#gonna make some sawhorses

[pileofgrace]

lumber

#gracespeaks #gonna make some sawhorses #then hopefully a workbench #gonna make a woodworking tag uh #grace's wood #yeah lesgo

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Homesick

Pairing: Alcide Herveaux x Reader 

Warning: Homesickness, True Blood vampire/werewolf mentions

Word Count: 682

Summary: When Alcide’s girlfriend gets homesick around the holidays, he uses his day off to make a special surprise for her when she gets home.

A/N: Not sure how big of a following Alcide has on here, but who wouldn’t want to be cuddled by him in a blanket fort in the living room? Enjoy!

Alcide could practically smell his girlfriend’s depression. She was from the north, where they got snow and what she insisted was “actual” cold days this time of year. He could tell she missed it, missed her family, but her job with Northman meant that she had to stay in town for the holidays. 

“Next year, babe,” he promised as they snuggled in bed in the early morning hours, “You’ll be out of debt to that fanger and we’ll spend the whole winter up north if you want. Get a little cabin on a lake or something.”

“Think you can handle negative temps, Southern Boy?” she teased, tracing his bare chest, stoking his fire.

“Eh, that’s what the wolf is for.” 

She had laughed, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Alcide had the day off, and he needed to bring her smile back. So after making her breakfast and kissing her goodbye, he started brainstorming on what he could do for her, some sort of surprise to ease her homesickness.

And by god, if he hadn’t made a damn good surprise for her. 

He turned the AC down as low as it would go, hung up fairy lights, and had spread fake snow all over the living room, but the piece de resistance was the Most Epic Blanket Fort he’d ever made. He’d co-opted some of his construction sawhorses and clamps to support the blankets, every pillow in the house was on the floor, and he had queued up her favorite Christmas movie on the TV. He’d even sprung for the fancy peppermint hot cocoa mix he knew she loved and whipped cream to go on top. 

“What…Alcide? What…did you do?” her voice rang out from the foyer and Alcide spun around. Her eyes sparkled in the fairy lights, her jaw dropped in a wide smile.

Bingo, Checkmate, and Yahtzee.

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon!” 

“I got done early. What is all this?” She asked, joining him in the living room and taking in the surprise. “Why is it so cold?” 

He wrapped a thick arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side, planting a kiss on top of her head. 

“I knew you were sad you couldn’t go up north for Christmas, so I thought I’d bring the north down to you. We got snow,” he led her through the living room and kicked some of the fake snow, “and I cranked up the AC as cold as it could get, and you remember that cabin we’re gonna get next winter?”

She laughed, taking it all in with the wonder of a young child at christmastime. “I can’t believe you did all this!”

“There’s even hot cocoa in the kitchen. Figured we’d order some take out, snuggle up in our cozy blanket cabin, and watch christmas movies until we fall asleep.”

Without warning she leapt into his arms. He caught her easily, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. She did, wrapping her arms around his neck as well and pulling herself into his chest. Dampness started to soak through the shoulder of his t-shirt and he stroked her hair while she quietly cried.

“I just…you’re so incredible. I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

“I’d do anything for you,” he pulled back to look in her teary eyes, pushing her hair out of her face as he wiped the tears away, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Alcide. Thank you.”

He kissed her cheek and set her down on the pillow mountain inside the blanket fort. “I’m gonna go get the cocoa, you start the movie.”

She snuggled down and nodded, watching as Alcide left the room. No one had ever done something so thoughtful for her, and after the absolute shit day she had at work this was exactly what she needed. Even if they didn’t get the cabin up north like he said they would, she thought that the blanket fort was a pretty damn good substitute, as long as Alcide was the one sitting next to her inside it.

#alcide herveaux #alcide herveaux x reader #true blood fic #true blood fanfiction #werewolf fic #doting boyfriend #joe manganiello #fanfiction #fanfic #writing challenge #fluffcember #blanket fort

[kopykunoichi]

Christy, by Catherine Marshall. Chapter 35 Excerpt (part 2)

Over the doctor’s shoulder I saw that Jeb Spencer had set the fiddle against his chest and was tuning up. Wraight Holt had joined him with a banjo. With twangy chords sliding into a fast jog and Jeb’s bow singing across the strings the music started. As in the past Uncle Bogg was in the middle of things ready to call the figures. I marveled that from all appearances the old man had recovered so quickly from his son’s murder. Or, I wondered, was this just another example of Uncle Bogg’s callousness? “Scrooch them settin’ chairs against the walls, boys. Gonna need a heap of room.” The old squire was clapping his hands. “Gyarner ’em in, folks. In—a—cir-cle. The Tenn’see Wag-on Wheel. Here—we—go!” The tune was the familiar “Skip to My Lou.” The music snaked across the floor, swirled around my ankles, set my toes to tapping. Dr. MacNeill saw. “Come on, Christy. Into the circle we go."

“Cir-cle left!” . . . Cir-cle right! . . . Swing your partner . . . Now . . .” The doctor was surprisingly nimble. I had never done much square dancing, so did not know all the intricate figures. But by whispered instruction and skillful leading, he was steering me with scarcely a step missed by either of us. The rhythm beat and surged around us. The man must have learned this dance in his cradle! “La-dies back . . . Gents to the cen-ter . . .” Close up, some of these men were a little pungent. Out behind the cabin or somewhere the jugs were being tilted. “With a Right Hand Wheel . . . And back the other way . . . With a Left Hand Wheel! . . . Pick up your partner!” The doctor’s strong arms lifted me off the floor as easily as if I had been a child. Whirl and twirl . . . bend and swing . . . round and round. The music was so delicious. It ached behind my eyes and pulled and titillated. “Swing your part-ner!”

I was spun through the air, blood racing with the music, aware of the doctor’s face close to mine, sometimes half-smiling, sometimes laughing, drawing me to him. “Right—left, Right—left . . . Right—left, Right—” “And now, once a-gain, swing your part-ner—Prom-e-nade!” We were making an arch with our raised arms and the couples were coming through. “Bend low! Through the tunnel. Follow the leader . . . Now for the Bas-ket . . . All to the center! . . . Ladies stay in and the gents come back!” This one was really ingenious. Soon I saw how “the basket” was made. Women in the inner circle joined hands raised; men in the outer circle ducking under. We were joining arms at waist level to circle the basket. As complicated and delightful as an old quilt pattern, I was thinking. The American frontier had its dangers and its hard work but it also had a rare talent for making its own fun. “Off the floor . . .” And the Tennessee Wagon Wheel ended.

I half collapsed against the wall. “You aren’t—breathless—a bit—” I chided Dr. MacNeill. “Used to it. Anyway that was only a middlin’ fast tune.” More music . . . Jeb had itchy fingers for his fiddle bow today. But no one was dancing this one, so I took it to be an in-between tune. In a rich baritone the doctor started singing the words:

Cheeks as red as a bloomin’ rose,

Eyes of the deepest brown,

You are the darlin’ of my heart,

Stay till the sun goes down.

All around us, voices picked up the song. Such an enigmatic look on the doctor’s face! What did that look mean?

Shady Grove, my little love,

Shady Grove, my dear,

Shady Grove, my little love,

I’m goin’ to leave you here.

Only a song, but why did he keep his eyes on my face? “I’m thirsty,” I said abruptly—and turned toward the one sawhorse table left pushed against the wall. There were pitchers of spring water and what looked like several kinds of fruit juice. I poured a little of one and gingerly tasted it. Raspberry juice, I thought. It was refreshing. So I poured a full glass.

#christy #catherine marshall #christy huddleston #neil macneill #neil x christy #MacChristy #christy: chapter 35 #the doc can dance #christy is flummoxed by his endless enigmatic looks #one of these re-reads I'm going to track how many times she uses that word to describe the look on Neil's face when he's studying Christy #somehow i don't think that juice is just juice

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Benny's Birthday

Read on Ao3

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Frankie Morales x Jay ‘Lady’ Ray (OFC) **Series masterlist**

Warnings: Typical Frankie and Jay banter + the rest of the guys banter. Some cuteness. Mention of blowjob. Oh, and Jay's preggers.

Words: 2,279

Summary: It's Benny's birthday and the gang takes him axe throwing and then out for dinner. That's it, that's the plot.

Taglist: @amneris21@apascalrascal@harriedandharassed@kikis-writing-world@lovesbiggerthanpride@miraclesabound@mswarriorbabe80@pazizz@paulalikestuff@rambling-in-purple@trinkets01

”Is she participating too?”

The guy at the axe throwing venue glances at Jay’s baby bump, but the question is directed at Will, who is registering himself, her, Frankie, Tom, and Benny for an hour of axe throwing. Jay’s glare is murderous, but Will’s voice is even more so when he answers.

”Why don’t you ask her directly?”

”You’ll want the thirteen incher, won’t you?” the jackass proceeds to suggest to Jay. He places a tomahawk on the counter next to the twenty inch splitting axe. Jay steps forward and grabs the bigger one.

”I’ll be fine.”

”Prick,” Frankie mutters, loud enough for the guy to hear, as the gang moves to the out from the reception and are greeted by another man who looks like the skinny, enfeebled version of a lumberjack. He takes them to a range while explaining the rules and regulations. When finding out that he’s dealing with a group of former soldiers, he nods and makes a comment about them probably having an understanding of safety rules.

”But I still need to go over them with you,” he points out. ”You know, liability reasons.”

”Of course,” Tom nods, a stickler for rules as he is. Each track is separated by simple rope fences and equipped with simple sawhorses to lean on, which the instructor now does. The gang forms a half circle in front of him, the guy does his thing, asks them if they’ve ever thrown axes before – none of them have – and then goes over some techniques. His eye contact is firm and sincere, and he doesn’t skip Jay or give her sceptical frowns. When he demonstrates the technique, she understands why: he handles the axe with more strength than his lean, thin frame suggests, and the axe lands smack in the middle of the target with a loud thud. He would know not to judge anyone by their looks alone.

”Whoa!” Benny’s eyes are sparkling with excitement. ”That’s brutal, bro!”

”Who wants to go first?”

”Birthday boy,” Jay announces with a grin, gesturing for Benny to step up. ”Have at it.��

As they line up to watch – and obviously comment on – Benny’s form, Frankie sneaks an arm around Jay’s shoulders and leans in.

”You okay?” he asks her quietly. Jay gives him a reassuring smile.

”I’m good. I’m not gonna let that asshole ruin this day. We’re gonna have fun.”

”That’s my girl,” Frankie grins and smacks a quick kiss to her lips before redirection his attention back at Benny, who is now raising the axe above his head, taking aim, and hurling it with great force towards the target. It smacks into the middle of it butt first before clattering to the ground.

”Good try, now I’m gonna beat your ass,” Will smirks.

”Shut your hole.”

”You both know we’re all gonna have our asses handed to us by Jay,” Frankie shakes his head with an amused grin. Benny laughs as he high fives Jay.

”I’m counting on it, actually. No shame in losing to her. But I ain’t losing to you.” He points at his brother, who is accepting the axe from the instructor and taking his stance at the mark on the ground. The axe lands perfectly at the very edge of the target.

”Beginner’s luck,” Benny shrugs as Will shoots him a who’s laughing now look.

Jay goes next, weighing the axe for a moment. It’s not more than two pounds, maybe two and a half, but repeatedly raising it over one’s head and throwing it with precision will triple its weight in no time. Still, Jay’s in good shape despite being eight months pregnant, and what she has had to cut back on in cardio and core, she’s made up for in arms and legs. Her throw results in a direct hit closer to the center than Will managed.

”Whoa, mama’s got the touch!” Benny cheers. Frankie’s beaming right next to him.

”Was there ever any doubt?”

Frankie and Tom are up next before it’s time for another round. The idea to take Benny axe throwing for his birthday had been Jay’s. Frankie had dared to question her for only a minute, already knowing what she would say: she was fine, she wanted to go, she was allowed to throw stuff, and she’d immediately rest if she got tired. They had been over this throughout the pregnancy. Frankie would never dream of telling Jay what she could and couldn’t do but he also knew that she suffered from a neverending need to prove herself, and it was his job to support her in whatever she set out to do and, occasionally, reign her in.

After a quick Google search he decided that axe throwing was safe enough for her and moreover: Benny would have a blast.

When their hour at the track is up, Jay’s arms are more tired than she’d like to admit, and her score is the third best, right after Will’s points that are far behind Benny’s. Just as Frankie foretold, the younger Miller brother didn’t only love axe throwing, but also exceled at it. Tom and Frankie are at the bottom of the scoreboard when the instructor returns to wrap up their session.

”Jay would’ve had us all had she not been carrying around that freeloader,” Benny shrugs when congratulated by the instructor.

”I would’ve let you win out of the goodness of my heart,” Jay dismisses him as she leans on a sawhorse, holding in the sigh of relief. ”It’s your birthday, after all.”

”Laugh it up,” Will interjects, ”we’ll have a rematch when you’ve given birth and I won’t hold back then.”

”Anytime, little man,” she leers before Frankie comes up to her, stepping between her spread legs.

”You tired?” he queries in a low voice, making sure no one else hears. Jay smiles softly, recognizing his care for what it is.

”A little,” she confesses, landing her hands on his hips. ”But I feel fine, baby.”

Frankie nods before leaning in.

”I’m so turned on right now,” he whispers to her. ”You looked so hot with that axe.”

Jay chuckles low as she cups Frankie’s cheek and strokes her thumb over a bald patch in his beard. Their sex life has had an upswing during her pregnancy, both because of hormones and the simple fact that Frankie quit active duty and is home around dinnertime every day – which is good because Jay usually bursts in through the door while he’s cooking, busy with work and school as she is.

”You’re insatiable,” she tells him, as if she wasn’t the same. ”Let’s make sure we don’t stay too late. I’ll be beat tonight but I’ll still want you.”

”I’ll definitely get you home in time,” Frankie promises before carefully touching the side of her belly. ”Is the recruit awake?”

”Nah, been asleep this whole time,” Jay reassures him before pressing a kiss to his lips.

”Hey, mommy and daddy, are you getting a room or are we taking this party to the steakhouse?” Will’s voice cuts through the intimacy and Frankie glares at him. Jay, however, is starving.

”Steakhouse, now,” she rules. ”I’m famished.”

”I’m sure your man’s got a big, juicy piece of meat for you,” Benny winks as they start to move towards the parking lot. Jay doesn’t even bother to swat him over the head.

”You have no idea,” she smiles sweetly instead, sliding her hand inside Frankie’s back pocket as they walk, Benny chuckling behind them.

”Can I catch a ride with you guys or are you gonna be late?” he teases them. Frankie throws him a glare over his shoulder.

”You can come with us, you’ll be fine.”

”I’m too hungry for roadside sex anyway,” Jay lets him know, getting a grimace from Frankie and rowdy comments from the others.

”You’re making him blush, Lady!” Tom observes, and Jay squeezes Frankie’s ass a little.

”It’s not that hard.”

”That’s what she said!”

”Jesus fucking Christ,” Frankie sighs and slings his arm around Jay’s shoulders.

///

The steaks are huge and delicious, the fries crispy and covered with parmesan. The Millers and Tom are downing beers whereas Frankie has non-alcoholic beer and Jay, who developed a taste for Coke with lime when she became pregnant, is fishing up the green wedges from her glass and eating them as they come. The peels are left on a napkin on the table, and the pile grows steadily during dinner. When Jay waves the waitress over yet again, Frankie intervenes.

”I’m cutting you off,” he shakes his head at Jay before turning to the waitress whose eyes keep scanning the bunch of men, clearly rating them by looks. ”No more lime.”

”You sure you wanna go there, man?” Tom grins from across the table. ”Molly would go ballistic on me if I tried to keep her from indulging in her cravings when she was pregnant.”

”You know you’ll get heartburn if you eat any more,” Frankie now tells Jay, who rolls her eyes.

”I can deal with that.”

”But I can’t deal with your tossing and turning, when the heartburn keeps you up,” Frankie retorts before turning back to the waitress. ”Seltzer, please.”

Jay glares at him but drops her hand to his thigh under the table, squeezing gently in a silent thank you for looking out for me. He smiles at her in return, then follows her gaze to Tom.

”Why would you even tell Molly what she can and can’t have?” Jay demands.

”I dunno but last time I checked, sniffing gas while filling up the car wasn’t healthy for anyone, least of all pregnant women,” Tom defends himself. Jay chuckles with the rest of the guys, although she can understand Molly’s view in his matter: gasoline smells so good right now.

”You haven’t had any crazy cravings like that, have you?” Will now asks. Jay picks up a fry and dips it into the dressing.

”Define crazy,” she demands. ”What’s crazy is that a person’s internal organs are literally being reorganized by something that weighs up to eight pounds when it’s being pushed out through – ”

”Yes, okay, thank you,” Benny cuts her off. Jay just shrugs and goes on.

”I think a little bit of respect and understanding would go a long way.”

”Says the one woman I know who hasn’t been totally crazy during pregnancy,” Tom scoffs and takes a swig of his beer. Jay’s eyes narrow a little but she sees in the corner of her eye that Frankie’s shaking her head in a silent no to her. Benny, however, beats her to it.

”Everything okay at home, Tom?”

”Yeah, sure,” their former captain sighs as he leans back in the booth. ”Molly’s just on to me all the time about work, as if a job’s easy to come by in this economy. The girls barely talk to me and I just…” He shakes his head. Silence descends over them all as they try to think of anything to say. Tom’s been struggling with civilian life since he was forced out. The rest of them quit of their own volition, but Tom was ready to die in the field with the flag on his shoulder.

”You really know how to ruin a party, bro,” Benny finally cracks, earning chuckles and scoffs. ”Another round, Will’s buying.”

”I guess I am,” Will nods and waves for the cute waitress again. He orders more beers, calls the blushing girl darlin’, and then turns back to Tom.

”Listen,” he advices, ”you’ve only been out for a minute. Give it time.”

”And treat Molly right,” Frankie adds, hand on top of Jay’s on his thigh. ”It pays off.”

”Second that,” Jay nods matter-of-factly, getting a sullen look from Tom.

”You gotta remember that she’s not used to having you home, either,” Benny offers helpfully. ”It’s an adjustment for her, too.”

The waitress comes over with their beers, and the topic of conversation changes to something lighter as Will starts to flirt with her and Benny butts in with reminders of it being his birthday.

”You’re getting her number before we’re outta here,” Jay grins as the young woman disppears to wait on another table. Benny winks at her.

”Without even trying.”

///

”Tom’s such a miserable prick.”

The harsh words are Jay’s, and spoken in front of the bathroom mirror as she puts toothpaste on her brush. Frankie shows up at the door, leaning towards the frame.

”He could try a little harder,” he admits. ”But it’s not easy. Molly doesn’t get it.”

”What’s to get?” Jay removes the toothbrush to speak before shoving it back in and attacking her molars.

”She’s not you. She doesn’t know what it’s like.”

”They’re married. He should try harder. Not everything’s about him.” Jay bends to spit before turning her appreciative gaze back to Frankie. He’s in boxers and a t-shirt, waiting for her to come to bed. Seeing his soft thighs makes Jay practically salivate.

”You’re right, they’re married,” he points out, ”so it’s on her as well.”

”Whatever.” Jay spits again and rinses the toothbrush. ”Now go to bed and take your clothes off. I’m using Listerine and then giving you a blowjob.”

”You’re just trying to end the conversation because you know I’m right and you’re out of arguments,” Frankie teases her, but he starts to pull his t-shirt over his head. She shoots him a smile as she reaches for the Listerine.

”Keep talking and I’m not doing it.”

”Still leaves me the option of sitting you on my face, doesn’t it?” Frankie throws the t-shirt at her with a shit-eating grin before leaving her to it.

#triple frontier fanfic #francisco catfish morales #francisco frankie morales #frankie x lady #frankie morales x ofc #my fic

[oh-for-fic-sake]

The Deal Pt 2

Masterlist

Summary: Clark take you to august to finish the deal.

Warnings: Adult Situations +18, Smut, Dub Con, BDSM, Toys

A/N: second part to @wolfieash​ ask which is here

Taglist: in reblog.

Smut below the cut.

"NO IM NOT GOING ! AND YOU CAN FUCK OFF!" You yelled chasing Clark into the living room arms cross and lips pulled into a snarl.

He rolled his eyes at you, you'd been throwing a fit all day.

"Sweetheart, you made a deal, gave him your word... you cant go back on it" he insisted once more trying to convince you.

"Yes I can it was my word! Not yours, I can do what I want!" You huffed blowing some hair out of your face it was hard trying to be serious when your hair seemed to want to stick in your mouth.

"No poppet I'm not letting you break you word , now get dressed we leave in a hour" he said quickly spinning you around pressing you to the bedroom door.

"Fuck you, I'm not going anywhere!" You grunted pulling away from him.

"Tonight love I promise, now go get ready august is expecting us..." he said grinning almost sweetly at you.

"I don't give a flying fuck! I'm not going" you stomped a foot at him finally making his brow twitch, jaw tightening in irritation.

He stood taller and let his frame seem to devour the space on the hall making you shrink, shivering as you watched your sweet fiancé become a great predator. A loin or bear?

"Sweetheart enough! Now go get dressed...I laid out your outfit" he ground out severely finally having enough. A deal was a deal... and he wanted your ass!

"Out fit? What outfit-OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!?" You cried entering your room seeing the shear fabric

"That? Its a little body stocking~" Clark said leaning on the door frame arms crossed wearing a huge grin.

"IM NOT WEARING A FUCKING BODYSTOCKING!"

"Well I would if I were you because if not there will be images of your naked ass being flown about on the front pages tomorrow~" he quipped with a smirk.

"Yo-you wouldn't dare!" You said voice loosing its bite as he stared at you.

"Wouldn't I? I mean come on love anal's on the line~" he teased and moved up behind you and slapped your bottom hard enough to make you yip and jerk away.

"Now hop to it... You've got 50 minuets~" he called over his shoulder as he exited the room.

In the end Clarks threat of having you mooney metropolis was too much of a threat and you'd showered and slipped into the body stocking...

But you didn't shave! If they were gonna push through with your whole sex for silence deal then they would live with the consequences! No bare pussy for either of them!

Fuck'em.... or don't? Which was preferable

It wasn't that you didn't enjoy it, it was that you did... a little more then you should have! It frightened you the way you'd enjoyed being used and fought over.

"Oh come on why the long face angel?" August hummed as he opened the glass doors on his rooftop home, the penthouse was shiny sleek and as dark as the man himself.

"Fuck off august!" you grumbled walking right passed him as soon as Clark put you down

"Oh such a foul mouth! We will have to teach you some manners~" the agent quipped as you entered the bare but masculine space, everything was harsh lines and fucked up art pieces of splotching blocky shades of black, red and deep violet.

"Yes she's very snippy today... has been all week, pouting" Clark huffed shrugging. Taking the offered crystal glass with amber liquid.

"Ah we have a brat on our hands then?" August chuckled and walked through the home quickly snagging one of your elbows and directed you to the playroom, not wasting any time.

"Yeah, she doesn't want me to fuck her ass" Clark summarized with a shrug.

"Aww Why not sweety? You loved me fucking your ass? You cried and withered moaning so beautifully~" august hummed into your ear as he pressed you over the threshold into a large windowless room, strip lighting igniting the room in a light red. The devils den so to speak.

"Sh-shut up you prick" you snarled.

Augusts reply was a tsk and he pressed you over to a padded sawhorse and looked to Clark nodding to the ankle and wrist cuffs.

Clark breezed past him quickly securing you down making you curse him, but by this point it was a formality as you had already soaked yourself through.

"Oh would you look at that? Our little brat is eager~" august said with a chuckle and a warm hand probed you lightly making you jolt and try to squirm away.

"Yes I know, she likes denying herself, its strange she knows we will win but Continues to fight?" He said coming around your side ghosting his fingers over your ribs making you shudder.

"Well lets not waste time shall we? I have a few things out ready but first lets get this fitted shall we?" August said menacingly walking around you brandishing a very large O ring gag.

"After all if she's going to throw a tantrum I don't trust her not to bite" he uttered moving towards you.

"I've never thought of using one of those before... it wont hurt her will it?"

"Only her pride Clark trust me even she needs a... dressing down every once in a while" august reassured him.

Your eyes grew wide as the agent approached with the large gag that looked both threatening and enticing, things had been kinky with august but you hadn't ever gone this far into bdsm before. You were scared and still fighting but not as hard? You were curious and being dominated by them last week had... changed you. It had been thrilling to be so out of control.

"Should we... give her a signal or something? Incase it gets to much?" Clark quizzed, he was still all for it but wanted to be mindful of you. He didn't want to hurt you.

"Trust me she's going to love it, but in the case of something going wrong" august directed his attention to you befo4e continuing.

"There is a small desk bell one the inside of the left leg on the saw horse... if thing get too much hit it three times fast and we will get you down" he said seriously.

You frowned as his gaze bored into you, for a second you believed you saw actual concern in his eyes.

It unsettled you, August couldn't really have any feelings towards you could he? I mean this was blackmail!

You nodded quickly to him letting him know you understood.

Then just like that August was haughty again and quickly fixed the gag in your mouth, setting your teeth in the small grooves that was semi comfortable.

"Shes ready when you are~" the agent hummed and stood back.

Clark darted behind you and helped himself to you and august disappeared from sight.

You moaned into the room as your fiancé roamed your folds as if exploring them for the first time.

He was rougher then usual prodding and impaling you fast and hard before slowing and drawing your own arousal over your presented ass.

You withered as Clark used you body, pressing you higher and higher making you teeter on then edge then back away letting you calm down only to work you up again.

"I thought we could... try something... a little bonus for all of us tonight~" you heard august but couldn't see him.

"I'm listening" Clark said as he plunged his fingers back into you harder throwing off your concentration making you cry out.

"I have this" you tried seeing what August had but was too preoccupied with the maddening strokes of clark's fingers as he pounded away at your g-spot forcing you to try and rock on him chasing a high he had already cruely denied you twice.

"What even is that thing?" Cark said not paying attention to you as your body twisted and pulled trying to cum like a desperate whore.

"Here ill show you~" august said and Clarks fingers disappeared from you making you cry out and moan, your pussy tried holding him but it was to drenched to actually grip him.

Then something was pressed into you, large wide and very short.

"Oh-oh fuck?!AH!" You yelped  awkwardly around the gag as the toy settled, curved forward and down pressing on your gspot without being held. There was a large flat expanse resting outside of you to, the toy curved in a large C shape.

"Does that go up her?"

"No no, we just pop her little clit in here~ and press the button!" You jerked as august moved you, thick fingers prodding your clit and sat the engorged nub into a small round dip and pressed a button.

You squealed tensing all at once as you felt a suction on your clit and roared.

"Holy shit?" Clark said in awe watching as you keened and tried throwing you weight around on the toy that was held in place by your muscles clenching to it so tightly... It was bittersweet in a way, your own body holding the sweet torturous device on your clit.

"And it gets better, press that one" you hear a small click and arched moaning out as the egg like shape inside of you came to life vibrating against your insides.

Clark watched entranced as you withered this is what he'd been missing out on? Fuck!

August darted around you and strokes you hair watching as Clark stripped behind you unable to wait any longer as you thrashed about trying to rock into the toy.

"Shh shh thats a girl, now deep breath your wonderboy may be a little too enthusiastic if your doing all that squirming~"

You froze feeling Clark poise himself at your well lubed ass then grunted as he thrust forward splitting you open.

Clark hissed and moaned loudly as the vibrating egg not only made you quiver and tense around him already threatening to flood the place but it also rubbed his cock as he rutted you.

"Oh fuck- thats amazing! I cant- I shit babe!?" Clark didn't wait he immediately began pounding in to the tight quivering body before him.

August chuckled once more before releasing his own belt buckle. Not wanting to let your wails and monas go to waste.

They would work wonders on his cock, offering the sweetest of releases as you screamed onto his cock as he lodged it into your throat.

August was never into men, but he could develop a thing for corrupting this huge perfect man.

For now August would let you and Clark think you were in control of the deal. Let this one final night play out.

But the seed was sewn and before long he knew Superman would return wanting to explore more and more of this little sex dungeon. And then he will strike another deal.

Because August wasn't opposed to making a little compromise to get decent pussy. If he had to share with Supes so be it, it looked like he could teach the kid a thing or two and he would gladly, because he had many more toys to tease you both with~

If things went to plan he'd have not one but two desperate little subs. And he couldn't wait!

#henry cavill #clark kent imagine #august walker x reader #clark kent smut #august walker smut #superman smut #superman imagine

[blue-rose-soul]

Jack, Dagur, and the Sandwich

[Jack finds a chocolate bar in the fridge.]

Jack: Sweet!

Dagur: Did you put that in there? Did you put that in the fridge?

Jack: No, I-I just like it when the chocolate's cold.

Dagur: All right. Put it back in there. It's not yours.

Jack: Who do you think-

Dagur: Put it back in there. It's not yours. Somebody left that so they can eat it later.

Jack: ...Is this about the sandwich?

-

Dagur: (venting to Hiccup) A guy makes a sandwich. He makes it that day, he wants to eat it later on that day, he puts it in the fridge, he's got to be able to trust that when he comes back, it's gonna be there for him.

Jack: (also venting to Hiccup) He's got to respect me enough to know I didn't take the stupid sandwich. He likes sandwiches. I think it had turkey on it or something. I'm allergic to turkey.

Hiccup: ...

-

Jack: Wait. I'm sorry. A-are you actually trying to threaten me into admitting I ate your sandwich?

Dagur: I'm not threatening you. I ain't playing with you either. Nobody threatens anybody with a Moldavian sawhorse.

Jack: Are you ser- You must have taken a hit to the head. You probably ate the stupid sandwich yourself and forgot about it.

-

Dagur: So, my sandwich is forgettable? Listen, I take thinly sliced turkey, all right? I pan-sear it with some sweet Maui onions, all right? Then I put a slice of dill havarti cheese and another slice of an heirloom tomato. All that goes on an everything bagel, and I make my own garlic-and-green-onion cream-cheese spread. That's forgettable? I don't think so.

Hiccup: Why am I involved in this?

-

Jack: (to Astrid) Oh, I absolutely ate his stupid sandwich. The berserker can cook. If I didn't know he'd murder me for it, I'd go back there and thank him for it.

#incorrect quotes #rotbtd #rise of the brave tangled dragons #Jack Frost #Dagur the Deranged #Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III #Astrid mentioned #I enjoy scenarios where Jack's messing with Dagur #I think I should write an actual fic about that #source: Leverage #the Office Job is one of my favorite episodes

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Can there please be a cat or any animal you want that loves lena and dislikes kara, so kara has to super try with such animal? and lena loves such animal even more because they choose her over kara?

There's an old hound dog who takes a shine to Lena when she arrives. Whether its her quiet nature or the scraps she sometimes slips him, he soon tags along where ever she goes on the farm, riding with her in the cab of the truck or curling up with her in the barn when Lena heads to bed. He likes the other hands well enough, but it's clear he's sweet on Lena alone. Often times Bonnie will find Lena lounging somewhere with the old dog's head in her lap, drool dampening the denim of her Levis.

It shocks some to see the dog ignore Kara altogether. He doesn't growl, but he bypasses the food she offers, and huffs laboriously instead of coming when she calls enticingly. It's as though he can sense Lena's rejection of Kara, and emulates it as best a retired working dog can.

The first time Kara sneaks out to the barn to try to talk to Lena on a sleepless night, the dog bays until it wakes half the farm and has Lena storming out with a rifle in hand, expecting a coyote or worse. She only relaxed when she spies Kara trying to shoosh the animal.

"Oh. It's you. Course it is." The dog is still woofing, until she calms him with a "Trigger, hush."

Kara half expects to be turned away, but Lena seems resigned to her fate. "Well, come in, then. Before you wake the whole damn county."

Lena's quarters are simple-- a former storage space that was once an office and now a sleeping spot. There's a metal cot with a checked quilt spread across it, and a desk of particle board propped on a pair of sawhorses. It's here that Kara sees the designs for gadgets and machines left untouched and unseen.

There's a perpetual layer of sawdust over everything, but for all she'd kept her L-Corp office pristine, Lena doesn't seem to mind. It smells of wood and horses and sweat, and Kara is shocked by how Lena reclines so easily on the creaking cot.

"You're happy here," she realizes.

Lena picks up a dog-eared copy of On Walden Pond, flipping back to where she'd left off.

"If you say so," she says, noncommittal.

"Comfortable, then." At least.

Lena sighs, rolling her eyes. "What do you want, Kara?"

Kara swallows. "I couldn't sleep, and--"

"No, Kara. What do you want? Why are you here?"

Lena skewers her with a hard stare. Kara meets it, and struggles not to look away.

"You're my best friend. At least--" Kara continues quickly, before Lena can do more than snort in derision, "you were. And I want you to be again. Nothing has been the same without you."

"Or maybe you just want an ace up your sleeve."

Kara blinks. "What?"

"A Luthor in the hand is worth two in the bush. Considering you just got your ass kicked, couldn't hurt to have me around to design you better armor. Or reprogram the nanites. Or tweak a phantom zone projector."

"What-- that's just--"

"Crazy? I dunno, Supergirl. You didn't seem all that keen on having me around once it wasn't clear whether I'd hup to."

"You are worth more than what you've done for me."

Lena shrugs her eyebrows. "Sure."

Kara knows she has no leg to stand on. From Lena's standpoint, so long alone and hurting, it'd be easy to twist what happened into a matter of being used for the services she'd provided. She needs to rethink her strategy, though, if this apathy is what she's up against.

"I shouldn't have bothered you," Kara says. "I'm just going to, uh... I'm gonna go."

She makes a hasty retreat.

The dog barks at her all the way to the house, until the barn door opens one last time.

"Trigger, hush!"

#supercorp #ranch hand lena #trigger the dog #trigger loves lena #kara is stranger danger mixed with lena doesnt like you so neither do i

[glenncoco4]

You Can Count On Me

A/N: Chapter 5

••••

She steps off the dirt path and onto the small dock. Her presence doesn’t even effect him, which is concerning. “I thought I’d find you here.”

He doesn’t have the energy to respond, his thoughts are swirling and the anxiety he’s been having about this situation is bubbling to the surface more and more each day, especially because of her. His cerulean blues stay focused on the ripples of the water surrounding his feet.

Kicking off her flip-flop, the brunette takes a seat next to him on the old dock, putting her bare feet in the cool pond water right along side his. She turns to look at him, wondering what’s going on inside his head and for a moment as the sun illuminates is silhouette, something inside her heart shifts. “Why’d you run off like that?” 

“I guess I just got a little bit overwhelmed by it all.”

“All of what?”

“The thought of going off to college and making something of myself.”

She huffs a laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.

Marty quickly whips his head around, affronted by his best friend’s reaction. “I’m glad you’re enjoying my misery.”

She scoots closer to him, encircling his forearm with her own arms. “No, Marty its not...I’m laughing because you obviously haven’t been paying attention to what I’ve been saying for the past 7 years.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Don’t you realize what you mean to your mom, to my parents...to me? Marty, you’ve already made something of yourself. You are the kindest, funniest and best person I know. You changed my life; you’ve changed so many people’s lives.”

“Really?”

A soft smile crosses her features at the childlike hope in his cerulean blues. “Hey, have I ever lied to you before?”

“No.”

“Exactly. And I never will.” She states matter of factly before leaning her head against his shoulder, soaking in the beautiful glow of the setting sun cascading across the water with the person who makes her feel so safe it’s kinda ridiculous. 

The tension in his body slowly ebbs away at his best friend’s words as the scent of lavender beautifully assaults his nose. Taking a deep calming breath, he leans his head against hers, knowing that whatever life throws at him, she’ll be there. He can count on that. “I know.”

••••

Stepping of the dirt trail and onto the old dock like she’s done so many times before, the brunette takes in the picture before her. There he is, clothes tattered, scars across his beautiful face, but he’s alive and that’s all that matters. 

He turns around already feeling her presence ease the tension away from his battered body. His sorrowful blue eyes meet those of sweetly intense brown and the shine that glistens in them. Shaking his head in defeat, he realizes how close he had come to never seeing her again. 

Kensi doesn’t give him a chance to say anything before she’s closing the distance between them, throwing her arms around him, she’s able to relax for the first time in four months. “You’re safe.”

His body clings to hers, hands grasping at her shirt feeling as though they can’t get close enough. That lavender scent that is so uniquely her fills his nostrils, immediately bringing him a sense of self. She’s here. He’s here. They’re here together and that’s all that matters. “Yeah, for now.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.”

She pulls back, a cross between anger and hurt written across her features. “Don’t.”

“Sorry.” The blonde apologizes, regretting his words the moment they left his lips. 

Without thinking, her finger finds the red scrape on his cheek. “Are you okay?”

The feel of her skin against his brings back memories of that night a few months ago. He wants that again so bad. So bad he can almost taste it, but there’s something he has to take care of before he can even think about moving forward with her. “I’ll be better when I catch Lazik.”

“Woah. Woah. Woah. What do you mean when you catch Lazik?”

“I have to finish this, Kens.”

Seeing the determination set in his soulful blue eyes she knows there’s no stopping him, but she’ll be damned if he thinks she’s going to stand idly by. “No, we have to finish this.”

“I suppose I could use some backup.” He smirks, earning a playful nudge from his partner. 

••••

A resounding gasp fills the agents ears as the tech operator discovers who the third vehicle belongs to. “Car’s registered to Dale John Sully.”

Kensi tilts her head back against the head rest in exasperation when Eric confirms that her best friend’s undercover persona is indeed inside the warehouse, putting his life in even more danger than before. “Callen, that’s Marty’s alias.”

The team leader shakes is head wondering why he’s so surprised that the detective is indeed in another sticky situation. “Your boy just loves trouble, doesn’t he.”

She stares at the roof of the car for a minute, thinking about Callen’s words. “It’s funny, cuz when we were growing up, it was always the other way around.”

“Kens, I’m not so sure this is a good idea.” Marty looks around the backyard nervously as his best friend pulls out the power saw from her dad’s tool shed. 

“What are you talking about? It’s just a little tree house.”

“Yeah, but what’s your dad gonna say when he catches us with his power tools?”

The brunette begins to pull out the sawhorse before turning around to meet the 13 year old’s worried eyes.“He’s not gonna catch us and you’re not gonna tell him either.”

He feels a unfamiliar thud in his heart when the challenging spark in her mismatched orbs meet his.“Has anyone ever told you how cute you are when you’re homicidally angry?”

“In fact they have and he was never seen again.” 

Taking a deep breath, Kensi focuses on the here and now. Rescuing Marty’s ass, just so she can kill him herself for going in alone. “So what’s the plan?”

••••

The bald man turns to meet Dale’s eyes, a dark smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “You are surprised I have a wife?”

A shiver runs down his spine. “Everybody’s gotta have somebody, right?” The blonde answers as a sense of warmth and dread swarm through his body at the thought of his person, his somebody, his Kensi and how close they are to having at what he hopes will be forever. 

••••

Callen watches as the shaggy blonde, presses the muzzle of the gun forcefully against the dirty cops jaw. “Deeks, look, he’s not worth it.”

Marty ignores the team leader’s statement as his anger continues to take control of his body. “Ask me again. Ask it again!”

Kensi watches on as a side of her best friend that she’s never seen before takes over. Thinking of how he would deal with this situation if their roles reverse, she does the only thing that would certainly bring her out of her rage. “Marty. Marty, put it down.”

As soon as his name leaves her lips a calmness washes over him and it suddenly hits him that she was there to witness what just happened. He empty’s the camber of the gun handing it off to the guys before looking for the nearest way out. 

Seeing the frantic look of turmoil in her best friend’s eyes, Kensi places her hand against his chest, trying to bring him some sort of relief. 

He shakes his head, trying to school his features as much as he can and does the one thing that never seems to work when it comes to her, not that he would want it to. He walks away from her without a word. 

Finding a clear spot against the ally wall, Marty leans against the brick, sliding down until his ass his the hard concrete. He brings his knees up to his chest, burrowing his head into them as he finally lets his tears fall. The anger he’s been holding onto for so long, the pure shit that was this case and the most beautiful moment he’s ever experienced in his life all swimming around in his head. 

He’s not sure how long it is before the familiar sound of her footfalls hit his ears. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge her presence.

“Hey, are you okay?” She chastises herself for asking such a stupid question. Of course he’s not okay. She’s seen him come out of some pretty deep covers, but this one seems to be affecting him more than any other. Kneeling down in front of him, her hands find his, trying to once again comfort him the way she always has. 

“I’d be better if everyone just left me alone.”

The bite in his voice tells her one thing, his walls are up and considering the emotional state he’s in right now, they won’t be coming down any time soon...even for her. She stands back up, shaking her head in frustration. “Understood.”

The sound of her footfalls getting further and further away finally draw him out of his “cage,” realizing that she’s not going to fight him right now even though she knows its what he needs. He can feel the strain in his throat as her silhouette gets smaller and smaller. “Kens...” He sighs in defeat as she quickly turns the corner. 

This day keeps getting shittier and shittier. 

••••

He brings his fist up to tap on the piece of wood once more, but just as he does it’s pulled open. A set of mesmerizingly mysterious eyes are suddenly staring back at him, leaving him at a loss for words. “I-“

“I thought you wanted to be alone.”

“I did, but...”

“But what?”

She’s upset, actually upset doesn’t seem to be the right word for what he sees staring back at him. Ever since they were kids he’s imagined this moment in so many different ways, this wasn’t really one of them. “I-I wanted to tell you that after that night we had...I never meant for it to happen.”

Kensi can feel her heart split into two at his words. The thought of this...them..of what they could be, it’s all suddenly gone. All the fight she thought was inside her has dissipated. She won’t let herself cry. She won’t. “O-oh, yeah, right. I-I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, you were probably just in the heat of the moment and didn’t want to hurt my-“

Before she can finish her sentence, his lips are on hers, cutting her off. His hands come up, cradling her face, kissing her with such passion and reverence that it would put a Nicholas Sparks movie to shame. 

Their tongues duel as if its their last moments on earth and this is goodbye. It’s a few minutes later when they have to pull back, both panting as the rise and fall of their chests brush against each other. “What was that?” 

“It seems as though I’m not so good with the words, so I had to resort to other tactics.”

“Not that I didn’t enjoy those tactics, but you know you can tell me anything, Marty.”

“I know. I know. It’s just, laying it all there and saying the words out loud...to you, I-“

“Deeks, what is it?”

At the sound of his last name leaving her lips, he knows he better get to the point and stop being circuitous. It’s now or never. Chips on the table. All in. Taking one last calming breath, his hand finds itself back on her jaw, the feel of her skin against his sends a shock wave through his body. Conveying everything he possibly can in his eyes, he says what’s been sitting on the tip of his tongue and in some part of his head for 20 years now. “I’ve always wanted this one specific thing in life and I didn’t realize until recently what it was. I want you, Kens. I want you and me...I want us. You’re so much more than my best friend. You’re everything to me, Kensi and I’m so far past being in love with you.”

As his confession washes over her, everything stands still as her broken heart slowly mends itself together. This is so not what she was expecting tonight. “You-you love me?”

“I do.” His lips rise into a small smile. “I think the night we made love made me realize it even more.”

He watches as an unreadable look crosses her face as if she’s trying to size him up before turning around and walking further into her apartment. Seeing as though she doesn’t slam the door in his face, he follows her in, quickly shutting the door and becomes confused when he doesn’t see her sitting on the couch. 

The brunette follows his movements as he walks further into the living room before she makes her next move. Coming up behind him, she spins his body around and pushes him onto the couch. Straddling his lap, she presses her heat against his. His arms immediately wrapping around her waist loving the feel of her body against his as her movements quickly bringing his member to life. 

Slowly moving in, a soft blissful smile spreads to her face as her intense mismatched orbs dance with passion. “I’m in love with you, too.”

#Densi #Densi Fanfic #Kensi Blye #Marty Deeks #AU #Kensi x Deeks #You Can Count On Me #Chapter 5 #NCIS: LA #NCIS: LA Fanfic

[kaunis-sielu]

What’s Next: 6

A/n: This fic requires YOUR help. At the end of each chapter there will be a bolded question where you, the reader, get to pick what happens next. In order for this fic to be a success you need to help me out.

Send AN ASK by Wednesday 10/7 to have your vote counted.

——————————————————————————

You make plans to go to dinner with Steve on Friday night Bucky comes over in a dark blue pickup truck. He climbs out with an easy smile and combs his fingers through his hair,

“Hey Sugar, glad you called.” He says making his way to the back of the truck where he pops the tailgate down.

“Thank you so much for doing this Bucky, I really appreciate it.”

“Glad you found out something was wrong before tonight. It’s supposed to rain.”

“I was here.” You say softly and his gaze snaps to yours.

“What?”

“I was in the building. I was ordering stuff for next week and managed to sneak into the walk-in before they locked me in. I was able to text a friend of mine in security to come and let me out.”

“Why didn’t you just call me?”

“I didn’t want anything to happen to you. He’s trained in private security and I know you have a gun and I’m sure you know how to use it but I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“That’s real thoughtful Sugar,” he says giving you a soft smile, “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“Honestly, scariest moment of my life. I’m looking at getting a system put in but I’m a little worried about cost.”

“I get that. Once you get a good security system your insurance will drop.”

“Really?” He nods, “that’s good to know. I didn’t even think of that.” Bucky yanks one of the boards from the back of his truck like it doesn’t weigh a thing.

“How can I help?” You ask glancing into the bed of the truck.

“I need the toolbox out of the cab, I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need to do some measuring and cutting.”

“Do you have everything for-“ you pull open the door and stop, you’ve answered your own question. Inside he has an electric saw and two small saw horses. “Oh, never mind.” Bucky chuckles softly in response. You pull out the toolbox and then grab the sawhorse pieces and the saw. Bucky gets to work and when you ask if he needs help he shoos you inside to clean up in there.

There’s glass everywhere by the front door. It’s a fine, sparkly powder now that it’s been walked over several times and you’re not sure how you’re ever going to get it all up and out of the spaces between the tiles. Even with the vacuum you can’t be sure that you’re getting it all. Once you’re done with the inside clean up Bucky has the door almost done, he works with steady, practiced hands. You slip out the door and get to cleaning up the outside, it’s not as bad as inside. Just a few large pieces of glass.

“Alright, finished!” Bucky says and you glance up to look while reaching for a piece of glass.

“Ow!” You cry as the shard slices your hand, “shit.”

“Come on,” Bucky says helping you to your feet. He passes you a black bandana and when you just stare up at him he wraps it around your cut. “No glass in it right?”

“No glass. I just sliced it.”

“You okay Sugar?”

“Uh, yea. Do you just carry around a bandana?”

“Yea, my grandpa taught me that. He always had an extra handkerchief because you never know when you’re going to need it. So I carry bandanas.”

“Smart.” You’re having a hard time focusing with his hand holding tightly to yours.

“I’m gonna tie this off then we should go inside, clean it and dress it properly.”

“Nurse Bucky huh?”

“Yea, my best friend as a kid was a real train wreck. Steve was constantly gettin’ himself into fights he had no business bein’ in, as scrawny as he was.” Bucky chuckles while he ties the bandana gently around your hand. “You have a first aid kit right?”

“Yea, I check and restock it every other month so we should have everything you need.” You tell him as he pulls open the door and waves you through ahead of him. He follows you through the store and back behind the counter.

“So this is where the magic happens.” He says glancing around the kitchen.

“Yep. First aid kit is here. We might not have gloves that fit you though.”

“Do any men work here?”

“Sometimes, Peter is in college so when he comes home he helps out.”

“That tiny brown haired kid is in college?”

“Yea. For robotics or something. He’s a smart kid and a hard worker.”

“Wow, alright let’s deal with this cut Sugar.” You give him your hand and he unties his bandana before checking the still bleeding cut on your hand. He looks at it closely, gently turning your hand a couple directions to make sure that there isn’t any glass in the cut. He uses a cotton swab to apply an anti-bacterial cream then he wraps it in some gauze before securing it with some medical tape.

“How’s that feel?” He asks and you blink stupidly up at him. “Sugar?”

“Sorry, it’s good. I’m good.” You mumble, “so um can I treat you to dinner?”

“You’d don’t have to.”

“I want to. I could order some pizza?”

“Sounds good to me.” He says giving you one of those charming grins of his. “You also gonna provide dessert?”

“Anything in the display case is yours.” You tell him with a laugh before turning and heading for the phone. While you order pizza you feel him come up behind you, the heat from him seeps into your bones and it makes it hard to concentrate. It only gets harder when you feel his fingers teasing the ends of your hair.

When you hang up the phone you still don’t turn to look at him, you close your eyes and focus on him. You feel him move closer, his forehead rests on the top of your head as his free hand moves to your hip.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He says his voice low and soft.

So, what do you do?

Do you tell him to stop or see where this goes?

Tag list:

@memyselfandmaddox @thefanficfaerie @patzammit @dsakita @dramadreamer14 @killcomet @thesassmisstress @andahugaroundtheneck @loving-life-my-way @thefridgeismybestie @dumblani @silverkitten547 @im-just-another-monster @mywinterwolf @scuzmunkie @giggleberts @biskwitmamaw @paintballkid711 @also-fangirlinsweden @abschaffer2 @geeksareunique @lumar014 @connie326 @inkedaztec

#captain america #imagine steve rogers #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader imagine #imagine bucky barnes #imagine Bucky Barnes au #what’s next story #avengers au

[choco-glow]

Fall Like Rain On Sunday, Pt. 9

“Asshole cop.” Jason grumbled as they walked back towards the truck, and Steph giggled wildly, her lipstick only just cleaned up from the wipes she kept in her bag, eyes dancing as they made their way through the crowded Saturday night boardwalk, said asshole cop glaring behind them. Sure, they maybe got a little too into making out on the bench, but Jason had been so thrilled by her reference, and Steph was just…absolutely in love with Jason. So. Y’know. One thing led to another and Jason’s hand had crept up her skirt while she’d straddled his lap…

And then Officer O’Grady had blown his whistle. Right in their ears.

“I agree…sorry he got your bad side…” Jason shot her a grateful smile, and she kissed his cheek softly, all sympathy. The explosion when he was fifteen had ruptured his eardrum, and high-pitched sounds bothered the hell out of him on his left side still, which was why his helmet had specialized protective ear guards, and he wore sound-reducing plugs with his domino. It…was perhaps one of the few things that Bruce and Jason had bonded over; Bruce used similar ones for his own cowl, and had adapted Jason’s with regard to the minor hearing loss.

“Eh…At least it didn’t make my tinnitus start up. All he had to do was cough or somethin’…” Steph agreed, and rubbed his back soothingly, smiling as Jason squeezed her shoulder and kissed her temple. As much as she’d liked the idea of the Ferris Wheel…O’Grady was following, she could sense his eyes on her ass, and evidently, so could Jason; he raised his free arm to flip the cop off and hugged her a little closer, arm sliding down to wrap around her waist. Not to grope her, not that Steph would have minded…but she smiled, snuggling in close anyway. It was possessive without making her the possession.

Makes Dean look like the pervert he was. Creep. And Jason and I are what…three years apart? She made a few mental calculations and nodded to herself, satisfied; they were right at three years and two months apart, and while she and Tim were the same age…she had more in common with Jay. More shared life experience, too…

“Babe? You okay there? You look like you’re a million miles away…” Jason murmured, pausing at the entrance to the carpark, and Steph shook herself, smiling up at him.

“Yeah…sorry, was just…thinking about things.”

“…Good things? Bad things?”

“A little bad, then a little good. I promise, I’m okay…just…maybe more tired than I realized.” She winced at that, but Jason just chuckled, warm and sweet.

“I don’t doubt it, we were both up early. As fun as the bench was…how about we head back and get some rest, hmm?”

“Yes please…Um…do…you mind if I ask you to take me home?” His eyes softened at that, dark green with the night, and he kissed her softly, guiding her back over the gravel with care.

“Not at all, sweetheart; besides, I don’t put out on the first date.” Steph burst into giggles at that, and Jason snickered, helping her back up into the truck. He hopped over the hood, every inch the reckless Bat-boy, which made Steph break into more giggles. Joining her in the cab, he swooped in for a kiss that Steph gladly gave, and carefully got them out of the parking space, bitching a little about idiot tourists and shitty drivers as he made his way to the road again. “Goddamn fuckin’ cop could be over here clearing this mess out…”

“At least Penguin’s men have it well-lit again; the city didn’t do shit about that.” Steph growled out, suddenly feeling far more charitable to Cobblepot and his crew. Whatever else Oswald might have once been, fatherhood seemed to have mellowed him immensely, and his mostly-legit wealth was going into things like lighting the Mile, same with Bruce; hell, Bruce had even sent baby gifts, both has Wayne and Batman, since Cobblepot had largely dropped out of the Rogues’ with the birth of his daughter.

“Yeah, I think B thanked him for it the other day, Barb was shocked on the comms because they actually had a polite conversation; he asked about Robin, B asked about Tracey and little Eugenie.”

“Awwwww…I’ll get a purple penguin for her when I go out on patrol tomorrow.” Jason chuckled at that, and Steph relaxed into his shoulder, fine with taking the back roads home to her apartment. Here too, the little improvements had made things better for everyone, not just the wealthy Gothamites; lights brightened the once gloomy alleys, and people, feeling safer, had begun cleaning them up. Dumpsters had been moved to the backs of the buildings, and play areas built, full of beat up toys. Old sawhorses and a few semi-straight boards sporting carefully repaired flowerpots full of cheap herbs and little flowers leaned against the brownstones, painted bright with cheap acrylic and leftover housepaint.

Graffiti artists, once the bane of the neighborhoods, had been given purpose and permission to express themselves via the Wayne Urban Art grants, and now murals of every color covered the once ugly cement walls. Meanwhile the old abandoned lots, once ignored by the city, had been bought up by Wayne Industries and given to the neighborhoods as small leisure areas, with young saplings and soft grass and little free gardens, tended carefully by gardeners hired by Bruce himself.

Crime still ran rampant, of course; hell, that’s why they still had patrols.

But more and more, that crime was white-collar or supervillain; the average Joe was happy to have a good job again, and a place to call home that wasn’t covered in trash and grime. Petty criminals with a family to feed or a dangerous addiction had more avenues for help now, with flyers on every corner, and kind counselors available night and day. And the only requirement was only “if you know someone else who needs us, please bring them here.” Steph approved of that, as did Jason, and Bruce had only smiled and said “I thought of you two when we set that up.” Highest compliment he’s ever given us, I think…it…it really has made a difference. Just in my life alone…

Crystal Brown had been among the first he’d welcomed to the program, and Steph had broken down crying on Bruce’s shoulder the day her mom had come home clean. Really clean now; whatever else might have happened between them, Steph was just glad to have her mom back…and Jason had had much the same reaction, so Alfred had told her, when Roy’d gone through it too. Roy was Jay’s best friend in the whole world…she smiled a little. I’d almost be jealous, but…Cass is my best friend. And if Cass swung that way, I’d have dated her in a heartbeat, I think…I’m not mad that he and Roy were a pair. I’m just glad they’re still friends.

“Gotta say, B’s really made home feel a lot less gentrified, and more…”

“Alive.” She murmured, and Jason nodded, his voice a little tight as he pulled into her apartment’s lot.

“…I was worried, when he started this, that it’d be the Bowery all over again.” He murmured, and she squeezed his arm, taking a deep breath.

“Me too, if we’re being honest here. But…it’s not. It’s not. It’s…what we would have wanted. Hell, he even retrofitted the Starlight with green tech so that the Narrows’ best babysitter didn’t have to close down.” He laughed, soft and sweet, and kissed her forehead.

“Tell me about it, I begged him to bankroll it when I was a kid because…well, it’s the last original roller rink on the East Coast. I couldn’t bear to see it torn down. I think he started doing it after I died…kinda sweet, to be honest.”

“That’s what I would have done…Ooh. We should go skating next time.” Steph mused, and Jason’s answer was in a hot, sweet kiss, his eyes dancing in the streetlights.

“It’s a date. C’mon, I’ll walk you to your door?” He suggested, offering his hand, and Steph let him pull her out, heart as light as a feather. He was easy to lean into, not handsy in the slightest, big hands rubbing up and down her back, and already, Steph was boneless against his chest, drowsing as they rode the elevator back up. Their hands clasped, Steph swung them a little as they pulled apart, yawning widely as the elevator stopped and she could lead him back down to her apartment door, pulling out her key.

“Mmn…thank you. I love you…and I hope this is still okay?” She murmured, hopeful and more than a little nervous. Jason kissed her again, then once more, and bussed her nose with his own, the smile on his lips as clear a confirmation as the words…but she liked hearing him anyway.

“I love you too, babe, and this is so okay. Get some rest, alrighty? Tim took our patrol tonight, B sent me an apology text earlier, so we’re good till tomorrow.”

“Good. Bastard should know better than to get between me and waffles.” The roguish grin on Jason’s face made her grin back, and he stroked her hair back over her ear again, something she never let Dean or Tim do, because it felt…weird with them. It felt right with Jay.

“Goddamn right, Blondie. Sleep tight, babe, can I bring you waffles in the morning, or are you waffled out?”

“Jay, if you bring me waffles in the morning, I’ll put out, alright? Waffles are life.” She retorted, and he fell back with a snicker, shaking his head as he kissed her.

“Well hell, if it’s really that easy, babe…” She swatted his arm, still grinning, and he kissed her once more, leaning into her doorway in a gesture that should have felt intimidating…but like before, well…it was Jay. It felt right. Steph kissed him back, sighing softly, and he pulled back to kiss her in the center of her forehead. “Head to bed, babe, I’m not far off. If you need anything, call me, okay?”

“Mmn, sounds good…are you really gonna bring me waffles?” She replied, hopeful, and he grinned again, his smile as addictive as his kisses.

“Goddamn right I will, babe. What time works?”

“Probably eight, at least? I need to get up early, do housework, do homework…” She made a face, and he made a face with her.

“Ugh. Well, I can help with the former, and as for the latter, I can be a quiet boyfriend and clean my guns?”

“Deal…See you then?” Steph wanted to crash, she really did, she was yawning so much now…but she didn’t want him to go…

“See you then. Goodnight, Stephie.” He murmured, kissing her once more, then closed the door for her. She leaned against it, listening to him slip down the stairs, and smiled, stepping out of her sandals with a groan of relief (they were cute, but she was tired enough for them to start hurting finally), and made quick work of taking off the rest of her make up, hanging up her dress, changing into comfy undies and a huge tee shirt. Taking down her hair, she glanced over at her phone…and grinned to see his number light up on the screen. She swiped to answer, and leaned back against the pillows.

“Miss me already, handsome?” He chuckled, warm and low, and it didn’t matter that she’d been hearing it all night; she could hear it a million times, and never get tired of it.

“You know it, baby. Figured you’d probably have trouble getting to sleep, as tired as you were, so…I thought maybe I could read to you?” He sounded so hopeful over the line, and Steph’s breath hitched in her chest. Oh…

“…I’d really, really like that. What did you have in mind?” She could see his grin as she closed her eyes, and heard the soft sound of pages turning, the faintest creak of an old book opening.

“Well, I always loved Pride and Prejudice…”

#JaySteph #stephanie brown #jason todd #gothambysunlight #solarpunkgotham #two dorks in love #realistic (mostly) dating expectations #pride and prejudice #jason loved being read to #and loves reading to steph #more bats coming into the picture later

[betsyandmaxwellandduchessohmy]

can we get headcanons/reactions for a dadsona who's like, The Ernest Whisperer? they get along pretty famously, dadsona is really good at making ernest make better choices without being condescending about it. it's not perfect, but "dude, if you're gonna set fire to that trash can, you need a fuse or you'll blow your eyebrows off" is better than shutting him down or ignoring it altogether. like the mom in mean girls, steerin regina towards the Safer choice.

((I feel like I should say right off the bat; this is not part of the Lemon Boy continuity. There's two more parts to that but this isn't one of them. So Ernest is getting a bunch of love and I adore it. Honestly, Ernest is gonna be doing stupid, dangerous shit anyway, we might as well make sure he’s at least being safe about it. Also I love Ernest channeling his angst through artistic pursuits, so I’m adding it here.))

~~~

Summer had arrived. Amanda had graduated, and the kids of the cul-de-sac were free to their adventures. Which, of course, meant the troublemakers were free to their trouble.

You’d become something of an expert at dealing with the troublemakers, seeing as your daughter could be considered such by certain people, and you yourself had been considered such in your younger years by other certain people who were… probably dead by now, honestly. 

You’d gotten to know all the neighborhood kids pretty well since moving in, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have favorites. All the kids seemed to like you well enough - Craig’s girls invited you to their games from time to time, Joseph’s oldest seemed to have taken an interest in your garden for some reason, and Daisy and Carmensita might favor Amanda over you on any given day, but they were polite and sweet and complimented your cooking, so you weren’t too sore about it. But hands down, you got on with Ernest and Lucien the best. You remembered what it was like to be that age, and you were proud to say you’d managed to get through where others said was impassable. You could tell the boys liked you, even if they refused to admit it. Maybe they could tell that you’d been like them, once upon a time. Trouble begets trouble, after all. It felt like they’d made an unspoken bet to see who could push you further. Who could get you to agree to or help with the most outlandish thing. 

Lucien made you tag along while he did graffiti on the underside of the bridge by the dam. You lent him your spare respirator mask and kept an eye out for police and neighborhood watch.

Ernest found an abandoned factory a little ways from the cul-de-sac, and insisted on going there to fuck around. You managed to casually ask Hugo if Ernest was up to date on his tetanus shots and managed to convince Ernest not to swing from rafters or mess around with any old blades.

Lucien convinced you to give him and his friends a ride to a concert in the next city over. You paid for a last minute ticket and tagged along to make sure they’d be okay, and even managed to get a guy kicked out when you saw him slip something in one of Lucien’s friend’s drinks. 

Ernest roped you into a paintball war in the more wooded area of the park. You supplied face shields and forced disposable rain ponchos over his and his friend’s heads. They didn’t help very much or last very long, but there was slightly less paint on them than there would have been, so it was a win. As was getting the paint stains out of Ernest’s favorite hoodie.

But beyond that - beyond the bet and the games and the stupid dangerous shit you tried to buffer them from, you knew that they trusted you. By this point, Hugo and Damien knew that their kids saw you as someone safe to lean on, and while Damien was simply glad, Hugo was more than a little baffled. You offered him what advice you could, but you knew that sometimes, your dad just felt too close. Hugo was getting the hang of it, but it was easier for you.

When Damien went out of town for the weekend, it was you that Lucien called when he started feeling unsafe at the house party he’d gone to.

When Ernest’s friends ditched him when they ran from the cops, he called you to come get him from the alley he’d hidden himself in.

Every time, you made sure they weren’t hurt. You made sure they weren’t scared. You promised not to tell their dads. You took them out for ice cream or greasy all-night diner food. And you brought them home.

You were accustomed to the boys deciding that doing stupid shit sounded like the best idea in the world. So when you saw Ernest and a few of his friends bumming around the orange-clad kid’s driveway, you kept an eye on them while you went about your business. Stores had been stocking up on firecrackers since April, so you wouldn’t be surprised if the rapscallions had managed to get their hands on a few here and there. You hesitated briefly before turning your back, brushing the last few flecks into place before straightening up again, smiling down at the beautiful thing you’d made. A frown tugged at your face, though, when you went for your pocket and found you’d misplaced your lighter. Poking around the garage for a moment, you spotted it on the little table you’d set up beside the garage door. Reaching for it, you paused, poking your head out into the summer air.

Ernest and his friends had migrated to Joseph’s trash cans. There was laughter - always a good sign - and they were pressed close together to block your view of what they were doing to the poor bin, but you had the feeling it wasn't going to be good.

When you saw one of the boys pull a lighter from his pocket you turned on a dime, marching over and plucking the large cylinder off the top of the trash bags, holding it up over your head and out of reach of any of the little monsters.

“Just what in the Styx do you boys think you’re doing?” you asked. Before anyone could answer, the figures immediately scattered, like the rats in ratatouille. They all ran in different directions, seeming to think that you couldn’t catch all of them. They were right, but you only really needed to catch Ernest, who had stumbled back from the can and was looking up at you with what could only be described as a pout. Slowly lowering the bundle, you gave it a glance. 

Sparklers.

Well, at least it wasn’t bottle rockets or something. 

"I- I feel like I should ask what your thought process was here?" you confessed, looking at the bundle of unlit sparklers. There must have been well over five hundred there, how did they get a hold of that many sparklers??

"Logan saw a video of a guy lighting ten thousand sparklers on fire. They wouldn't sell us that many, but I still think it was pretty impressive."

"What's impressive is that you guys were going to stand here, a foot away from a trashcan filled with sparklers, and expected not to wind up with your faces melted off,” you laughed softly in disbelief. “You’ve lit enough stuff on fire by this point that I feel like you, of all people, should know to use a fuse, if nothing else. Where's your dad, anyway?" 

"The school," Ernest grunted, kicking at a loose pebble on the pavement. "Had some stuff to finish before he's done for summer."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You felt for the poor guy - reigning in reckless teens as a single parent was hard enough working from home, you couldn't imagine the position Hugo was in.

“Listen, I get the interest in firepower better than most - a little destructive force is cool and fun and all, I’m just staying there’s safer ways to go about it,” you insisted, sighing and running a hand over your face. Ernest, for his part, had the decency to look at least a little ashamed. A smile tugged at your lips as you looked back up at the garage. There was a thought... “Hey. If you’re still in the mood for some fire, I’ve got something you might like,” you offered. Ernest’s brows furrowed in confusion, and you nodded toward your garage, your smile growing just slightly when he fell into step beside you. “Y’know, my dad doesn’t really like me going into shady guy’s garages,” Ernest hummed, stepping past the garage door as if to make a point. “Sound advice. Good thing I’m not that shady,” you chuckled, mimicking Ernest’s skeptical look and throwing it back at him. “We’re neighbors with Robert, arguably the shadiest dude around. I’m comparatively way less shady. No offense to Robert. Now come check this out.” Ernest rolled his eyes, but did as instructed, stepping up to the large slice of walnut set up on sawhorses. The round of wood still had its bark attached to its edges, and black flecks were spread across the piece, shading in the image of a pair of crows perched on a gnarled branch, almost lifelike in their detail. “O… kay. What am I looking at?” he asked, arching a brow. “Like, not that it’s not cool, but… um?” You couldn’t keep the chuckle back, setting the sparkler bomb on your workbench and you pulling your lighter from your pocket. “What you’re looking at, Ernest, is best known as gunpowder painting,” you hummed, tossing up the lighter and catching it in your hand. Ernest’s expression changed from confused boredom to a level of fascination in a flash, his gaze darting up to your face. Tossing up the lighter once more, you caught it and held it out to the kid. “Care to do the honors?”

Ernest took the lighter, looking at the black flecks, and glancing warily back up at you before flicking the little device. Reaching out with a steady hand, he lit the end of the branch, watching with unbridled delight as the image went up in flames, each fleck of powder burning a small mark into the wood before going out quickly. You silently guided him back a step as the flames got higher, and for half a second, Ernest feared that the two of you might burn your garage down, until he noticed the sheet of metal you’d strung up from the garage rafters, protecting the wood. The kid laughed a little at the sight, and you couldn’t help but ruffle his hair. You knew Hugo had a fair bit of trouble with him, but he really was a good kid. He just needed a guiding hand.

Seconds later, the flames died, and the crows were burnt into the wood, beautiful and visually interesting. “That was so cool!” Ernest grinned brightly, reaching out to run his fingers over the burn marks. “Mind it- it’s still a little hot,” you warned, smiling as you moved to retrieve a container of walnut oil. “It’s a little more precise than a wood burning tool. Unlit gunpowder’s a bit more forgiving.” “Can we do another??” he asked, though his smile dimmed a bit when he saw the apologetic look you wore. “Sorry, kiddo. You’ll have to give me a while - I’m out of powder. But I’ll tell you what - once I get this bad boy to Damien, I’ll get some more powder and a few pieces of wood, and you can make your own piece, how’s that sound?”

“Seriously?”

"Hey, have I ever gone back on my word?" You asked, looking out at the cul-de-sac. The sun had begun it’s descent to the western horizon, and soon the neighborhood would be lit up and golden. “How about we have a fire? Then I can keep an eye on you till your dad gets back, and you can burn some stuff.” “I don’t need a babysitter.” Ernest rolled his eyes, but he didn’t snap the words at you, so you didn’t think he was annoyed enough to stomp off. “But you do like burning things,” you shrugged, moving toward the old fridge you’d pushed up beside the door leading into the house. “You’re welcome to a soda, if you want one.” Plucking up a small plastic cooler, you grabbed a container of kerosine, intending to squirt a little on your fire pit to get it started. When you reached for your lighter, and found it missing, it appeared instead by your face, held out by a kid who looked to be trying desperately to appear as if he wasn’t interested. A smile tugged at your lips, and you took the offered lighter. “Thanks, kiddo.” Ernest shrugged, sitting in one of the lawn chairs before standing and scooting it closer to the fire pit. You noticed a can in his hand and your grin widened. Once the fire was lit, you pulled out a can for yourself and sat in the other chair, sighing softly as you relaxed. 

“Man, you’re so much cooler than Hugo,” Ernest groaned, leaning back on his chair. You winced in sympathy for your neighbor, carding a hand through your hair. “Hey, your dad is very cool,” you insisted, earning a look that clearly asked if you were serious. “I mean it! Just because he’s more reserved and cautious than I am, doesn’t mean that he’s not cool. He’s just… Hugo is more or less the Jamie to my Adam.” Ernest looked at you blankly and you sighed, shaking your head. “Look. Hugo’s your dad. I’m not. Hugo’s the one who has to be responsible for you - It’s not any more fun being the parent that has to be responsible all the time than it is being the kid being told what to do. Your dads have been divorced how long now?”

“... year and a half,” Ernest muttered, looking uncomfortably into his soda can.

“Exactly. That’s not a lot of time to find a proper balance between Fun Supportive Dad and Authoritarian Dad. My spouse died when Amanda was still a kid, so I’ve had most of her life to figure it out and get it right, and I still don’t get it right all the time. 

“Your dad doesn’t like to do anything hastily, and I like to do everything incredibly hastily. So therein you have the dichotomy of our patterns,” you hummed, picking up your soda and taking a swig. “There’s a difference between being a good dad and a good parent. They’re not mutually exclusive, but it’s hard to strike a balance. Good parents make sure you’re eating healthy and getting good grades and learning the right lessons. Good dads… hm. Good dads…"

You trailed off, seeing out of the corner of your eye how Ernest was looking at you. Nervous, but thoughtful. Pensive. You shook your head, deciding to try another explanation.

"Okay, stop me if I start to sound patronizing."

"Kay," he agreed, seeming to brace himself. You took a deep breath, hoping beyond hope that you could word this right.

"Hugo is a single parent now. He's so emotionally invested in, and drained by, raising you right, that he doesn't have the energy to do the fun stuff that you get to do with your other dad. 

"Your other dad? He's probably more like me. But he gets to see you on the weekends. Hugo has you all week during the school year. He's the one who has to… to make sure you get up on time, to make sure you get your homework done. And because Hugo does that, your other dad doesn't have to worry about it, so he can focus on taking you fun places and doing cool stuff with you, the way I do. There's no doubt in my mind that Hugo would love to encourage a safe level of pyromania, or go to events with you, but he's busy making sure you have the capacity to be a functional adult when the time comes.”

"Okay, I… I see your point. But it's not like I'm asking him to spend time with me and my friends, or- or go to a concert with me,” he didn’t emphasize the point, but you still caught the jab. You hadn’t been able to convince Hugo to let him come to that concert with you and Lucien, and you had been worried that he was a little bitter about it. “I mean - that stuff might be nice if he wasn’t so lame. I just want him to let me do stuff with my friends. Like, trust me once in a while, y’know?” “Okay. I know how this is gonna sound, but… you gotta prove he can trust you. Kiddo, you’re a pyro in the making, and that can be scary for a parent. You gotta show him that you’re smart enough to be trusted with safety stuff. Same with school stuff, same with friend stuff. The more good decisions you make, the more he’ll trust you to make more good decisions.” Ernest sighed. Not exactly exasperated, but not exactly resigned either. “I know it’s not easy, but you don’t have to get it right away,” you assured gently, taking another swig of your soda. “And you can still do stupid dangerous shit sometimes, because stupid dangerous shit is fun and ridiculous and I know you’re never gonna fully stop.”

Your talk with Ernest lasted a lot longer than you expected, the western sky had dulled from cool blue to a soft violet once the sun sank below the horizon, and stars began to fleck the sky. You weren’t sure when the kid dozed off, but when you looked over at him, his face had gone slack and peaceful. You silently thanked the powers that be that he’d put his can in the cupholder. A flash of movement caught your eye, and you craned your neck to the side of the house, spotting a familiar figure poking his head around the corner.

“Hugo, hey,” you greeted, waving him over. The teacher tentatively made his way across the lawn, standing just behind your chair to the side opposite Ernest. “I was just coming by to ask if you’d seen him,” he confessed awkwardly, looking at his son. “He’s been here since about noon, when I stopped him from blowing up Joseph’s bins,” you grinned. Hugo gave a soft groan, rubbing his face in exasperation. “MC, I’m so sorry-” “No, don’t be! We had a great time,” you assured, giving him a grin. “I showed him my new piece, and we had a chat.” Hugo frowned curiously, but nodded, and ran a hand through his hair. You offered him a soda and he took it, seemingly without thinking “Once I get the supplies, I told him we could do some gunpowder painting. You should join us.” Hugo very nearly choked on his soda.

“Relax, it’s all very safe,” you promised, laughing softly as he recovered. “I showed him the piece I was making for Damien and he seemed interested. Might be a good outlet for the firestarter tendency.” “I see. I don’t know if I…” “Just give it a shot? It might be something fun for you guys to do together.”

Hugo gave pause, looking between you two, and you smiled when he nodded after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll… I'll think about it,” he agreed. Smiling, you leaned over, gently shaking Ernest’s arm. “Kiddo. C’mon, time for you to head home.” Ernest grunted, half asleep even as he pushed out of his chair. Hugo moved to place a hand on his back, and either from sheer tiredness or some shade of incredible wakefulness, he didn’t push out of Hugo’s grip. “Thank you, MC.” “Anytime. I’ll let you know when I get more powder, kay, Ernest?”

The teen nodded, allowing Hugo to guide him back out of the yard. You really hoped you hadn’t gone too far today. You wanted good things for your neighbors, and you wanted to help them however you could. Hopefully you could do that without overstepping. You sighed softly, looking up at the stars spattered across the night sky and the cinders that rose from the fire. Hopefully you could help without anyone getting burned.

#Here Come the Dads #Right at the end there #Hugo #Ernest #ddadds #Dream Daddy #dream daddy a dad dating simulator #Ernest ddadds #ddadds ernest #ddadds imagines #hugo ddadds #ddadds hugo

[television-overload]

16x24 Fanfic

Yall, I'm tired as heck, but after tonight's episode I needed to try to find a way to tie this storyline into Ziva, even if the actual show writers don't go through with it. So this is kinda a fix it fanfic for an episode that hasn't even aired yet. Wow. That's kinda sad.

Anyway, I had this idea, and I was gonna try to pass it on to someone else to write. But then I decided I want the satisfaction of writing this nice ending, so here you go. After hours of typing this on my phone, this is what you get. My version of the season finale and Gibbs' hallucinations of Diane Sterling-Fornell. Etc. ;)

-.-.-

"Diane?" Gibbs asked, shocked to see the woman at his door.

She smiled, and pressed forward. "Aren't you gonna let me in, Jethro?"

Gibbs stepped aside, too stunned to say anything in response.

The redhead made herself comfortable, shedding her jacket and surveying the living room.

Gibbs shut the door and joined her, watching her carefully. "You shouldn't be here," he said, and it was true. She had died years ago, on a rooftop, right in front of him.

Diane scoffed. "What, Mike Franks gets to stop by, but I can't?"

Gibbs sighed, walking tiredly toward his basement. "Not this again," he mumbled.

Diane followed him, trudging down the wooden staircase and taking a seat on the sawhorse. She waited expectantly, her typical stubborn and nosy demeanor not lost in her ghostly form.

"I know you're not much for words, but seeing as I am a figment of your own consciousness, maybe you should start the conversation," she finally spoke, causing Gibbs to look up from the bourbon he was busy pouring for himself.

"What do you want me to say?" Gibbs shouted suddenly, the frustration from the situation with Fornell boiling over. "Your daughter is laying half dead in a hospital, and Tobias is losing it. What am I supposed to do about that?"

"She's not my daughter, she's Diane's," the hallucination reminded Gibbs, who grumbled in annoyance.

"I've lost every daughter I ever had," Gibbs spoke after a moment, sadness lacing his voice. "I lost my wife. Now the same thing is about to happen to Tobias, and I can't do anything about it."

He had seen so many others encounter the same misery he had experienced. Vance and DiNozzo quickly came to mind.

"I wish I could stop it all. All the suffering."

Diane nodded. "It's consuming you. You want to put an end to every injustice and every bit of suffering in the world. But it's too much for one person to bear."

Gibbs shook his head and took a big swig of bourbon. "I tried to let others help, but their fates were the same," he admitted. Kate. Ziva. Clayton. Who would be next? Everyone around him suffered, and Gibbs was very clear about his thoughts towards coincidences.

"My daughters," Gibbs spoke sadly, glancing up at his boat, fittingly named "Ziva."

Diane nodded again. "Kelly was important to you, but you lost her. In a way, she is the reason you are here."

Gibbs looked at his ex-wife, and suddenly her forehead dripped with blood. She, however, didn't seem to notice.

"I had others," Gibbs said plainly, his voice rough and scratchy from the hard liquor. "Other daughters."

"I know you did," the woman spoke, only her voice had changed. When Gibbs looked back at her, it was no longer Diane, but special agent Caitlin Todd.

"Kate," Gibbs whispered, his heart sinking at the sight of her and the bullet hole in her head. He stood from his perch on the workbench and made his way closer. She was so real, his mind was playing tricks on him.

Kate smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling a little. "Hello, Gibbs."

Gibbs shook his head, feeling altogether overwhelmed.

"I'm sorry, Kate," Gibbs spoke, reaching out to her forehead, but stopping short of her wound. He knew she wasn't there. There was nothing to touch, just open space.

After Kelly, Abby and Kate had come along and started to heal the old festering wound left by Kelly's absence. Abby, of course, was alive and well, but he had come close to losing her too. Kate wasn't so lucky.

"Isn't saying sorry a sign of weakness?" Kate challenged, staring expectantly at Gibbs, who made no effort to answer. "Or has that rule been thrown out too?"

Gibbs closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his fingers.

"It's all a mess," he said finally. "This whole time, rule 10 has been a lie." All these years, Gibbs thought he was the poster child for his rule book. But it turns out, he had been breaking them as long as they were around.

Kate smirked. "Just because you make a rule doesn't mean you always follow it."

Every case weighed on Gibbs, even though he liked to pretend it didn't. It was almost like he left behind tiny pieces of his soul in each case file. Now he had hardly any soul left to give.

Maybe Grace was right. He couldn't keep going this forever.

"I'm getting too old for this," Gibbs admitted, taking another big gulp of bourbon.

"You and me both, Probie," a rough voice replied. And now in Kate's place stood Mike Franks.

Gibbs stood motionless before speaking to his old mentor, who was Gibbs' most frequent ghostly visitor. "Can't seem to leave me alone, can you Mike?" he said exhasperatedly.

"I could say the same thing to you." Mike responded with a deep, wheezing laugh. "You really need me to knock some sense into you every time you have a mental breakdown?"

Gibbs poured himself a refill of bourbon before responding.

"Let's just say, it's times like these I miss our little shack in Mexico by the beach," Gibbs mused, sending a humorless smile Mike's way.

"Running from your problems won't work this time," Mike observed. "Didn't work so well last time either, if I recall."

Gibbs remembered his brief attempt at retirement all those years ago. He had felt so free of all responsibility, but maybe that had something to do with the memory loss. Now, knowing that he can make a difference and lock up the bad guys, he can't just sit idly by. But what was he sacrificing for this job? Ellie and Kasie, his newest daughters, he couldn't lose them too. Nick was headstrong, quick to act, but thoughtful. He had become a part of Gibbs' team, and was now his responsibility as well. They all had stories. Some more tragic than others, but no one had it easy. Maybe it was something about Gibbs' brokenness that drew other broken people to him.

"If I stay away, people get hurt. If I get too close, people get hurt," Gibbs lamented, clutching his jar of alcohol much too tight. "How am I supposed to protect them?"

There was no response, and then a soft, gentle voice cut through the silence. "I thought that's what your rules were for."

Gibbs nearly dropped his bourbon upon hearing her voice. She spoke so calmly, so confidently.

"Jenny."

The woman smiled and gave him a nod.

"I burned rule 10," Gibbs announced, expecting a reaction from Jenny, though perhaps he shouldn't have. She did, in fact, know everything he knew already.

"And..." she prompted him to continue.

Gibbs sighed. "And...I broke rule 4."

Jenny's eyebrows raised. "Any other rules you'd like to throw out? I've noticed rule 12 has been somewhat of an issue lately. Or maybe always carrying a knife isn't so practical. I mean, do you really need a knife when you take a shower?"

Gibbs grunted in frustration. "I don't know what to believe anymore."

"How about you get your head out of the past and look at what is right in front of you for a change," Jenny challenged, her voice becoming stern.

"Because I NEED the past. I have to learn from my mistakes." Gibbs countered, his voice and temper matching hers.

"But you also say to let go," Jenny pointed out. "You tell others to ignore their feelings, to block out their emotions and move forward. How do you reconcile your rules with that?"

Jenny's voice of reason was unwelcome.

"Leave me alone. All of you!" Gibbs shouted. "Get out of my house! Get out of my head!"

Jenny promptly stood and left, her heels clicking on the hard basement floor. Gibbs watched her ascend the wooden staircase, and turned away with a huff once he was sure she was gone.

These apparitions had been pestering him for long enough, and it wasn't helping him with any of his problems. Fornell was still close to losing his daughter, and Gibbs had already lost several. He had dragged everyone he ever cared for down into his pit of suffering and despair. He had gotten emotionally involved in every case he ever worked, and he was only just admitting that to himself. It still weighed heavily on him. He carried every case, especially those dealing with the deaths of the people he loved, with him everywhere he went.

Gibbs heard a squeak on the top step of the wooden staircase, and anger filled him once again. "I told you to leave me alone," he said gruffly, taking another sip of bourbon. When the apparition didn't speak, he turned around to see who it was this time.

Ziva.

There she stood, at the top of the staircase, right where she was when she killed Ari to save Gibbs' life. Of course.

"Not you, too," Gibbs said, exhausted from all this speaking with the dead business. "I suppose you're here to tell me that it's okay to have an emotional connection to a case, and that rule 10 was a mistake all along."

The woman's eyebrow furrowed.

"Go ahead. Tell me about how my rules pushed you away, made you feel alone, and got you killed. Say it."

Ziva started descending the stairs, confusion and sadness evident on her face.

"Gibbs," she said softly, approaching him slowly.

"What?" he asked. His patience was wearing thin.

Suddenly, she jumped into his arms and held him tight, tears streaming down her face.

Gibbs' heart skipped a beat. Slowly, he began to realize that this was no apparition. This was Ziva, truly alive and breathing and standing in his basement.

"Ziver?" he asked, choking on the word as his arms made their way around her torso.

She nodded into his shoulder, sobs wracking her body.

Gibbs stood there in disbelief for several minutes before pushing her back to take a look at her. Unlike Diane, Kate, Mike, and Jenny, she looked different than he remembered her. Her cheeks were a little fuller, and her hair was cut shorter, about shoulder length.

"You're alive," Gibbs murmured, his hand framing her face and inspecting her for any sign that this wasn't real.

"Yes," she choked out, clinging desperately to Gibbs's shoulders. Gibbs was reminded of the moment he remembered who Ziva was, and what she had done after that time that he lost his memory. Their bond had always been deeper than others realized. Bound by death and trust. Right here in this basement.

Gibbs pulled her to him once more, afraid that if he didn't hold her close, her solid form would slip away and he would be left with a ghost again.

"Tony and Tali?" Gibbs inquired.

Ziva shook her head. "I will tell you everything later.

That suited him just fine. For now, he had his daughter back, and the guilt over rule 10 being her downfall was no more.

A tiny glimmer of hope appeared for Emily, Tobias' daughter. And Gibbs was no longer spiraling out of control, not knowing who he was or what he believed.

Now he knew.

He was Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. And he believed in family.

-.-.-

Any comments are much appreciated! If I screwed up anything, blame autocorrect or my big fat fingers. Thanks for reading!

#ncis #ziva david #ncis fanfiction #my fanfiction #fanfiction #leroy jethro gibbs #season 16 #16x23 #16x24 #lost time #daughters #my fic #and also #tiva #kinda #but barely

[robobrainmurdermysterytheatre]

I'm honestly fixing to write like a 3-part love letter to Fallout, Fallout 4 particularly - because it was the first one I played, the one I know the most about, and the one closest to my heart.

Like I went downstairs today and my dad was watching a spaghetti western and I went "I should decide which Fallout to play based on what my dad is watching when I go to scavenge food from the kitchen. Spaghetti western? Fallout NV! WWII documentary? Fallout 4!" But it just hits me sometimes a lot of the stuff in the game make me think about my family, especially 4 with it's like weird, wonderful post WWII era slash Revolutionary War mashup aesthetic it makes me think of my dad a lot because he likes that kind of stuff. 

And the aesthetic is lit, in all the games. I've been into that kind of post-apocalyptic-trappings-of-modern-life-full-of-cracks-and-covered-in-rust since I was way young. I used to take a lot of photos that fit that aesthetic. Probably because the house I grew up in kind of turned to that aesthetic. My dad was a carpenter - and mechanic and plumber and electrician off the books tho lol- so we always had lumber and tools and supplies and shit just chilling. We had old car tires and broken stuff that we were gonna use to fix other stuff hanging around. We were, imma just say it, fucking poor, so we had tons of things that were far past being "good" but were still useful-but-janky-asf so we kept them around and used them. We had a bunch of military surplus stuff and military stuff of my grandad's. Also because we were fucking poor we didn't have a lot of shit to do as kids. Some of my fondest memories as a kid were going out in the backyard with my brother and rounding up old tires and sawhorses and broken chairs and blue tarps assorted random crap and making forts out of them then hauling the broken computer parts my dad kept around for god knows what reason inside and making super lit command bases (idk what the fuck we were commanding but, eh, we were like 7/8) and YOU GUYS that's just literally playing Fallout 4 lmfao.

Also the music? In all the games? I grew up listening to a lot of different styles of music, but I have a special fondness for that era of music. When I was growing up I spent a lot of time at my grandparent’s shop and they always had the radio system tuned to this OLD oldies AM radio station that played a lot of those songs. I have super deeply ingrained fond memories of all the time I spent there.

Speaking of my grandparents: I’m 33 so my grandparents were solidly post-WWII-era folks on both sides of my family. Both my grandfathers served in WWII. Some of the setpieces I see in the game just SNAP me back to my childhood - my grandparent’s home decor was still stuck that era, there were things at my grandparents’ house didn’t see anywhere else. Like my grandma had one of those sunburst metal art deco style clocks hanging above her fireplace, and when I saw one in the game I went HOLY CRAP that’s my grandma’s clock lol. 

Also one of my grandpas was an atomic veteran, a marine, I posted something about that once. The only thing I ever really knew about his service was that he was in the first group of soldiers on the ground after the bomb in Nagasaki to do cleanup. He never talked about it, I never asked (he passed away when I was 12 so it never occurred to me to ask). I don’t know if he ever talked about it to his family, my aunt said the only thing he ever said to them about it was about how friendly and wonderful the Japanese people were to them. I also know that one of the guys he served with sued the government to recognize and fund treatment of the health effects of fucking around in and cleaning up the wreckage of ground zero for an atomic bomb about a month after it went off. Several years ago for shits and giggles I had Googled my grandpa’s name, and it came up in a book about that guy he served with and atomic vets in general which covers the veterans who did the cleanup at Hiroshima and Nagasaki and were exposed to radioactivity as well as those involved with all of the testing leading up to America’s development of the a-bomb who were exposed. I went through a ton of literature on it - I’m not going to get started on my bullshit right now but you can click this sentence to read about how the American military exposed somewhere in the neighborhood of 200,000 of its own people to radiation then didn’t do shit about it until the 1990′s (read the sources too, the Wikipedia article is super generalized the whole situation is bullshit asf). Anyway, for obvious reasons, playing a game set post-nuclear apocalypse makes me wonder what my grandpa went through, what he saw. This is also my grandpa that Nick Valentine reminds me of, lol. My grandpa didn’t exactly have a noir detective vibe, but some of the things Nick says, some of his personality traits, in a lot of ways the human appearance he’s supposed to resemble, all remind me a lot of my grandpa ❤

I got going so I guess we’re past the “fixing to” stage lol I actually wrote most of parts 2 and 3, but I’m going to uhhh stagger part 2 and 3 over a while so you all don’t have to deal with wall after wall of text. 

I just really felt like talking how deep this game has wormed its way into my heart, and why it’s special to me and the first and a big part of that is because it gives me serious feels about my family.

#fallout 4 feels hour #sorry it's so long

[sketchyglinda]

Ozma: Part One

Mombi wasn’t that bad. She threatened to turn me to stone a few times, yeah, but I was no angel. Better moms around, but at least she never pretended to be anything but the wicked witch she was.

 They want me to write the whole story down. For the Royal Records, they said. I guess they don’t care about my childhood with Mombi and stuff, the good parts like climbing trees and playing in the mud. Probably wanna hear about how I was never comfortable like that, but I was. Sometimes—maybe most times—I wish I could go back. But I can’t, and they don’t care what dumb little boys want. Down to business, then.

 I’d been fighting with Mombi. We got along pretty well sometimes, actually, but right then I was mad at her. So I decided to make this scarecrow, jack-o-lantern thing, surprise her and see if she’d scream.

 She didn’t. Maybe I made the face too friendly. It was big and open and smiling, bright orange, perfectly ripe. Gigantic pumpkin head on that scrawny stick body. He used to call me father.

 Anyway. Mombi’d got some new magic powder while she was out. Sprinkled it all over Jack, and BAM, the stupid thing comes to life.

 And let me tell you, stupid is right. Great guy, but man is he ever dumb.

 Probably my fault. Picked a pumpkin with bad seeds or something. Glinda’d say I just wasn’t mean to be a dad, and maybe—probably—she’s right, but screw Glinda, anyway.

 Maybe I shouldn’t put this in the Royal Records. Powerful lady to offend, even if they do all say she’s nice. She stuck me here. I’m not feeling too trusting.

Once Jack starts moving Mombi calls for me, and I slink out of the shadows, only a little surprised. These are the kinds of things that happen when you’re raised by a wicked witch.

 “You were supposed to scream.”

 “Scream? But you’ve given me such a wonderful gift, Tip. With this thing to do all the chores, I won’t need to bother with you anymore. He won’t even need to eat.”

 “I don’t understand,” Jack says. We ignore him.

 “What will you do with me?” We’ve played this game before, but she has a different answer every time.

 “Hm. I think I’ll make you a statue for my garden.”

 “You don’t know how to do that.”

 “I didn’t. But that Crooked Wizard has sold me some very interesting new magic.”

 “What is a statue?” asks Jack.

 We ignore him again, and he trails behind us into the house, where Mombi starts mixing up her statue potion. And dinner. I help stir the pots, and we keep on arguing about the statue problem.

 “At least wait until I’m older. What kind of lawn ornament is a scrawny little boy?”

 “Gritty realism. Avant-garde.”

 “I don’t know what that means.”

 “And now you never will. Oh, the money I’ll save on food and clothes, Tip.”

 “Maybe if you didn’t eat so much…”

 “What was that?”

 “Nothing, Mombi. Do I at least get a last meal?”

 “I don’t see much point in it. Statues don’t get hungry.”

 “But I’m stirring the soup for you.”

 She sighs. “All right then. You may have some soup.”

 “When are you gonna petrify me?”

 “In the morning, I think. We’ll give the potion some time to settle.”

 “Can I have breakfast too, then?”

 “If you do your morning chores first.”

 “Chores? On the day I get stoned? Can’t Jack do it?”

 “Do you want your breakfast or not?”

 “Yes, Mombi.”

 Over dinner she tells me, like always, what she brought back from the Crooked Wizard. Today there’s the Powder of Life she used on Jack, the petrifying potion for me, and something she calls Wishing Pills. I ask if I can try one.

 “Maybe in the morning,” she says.

 “Before or after you make me a statue?”

 “Hm. I suppose we’d best make it after, or you’ll just wish not to be a statue, won’t you?”

 “I’ll wish for you to be one instead.”

 She laughs. “Go on to bed, Tip. I’ll clean up and take care of the pumpkin man.”

 -

 It’s not the first time I’ve run from Mombi. Far from it. It was almost a game between us, by that time. And I took the Powder of Life, yeah, but I thought she’d come catch me and bring it back. I don’t quite know what happened—just got really lost, I guess. She couldn’t find me, and I couldn’t find home by the time I got to missing it. I never meant to really run away. But it was an adventure, so I kept on going.

 Anyway, I can’t sleep, and I decide long after she’s blown out the last candle that this is the perfect time to run away. I can take Jack—I’ve never run away with anybody else before. So I pack up some food, snag the box of new magic, and go to grab him.

 Really not my best work. His joints are weak, he moves too slow, and as soon as I let it slip that pumpkins rot after awhile, he’s all afraid of dying and stuff. But I can fix the joints when I get around to it, and when I tell him I made him he starts calling me father.

 I never thought about having kids before, but I hope Jack’s the only one I ever get.

 “Where are we going, Father?” he asks me when it starts to get light again. We’ve wandered onto an official road by now, and I have no idea where we are anymore. The middle of the night is not a good time to run away if you’re planning on walking back home in a couple hours. But it’s a yellow road, which means the Winkies put it in, which means it probably leads right to the Emerald City.

 I’m from Gillikin country, and our color is purple here. You’d think, since the city does green, the roads to it would be green too. But in Winkie country it’s all about yellow, and most of the road makers are from there. So they made all the big central stuff their color, and then for roads within each region it’s every man for himself. We don’t have a lot of roads where I’m from, with the farms and everything. Some of the Gillikins are a little more sophisticated, I think, but the local Good Witch who rules us is pretty laid back, and old, and she’s not pushing us to keep up with the times like in some places. We’re kind of secluded up here in northern Oz, and no one pays much attention to what we do. So the yellow brick road is the only paved road I’ve ever seen, and I tell Jack it’s taking us south, into the Emerald City.

 “Where’s that?”

 “It’s the capital of Oz. Where the Scarecrow rules.”

 “Who is the Scarecrow?” he asks.

 “He’s—well, he’s a scarecrow. To scare away the crows in the corn fields. But he helped Dorothy on her quest, and he was left in charge of all Oz when she and the Wizard went home.”

 “And who is Dorothy?”

 “Don’t you know anything, Jack?”

 “I was only born this afternoon.”

 “Yesterday afternoon, Jack.” He doesn’t answer, just looks at me with the huge permanent smile. “Fine.” I start to sing.

 “The Witch Who Fell from the Sky” is probably the most famous ballad in Oz. Definitely the most recent to get really popular. But I know most of them. Music is big for Gillikins. Anyway, this is my favorite. I told Mombi once that I wanted to marry Dorothy when I grew up, but she just laughed at me.

 So I sing the whole thing for Jack—how Dorothy, the witch from the land of Kansas, rode the wind into Oz, not alone, but with an entire house and her dog. How she crushed the witch of the east beneath the house to free the Munchkins, and our very own witch of the north sent her off to the city to find a way home from the Wizard. The friends she gathered along the way, the witch of the west that she defeated for the Wizard, freeing the Winkies and the Flying Monkeys. I sing about his untimely departure for a land called Oklahoma, and how she and her friends travelled south to Glinda, who finally sent her home by teaching her the magic of the Silver Slippers she’d taken from the Eastern witch.

 Mombi doesn’t mind me singing about killing the wicked witches and stuff. She’s one, too, but it’s different. She doesn’t go around oppressing Winkies and Munchkins and monkeys and stuff. She does bad magic, I guess, but she doesn’t really use the bad magic to do bad things. So it’s okay, and she hates those witches too. But she’ll get a little weird about Glinda and the Wizard sometimes. And I guess the Wizard was pretty stupid, leaving in the magic balloon before Dorothy was ready, and pretty incompetent and irresponsible, sending a little girl to do his dirty work. Anyway, they’re only background characters, in this ballad at least. Dorothy is the greatest folk hero of all time, so far, and I like to sing about her. But Jack’s got his priorities all backwards, and all he wants to talk about is the stupid Scarecrow.

 Not stupid. The Scarecrow’s supposed to be the smartest person in Oz. Jack is stupid, though, and he won’t shut up about the Scarecrow.

 “But how did he come to be alive? Is it the same way that I’m alive? Are you his father, too?”

 “I’m not his father, Jack.” I’m starting to regret bringing the Pumpkin-head.

 “Does straw go bad like pumpkins do?”

 “I don’t know, Jack. Probably, if it gets wet.”

 “And has he been ruling for a very long time?”

 “I don’t know, Jack.”

 “I don’t want to die yet. I’ve only just started to be alive.”

 I sigh. We’ve stopped walking now, and I’m kicking around in the dirt, thinking how strange it is that Mombi hasn’t come to drag me back home yet, wishing she’d hurry up and do it by lunchtime. “We’ll go meet him, okay? We’ll go to the Emerald City and meet the Scarecrow and ask him how he keeps his straw from rotting. Now will you shut up?”

 I didn’t sleep much last night, and I’m in a terrible mood. I don’t know why Mombi hasn’t found me yet.

 His joints aren’t going to hold up much longer. I can’t just sit down and wait here for Mombi to find us. That’s giving up. Not playing the game. But if I have to take a long break to fix Jack up, and she just happens to catch up with us then, well, I haven’t exactly surrendered that way, and she won’t tease me for it later.

 We’re in the middle of nowhere, but someone’s left a sawhorse sitting out. A real one—I mean one that actually looks like a horse, or tries to. I have Jack sit on in, but as soon as he bends his legs they fall all to pieces, and for one terrifying second I think his head’s been cracked for sure. He’s annoying, but he’s alive, and I’m sort of his dad. I don’t want him to die.

 No wonder Mombi’s always in such a bad mood. Parenting is hard.

 It’s Jack’s idea to bring the Sawhorse to life so that he can ride on it and not get broken. Or not any more broken. I’ve fixed him up as well as I can with the bits of twine I found in my pockets. And I know Mombi will be mad at me, really actually mad, if I waste a bunch more of the Powder of Life, but maybe she can sense what I’m doing or something, and then come find me. She has to find me and take me home before she can punish me.

 I was paying attention when she did the spell—I always pay attention, even if I want Mombi to think I don’t care about all that dumb magic stuff. So it’s pretty easy. I just sprinkle on some powder everywhere, then say the magic words, which are easy, and do the hand motions, which are a little harder because it was kind of dark out when Mombi used it on Jack. But I must get it close enough, because the big hunk of wood yawns and stretches out like it comes to life every day. Jack starts talking about how great a sorcerer I am, but I’m not really paying attention, because I just did magic. Big magic—I created life.

 Angry about the waste of powder or not, Mombi had better be really damn impressed.

 She might be so proud she doesn’t even care about the powder.

 Might have been so proud, I mean. It’s all different now.

 -

 The Sawhorse is even dumber than Jack. Or maybe it’s my fault. I get Jack all tied down on his back, and I get on behind him, and I teach the Sawhorse to go and go faster. We didn’t get around to how to stop.

 Next thing I know, I’m flat on my back on the ground, and Jack and the Sawhorse are specks on the horizon.

 I hope that dumb hunk of wood knows where he’s going, or I’ll never be able to find them again.

 -

 I think I’ve been walking for approximately forever when I finally start running into some other people. Funny looking people, too. Course, all the ballads say that’s pretty normal for Oz. You just don’t see much of it back in the parts where I live, ‘cept for stuff like Jack and the Sawhorse. That’s witchcraft strange. These people are naturally strange, I think.

 Their clothes are the strangest. All girls, all wearing the same dress, real fancy, with a whole bunch of colors on it. All the Oz colors, actually. Red, blue, purple, yellow. Quadling, Munchkin, Gillikin, Winkie. And a bunch of green, too, I guess for the Emerald City. And knitting needles in their hair, to stab their enemies, it turns out, when they notice me and tell me all about how they’re going to conquer the Emerald City. The girls are taking over. Say no one will fight back because they’re girls, and then they can have all the jewels in the city and use the treasury to buy new dresses, and they’re gonna rule Oz however they want.

 Mostly, however they want sounds pretty irresponsible, and I’m not really sure where people like me and everyone else are supposed to fit into this plan. Do all the girls in Oz get new dresses, or just the ones in the army? How do they pay for stuff like new roads that the treasury usually does? What happens to all the boys?

 Actually, maybe I don’t want to know. They’re all sort of looking at me. Like I’m real cute, but not real cute like a little boy. Real cute like a puppy or something.

 The fanciest one—her name is Jinjur—comes closer and sort of coos at me. “Aren’t you just the cutest thing? Stick with me, kid, and you can be my own personal slave when we win the revolution.”

 Um. An offer I can’t refuse?

 I gotta find Jack. Fast. And get us away from all these crazy ladies. Mombi’s not going to be able to find me in the middle of a war zone. Maybe we should head back toward Gillikin country, at least. We’ll be easier to find if we’re closer to home.

 They let me stick around, anyway, which could be worse. At least they seem to know which roads to take into the city. But they want me to carry all their stuff. Mostly lunch baskets. All empty.

 Why did I think this stupid adventure would be so fun? I’m tired. And my feet hurt. And I’m getting sunburned—I never get sunburned—and I haven’t had anything to drink in ages. And I miss Mombi. And food. I really miss food. Where’s a lunch pail tree when you need one?

 At the city gates they start right away jabbing the poor guard with their knitting needles, and I slip right past all of it. The palace should be easy to find. I’m just gonna warn the Scarecrow that he’s under attack, find Jack and the Sawhorse, and get out of here fast.

 -

 I find Jack inside the palace, chatting with the Scarecrow, both casual as you please, looking for all the world as if the strangest war in history isn’t being waged just right outside. They’re arguing—in the same language—about whether they can speak the same language, and it looks like they’ve been playing horseshoes, right here in the middle of this fancy room.

 “Hello, Father,” Jack says. The Scarecrow doesn’t even notice me.

 There’s a pretty girl sitting on a couch across the room, looking all amused and exasperated, and she motions for me to come over. I sit down on the very edge of the couch, and she tilts her head toward Jack.

 “I take it this one belongs to you?”

 She smiles, and I nod and duck my head. She’s very pretty.

 “My name is Jellia Jamb.”

 “Tip.” I’m blushing. I wish I wasn’t blushing.

 “It’s very nice to meet you, Tip.”

 We watch them play another round of horseshoes before I figure I’d better buck up and tell the Scarecrow what’s going on.

 He doesn’t seem too concerned, until I mention how the one in charge wants to make a rug out of his outsides and use his insides to stuff a couch. He says we’ll go to his friend the Tin Man’s place in Winkie country. Then he says he needs some time to plan our escape. We all sit there for fifteen minutes while he thinks. Then I stand up.

 “All right. We need to go.”

 “Young man,” says the Scarecrow, “have patience. We will leave as soon as I have discovered a feasible plan.”

 “Here’s a plan. We all get on the back of my Sawhorse, and we get out of here now.”

 “Young man,” he says again, “I am the king here, and I will plan our escape.”

 I roll my eyes. “I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, Mr. King Scarecrow, sir, but a revolution is happening, you have no army, and you’re sitting here arguing with a Jack O’ Lantern about whether or not you’re speaking the same language. Plus, the revolution’s all girls, and you can’t hit a girl. Someone’s gotta take charge here.”

 Later, the Scarecrow will be kindly pretentious, telling all of Oz how he began, even then, to suspect the truth. He didn’t, of course. He just got all huffy, then let me take over.

 Once we find the Sawhorse wandering around in the next room, the major flaw in my plan shows up. No way we’re getting two people, a Scarecrow, and a Pumpkinhead all on his back.

 “You needn’t bother about me,” Jellia says. “I am, after all, a girl. They won’t do anything to harm me, and if they try, I can hit back.”

 I really like Jellia.

 So we all get up on the Sawhorse, and he runs and runs and runs, through the palace and the army and the city and a couple of fields, and then right into a big lake.

 -

 By the time we get out of the water, everything is just a mess. I make the horse stand in the sun to dry off while I deal with everything else. The Scarecrow is completely soaked, all soggy and lumpy and disgusting, so I have to take out all his straw and spread it out on the ground, so he can dry faster. But the real problem is Jack. His body is still sitting there on top of the Sawhorse, in perfect shape except the clothes are a little wet, but there’s no sign of his head.

 What if it cracked? What if it got pulled a mile away by the stupid current? He may be annoying, but he’s mine, and right now he’s all I have from home. He can’t be gone. He can’t.

 After a while we spot the head bobbing along on the waves, but it’s too far to tell if it’s all still intact. If Jack is still alive.

 It’s the Scarecrow’s idea to fish it out with a big stick, but he’s still all wet, so I have to find the big stick and do the fishing all by myself.

 Jack’s fine, it turns out, and then I just feel stupid for being so worried about a dumb pumpkin.

 -

 It’s a good thing that army is too busy with their jewels and the treasury and everything to bother following us, because we have to sit around for ages waiting for everybody to dry out again. And then I make the Sawhorse go much, much slower when we leave this time. Getting dumped off his back twice was more than enough, and the second time I had to swim with one hand so I could get the soggy Scarecrow to shore, too.

 It’s a really long ride, and Winkie country is the opposite of where I want to be headed. But I don’t think I could dump the stupid Scarecrow here and head for home without upsetting Jack. And maybe getting charged with treason, if he gets his throne back from the girls.

 Jack and the Sawhorse pick a fight, but after that the Scarecrow tells us all stories about when he was with Dorothy, so that’s pretty fun, but then it gets too dark to see where we’re going, so we stop for the night, even though I’m the only one here who can sleep.

 It’s been a really long day.

 -

 I guess the Scarecrow isn’t that bad. He’s picked a bunch of berries for me to eat by the time I wake up in the morning, which he didn’t have to do. I’m surprised he thought about it. No one else around here can eat, either.

 It doesn’t take us too much longer to get to the Winkie capitol after that, and the Sawhorse manages not to screw anything up this time. The Scarecrow gets us into the palace easy, and then there’s just a lot of yelling and hugging and the rest of us try to stay out of the way.

 Then the Tin Man notices Jack, and we have to go through that whole thing again, where all the fake people bond over being fake people who don’t have to eat or sleep or anything. And then Jack goes off about how his head is going to spoil. Again.

 The Tin Man offers to have him canned. I almost offer to have him be the can, but he is an emperor or something, so I suppose I should have respect.

 When he finally notices me he introduces himself as Nick, which is all nice and not pretentious, so maybe he could be all right. I pull Jack and the Sawhorse away a little so Nick and the Scarecrow can talk about their politics. They get as far as planning to round up an army.

 “Nonsense,” says Nick. “The five of us are plenty,” says Nick. “I have a bright, shining axe,” says Nick.

 The five of us. I am a child. Jack is a top-heavy stick figure.  The Sawhorse and the Scarecrow are, well, a sawhorse and a scarecrow, and Nick—

 It’s obvious he’s not the one who went in for brains.

 But it sure isn’t obvious the Scarecrow did either, because he agrees, and some Winkies come and fix up Jack’s legs and stuff—that’s my job—and the next thing I know we’re on the road again, heading right back into trouble. And this time we all have to walk. Except Jack. He still rides.

 I just want to go home.

 -

 We’re  lost within a half hour. So much for Nick’s shortcuts. Everything everywhere is sunflowers, in every direction. Then girls’ faces start appearing in the center of the flowers, and I understand. This is a game I used to play with Mombi, when I was really little, where she gave the flowers faces so I could pretend to have friends. Mombi is looking for me. No—she knows where I am. She’s trying to get me back. She probably tracked me as far as Emerald City, and she’s letting me know. She’s maybe getting away with the big public magic—it takes a lot of power to make this many flower girls, from this far away—by offering to help Jinjur’s army.

 But she’s in Emerald City. And this feels like a trap, but I know it’s from her, so I know there’s a way I can get through it.

 Nick won’t chop down the sunflowers. If his heart won’t let him hurt some plants, I don’t see what use he’s going to be against the army. “All we need is the five of us, no army.” Really.

 I wave my hand through one. Yep. “They’re illusions.”

 “Then we will close our eyes and walk through,” says Nick.

 “My eyes are painted on. They don’t close.”

 And he’s supposed to be the smart one. Can’t he just walk through because he knows they’re not actually there?

 We get through, anyway, and everything is fine until the Sawhorse runs right through a rabbit hole and breaks off his leg. Nick barely catches Jack’s head when he trips.

 My son could have been pie. Wow. This parenting thing is not for the faint of heart.

 I wonder if Mombi will be a good grandma.

 Probably not, but it’ll be funny to watch.

 We’re still trying to figure out what to do about the Sawhorse’s broken leg when a giant bug walks up. And I mean giant. Not a spider the size of your fist, like we get in the barn sometimes. This thing is bigger than me. It’s almost a tall as Nick.

 It also talks, and has a business card. I’ve never even seen a business card, only heard about them in stories. And now I’m getting one from a cockroach in a suit and tie. Life has gotten extremely weird in the last week.

 All I want is to get back to Mombi, go home and take a nap or something. But we have to take a break, again, and listen to the stupid Wogglebug tell his stupid story about how he lived in some classroom in some school until the teacher put him under a microscope, and then he took off while he was still all magnified.

 I’m pretty sure that’s not how microscopes work, but what do I know? I don’t have magic brains like the Scarecrow, and I’m not “thoroughly educated” like the stupid Wogglebug. The stupid Wogglebug who’s going on about how strange we all are, like he’s never seen a mirror. And I want to go home, and the Sawhorse still has a broken leg.

 “We’ll give him one of the Pumpkinhead’s legs,” says the stupid Wogglebug, like he’s the one in charge here, like he has any right to go around casually suggesting that we mutilate my son.

 No wonder Mombi’s so crabby all the time, if raising me is as hard as raising Jack. And I bet she didn’t sign up for me any more than I signed up for him—she never wants to talk about my real parents, but I know they died when the Wizard came to Oz, and there was no other family, so she got stuck with me.

 Technically she bought me, which sounds really messed up. For a long time I thought that was just how orphans work, but then the girl who lives by the river told me I was stupid, and people don’t buy orphans—orphans are so worthless, people can barely give them away for free. Sometimes they have to pay people to take them.

 I hit her really hard, because I didn’t know yet that you weren’t supposed to hit girls. Then she told her dad, and he hit me, so I told Mombi, and she cursed him with neverending boils. The whole family moved away after that, but we got a letter with a bill in it later, to pay for having the curse lifted. It must have been from someone important, because Mombi paid even though the harvest was bad, and all we had to eat for ages and ages was potatoes.

 She was more motherly than usual for a while after that, bandaging my bruises and swearing by Lurline that no one would hurt me again. (Lurline is the fairy who created Oz. Her daughter was the first queen, and her line ruled unbroken until the Wizard came to Oz. She’s half history, half religion, and the only thing we swear by.)

 Anyway, she bought me from a travelling salesman when I was a baby, because he was travelling to giant country next, and she didn’t think that was a good place for a baby to be. She wasn’t planning on having a baby, but I’m useful around the farm now that I’m not a baby anymore, so it’s okay.

 Or it was. Before all this happened.

 Everyone thinks it’s just a fantastic idea to chop off Jack’s leg and stick it on the Sawhorse—everyone except me and Jack and a little bit the Sawhorse, so everyone whose opinion matters around here, anyway. And the stupid Wogglebug keeps on making stupid jokes about breaking horses. Jack and the Sawhorse are mine, and everybody else can just sit down and shut up about them.

 The stupid Wogglebug laughs when I tell him that, and then gets all huffy when I say he isn’t even funny. And then all condescending and superior.

 “Puns are the highest form of humor,” he says.

 “Anyone can make a stupid pun,” I say.

 “You are not educated enough to judge,” the stupid Wogglebug says. “I am thoroughly educated, and I say that puns display genius,” the stupid Wogglebug says. “If I rode the Sawhorse, he would be a horse and buggy,” the stupid Wogglebug says.

 No one laughs. A little because it isn’t even funny, and a little, I think, because I’m getting really upset, and I’m the little kid in this party—everyone knows you’re supposed to be nice to the little kid.

 The Scarecrow asks him to “restrain his superior education” while he’s with us. Nick waves his axe a little.

 I complain a lot, but Nick and the Scarecrow are really great, actually. It’s not long after that when we stop again so I can rest, even though I’m the only one who needs to rest and I didn’t ask or anything.

 Then they notice we’re resting near the village of the Field Mice. The Queen of the Field Mice owes Nick and the Scarecrow a favor; there’s a whole verse about it in “The Witch Who Fell from the Sky.”

 I have the whole thing memorized. I have most of the ballads memorized—I’m good at that.

 We meet with the Queen, and a bunch of mice hide in the Scarecrow’s chest. They think the girls in the Emerald City will be scared. I think only stupid girls in stupid folk songs are scared of cute little mice—I know all the folk songs, too.

 Mombi sets up a few more illusions for us on the way. Everyone is wimpy and kind of scared about it, but I know she’s just teasing me. Probably making it look like she’s slowing us down, for Jinjur and her friends, but mostly she’s giving me a hard time. We get a river, a stone wall, and a bunch of fake paths. But the best is the fire. The Scarecrow freaks out. Everyone freaks out, actually, except for Nick and the mice. But we go right through it, just like we went through everything else.

 There’s more girls with knitting needles at the gates when we finally get to Emerald City. That’s the first time I’m really worried. I don’t want to be stabbed.

 It’s really funny when Nick waves his axe around and they all run screaming. But then we get right to the throne room without any trouble at all, and I think that’s suspicious. The Scarecrow agrees with me, so I guess I can be smart sometimes, too.

 Jinjur is on the throne eating caramels, and she says that since she took the throne she’s the queen now, and that means we’re all committing treason. She committed treason first, but maybe that doesn’t matter now that she’s sitting on the throne with a fancy crown? None of the others really seem sure, and if the Scarecrow is the king and Nick is an emperor, I figure they oughta know.

 Mombi is somewhere around here. Maybe she can explain it. But no one wants to let Jinjur keep being the queen. We saw on our way in—all the jewels and everything have been pulled out of the sidewalks and storefronts and distributed among the army.

 The stupid Wogglebug says the Scarecrow and Jinjur should get married so they can both rule. No one likes that idea. Jack says we should send Jinjur back to her mother, which seems reasonable, but I think we can do one better and lock her in a closet until she promises to behave. That’s what Mombi does when I’m extra naughty.

 But while we’re all talking about this, the army sneaks up and grabs Nick’s axe, so that’s a bust.

 “The boy belongs to Mombi,” Jinjur says, “so he’ll have to be returned.”

 Belongs to. I don’t like that. Technically it’s true; she still has the receipt from the travelling salesman and everything. But I don’t like the way she says it. I just don’t like Jinjur. At all.

 “The rest of you aren’t human,” she says, “so it won’t be wicked to destroy you. I’ll have the Pumpkinhead’s head made into tarts, and his body and the Sawhorse will be used for kindling. The Scarecrow, too. I’ll chop up the tin man and feed him to the goats, and I’ll have the bug made into green-turtle soup. Or maybe a Hungarian goulash.”

 It’s all looking pretty dire before the mice burst out of the Scarecrow’s chest.

 Just a couple of cute little field mice, and they all go off running and screaming. Girls. You can’t run a kingdom if you’re gonna run screaming from some mice. But then I’m not really sure how you’re supposed to rule a kingdom when you run screaming from some girls, either. Maybe the Scarecrow ain’t cut out for this government thing. Better in a classroom, I bet. Or teamwork. All three of them, brain, heart, courage, that could add up to one decent ruler. Or just leave Dorothy in charge, if she didn’t have to go home. She had all that stuff, even if she was just a kid. I’m just a kid, and I’ve got this whole thing down better than the Scarecrow already.

 All the girls run out of the throne room, and we barricade the doors quick. I want to run out too and find Mombi, but probably it’s better to wait for her here and not brave the knitting needles again. Jinjur looked really upset, and I don’t think she thinks about me like a person, anymore than she does all the rest of us in here.

 Jack is scared; he doesn’t want to be tarts. Nick says not to worry because he’ll spoil if we’re trapped up here for too long, anyway. Some heart he’s got. I pat Jack on the head, but only for a second—he is starting to feel a little squishy and overripe, and I don’t want to think about that.

 The stupid Wogglebug is scared, too, about being a goulash, but I don’t feel quite so bad for him. Neither does anyone else, I think; he’s kind of mean.

 “Well, I’m going to starve to death if we’re trapped in here forever,” I say, “and so is the Wogglebug.”

 “I think I could live for some time on the Pumpkinhead,” says the stupid Wogglebug. And that’s what I get for trying to commiserate.

 The little tin with the Powder of Life in it is kinda digging into my hip a little—this chair is really uncomfortable—so I pull it out of my pocket. That’s what does it, in the end. The Scarecrow decides we should build a big contraption to escape in, and bring it to life instead of having to worry about building engines and stuff, since the Sawhorse can only pull so much weight.

 Nick chops up some furniture to fix Jack’s leg quick, then we all start working on the contraption.

 The stupid Wogglebug grabs a Gump head off the wall—that’s sort of like an elk, stuffed and mounted—which I guess isn’t totally stupid. We can’t really bring something to life without it having a face somewhere. Jack finds a broom, and the Scarecrow brings a bunch of clothesline. Nick’s got a bunch of big leaves, and the Sawhorse and I find a couple big couches.

 Apparently, the penalty for cutting those leaves is to be killed seven times and then locked up for life. I think that’s a little excessive, but Nick doesn’t seem too worried about it. The leaves are important, anyway. We use them to make the wings. The sofas are the body, the broom is the tail, and the clothesline ties all the pieces together. It ends up really big, and I don’t have quite enough Powder left for all of it. We have to leave the sofa legs as they are, so it only flies, no walking.

 It starts flying away as soon as I say the magic words; we can only barely get it to land again before it takes off without us. Then I sort of wish it had.

 “What’s happening?”

 “I was running, in the forest.”

 “They shot me. I was dead!”

 “What’s happening? Where am I? This isn’t my body! This isn’t me!”

 “What am I?”

 “What have you done? Undo it! Undo it! Put me back.”

 I didn’t mean to upset anyone. I thought—well, why would anyone want to be dead? And it’s not like turning a bunch of sticks and construction equipment into a person. The Gump was alive, and someone killed him, but I fixed it. I undid it. Why would anyone rather be dead than alive?

 Maybe it’s because he’s got a whole different body now. I can see that. I get it. Super confusing, and everything is just wrong, and I—anyway. I’ll get that later, not now, not now when he’s just sitting there being all whiney about how he doesn’t get to be dead anymore. I try to cheer him up, but it isn’t really taking. And Scarecrow is being all insensitive about it, making it real obvious he’s not the one who got a heart, and Jack is just being a nuisance, and I don’t know what to do because we don’t have time for anything but running, but I don’t want the Gump to be so sad, and I can’t un-bring someone to life, and I’m not about to resort to murder after one day without adult supervision, and besides, I know we really need him if we want to get out of here.

 We all get into the Gump’s couches, and the stupid Wogglebug makes another stupid joke, this time about Jack’s head falling over the edge and the pumpkin becoming squash. I tell him again that his puns aren’t smart and funny, but he still doesn’t care what I have to say.

 “Tip,” says the Scarecrow when we’re in the air, “this box has a false bottom.”

 He’s looking at the box the Powder of Life came it; he hands it to Nick, and Nick gives it to me, and they’re right. There are three silver pills in the second bottom, and a little instruction card. Wishing pills. But to use them you have to count to seventeen by twos, and even the Scarecrow and the Wogglebug both say that’s impossible. So I guess the pills are useless. That’s okay—I wouldn’t want to use more of Mombi’s stuff without permission, not after we used up all of the Powder of Life, and mostly on stupid things. And now I’m going in the opposite direction from her, again. This is a good adventure, but it never seems to end.

 “Where are we even going?” I ask. It’s starting to get dark out.

 “We’re going to ask Glinda the Good for help,” the Scarecrow tells me.

 That’s cool. Glinda is in “The Witch Who Fell from the Sky,” too. And a couple of other ballads. I bet she���ll be fun to meet.

 -

 We go all night, because we can’t see well enough to land. But when I wake up in the morning, everyone is panicking. We’ve flown clear on past Glinda. We’ve flown clear past Oz, over the Deadly Desert and into the land that lies beyond.

 I wonder if someone will make a ballad about us someday. But maybe a flying sofa with a Gump head isn’t dignified enough for a ballad.

 The Gump can’t turn around in the air, so we have to keep on going, farther and farther from Oz, until he can find a good place to land.

 I’ve never been outside of Oz before. I don’t think even Mombi has ever been outside of Oz before.

 Even when he does land, the Gump manages to break off two of his four wings. Both on the same side of his body, too. And we land right in a Jackdaw nest. Jackdaws aren’t so bad, normally, but these ones must be even huger than usual to have a nest this big, and I don’t want to still be in it when they get home. And the Gump is completely trashed.

 I can’t believe I made him come back to life for this. Maybe I’m about to be a murderer after all.

 We start digging around in the Jackdaw nest—there’s nothing better to do, at this point. I’m bored, and I’m tired, and I want my mom. And finding diamond necklaces in the nest isn’t going to help with any of that. And now the Jackdaws are coming back, and I was right—they’re huge. Blot out half the sky. We lie down beneath the straw in the nest until they go away again, and I think it’s the most terrifying thing that’s ever happened.

 Or it was. But we’re not there yet.

 Because they don’t actually go away. They find us, and they’re so big. So big. We’re like worms to them. And Nick attacks them with his axe before they can eat us, but it isn’t enough. There are so many of them. By the time they finally give up and go away, none of the Scarecrow’s straw is left in his body. We have to restuff him with the shiny trinkets and jewels scattered around the nest, and then he’s almost too heavy to move.

 We’ve got nowhere for him to move to, anyway. The gump can’t fly anymore, and we’re a thousand feet above the ground, and on the wrong side of the Deadly Desert.

 “We’ll have to use the Wishing Pills,” the Scarecrow says. And that’s a whole new argument.

 “If x equals two,” the stupid Wogglebug starts.

 “Your brain is pickled,” says the Scarecrow. “We’ll need to divide, obviously.”

 They go on for half an hour about x’s and y’s and pluses and minuses. The Scarecrow was bad enough on his own, but now we’ve got two of these geniuses to work with. Wonderful. I have a brain too, you know. It may be just a little boy brain, but at least it’s not a bug brain, or something some fake magician cooked up in a lab for me.

 The Scarecrow seemed a whole lot smarter in the stories. Maybe he’s just got the wrong kind of smarts to be a king. But the Woggle-Bug is a condescending jerk and I wish he’d never even been highly magnified. I just want to find Mombi and go home. I don’t care about this stupid war and how smart these idiots are. I just want to go home. And they are making it seriously difficult. Maybe Jack and Sawhorse and I should just take off on our own. Only we’d have to take the Gump too, wouldn’t we? And then the Scarecrow and the Tin Man and the Woggle-Bug would be stranded here, and I guess that would be sort of mean.

 My mom is a wicked witch. Maybe I’m allowed to be mean. It’s hereditary or something.

 I miss her.

 “What if we started at one half?” asks the Sawhorse.

 I’m so proud of my horse son.

 They have me do the counting and take the pill. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever tasted, and I start getting horrible cramps as soon as I swallow it. I feel like I’m dying. I think I’ve started crying.

 “What’s wrong?” asks Nick.

 “I wish I’ve never swallowed that pill!”

 And just like that, all three pills are back in the box.

 “It hurt,” I say.

 “Impossible!” says the stupid Wogglebug. “You wished you’d never eaten it, so you haven’t, and if you haven’t eaten it, it can’t possibly have hurt you.”

 I say a mean word that I overheard Mombi say once where she stubbed her toe.

 “Well, I say!” starts the stupid Wogglebug.

 “You can eat the next one.”

 I go over by Jack and the Sawhorse to sulk. The stupid Wogglebug takes a pill, counts to seventeen, and wishes for the Gump’s wings to be fixed.

 If it was me, I would have just wished us all straight to Glinda. But he’s the smart one. Sure.

 He is the one with the stomach of steel; I’ll give him that. Stupid pill didn’t hurt him at all.

 We still have to spend the night in the Jackdaw nest, because it’s almost dark and we don’t want a repeat of last time. Which is why we should have wished ourselves straight to Glinda. But what do I know? I’m just a dumb little boy with a weak stomach.

 We pass the time playing with the jewels and crap left behind in the Jackdaw nest—I find a really cool pocket watch, and since all the adults are stealing from the Jackdaws, I figure I can keep one thing.

 It disappeared with my boy clothes. I guess you don’t get to have pocket watches when you’re—anyway. Later.

 We take off right away in the morning, and get lost again almost right away. They try to wish us back in the right direction, but the Scarecrow lost the pills in the Jackdaw nest.

 (He lost them in my pocket, specifically. Those are Mombi’s, and I’m saving them for a real emergency. There are two left, and I’m not letting them go to waste on a stupid bug who doesn’t even know how to wish right.)

 We get to Glinda eventually, anyway. We just took the long way around.

 Glinda has a girl army, too, but none of them try to stab me with knitting needles, so that’s okay. She was expecting us, because she has magic. Way stronger and cooler than even Mombi’s. And she’s so pretty. Just like in the stories.

 “Jinjur has the throne now,” she says when the Scarecrow finishes telling her everything. “What right do I have to depose her?”

 “Well, the Wizard left me in charge.”

 “And where did the Wizard get the throne?” she asks.

 I haven’t been paying a lot of attention, because I’m tired, and this is really, really cool—I’m looking at the real, live Glinda. But I know this one! There’s a ballad about it.

 “He took it from Oz Pastoria, the old king.”

 Glinda smiles at me, and I can feel myself blushing, bright, bright red. She’s so pretty! And strong! And cool!

 “So the Wizard took the throne from Pastoria, and Jinjur took the throne from you. It seems to me the rightful ruler is still Pastoria.”

 “Oh!” I say. “But he’s dead. The Wizard killed him.”

 “True,” says Glinda, smiling at me again. “But did you know that he had a daughter?”

 I shake my head. That’s not in any of the songs.

 “Her name is Ozma. I have not been able to find her, in the past, but it seems to me that now is the ideal time for another attempt.”

 We spend the night in Glinda’s palace while she tries to find the lost princess. In the morning, she tells us that shortly after coming to Oz, the Wizard paid three visits to Mombi.

 I don’t even ask how she knows about that—why would Mombi see the Wizard? Why would Mombi see the Wizard and not tell me?

 I guess I was probably a baby at the time, but she should have known it would be an interesting story to tell me now that I’m older.

 “Mombi!” says the Scarecrow. “That’s the old woman who owns Tip!”

 “We must find Mombi,” says Glinda, “and force her to tell us what became of Ozma.”

 Finally. I don’t like this business about forcing, but if Glinda the Good is looking for Mombi, I should finally be able to go home. Glinda is competent, or at least the stories all say she is.

 Of  course, she has to get her army ready, to go up against Jinjur, so we end up staying another whole day. This is the longest—well, this was the longest I’d ever been without Mombi.

 In the morning we all get in the Gump again and follow Glinda’s army. That’s good, at least. Girls can hit other girls, probably, so Glinda’s army will actually stand a chance. At the gates of the Emerald City, Glinda tells the girls with the knitting needles that they better send Mombi out or else, and I figure that will be the end of that.

 But it isn’t. That’s when things get really weird. Because Mombi came out, but I could tell right away that it wasn’t really Mombi. I know my mom.

 Glinda figures it out too, and breaks the spell—it’s just some girl, the same pretty girl I met the first time we came to Emerald City, enchanted to look like Mombi. Jellia, I think her name was.

 I didn’t understand, then, why she didn’t come out herself. I do now. We were turning into a story, the whole stupid time, and Mombi got miscast bad.

 Glinda was really mad when she turned the girl back, and I was just starting to realize that she thought Mombi was the bad guy.

 No, I wanted to tell her, Jinjur’s the bad guy. Mombi’s nice. Mombi’s my mom. But how do you argue with someone like Glinda?

 She went back to the gates and demanded again that they send Mombi out, and the girls invited her to come in and look. But we all went in, and looked all day, and she wasn’t there.

 I was so sure Mombi was in the city. She had to be! She sent me flower girls. But maybe she knows Glinda thinks she’s the bad guy, so she’s just hiding until Glinda goes away. As soon as she gives up, Mombi will come out and take me home, and everything will be okay.

 Then we all assemble in Glinda’s tent outside the city, and I see her. She’s in Nick’s button hole, disguised as a rose. She’s up to something. That’s okay. I won’t tell.

 It takes until the next morning, when we’re all trying to figure out what to do next, but Glinda notices. Of course she does. I knew right away, mostly because Mombi’s mine, but Glinda is much better at magic than me. If only Nick slept, I would have taken the rose in the night and run back home to Gillikin country. But he doesn’t sleep, so I have to watch while Mombi transforms into more and more things, trying to get away from Glinda, until finally she’s caught and in her own true form again.

 She takes a griffin last, and I think that one will really work—she’s flying away as the griffin, she’s almost out of sight, and then Glinda hops right onto my Sawhorse, like she has any right to at all, at takes off after her. The rest of us pile onto the Gump to see what happens, and by the time we land at the very edge of the Deadly Desert, the battle is over and she’s herself again.

 Mombi. I wanted to hug her, to bury my face in her shoulder like a little boy and never come out. But everything changed that week. I was the hero, and she was the Wicked Witch, and I could tell already she was never going to be my mother again.

 Maybe Glinda is supposed to be my mother now. But I don’t want her. She turned me—I just want Mombi back. I want her to drag me home by the ear and set me to chopping wood for the fire, and I want everything to be normal again.

 We all went back to the city, with Mombi restrained. I couldn’t even make eye contact with her, and I didn’t understand why.

 Now I do. Of course.

 Glinda starts interrogating her as soon as we land, but Mombi won’t say anything, and I’m scared.

 “Maybe she doesn’t know,” says Jack.

 “Shut up.”

 “Sorry, Father.”

 That was the last time Jack ever called me father.

 “If you don’t tell us,” Glinda says, “we shall have to kill you.”

 Oh. Oh no.

 “Oh, you mustn’t do that!” says Nick. Thank Lurline for his heart.

 “What will you do with me if I do tell?” Mombi asks.

 “I shall give you a potion to forget all the magic you’ve ever known,” says Glinda.

 That’s better, but not by much. I still have those two Wishing Pills, though. I can wish the magic back to her, even if it does hurt my stomach.

 “Why did the Wizard come to you?” Glinda asks again. Mombi looks up, finally meets my eyes, and I can’t read her at all. It’s like she’s a stranger.

 “He brought me the princess Ozma, to hide her in exchange for a few magic tricks.”

 “And what did you do with the baby?”

 Mombi closes her eyes and looks away from me. “I turned her into a boy.”

 The others understand before I do. They all turn to look at me, and my eyes are all blurry, and there’s a roaring in my ears. The salesman—the travelling salesman was the Wizard of Oz? The Wizard of Oz killed my parents? Mombi changed me into—

 “I’m not the princess! I can’t be! I’m a boy.”

 “But you’re not,” says Glinda. “Not truly. We must return you to your original form.”

 “I don’t want my original form! I’m a boy! You can’t change me! You can’t; I won’t let you!”

 “But we must,” says Glinda, very kind, very gentle.

 I’m crying now, and Mombi still won’t look at me.

 “It’s the right thing to do, Tip. Ozma.”

 It takes me a few tries to get my words out again. “Mom—Mombi. You can’t take her magic. I don’t want you to—if I have to be a girl, you have to promise you won’t take her magic.”

 I’m panicking, and it’s all I can think. Protect Mombi. I have to protect Mombi, and then she’ll come back for me, and everything will be all right. But even as Glinda agrees, some of her army grabs tight onto Mombi’s arms, and I know it won’t be all right, not really, not ever again.

 Glinda waves her wand.

 And I’m a girl. I’m a girl. There are—my clothes are gone, and I’m wearing some flowing white dress thing. And my—other things are gone too, and it’s wrong, it has to be some horrible mistake, but here I am still and no one’s fixed it up yet and I’m empty in all the places where I’m supposed to be full, and full where I want to be empty, and it’s wrong.

 Why can’t they all see it’s wrong?

 Mombi breaks away from the soldiers, and I thrown myself into her arms.

 “Here,” she says, shoving a pill box into my hands. “One last gift for the boy I made you. To keep your secrets safe.”

 And that’s the last I’ve seen of her, probably the last I’ll ever see of her, no idea what’s going on, and I’m wearing this stupid white dress. Me. In a dress. And it’s all they’ll give me now.

 I just want to be myself again.

#ozma #oz project #the land of oz #the wizard of oz #oz #oz series #l frank baum #the marvelous land of oz #tippetarius #princess ozma

[erindrifter]

I made a... Thing

So, here's a quick little tutorial to make this thing, while also explaining the router tool to y'all.

So, this was pretty much just a test to make sure I could do a rabbet joint, and I can. But then I got bored, played around with the router and my drill, and made this. And now, I'm gonna teach y'all how to make this. (Warning: the necessary tools will be a bit pricey, so if you buy some, make sure you're planning on it being a bit more of a long term purchase, and not a one-time thing) Measurements are in inches/feet.

Here's what you need:

A measuring tape, a drill with Phillips bit, a hand saw thing that I can't think of the name of, 4 bar clamps, a box of screws (not shown), a router, a straight edge, and some form of workbench. The one I'm using is two sawhorses with a 2X4 screwed onto them, and a board screwed between those.

Here's how to make a rabbet joint (or, if you prefer, tongue and groove)

The first thing to do would be to cut a small piece off of the end of a long board. I used a 1"X4"X30" board.

The next thing to do would be to clamp the board down onto the table, and then clamp the straight edge over it, so the bit goes over the desired area.

[image non-existent]

Using a straight bit that is 1/2" wide, cut a groove along the middle (or in this case, off center) of the board.

Next, clamp the long board onto the table, with the end exposed. Clamp the straight edge so that the bit will cut off about 1/4" from the edge. MEASURE YOUR BOARD. This board advertises as 1" thick, but it was actually 3/4" thick. The groove is 1/2" wide, so the end of the board has to match. This means that in order to keep the board centered, you have to remove 1/8" from either side. (I know, there's math involved. Gross.) The bit I used was a 1/4" rabbeting bit, but the guard on the router was raised so only 1/8" was able to make the cut.

Now, to smash those two lovely boards together. Assuming all went well:

It fits together nicely.

Since Tumblr hates having to load things, I'm going to have to split this into two parts.

[amandaoftherosemire]

Typical: Storytime

Storytime!

This is just a rant about something that happened in my real life, but because I live to tell stories it ended up being kind of long for context purposes. I just used the keep reading feature because it was a bit longer and I don’t want to blow up anybody’s dashboard just because I don’t know how to shut up.

I'm trying to figure how and where to start when I explain my experience of misogyny in the world.

You see, I'm not normal.

My father was fifty years old when I was born. This meant that in some ways he was painfully old-fashioned. However, in other ways he was surprisingly incredibly progressive. Here's an example: He absolutely believed it was inappropriate for women to curse. On the other hand, he didn't really curse himself. He also did not believe that women were weaker by any stretch of the imagination and not only expected but required that I work in the exact same way he would have had I been born a boy. He built houses for a living and often took me with him. Some of my earliest memories are playing on sawhorses on a job site.

My mother was 22 years his junior and was raised in a cult. She was and is a small, deceptively delicate woman. (Don't be fooled. The bitch has a spine of steel. I aspire.) My father was under the impression that she was made of finely-spun glass and must be protected at all costs, so she was rarely required to help.

I, however, was a sturdy child who grew into a tall, solid woman. As such, I spent so much of my childhood helping my dad with whatever. I now have any number of odd skills that came from being the only daughter to a man who expected everyone to carry their share. If I had a dollar for every time I had to shimmy under the house, or the car, or help saw wood, or hang drywall, or lay hardwood floor, or haul feed for the cows, or, or, or, I would have had a way better allowance. (I was also required to learn how to cook and clean and do laundry, etc. Work was work and didn't have a gender to my dad's mind. He rarely cooked, but it was because, other than white sausage gravy, he was so incredibly bad at it.)

My point, and I do have one, is I am not helpless. My husband adoooooores this about me. He loves that I'm loud, and abrasive, and willing to do whatever to get shit done, and that I do not modulate my tone because some people don't like it when women express themselves the way men often do.

The other thing you need to know for this story is that I absolutely LIVE on my phone. I've probably written half of the fanfiction I've posted here on the OneNote app on my phone. I'm thinking about turning off the screen report thing because somehow, I don't feel good when it tells me my screen time was down 25% TO an average of six hours a day. I don't know how to cope anymore without the damn thing.

The other day, I was getting out of my car and fumbling with my phone when I dropped it, screen side down, on uneven asphalt. The screen shattered, of course, so I needed a new one. (If I sound unconcerned, believe me. I had a full-blown mental breakdown in the parking lot of the place I'm trying to get a job. They were watching me through the window as I full body whined. It was great!)

Tom (the hubby) and I talked it over and I looked at my options. I had an iPhone, and didn't feel like learning a new one, so I decided to get a newer model, but not the newest. We'd buy it outright and save the upgrade on our account until we were both ready, because we like to upgrade at the same time to keep it simple.

Seems pretty clear, right? Does anything about that paragraph seem uncertain, or like I need assistance in any way with making a decision on what to purchase? Do I seem like I lack confidence, or have questions? Yeah, I'm even more strident in person. Keep that in mind.

I walk into the T-Mobile store to ask someone if I can exchange real American dollars for an iPhone 8 plus 64 GB, color doesn't matter. There is a dude there, training a young woman. SHE just started looking to see if they had it in stock. Didn't even question me. Was just gonna sell me a phone. Then the dude starts asking a bunch of questions and trying to talk me into a newer model because "it's only $50 more." Yeah. IF I USE MY FUCKING UPGRADE WHICH I JUST EXPLICITLY SAID I DON'T WANT TO DO.

I don't get pissed off. I just say thanks but no thanks, I just want what I said I want.

Turns out they're out of stock. I'm then informed that I can try the other stores, but they recommend I call around first so that I don't waste my time driving if they don't have one. Okay, then. I've only spent my entire adult life in customer service, so this doesn't infuriate me at all. Tom just stood at my back and looked down on the guy when he tried to talk to him. I love this man so freaking much.

I know the nearest T-Mobile store is not that far away and there's a restaurant Tom and I can get dinner at right near there that I like, so we decide to just drive down there. Mind you, I'm already mildly irritated because of the last store, I'm driving in the busiest part of my town during rush hour, and I'm currently switching the meds for my panic disorder. I'm a little high-strung.

We get to the next T-Mobile store and walk in. I've got a chip on my shoulder at this point, but remember, entire adult life in customer service, I’m not gonna start out an asshole. I tell the guy who greets me what I want. He informs me that they, too, are out of stock, and asks if I would be interested in the newer models. I tell him thanks, but no thanks, and ask if he can check if anyone else in town has the one I want because, and I FUCKING QUOTE, "I know what I want, and I'm not really interested in being sold to right now." (I promise you; I'm smiling and joking when I say that. I wasn't being a dick.)

Then, the guy next to him starts selling to me. Telling me that I'm wrong to want the other phone because blah blah blah and it's only $50 more, bullshit bullshit bullshit. Here's the interesting thing.

The guy was about four inches taller than me, putting him at about six foot. He was also about four inches away from me, way inside my personal space, and talking down to me like I was an idiot. I think he expected Tom to say something, which at that point he could stop dealing with my pushy ass and deal with a more reasonable man. What he got was me, deliberately, blatantly, and pointedly taking a long step back away from him and sneering at him in offended disgust while I did so.

The shock on his face was a wonder to behold.

"So, you're not going to help me then." I turn to Tom. "We're gonna go."

Tom turns to the douchebag. "We're gonna go."

I finally got the fucking phone I wanted, after calling a third store. That guy, Jordyn, was the shit. I told him what I wanted and why. He said cool. I walked into the store and traded my money for the phone I asked for. He was nice and respectful and never once talked to me like I didn't know how to handle either a cell phone or a financial transaction because I didn't possess a dick. Thank you, Jordyn, for being the only T-Mobile employee, out of the six I dealt with yesterday, to not make me want to douse all that magenta in gasoline and set the whole fucking thing on fire.

But I couldn't help but think about that douchebag. And my mom. My five-foot-nothing, tiny, sweet little mom. Who isn't made of spun-glass, but who isn't invincible, either. Who could have easily been menaced by a man with a foot in height and a hundred pounds on her. I have the luxury, the privilege, of being tall and strong and mean, with a broken fear response, so I don't really get intimidated. As a matter of fact, homeslice is lucky he didn't get a punch in the dick for his efforts.

But I'm not normal.

And that behavior is not okay. Especially not to sell a fucking cell phone.

#storytime with aunt amanda #storytime #manda rants #real life #misogyny #why I need feminism