their friends sat in awkward silence in the back, rolling out of there as fast as they could when TJ pulled up outside of Andi’s house and slammed the doors shut after themselves as they raced to get away.

TJ cut off the engine. Cyrus folded his arms and stared straight ahead. They had reached a stalemate in terms of progress - Cyrus wasn’t sure he wouldn’t curse TJ out if he spoke and TJ wasn’t sure he wouldn’t say something regrettably mean if he didn’t calm down first. It took a few minutes before he finally broke the silence.

“You don’t get to be mad about this,” he said, voice controlled as he gripped the steering wheel in a tight grip.

Cyrus turned and looked at him with an expression of disbelief. “I don’t get to be mad about this? Are you serious?”

“It’s none of your business,” TJ fired back.

Cyrus let out a dry laugh void of any humour. “None of my business? It’s my friend that you’re cheating on-”

“I told you already that I didn’t-”

“-don’t tell me you weren’t because I saw-”

“-cheating on Natalie because we-”

“-you kissing Kira. You were literally making out in the bathroom with her-”

“-broke up!”

Their bickering ceased immediately and Cyrus frowned.

“What?”

“Me and Natalie,” TJ said ground out, refusing to meet Cyrus’ eye. “Broke up.”

“...Seriously?”

He nodded.

“When?”

“Like two days ago, I don’t know,” TJ sighed.

The anger in the set of Cyrus’ shoulders fizzled out and he relaxed, reaching out to put a comforting hand on TJ’s arm.

“What happened?”

TJ lifted his shoulders in a small shrug and leaned back. “I don’t know. Stuff. She said I was too distracted… that I needed to figure my shit out. Told me I didn’t really love her.”

Cyrus made a sympathetic noise and tried to ignore the feeling of secret joy rattling around in his chest. Now was not the time to be happy that TJ was single. He was clearly upset. He needed his friend there for him.

“I’m sorry. That really sucks,” He said. “...How come you didn’t you tell me?”

TJ shrugged again.

Cyrus pulled back and rested his head against the back of the seat. “So… you and Kira?”

“Not a thing,” TJ reassured him. “I was just trying something.”

“Oh?”

He sighed, Cyrus gave him a curious look.

“I think Natalie was right,” TJ said. “I had stuff to figure out.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He half expected TJ to say no. Over the past couple of years, his friend had become less and less likely to talk about anything related to feelings. Cyrus didn’t like it but he had learned to live with it. As long as TJ told him the really important stuff then it was fine. That was why he was surprised when TJ next spoke.

“How d’you know if you love someone?” He asked.

Cyrus blinked at him. “I guess it depends on the kind of love.”

“Like… love love. Romance, marriage, valentines kind of love.”

Cyrus wanted to say he didn’t know, but he also knew he couldn’t lie to TJ. He knew firsthand that being in love felt like you were tripping over your own heart, again and again, every day. It felt like fire and devotion and hopelessness. It was awful and perfect at the same time.

“You just do, I guess,” Is what he told him instead.

TJ wet his lips - his most noticeable nervous tick.

“Why do you ask?”

“I think Natalie was right about me not loving her,” TJ said, then swallowed hard. “‘Cause I think I’m in love with someone else.”

Cyrus’ heart broke in two. He looked away. “Oh.”

“Cyrus.”

It took him a moment, but he forced himself to look at TJ. The look in TJ’s eyes was nothing like what he’d expected. It was open, unadulterated honesty. Perfect, lovely, and lonely all at once. Cyrus had seen that look on his own face in pictures of them together. He recognised it at once.

It was love.

Their second kiss was as perfect as the first, with more desperation and longing than they could’ve put into any sentences they said that night. It was the promise of a future, a vow protecting their past, and a mark of everything they had shared so far.

*

Their wedding was beautiful. It was held in the Goodmans’ back garden, treehouse in view, with all their closest friends and relatives packed in to watch them tie the knot. Cyrus cried outright, TJ tried not to and failed at the sight of both of their mothers shedding a tear, and when they said their vows they both knew they meant every word of them deep in their bones.

Todd clapped TJ on the back and told him he was excited to see the two of them build a tree house of their own, and when the line for giving congratulations had finally died down TJ and Cyrus managed to sneak up the tree themselves for a few minutes alone.

They laid down on the dusty old floor and looked out at the sunlight filtering through the trees.

“I can’t wait to spend my life with you,” TJ whispered, taking Cyrus’ hand.

Cyrus squeezed his fingers in response and with a soft smile he said in return, “Me too. Hey, you remember that time we were in here and you asked if I had a crush on anyone?”

TJ snorted. “Yeah, and you said Jonah.”

Cyrus laughed. “Yeah, well… I have a secret to tell you.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t Jonah. It was you.”

*

Cyrus was twenty-seven years old when he and TJ moved into their new house. They say the greatest romances are the kind you never expect but after twenty years of back and forth flirtations, shared memories, and stolen kisses, Cyrus came to believe the best romances were the ones you should have seen coming from a mile away.

[kashmiresims]

Hart to Hart

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Nick was musing. He mused about the phrase ‘Nick of time’—the first reason being that his name was in it. The second reason was because he had accrued enough real simoleons to cover the tuition he owed if he were to stay a student at Sim State, on the last day he had left to pay it. ‘Nick of time’ indeed.  

Fight nights kept growing, both in crowd and fighter roster size and now was collectively referred to as the Nest of Vipers on account of all the fighters taking on snake aliases. He’d even met high rolling gamblers interested in betting on winners and bringing in more money. They had yet to implement a process but it looked, for lack of a better adjective—hella promising. It all was going in the direction Cain had predicted, ever since the first night. Nick still had a worry though, that if it grew too big and too fast that the law would get involved and shut it down. More than that, shut him down. Then where would he be? Jail, most likely.

“Nicholas?”

He stopped musing and noticed his mother was crossing his path. How random?  

“Mom?”

She looked puzzled to see him but he was even more puzzled—what was she doing on campus? Why was she heading toward where he just came from?

“It’s good to see you, sweetheart,” she smiled and stepped forward to hug him but he evaded it and put on a frown. He was on guard—suddenly suspicious, because she usually took his father’s side in arguments and that meant that she had agreed to let Elm take away the means for Nick’s higher education.

Her resulting expression of hurt at him avoiding her embrace stung him more than he would have thought but he pushed past it, “What are you doing here?”

She sighed and pulled out a piece of paper from her purse; a check. “It’s payment for your tuition. I was going over some of our financial records the other night and saw—well it doesn’t matter what I saw—I’m fixing this.”

She moved forward, presumedly to go pay the university but Nick held out his arm to halt her and said quietly, “Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

He took the check out of her hand and looked at it. Plumbobs, college was expensive. He found it ironic that one of his father’s campaign promises was to make college education more affordable when he tried using money to influence Nick’s choice about college—to either become a lawyer or don’t go at all.

Now, Nick could do what he wanted.

His mother gasped as he abruptly tore the check into shreds, leaving him with a fist full of paper bits.

“Nicholas!”

He threw them into a nearby trash bin along the walking path, “I appreciate what you tried to do Mom, but I can take care of myself.”

She seemed absolutely shocked and bewildered by her son’s behavior. He had torn up a check for no insignificant amount of money. She could only stare at him as though he were crazy and to both their surprise, tears began to leak into her eyes.

Of course, he wasn’t a complete monster—and made a move to comfort her immediately. Unlike him, she accepted a hug without question. He surmised she was sad because she believed he was throwing away his future and he didn’t know how he could tell her that he wasn’t, without the fact of how he had managed to come up with the money.

“It’s okay,” he heard himself say and hugged her tighter as she cried into his shoulder, her purse dropping from her hand as it dangled hopelessly, “It will be all right, Mom.”

He didn’t expect her to get so worked up over this. Harmony Calhoun, the Steel-faced woman—that’s what the media called her as they took pictures of her standing by Elm’s side—not with a fake smile of a politician’s wife but a sullen, strict look that cooled everyone around her.  She had been a public educator for many years, eventually securing a spot as the school’s principal, so had to develop that tough exterior. She was firm but she wasn’t unfeeling.

She shook her head, unconvinced of his words. It was unspoken but then he knew, he just knew his father had done something to wear down her resolve. How she could stand being married to such an asshole for so many years was something he often wondered about.  

“Let’s get something to eat?” Nick suggested, pulling away and looking her over. When did threads of silver start appearing in her hair? When did that crinkle around her golden eyes become so deep and prominent?        

He hadn’t visited home in a long while, he didn’t like going back there and always found an excuse to stay away. It’d be different if his grandparents were still alive—but they had passed in recent years, and he didn’t like going back, knowing they weren’t there to greet him with smiles and hugs.  

But then it struck him, that while his father didn’t care about Nick’s absence, other members of his family might miss him just as much as he missed Kimmy and Matthew Hart.

His mother nodded in agreement about getting food and wiped away any loose tears remaining, then reached down to collect her purse.

Nick lead the way down the sidewalk, keeping his silence measured for he didn’t want to say anything more to upset her. In fact, he wouldn’t know what to say anymore--he probably stopped confiding in her about the time he was in high school, when he kept getting grounded for stupid things by his father and she didn’t stand up for Nick—just went along with it to avoid more confrontation.

They entered Joe's Diner. It was one of those university establishments that had been around for a generation at least. The door jingled when a customer entered, greeted by a soda counter and a row of double seated booths against a bright red wall with silver paneling. Very retro with sense of nostalgia though many now had never experienced it before coming to college. Since it was open past midnight, many students could be found there studying in the early dark hours, cramming for an exam while cramming a burger down their mouth.  

Nick and his mother were seated, and Nick ordered two burgers. Hamburgers were Joe's s specialty. His mother didn't object. He didn't like the silence, not with her—had he been away so long they had forgotten how to talk to each other?

“Mom, I gotta say, I'm digging your hairstyle today. Buns are where it's at."

She looked mildly perplexed at his statement, as if no one had complimented her on her hair in years or rather, she had worn it that way for years and wondered why it earned her a compliment now. Despite her puzzlement she smiled and said, "Thank you, sweetheart.”

But then with a quick flip of his head, as if to present himself—it was made evident it was a compliment more to Nick himself as his long hair was bundled up in its usual hair tie.

He knew she didn’t prefer the look, but she smiled at his quip nonetheless and repeated a sentiment she had been saying since he was in high school, "Your hair is out of control, Nicholas."

"It is not," he disagreed and smoothed his hand over the top of his head to check, it was all pulled back tight, no strands popping out haphazardly. He had noticed though, as he grew it out, that he used more and more shampoo every time he showered. He bet that the next words out of her mouth were for him to go get a haircut. He could almost see the thought form in her head as her brow crinkled.

"You could do with a haircut," she suggested and he mentally patted himself on the back for correctly guessing, but thankful he didn't owe himself money for both simultaneously losing and winning the bet he made with himself.

He smirked with defiance, "Why? women really like my long hair.”

“Oh really?” she arched a brow and he immediately regretted bringing up that subject because she followed up with, “And when are you going to bring any of these so called ‘women who like your long hair’ over so I can meet any of them?

He let out a nervous laugh, waving away her question, “They aren’t the type one takes home to meet one’s parents but I promise they exist!”

His mother pressed her lips in disapproval, which he knew she would do. She was at the age where she would like to see her sons to be on the path toward steady relationships. With Kit being only fifteen years old—he wasn’t ready for commitment. Shane was about as emotionally intelligent as the robots he built, so there was hardly a chance for him to catch anyone’s fancy. That left Nick being the only son to land a significant other and while he had plenty of fish in the sea to choose from, he wasn’t all thrilled at the idea of getting into a serious relationship; college was the time for fun and he had the rest of his life to live—to find that ‘special someone’ if they even existed.

He jolted forward suddenly reminded of something he was supposed to ask his mother about, “Hey, Mom—do you think you could ask Dad about something for me?”

She seemed surprised at the urgency of his request and asked, “Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine but I wanted to show some of my art at the Harvest Gala. Dad could probably make that happen...”

Their burgers arrived then and he had to put a hold on that thought while they ate. The burger was damn good—juicy and had a charbroil taste, smothered in ketchup, mustard, and topped with tomato. It was an early dinner for him but he had a light lunch and was feeling hungry anyway. He hoped food would make his mom feel better, it always made him feel better.

He glanced up and saw her eating eagerly as he was and nearly laughed. He'd never seen her eat like that before. She was usually careful about what she ate—he’d seen her with granola, salads, and other healthy foods that she chewed precisely after every bite. He realized, he probably hardly knew her real character, locked away behind that steel-faced persona she had maintained, even at home.

Why did she hide?

“You, uh...really like that burger, huh?” he swallowed a bite and said with amusement.

“Are you kidding? I love Joe's burgers,” she said and took another happy, sloppy, bite.

“Since when do you eat here?”

“I too, went to Sim State, once upon a time—” she swiveled her head from side to side, looking at the walls with her hamburger in hand, "and I'm amazed that this diner looks the same—it's like stepping back in time."  

"Really?"  

"Yes, your father and I came here often. We'd get dinner, drink a few beers and talk about everything from philosophy to politics—and I hung on every word," she smiled wistfully but it faded a moment later, "He was very charming back then."

Nick restrained his eyes from rolling, but ended up frowning slightly, "So, he's not anymore?"

"I didn't say that," she snapped, matching his frown until it wavered and dissolved into melancholy.

His expression lifted and turned to concern, "Something happened, didn't it? Something with Dad?"  

She didn't answer right away, seeming to weigh her words as she focused somewhere else than Nick. Finally, she answered, "We had a fight—and he thought it was best if I didn't accompany him to a fundraising function tonight."  

Nick had never seen his parents fight before, never even heard of it—thought it was pretty much impossible from the way they stood united all those years. To hear his mother admit that such a fight happened was as rare as seeing a unicorn. He honestly didn’t know what to say after such a truth.

“Sounds like...you could use a drink,” Nick waved over the waitress and promptly ordered two beers despite the shocked look on his mother’s face at that suggestion. He knew she drank, he’d seen the empty wine bottles as a kid—and the full ones stashed up in the cabinets out of his reach.

The beers were uncapped and set before them; Nick picked his up and held it out to her as if he were toasting. She hesitantly picked it up and did the same.

“To Joe’s,” he grinned and clinked his bottle against hers, which caused her to laugh, “May it exist another 30 years.”

“To Joe’s,” she repeated with a smile and took a swig at the same time he did. If he had somehow managed to time travel and told his eighteen-year-old self that one day he would be drinking beer with his mother, his teenage self would have called him crazy and a liar. But there he was, twenty-two years old and drinking beer with his mother.

“Oh wow, I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had a beer,” she said immediately after tasting it and looked at the back of the label.

“Probably since you went here,” Nick joked, recalling her words from earlier.

She rolled her eyes and took another drink.  

As she drank, she became more and more forthcoming—talking about her college days, her job and all the snotty pre-teens she had to deal with, her annoyance at how the media portrayed her now that her husband was running for public office—and it amazed Nick to see his mother so candid about life for once.

They had been there so long, chatting and ordering beers that it was now evening.

“What did you and dad fight about?” Nick finally let his curiosity get the best of him and asked. He was done with his third drink, and had set the beer bottle on the table top. Funnily enough, he was barely feeling it, college had done wonders for his tolerance.

“Your tuition.”

It was a good thing Nick was done with his beer for if he would have had any in his mouth he would have spit it out in utter surprise. His mind was blown.  

While it was rare to see a unicorn, it was rarer yet to know of a fight between his parents that pertained to their eldest son. He thought they had always been on the same page concerning him—his hair was too long, his eyebrow piercing looked unprofessional, art was not a valid career path, he would make a better lawyer with his smartass mouth, and he deserved to be grounded for tricking his uncle into reading Marilyn Manson lyrics at his Grams’ funeral. Okay, but assessing that situation now, that he agreed he definitely deserved to be grounded for it. His eighteen-year-old self would have called him a traitor, that is, if he managed to go back in time somehow. He really liked musing on that hypothetical.  

Now he felt a little bad for assuming his mother had allowed his father take away that money for tuition without a fight—but to be fair she’d never give him reason to believe anything else. “Speaking of...“ her voice turned a bit harder, “how did you manage to get the money to pay it?”

Nick cringed inwardly, because he was dreading that question. He had thought of an answer though, “I sold all my art.”

Now it was her turned to look like her mind was blown, and honestly if someone really had bought his art for that amount, it would have blown his mind too.  

“If you sold all your art...then what are you showing at the Harvest Gala?” she asked slowly while her amazement turned into a puzzled frown. Damn, nothing got past her even when she was buzzed.

“I...” he started but picked up his bottle and shook it to hear nothing but drops left, trying to stall as he thought of how to reply, “I'm working on new paintings that I’ll have done by the time the Gala rolls around. I figured it would be good exposure. That’s why I need you to ask dad.”

He’d finally gotten around to bringing that up again.

She put her finger to her lips thoughtfully, “How about you come home this weekend and ask him yourself?”

“Mom,” Nick groaned and placed his head into his hand, trying his best to give her pleading eyes, “You have to talk him into it, you know he won’t go for it otherwise. He likes to undermine me.”

“I’d say like father, like son in that respect,” she mumbled before taking another drink and it made Nick furious. He did not appreciate being likened to his father. He’d done so much to try and distance himself, and distinguish himself as the opposite of Elm Calhoun—even going so far as using her maiden name to hide the relation from anyone he introduced himself to.

She noticed his expression and explained, “You push his buttons every chance you get. You quit the Greek Society—and while taking away your tuition was a bit extreme—he pulled a bunch of strings to get you at the top of the waiting list for his legacy fraternity. You don’t show him any respect—”

Nick didn’t want to listen to this. The night was suddenly soured with this talk of his father. His father ruined everything, and now she was taking his side again. He jumped up and quickly paid the dining bill at the front, leaving his mother behind—too angry to offer to walk her back to her car.

He heard the quick clicking of her heels behind him, and then a shrill shout of “Nicholas Alexander Calhoun, stop walking away from me this instant!”

If anyone was out and about, they heard it. He’d bet everyone inside Joe’s could hear it as well. He did stop but he didn’t face her.

“I didn’t quit the frat to annoy him,” Nick sighed, trying to control his growing rage just remembering that last phone conversation with the man. He knew his mother was just behind him as there were no more clicking sounds. “I bet he didn’t tell you the reason.”

“Enlighten me,” he heard her demand in that same hard tone.

He turned around to face her with a scowl, “The frat's president was drugging the drinks at parties, women’s drinks, and when I called him out on it, he gave no indication he was going to stop. He still does it, I've seen him do it out at the bars—”

Nick had to swallow another bout of rage, remembering how Illyana was affected and how scared he had been for her. It wasn’t right at all, “So I could not, in good conscious, stay in the Geek Society, especially after I explained this to Dad and he told me to accept it and get over it.”

Nick had to grit his teeth as he quoted his father, forcing those skeevy words out between his lips. He noticed his mother was matching his scowl, coming to the same realization.  

Now could she understand why Nick couldn’t respect his father? How could he when his father thought something like that was acceptable behavior? His mother didn’t say anything in response, but she looked angry...and now very tired as well as she mulled over his words.

“I’ll have a word with him. I’ll tell him about your art and the Harvest Gala but in return for that favor, I want you to come home—we’re having an election party this weekend. It would be nice if we could all be together again.”

“Mom...please—”

“Kit misses you, I miss you. So, don’t come for him—do it for us. Please, sweetheart?”

A tight ball of some kind of anxiety formed in his chest as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think. It wasn’t often his mother begged anything of him and he did owe her if she was to put in a word for him to show his art at the Gala. It was fair, but he didn’t look forward to it at all.

“Fine,” he sighed with an air of defeat, “I’ll come home this weekend.”

[partwayhappy]

Jim Hopper’s Parents (part 3)

Some more random head canons about Hop’s parents (Senior and Ethel). Continued from part 1and part 2.

· Senior and Ethel had such a good time visiting Hop and El, they decide to get a hotel room and stay an extra week in Hawkins.

· Ethel drops by the cabin one afternoon to keep El company, to do some cleaning (cause she can’t fight her mom instincts), and to leave some food in the fridge. She sews proper curtains to replace the drab sheets covering the windows. She picks flowers and buys small vases to put on the tables and in El’s room. She bakes fresh bread to warm up the cabin and banish the smell of cigarettes.

· “Seriously? The sock drawer?” Mrs. Hopper thinks as she’s cleaning. She smiles, remembering how teenage Jim used to hide cigarettes and stolen Playboys in the same place. With a smirk she replaces the cigarettes with a couple apples and wishes she could be there to see the horrified look on his face. “Some things never change,” she muses.

· That morning, Jim decides to tell his parents about El’s past. Over breakfast at the cabin, he sits them down as El calmly levitates a book into her hand.

· Senior pauses for a moment and just says, “Huh... okay” and goes right back to his eggs.

· Ethel rushes up to El and hugs her. She says she can’t imagine how hard it must have been for El to live with this secret.

· When Jim asks how his dad can be so casual about this, Senior just replies, “I’ve had an interesting life.” Later on, when Senior and El are going out for a walk in the woods, he tells her about some of the weird things he saw during the war. The scrawny kid the government turned into a weapon. The red demon child with the stone hand. The pain-in-the-ass history professor with the whip. He makes her  pinky swear promise not to mention it to anyone  (not even her dad).

· The Hoppers spend an evening parking their car at Lover’s Lake. Awkwardness ensues when they bump into Jonathan and Nancy parked nearby. Eventually they all end up going out and grabbing late-night dinner at a local diner together. Ethel grills Nancy about Mike and El’s relationship. Senior drops a few quarters in the jukebox and convinces Jonathan to ask Nancy to dance (and impress her with the new dance moves he just learned). Both couples have the unspoken agreement to never speak of how they ran into each other that evening.

· One day Ethel visits Jim at work to bring him lunch. She and Flo instantly take a liking to one another. They take turns messing with Jim until he can’t take it anymore and says he needs to answer an “emergency call” and rushes out of the police station. Hours later, when he returns, they’re still chatting like they’ve known each other for ages. Even after she leaves Hawkins, Ethel and Flo still keep in touch and make plans to visit each other.

· Ethel and El bond over their mutual love of soap operas. They throw popcorn at the screen when they’re mad. They pass tissues when they cry. They debate on who they ship and why. Even when Ethel goes back home, they’ll call each other and watch soaps with the phone line open so they can comment during the episode. This keeps up even when El goes off to college and later when she moves in with Mike. All of the men (Senior, Hop, Mike) have learned that they risk their lives in interrupting this ritual and if they want to make a phone call during this time, they’d better go to another house and use that phone.

· While Ethel is out running errands, Senior spends his time volunteering at the local VA (Veteran Affairs) Office. He talks to young soldiers returning from the war, listens to their stories, and helps them deal with their grief. He gives them his number and tells them to call him any time if they just want to talk

· The day before Senior went off to fight in WW2, his father gave him a small compass for good luck. Continuing the tradition, the day before Jim was about to go to Vietnam, Senior gives him a small compass that he got at the local general store. Jim still wears that compass on his watchband to this day (Seriously, go to Season 2 Episode 3 when he’s showing El the tripwire and you can see it).

· One day Senior and Ethel go to pick up El up after school and they see her hanging out with the rest of the party. They ask if they’d like to go a couple towns over to the local mall and have dinner and walk around (because what teenager in the history of anything has ever turned down food?). The Party all pile up into the truck and bound off. (Mike and El in the back seat; Will, Lucas, Dustin, and Max sitting in the truck bed savoring the wind in their hair as they race down the highway.)

· Ethel takes the girls to check out the clothes racks and try out the make-up counters. She thinks it’s so cool that Max skateboards and even buys her a new set of wheels since the current ones are getting a bit bare. Max has never met a girl who knows how to work on cars before and is amazed when Ethel stops by the auto parts department to buy things for the truck.

· Senior follows the boys into the local book store where they check out the latest comics and role playing games. Senior surprises the boys with his knowledge of comics (since G.I.s often took comics with them as entertainment during the war). The boys are surprised that a lot of the heroes they love are actually reboots of Golden Age characters. As the boys buy figures for their next campaign, Senior teaches them a few tactical maneuvers for the next time they play.

· Everyone meets at the arcade. They cheer on Max and Lucas as they continue their rivalry for highest Dig Dug score. Senior destroys the Wild Gunman arcade game (he used to be a competitive pistol champion in the Army). Ethel astounds with her skills at Skee-Ball. When she and Senior were dating she used to win stuffed animals for herself whenever they went to the carnival. They end up getting so many tickets, everyone walks out with a mood ring.

· As the Hoppers drop off each of the kids, they make plans for every one of the Party. Lucas wants to hang out in the woods and learn some survival training. Will would like to read some of Senior’s old comic book collection. Dustin has a cooking date to be Ethel’s assistant in the kitchen while she bakes. Ethel plans to show Max some basic car care tips (and also do some work on her skateboard). 

· Ethel gives Mike some secret dance lessons for the next time he goes out with El (and a laundry list of date ideas to impress her). Also, being a mom, she patches up a few holes she spots in his sweaters. She smirks when he says he never got that sweater she made for him...

· Senior asks El if she can help him out at the VA one day. He makes up some excuse about his arthritis acting up and how she can help him get out of the car and open doors. When they get there, El sits next to him as the veterans form a circle and talk about their experiences: the PTSD, the Survivor’s Guilt, and the hardship with acclimating to civilian life and not having people who understand. He holds her hand as she tears up and just nods her head. The car ride back is quiet until El whispers a quiet, “Thank you.” They hold hands the rest of the way. 

· On the Hoppers last day in Hawkins, they get to their truck and find all the kids waiting there for them. They’ve decorated the truck with streamers and painted the windows with “Come Back Soon!” tags. 

· In the Driver’s seat they find a SuperCom walkie-talkie with a bow on it. Even though the Hoppers live far away, the kids say if they ever come back to Hawkins all they have to do is send the signal and they’ll come running.

Tagging my favorite comments from the previous part: @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold @strange-thangs @thezoomermax @martiegalwrites @serendipitous-rambles @rhapsodyinblueyellowgreen @jopper-chopper @bubblynancy

[laschatzi]

Family, Kind Of

Finally, I finished my very first knightrook ff... well, technically it’s not really knightrook, it’s more CS plus Alice... just give it a try? I do blame @thesschesthair a lot for fueling my knightrook feels, so this one’s for you.

title: Family, Kind Of

word count: 3k

summary: Alice Jones from Hyperion Heights, Seattle, comes to Storybrooke, Maine to finally meet the man who looks like her papa’s twin... and to hug the woman who saved his life.

rating: G for general and FF for family fluff

also on: ff.net and ao3

“You'll take care of her, do you hear me, lad?” There's still a trace of the severe police detective in Killian's voice, and he gives Henry the no-nonsense look.

The young man huffs, but in a good-humored way, because he perfectly well understands his friend's concern. He's a father himself, after all, and the most important thing to him is the safety of his loved ones, especially his own daughter. “Of course I will,” he replies in a deep, soothing voice. “You can trust me, Hook.”

“Good.” Killian sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “I suppose then I'll have no other choice than to let her go.”

“Relax,” Henry tries to comfort, “she'll be back in no time.”

The former pirate nods grumpily. “Never too soon,” he grumbles and pulls Henry into a hug. “Say hello to your mother for me.”

“I will.” Henry returns the hug a little clumsily. “Sure you don't wanna come?”

“Maybe next time, lad.”

***

She walks along the street in her typical, carefree way, looking left and right with her huge blue eyes, soaking up everything she sees, like she always does. Henry offered to take her, but she declined, telling him she preferred the walk, because that way she could see more, discover more, satisfy her innate curiosity and her never ending thirst for seeing, hearing, learning – deeply rooted and stemming from the isolation in a goddamn tower for a big part of her young life.

Henry's directions were precise, and she doesn't let herself get distracted by the many new impressions she gets on her way, so she doesn't have problems finding her destination. When she's standing in front of the big white house that looks so inviting, she's feeling a little nervous for the first time, but then she pulls herself together and climbs the wooden stairs. Before she can get anxious about how the people living here might react to her, she quickly raises her hand and knocks at the door.

It's not long before she hears quick and eager steps, light, the steps of a child. Only moments later the door is opened, and she sees it's indeed a child – a blond little girl of maybe five, with long, wavy her, not unlike her own, and piercing blue eyes. Maybe the girl expected to see someone else, as she raises her eyebrows in a very adult, strangely familiar way.

Before either of them can say a word, she hears a strikingly familiar voice from inside the house, severe, but full of warmth, calling, “Alice! How many times have I told you not to answer the door without asking who's there first?”

The girl rolls her eyes impulsively, but then asks a little sheepishly and obediently, “Who are you?”

She smiles and hunkers down to be at eye-level with the little girl. “Hi, I'm Alice,” she says.

The girl's eyes widen in surprise. “But I'm Alice,” she replies and tilts her head, and the two scrutinize each other.

***

Killian hurries to the door to see who's there, making a mental note to have a serious talk with his headstrong little daughter. He's always impressed – and also proud of – her fearlessness, but even if things have been quiet and peaceful in Storybrooke over the last years... well. You never know. It could always be some new villain sweeping into town, knocking at the Savior's door.

When he steps into the door frame, his hand automatically reaching for his daughter's shoulder, he's confused at first, because it looks like there's nobody outside. On his second glance, though, he notices that there is indeed someone outside talking to his daughter... a girl, or rather, young woman, is crouching in front of her.

“Can I–“ help you, he wants to ask, but he never gets to finish his sentence, because in that moment the girl lifts her face and looks up at him, and he stops breathing.

He knows that face, has known it his whole life. In the flesh, he hasn't seen it since he was a small boy, when she was hovering over him, smiling, humming her lullaby and tucking him in to sleep. And even if she was no longer with him, she never really left him – not through the bitter years of slavery, not through the terrible times after losing Liam and, later, his first love. She was there to soothe his aching soul, at least a bit, her features before his inner eye conjuring pictures of long lost times, of happiness and innocence, helping him to drift into sleep when he was too troubled to calm down by himself.

Killian Jones is looking into his mother's face.

This can mean only one thing. He shakes his head, just a little, and swallows hard because his mouth is so dry, before he murmurs, “Are... are you–“

And she beams, because for her it's just as overwhelming as it is for him – which makes the semblance even more striking. “Alice,” she says, and even her voice sounds like his mother's, “I'm Alice.”  

He makes her stay for the dinner he's been cooking, and they're having it at the kitchen table, the three of them (it's Emma's turn to work the evening shift at the sheriff station today), and they're telling little Alice that she's some sort of cousin, which comes quite close to the truth... kind of. She accepts that without questioning any further, because she's seen weirder things in her family: she has grandparents who are barely older than her mom and dad, a brother who's old enough to be her dad and an uncle who's only a few years her senior. So yeah, she's fine with a new kind-of cousin who wears the same name she has, who's adult but also kind of isn't and whose eyes remind her so very much of her daddy's.

With the promise she'd see her new cousin again the following day, little Alice allows big Alice to tuck her in, and she's delighted that she miraculously even knows the lullaby daddy often sings to her.

Later, they're sitting again at the kitchen table, waiting for Emma to come home, steaming cups of tea in front of them (because Alice isn't a hot cocoa kind of lass).

Killian asks, “What brings you here?” He can't stop looking at her.

She flashes him her toothy smile. “I wanted to see you,” she tells him without hesitation, “and my younger namesake. Henry has told us a lot about his little sister.” She nods solemnly. “And I wanted to finally hug the woman who saved my Papa's life.”

At the mention of his other version, Killian frowns and tilts his head. “I can't believe he allowed you to travel all the way here from the other side of the country!”

Alice huffs indignantly. “You sound just like him!” she complains, all the pouty teenager, even though she's older than that. But somehow, it doesn't really sound like a reproach. “I'm an adult, and I've been on my own for a very long time,” she points our, “he doesn't have to allow me anything.” Then she shrugs in an adorably sheepish way. “And he let me go because I was traveling with Henry.” She nods in affirmation. “He trusts Henry. Made him swear he'd protect me.”

“Ah,” Killian seems satisfied and points his ringed index finger at her. “That's more like it!”

She rolls her eyes and then tilts her head to scrutinize him closely. “I can't believe you look just like him.”

He swallows, overcome by emotions suddenly. “And you... look just like your grandmother.”

Alice nods. “Papa keeps telling me that.” She looks at him earnestly. “She inspired him, you know. The woman who gave birth to me, she...” Briefly, a shadow flickers over her face, but then she draws a determined breath. “Well, she went to do whatever she had to do. But he... he never abandoned me, not until he had to, that is.” For a moment, she looks down at her tea, and her eyes are shimmering with the pain of the memory – the loss she'd endured, the abandonment, the loneliness for most of her life. It's an expression Killian remembers all too well from Emma during the first years he knew her, and his heart goes out to the young woman. But the moment passes soon, and when she looks up at him again all the sadness is gone. “He said, she would have done the same. My grandmother.”

Killian tilts his head in agreement, the emotion thick in his chest. “Aye, that she would have.”

***

When Emma comes home later and doesn't see her husband in his favorite corner of the couch, she calls for him.

“I'm here,” comes his reply from the kitchen, and she makes her way there, hoping he someone read her thoughts from the distance and is about to prepare a hot cocoa.

“Good,” she replies, “I could really use a...” The words die on her lips when she sees a blonde young woman sitting at her kitchen table. “Oh.” She stops dead in her tracks. “We have a visitor.”

Killian has already risen to his feet and smiles. “Emma, you won't believe who–“

But the young woman jumps to her feet quickly and surprises Emma by throwing her arms around her which has her stumble a step backwards. “Whoa!”

“You saved my father's life!” she exclaims and hugs Emma with surprising strength before letting go of her, as if she doesn't want to scare her.

Emma leans back a little to get a glimpse at the girl and huffs a confused laugh. “I did?” She scans the young face and finds something weirdly familiar without being able to put her finger on it, so she throws Killian a questioning look and finds him smiling fondly at the young woman.

“Love, this is Alice,” he answers her unspoken question and motions to their guest. Emma looks at the girl again and scrutinizes her closely, and the mysterious feeling of knowing her somehow gets stronger and stronger, the fact that the stranger shares her own daughter's name adding to the notion. Before her mind forms the thoughts, Killian explains, “She's the daughter of...” he tilts his head, “well, the other me.”

“Oh...” Alice beams at her so openly that Emma can't help but spontaneously like her. She returns the smile genuinely. “Henry told us so much about you, it's so nice to finally meet you!” she tells her and adds in all honesty, “Kinda weird, but great!”

Alice nods. “For me too,” she confirms, looks at the man who's identical to her father and shrugs, “but I've seen weirder things.”

“Haven't we all,” Emma replies dryly, marveling at the fact that the existence of another version of her husband doesn't creep her out at all anymore. “And where is he?” she asks and is secretly amused that Killian's eyebrow twitches at her question.

“Oh, he's home,” Alice tells her, “He wasn't sure if he should come. Since there's already you here,” she gestures to Killian and tilts her head in a very Jones-ish way, “well, he didn't want to cause trouble.”

“Since when has that kept Killian Jones from doing the thing,” Emma murmurs fondly.

“Hey!” Killian protests, and Emma chuckles softly, laying a hand on his arm.

“And I love you for it,” she soothes and turns to Alice again. “And home is...?”

“Seattle,” the young woman replies, and briefly a shadow flickers over Emma's face when she thinks about Henry and the time he's lost, the time with his love and his kid that was irretrievably taken from him, like the time that was stolen from her, too. It was a long time ago, but sometimes she still thinks about it, and it still hurts. It always will. And Seattle will forever symbolize Henry's lost years for her, and she feels uneasy whenever he goes there for a trip. She can't imagine that someone who was cursed to an unfulfilled, unhappy existence at a place would decide to live there when they didn't have to. But then she thinks of her parents and most of their friends who were cursed and banned to Storybrooke, a foreign world, and yet, after the curse was broken, most of them decided to stay and made it their new home.

“I know,” Alice's voice wakes her from her thoughts, “bad memories, you'd think, but,” she shrugs, “also fond ones. We found each other again there, and... Papa says, as long as we have each other, we have everything we need.”

Emma swallows and smiles. “Yeah, that sound like something your dad would say,” she agrees and squeezes Killian's hand. “Is he okay?” she wants to know.

“Oh yes,” Alice says, “he's doing great. Since he quit the police and got his ship back–”

“Got his ship back?” Killian interrupts and raises his eyebrows. “Did he lose her?” He almost sounds a little offended.

“Oh no.” Alice shakes her head. “He gave up his ship so he could,” she shrugs again, “stay and take care of me when I was little.”

“He gave up his ship for you?” Emma echoes, her eyes sparkling.

“Why yes, do you doubt it?” Alice asks defiantly and narrows her eyes, ready to jump to her father's defense, and Emma's heart is about to melt when she sees the unconditional love and protectiveness in the young woman's expression. She realizes that Killian Jones of Hyperion Heights is fiercely loved, and in Emma Swan's experience, every version of Killian Jones deserves nothing less than that.

“Not for one minute,” she replies, and Alice's features relax again when she sees Emma's genuine kindness. Emma looks at Killian and then back again at Alice. “You know, that's kinda his thing.”

The young woman smiles and tilts her head. “He even took care of me when we didn't know who we really were.”

Emma thinks back to a bashful young man in another realm, willing to stand up to an evil queen and to die for a stranger and her son because of a bizarre story she told him and a mysterious connection he'd felt. She looks at Killian with a loving smile, and he must have imagined what she's thinking about, because he averts his eyes for a moment and scratches behind his ear.

“Like I said,” she just comments and asks out of the blue, “Are you staying with Henry?”

“Oh... yes,” Alice nods quickly, thinking she's being kindly asked to leave now, “I'll just–“

Emma raises her hands. “No, no, no,” she interrupts, “I wasn't ushering you out. Why don't you stay here for tonight?” she suggests. “We have a guest room, and I'm sure Alice will be delighted to see you tomorrow morning.”

Alice hesitates. “Ah... I don't know...” She looks at Killian who smiles and tilts his head in an encouraging nod. “That would be nice, but I wouldn't want to cause any inconvenience...”

Emma shakes her head. “That's no big deal, really.”

“I could maybe crash on the couch,” Alice shrugs, “I don't need much, I used to live in the streets...”

That hits Emma hard; they knew this detail from the young woman's past from Henry, but it's different to hear it from herself. Emma takes a step in her direction and suppresses the urge to hug her, seeing her younger self for a moment in this girl's eyes. “Alice,” she tells her firmly, “I have magic. Preparing a guest room isn't an inconvenience. And – I've been there, and I know it's not easy to let others take care of you. But trust me, it gets better.”

Half an hour later, an exhausted Alice is sleeping soundly in a bedroom upstairs, while Emma and Killian are snuggled up to each other on the couch and Emma finally got her hot coca.

“Is it weird for you?” she wants to know. “I mean, we've seen all kinds of weird stuff, but knowing that there's someone who shares part of your memories, who looks and sounds exactly like you...”

“I'm quite unique, Swan,” he teases mildly, and she knows it's his way of dealing with the situation.

“You are,” she confirms, “you and he... you're different persons with different lives and histories who just happen to share the same name, good looks and character traits.”

“Mhm.” He brushes his lips over her temple almost absentmindedly, not taking the bait to respond with banter, proof of how serious he was. Emma waits patiently for what he's about to say. “I'm glad she came to see us,” he finally admits. “It's amazing... she looks like my mother.”

Emma smiles to herself as she snuggles closer into his side. “I could see you wanted her to stay,” she tells him, and he hums his agreement into her hair. She's not the only one who is an open book sometimes. “The other you...” she goes on, “he was looking after Henry when we couldn't, and it's the least we can do to look after his daughter now. Besides...” Emma tilts her head a little to the side, so she can look into his eyes. “She's probably kind of family.”

Killian nods slowly. “Aye,” he agrees, “it certainly feels like she is.” Emma huffs a little laugh, and he tilts his head with a smile. “What?” he inquires.

She shrugs. “I'm just thinking... it's really amazing. Our family, I mean. Okay, extended family.”

“Unusual, you mean?” he asks.

“That too,” she agrees, “but what I meant was... we were all alone in some way. Just look at us: my parents, Regina, Henry, Ella... even Gold.” Emma ignores Killian's clenched jaw at the mention of the former Dark One's name and continues, “You, me, Zelena... and now the other you... and Alice. We were all loners, lost souls, wanting nothing more than a family, a place to belong. And now we're all thrown together to be that family.”

He smiles and brushes a strand of hair from her face. “And I have a feeling we're not finished yet.”

[wildegreenlight]

Up to the Task

Ok, so this was supposed to be my third submission to @romioneflufffest but the interwebs ate it. Hope you enjoy my two favorite dorks being fluffy and adorable and clueless (but not really).

Special thanks to @callieskye for her editing skills!

Prompt: Common Room at Midnight

Description: There are some things that Ron just can’t bring to the surface.

Rating: T

Word County: 2229

Ron Weasley should have been fast asleep. It was nearly midnight, and he had experienced more than his share of excitement for one day. His body was exhausted beyond it’s fourteen years, yet his mind would not let him rest. From where he lay in his four poster, Ron could hear the familiar sounds of his dorm mates enjoying a good night’s sleep. Even Harry was snoring lightly having remained motionless since his mumbled nox more than an hour ago.

No one deserved the rest more than Harry, that was for sure. Of course he was tired; he’d all but single-handedly saved’em all during that ruddy task today! He didn’t even care about winning, he’d just wanted to save his friends.

The thought made his heart warm a little with pride for his best friend. He really was a good mate. For a moment he felt a whisper of shame for the way he reacted when Harry’s name had come out of the goblet. He should’ve known that Harry’d never intentionally seek glory. It really wasn’t his style. Even his spot on the Quidditch team had come from his standing up for Neville.  

He guessed he just took it for granted; sure he grumbled and complained about it sometimes, but he really was lucky to have such a great, big family. He couldn’t imagine not having them to count on. He knew, in an abstract way, that Harry didn’t have a proper family, don’t think I’ve ever seen Dad more furious than he was at those Dursleys, but to know that he was the person that Harry would miss most…that was a little overwhelming.

It changed things a little, didn’t it? It was a lot of responsibility. Not that he hadn’t already taken that responsibility on, come to think of it. He didn’t remember making a conscious choice to do so, but he reckoned breaking him out with a flying car in second year had really sealed his fate. Ron knew, without a doubt, that Harry was more than just his friend, he was part of his family. Family meant you looked out for each other, and sure, you might want to hex them into oblivion sometimes, but you always had their back.

As he thought about his family, Ron began to wonder: if the roles had been reversed, who would he have found in that lake? He’d like to think that it would have been Harry, if nothing else, that’d be fair. A little part of his mind felt guilty that it might not be someone in his “real” family. Would he have been as frantic with worry about Ginny as Fleur had been about her little sister? And even though he still felt partially to blame for what had happened to her during her first year, he still wasn’t fully convinced that she’d be the person he missed most.

That really left Harry as the most obvious choice. They were best friends; they spent everyday together. Ron felt a thought crawling toward him, one that he’d been trying to dodge: there was someone else that he spent every day with, someone who was also his best friend. He didn’t like where this was going. Not because he couldn’t accept the fact that he’d want to save her, of course he’d save her. That had been established when he knocked out a troll, and burped slugs, and faced giant spiders, and stood up to a dangerous maniac. It made him uncomfortable because he had to accept the fact that she had been someone else’s to save.

The thought lay in his gut like a plate of Hagrid’s biscuits. It made him want to punch that Bulgarian git in the face; he might know more about bloody Quidditch but he doesn’t know a thing about Hermione! After their big row at the Yule Ball, they had come to a sort of unspoken agreement to give the entire issue a wide berth. Neither of them had spoken of it again, and until today he hadn’t even seen the two of them together. He guessed he should be thankful that he’d been unconscious; he didn’t even want to think about the nightmares he would’ve had if he’d seen that slimy wanker swimming toward her, with or without his stupid shark head! It’d been bad enough that he’d had to see him fawning all over her afterwards. At least he had Fleur’s thankfulness to distract him.

He threw his blankets back in frustration. Ugh! I’m never gonna get to sleep like this! Deciding to take a stab at finding a random chess opponent or a house elf with snacks. Ron slipped a jumper over his pyjamas and headed for the common room.  As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he froze: sitting on the sofa with an open book in her lap was the very person he had been trying very hard not to think about, Hermione.

For a split second he considered turning quickly and bolting up the stairs, but something in the way she was staring at the pages made him pause. It was obvious, at least to him, that she was not reading. When Hermione read she cocked her head slightly, very slightly, to the left and moved her eyes very quickly over the page, if you paid attention you could see them move over each word. Not now. Her head was not tilted in either direction and she stared down into the book with no movement at all. If she wasn’t reading, which obviously she wasn’t, what was she doing? His curiosity outweighed the possible awkwardness, so he stepped closer.

“Looking for a spell to remove the sweet smell of Giant Squid?” she startled at his words, but he was relieved to see her small smile of recognition.

“No,” she pulled a large lock of hair to her nose and inhaled, “but maybe I should, I hate to think of all the disgusting things living in that water.” They both laughed breaking the tension of the moment, and she motioned for him to sit down.

“Sure? Not bothering you am I?”

“Not at all,” she pulled her knees up, trapping the open book between her legs and her chest. “I just couldn’t sleep, so I decided to come read for a bit. How about you?”

“Same…well ‘cept for the reading part.”

He sat down on the sofa, not quite beside her, but not as far as the opposite end. Considering the thoughts that had brought him down here, he should have felt awkward, but for some strange reason he didn’t. It really was a bit baffling to him that when it was just the two of them, they seemed to get along brilliantly.

“Speaking of…whatcha reading?”

“Oh, nothing really, Professor McGonnagal recommended it, so I thought I would enjoy it, but honestly, I just cannot seem to get into it.”

Ron gave himself a mental pat on the back, he knew she hadn’t been reading! “Lemme guess…300 Simple Steps to Becoming Head Girl? No wait… Cats and the Totally Mental Witches Who Love Them?”  

Hermione kicked at him, pushing his knee with her foot which caused the book to slip to the floor.  They both leaned over to grab it at the same time, bumping foreheads in the process. Ron made a dramatic yelp causing her to scold,  “I swear, if you make a crack about how hard my head is, I will throw you back in that lake!”

At his pantomime of innocence, they both broke out in a fresh wave of laughter. This was how it was supposed to be. Easy. No hairy Bulgarian apes causing problems. Just a couple of best friends laughing together in their pyjamas…in the common room…at midnight…all alone. Suddenly he did feel nervous. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“We should probably get to bed,” he prayed that his voice wasn’t as shaky as it sounded in his own head.

Hermione heaved a sigh, “I know, we’ve both had long day,” he nodded in agreement, “but I can’t stop thinking about…about.”

“About what?” Way to go Weasley! This is exactly what you didn’t want to do!!

“The thing you’d miss most,” her voice came out softer than he thought he’d ever heard it, and from the look on her face it was almost like she couldn’t believe she had said it aloud.

Fuck!

“Uh…me?”

“Well…yeah…not just you…me too…I mean…in general…you know?” She looked at him so earnestly that he could not deny her.

“Yeah…I do. Actually why I couldn’t sleep,” he decided to tell the truth, well, at least something that was adjacent to the truth. “I mean…I worry about Harry…I forget sometimes that we’re the closest thing to family he’s got.”

“I know, me too. I thought it was both of us, at first, today, in Dumbledore’s office,” she looked off to the side, toward the fire, and he could see the color rise in her cheeks.

“Me too.”

“Of course, I know that was probably ridiculous.”

“No it wasn’t!” Not as bloody ridiculous as being the thing Krum would miss most when he’s only known you for a few months!  “And anyway, what about Cedric and Cho? I think that got Harry a little…he didn’t think they were that serious.”

“Well her being his choice doesn’t necessarily mean that it is that serious.”

“Sounds pretty serious to me,” he recognized the dangerous path he was on, but he honestly, could not stop himself from taking the next step, “Sounds like Cedric cares about her a whole lot.”

“That may be true,” she looked up then, and he hoped to Merlin she didn’t notice his quick intake of breath at the sight of her expression, “but it doesn’t mean that she feels the same way, does it? I mean…well, she might have someone else that she would miss more.” She was giving him a look he recognized, the one she sometimes used when she tried to help Neville remember where he left something. A look that she had been known to give Ron when she was trying to get him to figure out a revision without her just giving him the answer.

“Never thought about it that way.” Alarms were all but sounding in his head: something horribly wonderful was rising to the surface, something that he was in no way prepared to face.  Ron took the only out he could see, he reached a little blindly for his trusty humor life-preserver  and prayed it would carry him to shore. “That would be a little awkward, yeah? Like…Hey, I know I’m the person you’d miss most and all, but the thing is, I’d really miss someone else more…hope you don’t mind.” 

He was more than relieved to find Hermione snickering at his comment.

“What if it wasn’t even another person,” she gave him a conspiratorial grin, “I mean it did say the thing you’d miss most.”

“That’d be great: you swim down to the bottom of the lake and all you find is a soggy bacon sandwich!”

“That would be yours for sure!”

“Oi! It would not! I’d have you to know that it would be TWO soggy bacon sandwiches!”

“Of course! How could I have been so wrong?”

“Better than yours! Yours’d probably just be a copy of Hogwarts a History.”

She crossed her arms and grumbled dramatically, “It’s like you don’t know me at all!”

“Is that so? Well I know that you think that it’d be Crookshanks, but it wouldn’t.”

“Alright then, if you’re so smart, why don’t you tell me what it would be?”

Ron shook his head, a wide grin plastered over his now very sleepy face. “Nah…what would be the fun in that?”

Fighting back a yawn, Hermione gloated, “as usual, the fun would be in proving you wrong.”

“Yeah…how ‘bout we leave that for another time? I think we both need to get some sleep. No telling what Harry’ll need for us to do tomorrow. Maybe break into the Ministry? Fight a pack of giants…ya know…something easy.”

“Still better than sitting through Divination,” her deadpan sarcasm sounded so much like Ron that they were both shocked, but recovered after a beat.

Ron cleared his throat and offered his best Trelawny impression, “It is time! Time to close your mind’s eye! The time for sleep is at hand!”

Through a fit of restrained giggles, Hermione picked up her discarded book and followed Ron to the staircase.

“G’night.”

“Good night.” Before he had made it to the third step, she called after him, “Ron?”

He turned to look back at her, “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?” He really had no idea what she could be thanking him for.

“For…well, for just understanding,” she turned and dashed up the stairs before he could reply.

But, in that moment, he did understand. There were so many confusing things that he was going through: with school, with his family, with Harry, with Hermione, but he knew that if there was anyone in the world that knew what it was like, what was on his mind, it was her. He also knew, although he couldn’t quite admit it to himself yet, if the task had been his, exactly who would have been waiting for him at the bottom of that lake.

[anothercolourmagines]

Relationships & Headcanons: Allen Jones

Matt Williams: Despite the two of them being half-brothers, they only found out about each other when they attended Allen’s mother’s funeral. Allen was initially wary of Matt and kept his distance from him, thinking that he was creepy for not talking that much or because he spoke in such a monotone tone of voice. Even when they were forced to spent summer vacation together with their dad, Allen would simply ignore him or communicate through one syllable sentences making for a very tense atmosphere whenever the two were in the same room. Things only started to change after the two got into a fist fight and had to be separated by Mr. Williams. Having seen what the other is capable of they silently agreed to a truce, each having developed some admiration for the other since nobody else had ever managed to keep up with them before. Afterwards, things were less tense between them, communicating more and starting to bond over their mutual love of animals.  

As young adults they are close and consider each other full-fledged brothers, though they would never actually admit this outloud. They fight often, whether verbally or physically, but it’s never serious and mostly because they are both stubborn and incapable of openly talking about their feelings. Allen is the one who usually initiates the fights because he finds it fun to push Matt’s buttons. However, no matter how much they annoy each other they seem to have an unspoken agreement that should a third party interfere in the business or make trouble for either of them, they will set their differences aside to teach that person a lesson.

During his year off, when he was working odd jobs around the town, Allen lived with Matt for about six months before he was asked to leave since he wouldn’t clean up after himself at all. Nowadays, he often comes by to bring Matt some strays he picked up from the streets to help him look after them. They would also often play sports together, whether baseball, hockey, basketball etc., during which they become very competitive. Though he would never admit this, Allen does think highly of his brother seeing him as being much smarter and more well adjusted than he is. On the other hand, he’s also the one whom he insults the most and never holds back when pointing out any mistakes Matt might have made.   

Oliver Kirkland: As his older cousin, Oliver is perhaps Allen’s longest lasting friend, the two being almost inseparable until middle school. Despite the 4 year age difference, Allen seems to regard Oliver more as a parental figure, rather than just a big brother. During his childhood he would spent most of his time over at the Kirkland’s house and would generally follow Oliver around since he could not get along with other kids his age. Once he got into middle school and Oliver entered high school they began to slightly drift apart due to Oliver’s busy schedule. At Oliver’s suggestion, Allen began opening up to the kids in his class and even managed to make friends with them eventually. During the summer holidays, which he would spent with his father and Matt, Allen would send back home pictures and small packages of stuff he found ‘cool’, most of them being pines cones, weirdly shaped bottle caps and funny jokes he found written on wrappers. (Mrs. Kirkland kept most of these ‘souvernirs’.)

As adults, their relationship seems to resemble that of a fussy mom and her moody teenage son who’d be embarrassed to be seen in public with her. Allen often calls Oliver a ‘nosy old man’ when he tries to interfere with his life and the two ocassionally get into fights where they refuse to talk with each other unless the other apologizes first. (Oliver is the one who usually caves first.) Regardless, Allen still sees him as something of a parental/mentor/older brother figure and, though he would not show it on the outside, he does value Oliver’s insight and opinions. He just finds it annoying that Oliver seems to have the ability to be almost always right about things.  He also abstains from swearing in front of Oliver, since he doesn’t want to make him angry.

Before he started university he helped Oliver with his bistro by making deliveries around town and after Matt kicked him out of the house, he moved in with Oliver since it would mean he got a place to sleep as well as three meals a day.   

Lutz Beilschmidt: Allen’s self-proclaimed #1 best friend and main wingman. The friendship between these two started back in high school when Lutz ended up in Allen’s class after being held back a year. He appreciated his sincere attitude and simplicity, though he would not hesitate to point out that he is pretty dumb. They bonded over their mutual love of sports, cool cars and pretty girls, as well as their uncanny ability to somehow always end up in trouble no matter what they do. Regardless, they have each other’s back. On the other hand, Lutz frequently ends up mixed up in Allen’s feud with Luciano having to act as a mediating force between them, which often works in his detriment. Overall, their friendship is an easy-going one which prioritizes having fun and though it rarely delves into more serious matters, Allen is thankful to have someone he can indulge in mindless fun with.   

Zao Wang: Though they haven’t known each other for long, Allen and Zao became fast friends due to their similar attitude of doing whatever they want and defying authority. Though Zao could be considered a bad influence due to his tendency to egg Allen on when the possibility of a fight appears he will also step in and help him out. He is perhaps even more candid than Allen himself and this makes Allen both frustrated and grateful since Zao will often offer up some sort of insight which Allen might not have thought of or if he did he did not appreciate Zao pointing it out. This is also why this particular friendship trives on an unspoken agreement that even if they will not discuss personal matters, they will trust each other’s instincts. They also seem to have no problem insulting each other to their faces, with Allen being more vulgar than usual and Zao being more willing to play the role of the gadfly.

Luciano Vargas: They would never admit it, but the two are actually quite similar, which might explain why they despise each other so much. They’re both highly competitive, aggressive and refuse to acknowledge anyone else’s superiority over them. Their vastly different backgrounds also put them at odds, as Allen thinks Luciano is just some spolied rich bastard who uses his grandfather’s money to get out of trouble, while Luciano refers to him as ‘a mindless brute’. Thus, in the rare, almost once-in-a-blue-moon moments that they do work together willingly it is because they have a common goal (though there may be a chance that they might just forget about their goal and attempt to sabotage the other). 

[cywscross]

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3 | Pt.4 | Pt.5 | Pt.6 | Pt.7 | Pt.8

this has somehow evolved from a furniture fort fic to a road trip fic...

In the two months before summer break begins, Stiles spends most of that time in Peter’s apartment. By unspoken agreement, they don’t go out much aside from the occasional grocery shopping trip.  Peter’s still missing and assumed dead, and people in this town tend to gossip about anything out of the ordinary.  A grown man seen together with the Sheriff’s son is bound to make it back to police ears sooner or later, even if their forces are a little… depleted after the past couple months.

On the other hand, absolutely nobody notices who Stiles is hanging out with or even where despite the fact that he’s honestly not hiding it.  Maybe it’s because for half that time, his signature jeep is being fixed in the shop, and by the time he gets it back, he’s so used to walking to Peter’s apartment, sometimes alone, sometimes with Peter who comes by to pick him up, that he just doesn’t bother driving anywhere but to and from school anymore. His dad’s mostly either at the station, out of town, or not really paying attention to whether or not Stiles is lying on the rare occasion that he goes home to an empty house with no dinner on the table and Stiles tells him he’s at a friend’s when the man asks him where he is over text.  It isn’t even really lying – the Sheriff just assumes he’s with Scott, reheats whatever meal Stiles left in a casserole for him, and is usually conked out in bed or on the sofa with a bottle of whiskey by the time Stiles gets home, if he does at all.  Sometime after the fifth time Peter casually offers, Stiles starts sleeping over at the werewolf’s apartment.  He used to have sleepovers with Scott all the time.  So long as it wasn’t a school night, neither the Sheriff nor Melissa cared.

So his dad is oblivious, Scott is even more so and Stiles has given up texting him in the hopes of getting a reply, and it isn’t as if he has anyone else who’d give a damn about where he is.

It’s fine though. Stiles has plenty to do even without a lot of company or leaving Peter’s apartment at all – homework, research, watching movies, and fort-building are indoor activities after all, and Peter seems to enjoy having Stiles around too.  At the very least, he hasn’t gotten tired of him yet.

In the first week there when Stiles was still rearranging Peter’s living room to his liking, he also finally figured out Peter’s been playing with investments in the stock market, and that’s where he’s been getting his money from.  Up until then, there was a niggling concern at the back of his mind that the banks and jewelry stores in the surrounding towns might be in danger, and he had mental images of a wolfed out grown man scaling buildings and marching bank managers to the vaults at growl-point, but apparently, Peter has not needed to stoop to theft quite yet.  Still, the werewolf looked terribly amused when Stiles shared that particular tidbit.

Then summer arrives, and – as he's taken to doing over the past couple years – he begins packing.  It doesn’t even occur to him that maybe he should give a certain someone a heads-up until he’s stuffing clothes into a duffel bag and calculating how much he’ll have to leave behind because the jeep is going to have to fit two on their road trip.

He stops and looks up.

Crap.

“Peter!”

Stiles barges into the werewolf’s apartment and finds Peter just coming out of the bathroom in nothing but his birthday suit and a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.  Stiles yelps and backpedals, only to trip over his own feet and go ass over teakettle into the wall behind him.

He groans and ends up blinking at the (still mostly naked) werewolf now peering down at him with raised eyebrows that are one hundred percent mocking him.

“Put on some clothes!” Stiles blurts out in tones that imply right this second oh my god.

Peter does not hop to it the way Stiles hopes.  If anything, he just preens a little and smirks, and one of his hands even wanders down to his towel.  “But Stiles, if I put on clothes, I would deprive you of the magnificence that is my-”

Stiles chucks his bag at the man’s head, cheeks already burning red.  “If you don’t put on clothes right now, I’m not gonna take you with me!”

Then he half-scurries, half-flees into the fort and blushes even harder as he recalls the very defined abs he saw on Peter, not to mention the dark line of hair along his abdomen that the towel certainly didn’t hide.  Also that chest.  And those bare shoulders.

Stiles has seen Peter shirtless of course, that one time the man changed at his place after a shower, but that was only a glimpse, not to mention there was more of a warning beforehand, and Peter already had pants on, and it was nothing like-

Stiles rolls over and promptly does his level best to smother himself with a pillow.  He redoubles his efforts when he hears Peter chuckling away outside.

Stupid werewolf physique. It doesn’t help that Peter’s general… everything affects Stiles more than those times Derek was stripping in front of him and complaining about Stiles’ clothes all the damn time.  Maybe it’s because Derek has those extra muscles from obsessively working out – Stiles has seen the dude’s collection of weights – that makes him look photoshop-perfect, whereas Peter, who could probably enter a successful modelling career any time he pleases, still retains a softness to him that makes him more real.

Or maybe Stiles just has a type.

A knock against the fort interrupts his thoughts.

“I’m fit for monastic life,” Peter says dryly.  “May I come in now?”

Stiles grumbles wordlessly but kicks the blanket flap anyway.  A moment later, Peter ducks inside, bringing Stiles’ bag with him.  His hair is still damp and curling a little, uncombed, and he’s in sweats and a soft-looking white Henley.

It’s terribly, terribly unfair how attractive Stiles still finds him, and by the sly, smug look Peter slants his way, he’s pretty sure the werewolf knows it too.

“So you’re hot,” Stiles huffs, ears still feeling distinctly warm.  “I’m sure that’s not news to you.”

“No, I can’t say it is,” Peter agrees shamelessly.  “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I don’t mind.  You can stare all you want.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and snatches his bag back instead.  If he lets this banter go on, his head might actually combust because Peter is a horrible human being and will continue teasing him mercilessly.

“In your dreams,” Stiles mutters, and then hastily hurries on when Peter opens his mouth again, “Listen, I wanted to ask you something.”

And Peter does.  The playful taunts are shelved, the glee takes a backseat, and the man himself waits for Stiles to say his piece.  It’s one of the things Stiles likes best about Peter.  The fact that he listens, no matter what Stiles says.

He retrieves a sheaf of paper from his bag and thrusts them at Peter, who scans them over before arching an eyebrow at Stiles.  “You’re going to a summer camp?”

“Absolutely not,” Stiles snorts.  He tried Boy Scouts once.  Or rather, his dad suggested it, to give him some… structure because even back then Stiles had trouble concentrating and doing as he was told, and his mom signed him up.  But Stiles has never been one for rules, and the people in charge politely – possibly hysterically – asked his parents to never bring him back again after that one time he started a fire (in the fire pit!) and threw everyone’s hats in overnight as a distraction before leading all the other kids on a raid for the cookies during a retreat, which would’ve been bad enough but then he set up an armed (with sauces and eggs and anything else they could get their hands on) blockade around the kitchen that literally lasted until one of the pathetic food-splattered adults couldn’t handle it anymore and called the police for help.

It was fantastic, but his dad – a deputy then, and one of the officers sent in to deal with Stiles and his miniature army – was not so impressed.  Stiles was grounded big time after that incident, but at least he wasn’t forced to go back.  He doubts he would’ve been able to incite a rebellion a second time, and the only useful thing he learned from the Boy Scouts was how to make fire.

“No, but my dad thinks I am,” Stiles continues explaining.  “Last year was visiting relatives on my mom’s side, which didn’t actually happen.  And the year before that was a visit to my pen-pal in Oregon.”

“You have a pen-pal in Oregon?”  Peter deadpans.

“Nope, but my dad thought I did,” Stiles replies cheerfully.  “Although he’s probably forgotten by now.”

“I see,” A flicker of a sneer darts across the curve of Peter’s mouth before it smooths out again in favour of amused enquiry.  “And where exactly do you go instead?”

Stiles waves a hand in the general direction of beyond.  “Travelling. Sightseeing.  I wasn’t legally allowed to drive until this year so I mostly just took buses or hitchhiked-” Peter’s face does a funny spasm at that. “-and I’ve only been as far as Washington so far – that was last year, and just Oregon before that – but I plan to go east this time, and I was wondering if you want to come with me?”

Peter doesn’t answer right away, glancing back down at the papers instead.  “I’m assuming if the Sheriff calls any of these numbers, they’ll all go to your phone?”

Stiles shrugs.  “Yeah, but he won’t.  My dad doesn’t really have any contact with my mom’s family – technically I don’t either, I’ve never even spoken with them as far as I can remember but Dad thinks I do when I asked to visit them – so last year, he just called my cell whenever he wanted to check in with me.  And same with my ‘pen-pal’ two years ago.  I don’t see why it would be any different this year, and he’ll be pretty busy anyway.  He works more when I’m not around so he’ll only call a couple times, and so long as I answer, it’ll be fine.”

“I don’t underst-” Peter cuts himself off but the words he did bite out were sharp enough to make Stiles blink at him, startled.

“You don’t understand…?”

For a moment, it seems like Peter’s just going to brush him off and redirect the conversation, but then he says abruptly, “I don’t understand how the Sheriff can possibly work more than he already does.” And then, even more snidely, “What an outstandingly diligent man we have to lead our county’s police force.”

A long silence follows. Stiles gapes at him, for once completely at a loss for words even as a dull flush creeps up the back of his neck, uncomfortable and embarrassed in an entirely different way this time.

He doesn’t get a chance to come up with a response before Peter sighs, “Never mind.  That was out of line.  I apologize.”

He says each line like he’s reading off a script, but he also bumps their knees together, and when Stiles glances up, the apology on his face is genuine.

Stiles gets the feeling he’s not actually apologizing for the jab against the Sheriff, only for upsetting Stiles.

But, well, it’s not like Peter said anything Stiles hasn’t already thought himself at one point or another.

Stiles shakes his head. “Whatever.”  He shakes his head again, puts it out of his mind, and reaches for the papers.  “So, um, are you coming?  If you’re busy, you don’t have to.  I had Scott to hang out with during the other summers that I did this so I usually kept my trips short, only about two to three weeks, but since… well I have more time this year so I figured I’d go for the entire summer.  Do you… want to come with me?”

He peers at Peter again and tries not to look too hopeful.  He can always go by himself – he’s already done it twice, and he never took Scott with him because the dude couldn’t lie for shit, especially to Melissa, and Stiles was always kind of worried about bringing Scott along because that meant he’d have to take care of two people, not just himself, and what if he fucked up? – but Peter’s more than capable of looking out for himself, and Stiles just… he’s gotten used to spending all his time with Peter, and he doesn’t want that to end.

Peter actually rolls his eyes.  “Of course I want to come.”  A smirk tilts one corner of his mouth.  “After all, whatever would we do if you walked into oncoming traffic without me there to save you?”

Stiles squawks indignantly and doesn’t hesitate to grab a pillow and hurl it at the grinning werewolf. He’s pretty sure said werewolf with werewolf-y reflexes lets the pillow hit him on purpose but the sight of Peter Hale getting a face full of cotton still makes a very satisfying whomp sound.

[what-even-is-thiss]

Sanders Sides Headcanons

Shoot. How did I get into this fandom where we just watch a man talking to himself? Anyways, the sides are all interesting characters by themselves and its implied they talk to each other even when not talking to Thomas, so I want to write down what I think their relationships are like. (No romantic and/or sexual shipping here. I don’t do that.)

Creativity and Anxiety

Again, not a ship. I know prinxiety is popular, but I don’t like it.

They have a nemesis type of relationship

Like, that type of relationship in moves where two people hate each other to no end but also need each other.

They represent two extremes. Anxiety thinks Thomas can’t do even simple things and that everyone hates him. Roman thinks Thomas can do anything (including things that are physically impossible) and that everyone loves him.

Occasionally Logic will hear the two of them arguing and secretly listen in until Morality shows up and he has to help him calm them down because its kind of funny and he knows just how wrong both of them are.

They try to avoid talking to each other at all costs, but sometimes your ego is going to clash with your insecurities and they just have to duke it out.

They have two things in common. They love Disney and they both enjoy Morality’s dad jokes.

Anxiety is totally the one that beat Roman up, let’s be real here.

Morality and Logic

Here we are again with the extremes.

Morality thinks they’re best friends. Logic won’t admit his feelings one way or the other. Mostly because he won’t admit that he has feelings.

They always argue. (this is canon there was a whole video about it)

Logic is a Hufflepuff just like the rest of Thomas but won’t admit it and Morality is very aware of this.

They both have a tendency to take things too literally in certain circumstances and have gaps in their general knowledge, but the other one can normally fill the other in on the info they’re missing.

They both play a part in putting Roman and Anxiety in their place.

Morality is just as in tune with reality as Logic is, but in a completely different way. That’s why Logan sees him as delusional. Its not his reality that Morality is seeing. Think emotional/practical intelligence vs. mathematical/logical intelligence.

Whenever Morality finds out something that he and Logic have in common he always tries to talk to him about it. Sometimes it even works. Especially after they play dress-up.

Morality and Anxiety

These two have more in common than you would think.

Dad embodies positive emotion and Anxiety embodies negative emotion. Therefore, they both don’t listen to Logan much and tend to rely more on gut feelings. Together they cover Thomas’ instincts.

Like with everyone else, Morality wants to be his friend/father figure, but Anxiety is having none of that.

When either one of them gets out of control (dad makes Thomas too hopeful to the point of delusion or emo boy makes him way too anxious) things can get dangerous. So, they go in and bring each other down when necessary.

Sometimes its necessary to shoot down a useless hope just like its necessary to get rid of a random fear or spell of sadness.

They annoy the heck out of each other but there’s an unspoken agreement that they are both necessary and need to keep each other in line. Morality never voices his annoyance and gets over it quickly while Anxiety is petty as hell and stays openly annoyed for weeks at a time.

Morality is the only one that tries to calm Anxiety down in a respectful way and doesn’t insult him all the time. Anxiety insults Morality to no end.

Anxiety loves dad jokes too. Sometimes when he’s not feeling so mean he’ll listen in to dad’s conversations hoping for him to make a dad joke.

Logic and Creativity

They work against each other in several ways, but also work together quite nicely when they need to collaborate on something.

Not friends, but despite the way they talk about each other they don’t hate each other. Not like Prince and Anxiety hate each other, anyways.

Logan acknowledges when Prince has a good idea and when he thinks the idea is attainable he comes up with the way to practically bring it into reality.

This leads to really long late night sessions where Thomas is working on a project and the two of them are talking and compromising the entire time. Roman points out when something isn’t particularly creative or entertaining and Logic keeps them on schedule and shoots down the ideas that are completely impossible.

They team up to keep Anxiety from breathing down their necks while they’re working.

They enjoy insulting each other very much. They are both quite good at it and sometimes it might even turn into a game. Sometimes it makes Anxiety and Morality confused, but there’s no ill will between them when they’re exchanging insults. Its just something they enjoy doing, although they’d never admit it.

Its Logan’s tiny streak of pettiness that led him to learn how to say “The Prince is stupid” in a lot of languages because he said he would do it and Roman was certain he wouldn’t.

Creativity and Morality

Their personalities compliment each other quite nicely.

Do you ever think back to the logic/anxiety video where Morality was literally feeding Thomas’ ego? Because I do. He was feeding his ego with soup.

They’re friends. Sometimes the friendship is a bit one-sided because Roman talks about himself all the time but neither of them see this as a problem, and its not an abusive friendship so its okay.

Morality acts more like a dad towards him than any of the others. Sometimes Princey even lets him. Especially when he’s hurt.

Morality is the one that keeps Roman propped up. There’s a lot of things out there that will attack your ego, and Logic can’t always help with that.

Dad is the only one Princey doesn’t get much satisfaction from insulting, because Morality is innocent and overly polite and never insults him back.

Like with Logic, Prince is just as much of a Hufflepuff as the rest of them and Morality knows this. Prince pretends he’s a Griffyndor but he really isn’t.

Morality also knows how afraid Roman is of spiders and isn’t afraid to bring it up once in a while, because although dad won’t fight a dragon-witch for you, he can dispose of bugs like a champ and does not fear them at all.

Logic and Anxiety

This is my favorite one.

Logic is the closest thing Anxiety has to a friend, but he’ll never admit it because he has a reputation to think about. Logic follows a similar policy.

Sometimes Logic will side with Anxiety, because although Anxiety can be a bit extra he is necessary and makes some good points sometimes, so logically you can’t always push him to the side.

They don’t talk much unless they have to, but will spend hours sitting in silence together while Logic is making plans or reading and Anxiety is either sitting around listening to music when he’s feeling chill or plotting to shoot down Princey and dad when he’s feeling mean.

Logic secretly doesn’t mind Anxiety listening to emo bands really loud as long as it doesn't make it hard to think or they don’t need to be thinking so hard right then.

Since Anxiety represents half of Thomas’ feelings, Logic has to take him down a peg sometimes. Whenever Logic isn’t notified that dad or prince can’t help things get bad.

Sometimes Anxiety purposefully keeps Logic down. Imagine him talking over Logic really loudly or gagging him if you really want to feel horrified.

I believe sometimes in extreme cases Anxiety might beat up or lock up the others or otherwise force them to be silent. Logan is not immune to this and when Logic is out of commission it’s the worst.

I really like thinking about this for some reason. This is what I think about all these characters. I see shipping here as selfcest and don’t like that, but if you want to use any of this for your fluff and/or angst ship fics be my guest. I won’t be mad or grossed out.

[dragonkeeper19600]

What are your head canons about Nazz?

I don’t have as an elaborate past history set up for Nazz as I had for Rolf, but I’ve got a few. In no particular order, here we go:

Nazz renamed herself in order to stand out. She’s never actually heard any music from the band Nazz, she just saw the name on an album cover as a child and thought it looked cool. 

Getting positive attention has always been important for Nazz. When she was a little girl, her parents used to fight a lot, and so they paid more attention to each other than to her. A lot of children mistakenly form the idea that if they change their behavior somehow, the problems between their parents will stop. In Nazz’s case, she figured if her parents paid more attention to her, they’d be too preoccupied to get mad at each other.

It didn’t work of course, and Nazz’s parents split up. It was agreed that Nazz should live with her mother, as neither parent felt it was best for a little girl to grow up without a mother in her life. (Gender politics weren’t the best back then.)

Nazz is now old enough to realize that her parents splitting up was the best thing for everyone, but at first it was hard coming home to a house with only one parent. She did find another kid her own age that could relate, however, and that kid was Kevin.

Kevin’s father is actually a widower. Kevin never told her this himself, Nazz learned it from her own mother. For a six-year-old girl, this was a sobering moment. She’d spent so much time focused on her own sad home life and how lonely she was, but here was someone who had it even worse.

(What is this feeling? Could it be EMPATHY?)

She and Kevin have an understanding because they helped each other through a pretty dark time. Not by discussing how they felt or grief or blame or anything like that (because they’re kids and emotional openness is terrifying), but just by playing together and having an unspoken agreement not to talk about each other’s parents or their own. 

Kevin’s always thought of Nazz as a friend but didn’t become attracted to her until she slimmed down. It’s a startling moment when your old friend suddenly becomes a figure of attraction.

Nazz likes positivity. She likes everyone to be having fun. She can’t stand even being looked at crossly. 

As I mentioned before, she also likes things Big and Loud. Rock concerts, monster truck rallies, basically anything overstimulating. She likes it when things happen. She likes her blood pumping.

This is part of the reason she's so fond of the Eds. They bring excitement. I’ve already mentioned this this month, but she wishes she could act out the way they do. However, she doesn’t indulge in this desire because she doesn’t want to get in trouble and feels like she can’t.

Neither of Nazz’s parents ever remarried. This sometimes happens when people don’t enjoy their first marriage; it sours them to the idea of marriage altogether. She still visits her dad, but it’s her mother she’s closest too.

Nazz is good at memorizing things. Song lyrics, worker laws, cheer routines, and is able to make decent grades through cramming. However, she struggles when it comes to critical thinking, and she’s slightly dyslexic (based on her difficulty in reading the spelling words in “Too Smart for His Own Ed.”)

Nazz is the type that just likes boys, in general. She’s able to find something cute or likable in almost every boy. All boys are divided into two categories: “Boys I Like” and “Boys I Don’t Like,” with most boys falling into the former category.

Incidentally, Jimmy is too young to qualify as a “Boy.”

She and Kevin became quite an item in their high school years and went to prom together. (As a side note, the Eds chose to skip it and spent the night at the skating rink.)

Nazz and Kevin eventually broke up. They attended two different colleges and came to decide that the long distance thing wasn’t working. As Nazz hung up the phone with Kevin, single for the first time in years, she couldn’t help thinking of her own parents, however irrational she knew that impulse to be.

Nazz’s mother enrolled her in Tae Kwon Do as a kid, as she thought it would be best for her daughter to know self-defense now that her father wouldn’t be around. (Again, crappy gender politics.) Nazz really had a knack for it and was able to secure her first-degree black belt in her late teens. 

Nazz makes an effort to be nice to everybody, but she knows that this courtesy sometimes causes people to think she’s empty-headed because people are terrible and no thinking person could honestly like everybody (or some stupid reasoning like that). She also knows that she’s spacey and has a tendency to not notice thing and get facts wrong. She’s okay with not being the smartest, but her niceness and her ditzier moments have caused some people to believe that she’s a completely brainless bimbo. Because of this qualities, some guys in high school and college think of her as an “easy lay,” which she hates. 

She does sleep around a bit in college, but what bothers her is how smug some men get about it. It’s sex, not a goddamn contest. It’s supposed to be fun. “Why do you look down on me if you want to spend the night with me?”

I kind of like the idea that she eventually marries Eddy, but obviously both of them have a long road ahead of them before that happens. 

[ryanmeft]

My Favorite Performances of 2016

These are the 15 movie roles this year I most felt deserved highlighting. Man, there were some great roles this year, introduction, introduction, introduction, how many words does this have to be? You don't care and I certainly don't. On to the list!(Note: except for the top two, this list is in no particular order).

Glen Powell (Everybody Wants Some!!) The entire cast of Richard Linklater’s spiritual follow-up to "Dazed and Confused" is one riotous bundle of joy (and a cure for the usually cliche portrayal of college kids), but Glen Powell's Finnegan is by far the standout. The scene that makes his character comes at a party for the "artsy fartsy" crowd when, after encouraging a freewheeling spirit of sex, booze, drugs and rock 'n' roll throughout the film, he actually gets for real hurt when his proteges crash his chances with a girl he happens to like. Finnegan is on the cusp of adulthood and leadership heading into one of the most tumultuous decades of American history, but he's not quite there yet...and it's the leftover, subtle vulnerabilities of the kid during his last days of youth that make him so unbelievably endearing. If there's any justice in the world, EWS!! will do for him what Dazed and Confused did for...well, most of the cast.

Tilda Swinton (A Bigger Splash) The (in my opinion, overblown) controversy over Swinton's Doctor Strange role sadly overshadowed her performance in this Fellini-esque story of beautiful people behaving in decidedly un-beautiful ways. Playing a major, David Bowie-esque popstar who has gone near-mute from the stress of living in public, Swinton has few lines but somehow manages to steal the show from a simmering Matthias Schoenaerts and a manic Ralph Fiennes. Being mostly robbed of the ability to speak, Swinton has to convey a massive range of emotions largely with body language---a task she accomplishes with all the skill you'd expect from one of the world's greatest actresses.

Natalie Portman (Jackie) Frail and tough, honest and veiled, open and censoring---Portman's portrayal of the most famous First Lady in American history is riddled with contradictions that, in her hands, become a coherent character. She can sink to the depths of unbearable anguish at a moment's notice, and five minutes later it is as if nothing very bad had happened. Yet, there's always something boiling under the surface...perhaps an understanding that history will forever place "JFK's wife" next to her name, whatever else she may do with her life. At times, Portman seems to barely hold it all in, yet when we leave the theater she is still a mystery. Maybe that's how it should be.

Joel Edgerton (Loving) Rarely does more go unsaid or understood than passes behind the face of Joel Egderton as Richard Loving, one half of the married couple whose simple wish to live in their home state of Virginia dealt a death blow to laws banning interracial marriage in the United States. Edgerton says little, and when he does it is in as few words as possible...every one of which speaks his entire mind. Key to the performance, though, are scenes of him simply sharing intimate moments with wife Mildred. At a time when the stereotype of the traditonal American husband and father of yesteryear is often held up for all the wrong reasons, Edgerton's performance is crucial.

Emma Stone (La La Land) Until near the end, the music is the driving force of La La Land. Then someone asks the character of Mia to "tell a story", and Emma Stone delivers one of the best scenes of her career. The strength of the "Audition" number redefines what has come before for the character, and solidifies her as both someone we can really root for, and the personification of dreamers, however hopeless they might be. The final look she gives Ryan Reynolds in the film speaks more than a page of dialogue ever could.

Viola Davis (Fences) Before the era of feminism, there was an unspoken agreement between married couples in the U.S.: a wife was to put up with her husband's shit, even when he was full to bursting with it. It was hard to pick one of the two main performances in "Fences" to single out, but ultimately Davis's simmering cauldron is the heart of the story, enabling her to both survive and love life with her deeply, deeply flawed husband. Unlike Denzel Washington, who gets to vomit forth an endless stream of anger throughout the film, Davis is tasked with saving her one great outburst for when it is most needed and has the most impact, creating a scene the trailers should not have featured; it should have been allowed to burst on audiences like water from a broken dam, rolling over everything in its path. Five minutes later, she's calm again, but she's also a different woman...or maybe just another woman who was hiding behind the first all along.

Sunny Pawar (Lion) The trailers all emphasize the adult Saroo's search for his home, but the bulk of the movie is taken up with a young Saroo getting lost in the first place, and Dev Patel is overshadowed by 8-year-old Sunny Pawar...not an easy feat. Like Quvenzhane Wallis and Jacob Tremblay, Pawar takes a role that could easily have been phoned in (since we have natural sympathy for kids) and makes little Saroo into an enormously relatable character, a lost boy whose stomping ground is no Neverland. It isn't any wonder the filmmakers keep coming back to him in flashbacks after his character is grown. He's the heart of the film.

Hailee Steinfeld (Edge of Seventeen) I swear, my generation moons over the era of John Hughes High School comedies so much they seem to forget that being awkward, out-of-place and unable to wait for the day after graduation day isn't unique to them. Every year we get a handful of largely unheralded comedies about that very topic, and Hailee Steinfeld's performance as a morbid, confused and, yes, aggressive (bad female! bad!) teen who openly discusses her sex life, alcohol habits and dark, dark, dark humor elevates "Edge of Seventeen" to the top of the pack. With acerbic wit, pinpoint aim, and unflinching pessimism, Nadine Franklin manages to skewer not just every aspect of High School life but many of life in general. The only target she routinely misses? Herself.

Kate Beckinsale (Love & Friendship) It is exceedingly rare that a woman in the movies can be aggressive and acidic at the same time. Kate Beckinsale's Lady Susan is such a character. It is impossible for all but the most ardent feminists to actually like her, and you'd never want to be drawn into her poisonous circle of rumor, manipulation, innuendo and life-destroying gossip, but you have to admire her for taking charge of her own life at a time when women were tasked with hosting guests, looking pretty and shutting up. These days, she'd almost certainly be described as a sociopath, wrecking lives for her whim and amusement, yet you can't look away. She's the year's best villain...or is she?

Ben Foster (Hell or High Water) Chris Pine's well-meaning father is our anchor to this story of two desperate brothers in hard times, but Ben Foster is the anarchic, destructive force that keeps our eyes glued to the screen. Whereas Pine's dad doesn't think of himself as criminal and Jeff Bridges's sheriff has spent far too much time watching old westerns, Foster knows exactly what he is: a violent criminal whose psycopathy he might be able to turn to his brother's aid in one last blaze of glory. There's never really a question of him surviving the story; he's not a man, he's a storm, and he's here to rage harder than he ever has before blowing himself out.

Naomie Harris (Moonlight) Talk about embodying multiple people in one role. Harris plays mother to a young, gay black man at three different stages of his life, but she's not the kind of perfect mom the movies prefer. She's a drug addict at a time when the War on Drugs refused to treat such people with any sort of humanity, and she's got a temper to match the times; when she screams hurtful words at her own son, the decision to remove the audio from the scene makes her come off as near-demonic. Simplicity, though, isn't really what Moonlight deals in, and there are layers and regrets to her revealed as the film goes on. Her final scene asks a rather important question: should any time be too late to be forgiven?

Anya Taylor-Joy (The Witch) For the most part, horror will forever be considered beneath the notice of those who hand out accolades, which means even if you turn in one of the most startling performances of the year, it doesn't really count if it's in this genre. That's a shame, because unless you count a tiny, uncredited role from 2014, Taylor-Joy makes the most impressive film debut of any actress this year. Called upon to do things involving animal blood and demonic possession that a more image-concerned person might spurn, she handles the role of a teenage girl whose family is being assailed by the forces of hell by taking it all absolutely seriously, which is essential; any hint that she thinks anything she's doing is silly, and the film falls apart. There's reason to question whether anything supernatural is really happening in the New England wilderness of the late 1600's, but no reason to doubt the strength of Taylor-Joy's performance.

Ryan Reynolds (Deadpool) Not everything has to be so serious, something Deadpool would probably remind you of right before delivering a kick straight to your kibbles and bits. As the star, producer and driving force behind the hilariously raunchy R-rated superhero flick, Reynolds is the most eminently watchable and entertaining a comic hero has been outside the suit since Robert Downey Jr. swaggered into the Iron Man armor. Mel Brooks once famously described his films as rising below vulgarity, and whether Reynolds is taking time out to break the fourth wall or making incredibly lewd comments at his blind, elderly, female roommate, he's bringing the spirit of "Blazing Saddles" to a genre that sometimes really needs to get over itself. In a year where "Batman vs. Superman" took itself more seriously than a second heart attack, Reynolds's Merc with a Mouth is the filthy, over-the-top cure the doctor ordered.

And my top two performances, starting with my choice for Best Actress:

Isabelle Huppert (Elle)

In arguably the most challenging role this year, which comes in certainly the most challenging film, Huppert plays a woman who, after being raped, plays a cat-and-mouse game with the rapist. Whether she is trying to catch him or get caught again is another question. The role was turned down by multiple more well-known actresses, before being taken by Huppert, who deserves to be more well-known outside her native France. Key to her performance is that her character is not altogether very likable, and if she were not a victim of a heinous crime, you'd have a real difficult time feeling empathy for her. That takes far more guts, I think, than playing out brutal scenes of assault, since we tend to demand our heroines be pure as the driven snow.

Casey Affleck (Manchester by the Sea)

He's been turning in the best work he possibly can in every role he's had, big or small, for two decades, always overshadowed in fame by his older brother, but this year is Casey's. Angry, violent, adrift and bereft, Lee Chandler is a man with no purpose in a world that demands every man have one, not that he grasps himself on that level: he's simply a man who has been struck over and over until nothing but armor remains. Forced to deal with the issue of custody for his nephew after his brother dies, he portrays a truth no man wants to face: not all of us are cut out for responsibility. Despite this, Affleck walks a fine line, making Lee simultaneously a jerk and someone you'd really like to see come out on top. Unfortunately, as Lee well knows, the world just isn't that simple.

Honorable mentions: I limited my list to 15, and even after expanding from ten it was still difficult. There are lots of great roles that didn't make the cut, and here are the ten that really gave the winners a run for their money, in one big list. If you don't see your favorite, remember: it doesn't necessarily mean they weren't good, just that I can't possibly list them all.

Kristen Stewart (Cafe Society) The Cast of Don't Think Twice Royalty Hightower (The Fits) Meryl Streep (Florence Foster Jenkins) Lou de Laage (The Innocents) Ruth Negga (Loving) Lucas Hedges (Manchester by the Sea) Jessica Chastain (Miss Sloane) Pretty much everybody in Moonlight (Moonlight) Katie Holmes (Touched With Fire)