#i mean i love all rain but like. rain in december doesn’t matter to me as much as spring and summer rain showers

[pussy-ache]

i probably should have checked the weather before attempting to be cute today lmao

#i wore a daisy sundress today and this material wasn’t exactly meant to get wet #i’m 2 seconds away from a wardrobe malfunction #so i danced in it anyway #i twirled and slid and giggled my way back to the train #and even though i’m standing here in what is more than a slightly inappropriate outfit it was worth it #well maybe not the wet converses #this rain is the exact rain i like #i mean i love all rain but like. rain in december doesn’t matter to me as much as spring and summer rain showers #the type of rain that makes me love rain as much as i do are the bursts of super heavy rain #the ones that hit you from nowhere and make you run for cover #except i run straight into the drops at full speed #it’s that same breathtaking feeling i get when i’m held close/fucking. a crazy liberation happens inside me where happiness just explodes #and because i don’t really feel that happy naturally it’s hard for me to let it go and let it happen cuz the comedown is always so hard #for me ​it’s the epitome of being overtaken by feelings bigger than yourself #and then crashing headfirst titantic style when it fades #my lack of emotional control is my issue and my issue alone

[ghostofskywalker]

i ran clone xreader bingo this year, and it was SO much fun!! here's a list of all the fics i created! i may try to finish my last two squares before december 31st, but i'm posting this now as an example for other participants who may be stuck on formatting their own masterlists.

if you want to peruse the plethora of amazing fanfiction that was created for this event, check out @clonexreaderbingo on tumblr and the event's AO3 collection!

a 💐 next to a fic's title means it's a personal favorite of mine (i picked two)

coruscant guard's (unconventional) dating service: free for clones named fox || commander fox

square: "this is awkward" summary: this celebration only came once a year, and this time, the coruscant guard enlisted some help from other battalions to make sure that fox would finally admit his feelings for you.

a show of trust || commander wolffe

square: "do you trust me?" summary: sometimes the best solutions come from the minds of those who aren't soldiers, and wolffe has to get used to trusting others that are not his general or his vode.

filed under: incident reports || no romantic relationship 💐

square: 79’s summary: managing a bar was never easy, but you tried your best to keep things running smoothly, even if sometimes you had to make hard decisions or alternatively: a collection of 79’s most hilariously infamous incident reports, some which made you ponder a career change.

don't wait for the sky to clear || hunter

square: "you're an idiot" summary: When you wake up to hear a storm outside where the ship is parked, you recruit Omega to have some fun in the pouring rain with you. The only downside is the tired admonishment you'll inevitably receive from your boyfriend when he sees the two of you.

in the heat of battle || crosshair

square: bounty hunter summary: When Crosshair disobeys your direct orders in battle, you come to confront him about it. Things get a little heated from there.

dreaming of this || echo

square: "you're lucky you're cute" summary: You and Echo share a quiet moment and a dance before Cid's bar opens for the day.

weep not for what you've done, but rather who you've lost along the way || commander cody 💐

square: heartache summary: it wasn't supposed to happen like this, the man you loved wasn't supposed to be the one to end your life. and to make matters worse, you had to keep reliving it, over, and over, with no end in sight and no clear reason why you were subjected to a torture worse than your darkest nightmare.

you would have thought this heist would have been slightly more thought out, given the circumstances || platonic bad batch & reader

square: "let me do the talking" summary: Hunter has to sit out on an assignment because of an injury, and it becomes remarkably clear to everyone else that the position of "voice of reason" is not something that can be replaced, especially not when you're there.

no flirting in the jedi archives || fives

square: archive summary: When on shore leave, one could usually find Fives in the basement of the Jedi Temple, flirting with the primary caretaker of the Archives (even though he denies it when his brothers ask). Finally, he decides to just ask her out.

a little brotherly teasing || thorn

square: "your flirting skills need work" summary: He’s a high ranking commander, an expert in weaponry, and the Coruscant Guard’s man on the inside for this Senate gala, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to get a pass from the teasing. And it’s all because he’s a little too obvious about his giant crush on you.

ally, rival, friend? || rex

square: "you owe me" summary:  It’s not that he hates his general’s bounty hunter friend, but Rex is a little more prone to headaches whenever you’re on the flagship. This time though, he sees the chance to start over with you.

almost disasters || tech

square: cooking summary: Your beloved attempts to put together a surprise for you. Nothing about it really goes to plan. 

the strength to keep going || jesse

square: haunted summary: the more time you spent in the GAR, the more you came to know grief, especially when the casualties of the war were people you had grown close to. Jesse notices that you're struggling, and reaches out to help.

deep space delicacies || echo

square: stuck summary: In the midst of the war, you manage to find the time to bring about a different, more welcome kind of chaos: teaching the clones how to bake. The 501st take the opportunity to force you and Echo to admit how you feel about each other.

#CFB2023 #masterlist: ghostofskywalker

[technetiumai]

Thank you @bookish-bogwitch for the tag! 

I haven’t really been properly writing, but since the WIP folder game, I’ve been especially motivated to outline my current WIPs. I’ve had them all outlined to a certain extent in my head since I started them, but it has been extremely helpful to actually start writing everything down. (Who’da thunk it?) 

So I thought this week I’d do Six Chapter Sunday? And give a little something to do with the next six chapters of each of my currently-being-published WIPs?

So… spoilers? (But I guess that’s kinda the point of SSS, isn’t it?)

I’m putting everything under a cut because everything I do is so long.

For Atomic Son, I started with an extremely vague outline (which I then expanded on) that was just to remind me what I was supposed to write about, so I thought I’d show you that:

Chapter 9

Natasha Grimm-Pitch, August xx, 2008 

Is that nicotine gum?

Fiona Pitch, December xx, 2015

That sick bastard.

Simon Snow, September xx, 2015 

I’ll want to go to Hampshire… because that’s where we have Christmas

Chapter 10

Penelope Bunce, June xx, 2010 

What did you just do?

Penelope Bunce, July xx, 2010 

Not just protecting him.

Penelope Bunce, November xx, 2015

No better people to get lost with. You won’t stop me.

Chapter 11

Ebeneza Petty, September xx, 2008

Kindred spirit

Natasha Grimm-Pitch, xxxxxx xx, 20xx 

More than pain. More than magic.

Fiona Pitch, xxxxxx xx, 20xx

Losing him is losing everything.

Chapter 12

Basilton Grimm-Pitch, January xx, 2010 

I want you to meet my friend.

Mitali Bunce, xxxxxx xx, 20xx 

Nice enough boys.

Chapter 13

Penelope Bunce, December xx, 2015 

What do you mean you didn’t want to go to California? What do you mean you can’t fix it?

Fiona Pitch, December xx, 2015 

Meet the family. The reluctant family. So long as you don’t tell anyone you talked to them.

Simon Snow, December xx, 2015 

Only one bed.

Chapter 14

Natasha Grimm-Pitch, xxxxxx xx, 20xx 

Serial killer wall

Fiona Pitch, xxxxxx xx, 2002 

Now who loves me for me?

Nicodemus Petty, xxxxxx xx, 2002

There’s only one…

For Silence and Cries I’m sharing the chapter titles (It’s throwing me off that AO3 doesn’t let you have a prologue then chapter 1, so it starts with chapter 2): 

Chapter 2: Closed Enough Windows to Know You Can Never Look Back

Chapter 3: We Are Who We Are

Chapter 4: And I Found You With a Bottle of Wine

Chapter 5: Whoa, My Head Is On Fire

Chapter 6: So I Met Up With Some Friends at the Edge of the Night

Chapter 7: You Swore and Said We Are Not

For Night-Switch Paragons, I’m doing Rush quotes that will possibly be included:

Chapter 2:

Burning in the moment - trapped by the desperation between how it is and how it ought to be

Chapter 3: 

Yet my eyes are drawn toward the mountain in the east, fascinates and captivates, gives my heart no peace. The mountain holds the sunrise in the prison of the night, ‘till bursting forth from rocky chains the valley floods with light

Chapter 4:

Behind the beauty, cracks appear. Once with heads held high, they sang out to the sky. Why do their shadows bow in fear?

Chapter 5:

See how it sings like a sad heart and joyously screams out its pain? Sounds that build high like a mountain, or notes that fall gently, like rain.

Chapter 6:

To you -- is it movement or is it action? Is it contact or just reaction? And you -- revolution or just resistance? Is it living, or just existence?

Chapter 7:

In the city where nobody smiles and nobody dreams, in the city where desperation drives the bored to extremes, just one spark of decency against a starless night, one glow of hope and dignity, a child can follow the light. No matter what they say

Obviously all of this is completely subject to change, but I thought it was fun :)

Tagging...?... everyone? (If I missed you, you still count, I’m just a scatter brain! Also, I’m sorry if you’ve already posted...)

@artsyunderstudy, @aristocratic-otter, @bazzybelle, @captain-aralias, @cutestkilla, seriously, how do people tag so many people? Am I missing something? Do you just remember everyone!? @fatalfangirl, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @whatevertheweather, @confused-bi-queer, @gekkoinapeartree, @martsonmars, @takitalks, @basiltonbutliketheherb, @moodandmist, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

(Yeah, I definitely missed people. And I don’t know if a lot of these people care... But I care about you! Ahhhhhhhh! I’m trying...)

#six sentence sunday #carry on #Wait... you guys probably just have like lists of tags or something that you past in for every WW or SSS don’t you? #Or like grab it from a previous one? #Gaaaaahhhhhh!!!!! #Why am I like this?

[re-strictedaccess]

Hi! Teddie here.

In December, 2022, Oliver Misraje published this article in Zine, “The Internet is a Graveyard”. Misraje talks about four case studies in which ghosts have infiltrated the online realm – from AI "reviving" lost loved ones, to immortal memorialization on the internet, the freelance writer reveals the less-than-lively aspects of our generated world. As a philosophy fanatic, the thing that spoke out most to me in this article was Misraje’s final case study, labelled “Future Ghosts”.

Briefly, in the history of philosophy there has been endless back and forth regarding the immortality of the human soul or mind. Essentially, whether or not we exist after we die. And the implications of this reach all the way back to Plato, who claimed that death should be the philosopher’s ultimate goal, so we can more or less finally free our minds from the physical world and become omnipotent/transcendent beings.

But as someone who does consider life a wholly unique and miraculous experience, this cheap acceptance of death does not come easy, and I feel a need to believe that there is something more to the mortal world that we are missing. I think a lot of people would agree with me there.

Misraje explains, in the fourth case study of the article, an old event in 1994 where “techno-pagans” reframed the internet as more than a realm for enhanced globalization and human connection – where the internet becomes a hub for a kind of “magical evocation”. Misraje also connects this to the more recent paper by Melanie Swan, in which she coins the term “cloudminds”: a form of transhumanism (the idea that humans can evolve beyond our bodies and minds), where we have some processing power that is entirely virtual (think crypto-currency, but instead of having monetary value it makes decisions for us). We would be able to upload our minds (our experiences, memories, decisions) to an online database where our own individual knowledge and histories could connect and collectively be used in a kind of uni-mind (credit to Marvel), which could be used to solve much more difficult, large-scale human problems. Apart from completely eradicating the importance of human engineers, though, what does this mean for the rest of us? What might that tell us about life and death?

I’d love to take this in a non-conventional direction, so bear with me. Let’s pretend that the afterlife does not matter, whatsoever. It doesn’t exist, it doesn’t get experienced, it doesn’t affect anyone living or anyone dead. Imagine it as a junk drawer, or a trash bin: out of sight, out of mind. Now, we introduce this cloudmind: instead of our knowledge being carried with us into the trash, we keep a record of all of it, every experience and memory and thought. Everything except our physical bodies and brains would remain in our mortal world, where it could forever be interacted with and investigated. The living can interact with every intangible quality of the dead. Is this what it looks like to achieve immortality?

Short answer: No. Even if we could capture every essence of one person on some sort of virtual hard drive, if we could upload it into a computer so we could “ChatGPT” it, or if we could plug it into some sort of rain-proof, life-sized sex doll, this is not immortality. The essence (for lack of better term) of this being would be trapped in this state of simultaneous existence and non-existence, where it no longer feels or senses the way a human does, it doesn’t interact with its environment or manipulate the objects in its life the way a human does. Regardless of if it ever gains its own consciousness, it’s the same thing as taking a human mind and soul and welding it to a rock instead of a body – think of “Everything, Everywhere, All At Once”.

So, yes, Plato might be proud – we found a way to potentially transcend, to tether a part of human consciousness to an immortal virtual world. But if our consciousness is primarily connected to our human experiences, perceptions, and memories, would you want to be rock? A computer? A ChatGPT?

#teddie speaks the truth #social dilemma #immortality #mortality #marvel #eternals #everything everywhere all at once #future ghosts #CyberSamhein #cloudmind #ChatGPT #contemporary philosophy #hauntology #realm of forms #meatverse #meat world

[solardick]

Would one pray upon being a blessing on everyone they meet? As the term “to pray insists its existence in the absence of violence. Take the intent and pour power into it. This is the meaning of a prayer.

The constructive use of living images, fantasy, and the like. Is to put it to use. Active involvement with the motion to practice learn, and build, to particular social situations.

Is to play. The mind creates and doors open.

The day the world respects my choices and what i stand behind, while expecting me to give back the opposite of what is received would be great.

Thanks for breaking my sex. And thanks for reenforcing the notion that i’ll never get to experience the love of a good woman within a functional relationship. And not one knowing nothing else nut others dominance and negative reenforcements. 39 years and counting. Yeah for being alive. Ill work tillninretire if indont shot myself before then. And then ill shoot myself. And just continue doing what you’ve always done. Support others through transitions and healthy decisions. While they all rape existance for their own selfish ends. Existance will always ever be just me. Surrounded by violence manipuation and bs.

Prayers are useless to a slave.

I gave her the devil card through someoneelse. And all they did on my side talk about dicklove. Like usual. Buch of f@gt$

The positive side of the tower is the removal of constraints. Of the veil consealing whats within. It encompasses. Discovery and rhat ancxious type feelign. Perhaps a little exileration. It is tied to violence on the positive side to. It implied actions and impatience, and it implied receptivity to another party’s giving. Easily twisted as is everything in tarot.

The secret valentine or a gift on christmas morning. The french deck had it right with its raining one colourful lights found no when else but to december.

This too requires an act. An act of giving. Its a movement forward. In the place of expédition, the reception act is in confirmation. Though that door may be just as closed to the care of the response. Which is an iffy issue towards the selfish or selfless. For either one may be on either side.

More to gain here if, i can get mind on it.

And how else do most open a gift? It ties into the conditioned sexual act. One tares into it. At first in hast, later with more resistance. As if trying to be polite and civilized about it. Restraint. Built into the structure. Desensitized. To the experience. It’s amazing when it bubbles underneath. In one’s gut. In one’s chest. Feel it running through one’s hands. Is it just on the surface? or is it running through the bone? When all is right. Its just as dangerous if not. It wants a feedback.

The response which came back the next day. Another curiosity to being hooked up with a horny 20 y’old cousine of a bible camp trooper. Asked again. Ok, it isn’t just play. They want a fact. The natural response coinciding with the act;

“No, i don’t want a 20 year old slut. i ain’t a flooring dildo.” Message sent. Stop tying your gay shit to my motives. Pls.

Cant be said any clearer, or respectfully than that. If thats a problem for two, then that sounds like a you problem, dont take it out on me.

Dance with me, luv. She, so happens to dance. I’m giving back what was given to me. What else a man to do? No one knows the allure of a devil more than me. It’s been played on me since existence was born. All my life experience ties into it. I mean, what guy wouldn’t want a stand with a horny 20 yearold. Full smoking. ? That’s the play. Of course i do. Except…. Where’s the connection? Passion is deep, and frigid. Pure sexual gratification doesn’t matter and doesn’t interest me. The acts sensible to indebtednes and union as the basis. Beyond this, already bonded… theres more freedom of movement. For it centralizes around the pillar.

And i know its there, luv. It’s coming from you and i am weak. The card couldnt describe the relationship better. Where it goes from here. Im less concerned with. It feels good to provide. Since the social is flat. And exists solely on life support. Where “Waite’s” devil is a seal. Tying either party together. Morphing bonding impressions. Forming intent and magnetizing the compass, modifying direction. It was the perfect gift.

Direction is working again. But, north isn’t true north anymore and it never will be again.

Perhaps the shrink would say, im searching for mother’s approval. And not her spychotic disapproval. They’re all psychotics and im badly aspected to all of them. tmi.

Thr little amount of sleep and straining effort makes me sleepy. And not desiring to do anything. 5pm. Think its time for bed.

Well that all depends if they’re a scorpio rising or not. Perhaps its just a fluid pluto aspect. Scorpio rising at that age. Would place that saturn right where it belongs.

Though other “options” appear. A lower class striving. Ambition wise, is simple. And ungrandios. Not trying to fill in any shoes. French, less fluid in english.

I see, in this situation i don’t want to take advantage of. An Eros sun speaks volumes in the creation of love. Community endeavours.

#tarot #qwerty #tarotblr #the devil

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

7th December >> Fr. Martin's Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Matthew 7:21,24-27 for Thursday, First Week of Advent: ‘It did not fall: It was founded on rock’.

Thursday, First Week of Advent

Gospel (Except USA) Matthew 7:21,24-27 The wise man built his house on a rock.

Jesus said to his disciples: ‘It is not those who say to me, “Lord, Lord,” who will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the person who does the will of my Father in heaven. Therefore, everyone who listens to these words of mine and acts on them will be like a sensible man who built his house on rock. Rain came down, floods rose, gales blew and hurled themselves against that house, and it did not fall: it was founded on rock. But everyone who listens to these words of mine and does not act on them will be like a stupid man who built his house on sand. Rain came down, floods rose, gales blew and struck that house, and it fell; and what a fall it had!’

Gospel (USA) Matthew 7:21, 24-27 Whoever does the will of my Father will enter the Kingdom of heaven.

Jesus said to his disciples: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the Kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven.

“Everyone who listens to these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and buffeted the house. But it did not collapse; it had been set solidly on rock. And everyone who listens to these words of mine but does not act on them will be like a fool who built his house on sand. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and buffeted the house. And it collapsed and was completely ruined.”

Reflections (11)

(i) Thursday, First Week of Advent

We have a high hill to the south of Dublin called the ‘Three Rock’ because of the three rocky outcrops that protrude above the surface. When I come upon a rocky outcrop I am tempted to reflect on the length of time the rocks have been there. They may have been weathered over the centuries but they have been there probably for many thousands of years, and they will be there for thousands of years to come. There is a reliability about rock. It will always be there. When the Jewish Scriptures wanted to express the reliability of God, they turned to the image of rock, as in today’s first reading. There Isaiah refers to the Lord as ‘the everlasting Rock’. Because the Lord is as enduring and reliable as rock, he can be trusted and relied upon. In the words of today’s psalm, ‘his love endures forever’, which is why, ‘it is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in humans’. We sometimes say of someone that he or she is a real rock, by which we mean that they are reliable and dependable. They will always be there, especially when we need someone to rely on. In his first letter to the Corinthians, Saint Paul refers to the story of Moses striking the rock in the wilderness to provide water to quench the thirst of the people. Reflecting on this story in the light of his faith in Christ, Paul writes, ‘they drank from the spiritual rock that followed them, and that rock was Christ’. Paul had come to know Christ as reliable and dependable, especially when everyone else had turned against him and he was at his most vulnerable. In the gospel reading, Jesus assures us that we too will find him utterly dependable when the storms of life break over us, if we entrust ourselves to him, allowing our lives to be shaped by his word. When we allow the Lord’s word to dwell in us richly, so that it bears fruit in our lives, we will discover the Lord to be a rock-like foundation for us in even the most testing of times

And/Or

(ii) Thursday, First Week of Advent

We can probably easily identify with the weather image that Jesus uses in this morning’s gospel reading, ‘Rains came down, floods rose, gales blew’. It sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Apart from actual physical storms, we can all be struck by storms of a different kind no matter what part of the world we are in. The church has been through quite a storm in recent weeks, and the storm is still howling. As individuals, we can find ourselves battling against the elements of life, as we struggle in one shape or form, for one reason or another. Jesus declares in our gospel reading this morning that difficult times will indeed come for all of us. The real issue is the extent to which we are equipped to deal with them. When the storms come will we find ourselves at the mercy of the storm, tossed about helplessly, or will we be able to withstand the storm and move through and beyond it? Jesus states in our gospel reading that he can be our rock when the storm comes. If we listen to his words and try to act on those words we will remain upright and standing when the storm breaks around us. Jesus brings us back to basics, the doing of God’s will as Jesus has revealed it for us. If we keep on returning to that focal point then the Lord will see to it that we endure, regardless of the strength of the storm.

And/Or

(iii) Thursday, First Week of Advent

The parable of the two builders we have just heard brings the long Sermon on the Mount in Matthew’s gospel to a close. The Sermon on the Mount is full of wonderful teaching; it has been analyzed and reflected upon for the last two thousand years, and rightly so; its message continues to speak to us today. Yet, Jesus concludes the Sermon on the Mount by declaring that it is not enough to listen to the teaching of the Sermon and to admire it; we must live the teaching, allow the values of the Sermon to shape our lives. If we listen to it and do no more we are like the builder who built his house on sand; if we listen to Jesus’ teaching and put it into practice we are like the builder who built his house on rock. We have been made more aware of shoddy building practices in recent times here in our own city. Building an apartment or a house to required standards is the responsibility of those in the building trade and only a small proportion of us are involved in that trade. However, we are all involved in the work of building lives to the standard that God wants and expects from us. In this morning’s gospel reading Jesus declares that the way to do that is to listen attentively to his word with a view to allowing his word to shape all we do and say. That is what Mary did; let it be to me according to your word. She is our model and inspiration in Advent.

And/Or

(iv) Thursday, First Week of Advent

The image of rock is to be found in both readings this morning. The prophet Isaiah speaks of the Lord as the everlasting rock. Like rock, the Lord is enduring and faithful. Therefore, he can be relied upon; he can be trusted. If we come across a substantial outcrop of rock one day, we know that it will be there again the next day, and the following day, and long after we have gone, just as it was there long before we were born. In speaking of God as a Rock the people of Israel were trying to capture that sense of the reliability, the durability, the faithfulness of God. God can be relied upon; he can be trusted. This morning’s gospel reading was taken from the gospel of Matthew. At the beginning of his gospel, Matthew gives Jesus the title Emmanuel, God-with-us. As God with us, Jesus embodies the reliability, the faithfulness of God. He has that rock-like quality of God; he is with us to the end of time. In this morning’s gospel reading he declares that those who build their lives on what he says, those who listen to his word and keep it, will be building their lives on rock. He is the reliable foundation of our lives and if we give ourselves over to his word and his presence we will draw from his strength especially when the storms of life threaten to engulf us.

And/Or

(v) Thursday, First Week of Advent

We know that a building is as good as its foundations. If the foundations are flimsy, the consequences for those who live in the house can be catastrophic, especially if unusual stress is placed on the building because of weather or some other disturbance of nature. The most important part of the house is that which is not immediately visible. In the gospel reading, Jesus draws on that image of the house to speak about the foundation of our lives as human beings. He declares that entrusting ourselves to him, listening to his word and trying to live his word, will provide a foundation for our lives that will enable us to withstand the great storms of life. We need some solid ground under us as we go through life. Jesus presents himself as that solid ground. If we build our lives on all he says and does, he will prove to be a rock, enabling us to stand firm even when the disappointments and sufferings of life leave us feeling very vulnerable. As human beings we long for security at many levels. Jesus tells us that we will find our ultimate security in him if, in the phrase of Saint Paul, we allow his word to dwell in us richly.

And/Or

(vi) Thursday, First Week of Advent

This morning’s gospel reading makes reference to listening, speaking and doing. Jesus refers to those who ‘listen to these words of mine’, to those who say aloud, ‘Lord, Lord’, and to those who act on his words. When it comes to our faith, listening and speaking are important, but Jesus declares that listening and speaking on their own, without doing, have little or no value. This passage comes at the very end of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. Jesus is saying that his words in the Sermon on the Mount are not just there to be listened to and admired; they are not just there to be responded to in words of prayer, ‘Lord, Lord’. Rather, they are there to be lived, to be acted upon. Each day we hear the call to live the message that Jesus proclaims. We are to translate his teaching into living. Advent is a season when we are called in a special way to live the word of Jesus that we listen to. In this regard, Mary, the mother of Jesus, is a very good model for us. On one occasion when some women in the crowd around Jesus declared Mary blessed because of the Son that she bore, Jesus replied, ‘Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and keep it’. Mary if blessed not primarily for the son she gave birth to but because she heard God’s word and lived it every day. That is our calling too and, in this season of Advent, we can look to Mary as our inspiration as we try to respond to this calling.

And/Or

(vii) Thursday, first week of Advent

There are many images of God in the Jewish Scriptures. All such images are simply that, images. They give a very small window onto God. They attempt to express some element of God’s reality which, in itself, is always beyond our full comprehension. We find one such image in today’s first reading. Isaiah speaks of God as ‘the everlasting rock’. There is very little in our created world that could be considered ‘everlasting’. Yet, perhaps rock comes close to being an exception to that rule. There is something about rock which is clearly enduring and reliable. When Isaiah speaks of God as an everlasting rock, he was expressing his conviction that God was someone who was enduring and reliable, and, therefore, to be trusted. We step on rock knowing that it will hold us up. We can trust rock. Isaiah in that reading calls on his hearers to ‘trust in the Lord forever’ because he is an ‘everlasting rock’. Jesus is the one who reveals God to us in a way that no other human has ever done or could ever do. It is not surprising then Jesus uses the image of rock with reference to himself. In the gospel reading this morning he declares that those who listen to his words and live by them are like builders who build a house on rock. We live in a world in which so much is disposable, so little lasts, in which the rate of change is constant and progressive. We often feel the need to find some solid ground that endures, that can be trusted and relied upon. Jesus declares himself to be that solid ground and he calls to us to build our lives on him by allowing his words to shape us.

And/Or

(viii) Thursday, First Week of Advent.

The weather is a great topic of conversation in Ireland. Maybe that is because it changes so frequently. There is always something to say about it. We are very familiar with the weather referred to in today’s gospel reading, rain, floods and gales. Such weather was less common in Palestine, the land of Jesus. Yet, occasionally in the winter months people had to contend with rain, floods and gales. It was probably tempting for builders in that climate just to build for the better weather that was the norm. However, the really wise builder built with a view to the worst case scenario, even though it may not arise very often. That meant paying more attention to the foundations of a house than might have seemed necessary. Jesus draws a lesson from this scenario for our own lives. Our lives can be going along fine for a period of time and then some severe storm hits us unexpectedly. We find ourselves in a kind of a whirlwind that throws everything out of kilter. Jesus is saying that we need to prepare for that scenario. Our lives need the kind of foundation that will enable us to survive such traumatic experiences. Jesus offers himself as that foundation. If we listen to his words and try to live them every day of our lives, we will be putting down a foundation that will stand to us when the storms come. We don’t wait for the storm to come to start looking for a foundation. The laying of a foundation that gives us something of God’s own strength is something we do every day, little by little, by opening our lives to the Lord’s word and allowing it to shape who we are and all we say and do.

And/Or

(ix) Thursday, First Week of Advent

When people were building houses in Palestine in the time of Jesus during the dry season as the weather was fine and warm, it was tempting to build them in a way that did not take into account the wilder weather to come during the winter, when heavy rain and strong winds could affect that part of the Near East. It was easier to build on sand than on rock but it was also shortsighted. What serves in good weather does not always serve in bad weather. Building on rock ensures that the house will stand regardless of the weather. The gospel reading suggests that we have to build our lives in such a way that we will stand firm, not just when all is well, but also when life gets difficult, when the storms come our way and threaten to engulf us. We are to build for the worst of times and not only for the best of times. Jesus declares in the gospel reading that if we not just listen to his words but also try to act on them, we will be building our lives on rock. If we embrace his life and message and allow our own lives to be shaped by it, then we will be building our lives in such a way that we will stand firm when the trials and tribulations of life assail us. We need a firm foundation, we need resources to fall back on, when our vulnerability is exposed by life’s storms. Jesus tells us that he is our primary resource. He will be our firm foundation, if we keep on trying to take the path that he sets before us by his teaching and his way of life.

And/Or

(x) Thursday, First Week of Advent

In more recent decades we have become more aware of how houses can easily get built in places where there should never be houses, such as the flood plains of rivers. When houses are built on flood plains, it can often give rise to flooding further down the river. We have also become aware that faulty material has gone into the foundations of houses, resulting eventually in walls cracking and the whole house becoming unstable. It is vital to get the foundations of a house right, both in terms of the materials in the foundations and where the foundations are laid. It was no different in the time of Jesus. Houses were sometimes built in a way that was suited to the dry, hot, summer climate of the Near East, but left them exposed to the winter winds and rains, because their foundations were not laid down with winter conditions in mind. The foundations rested on sand rather than rock. Jesus sees in this shoddy building practice a message for our lives. Not just our houses, but our lives need to be built on firm foundations. Jesus declares his word to be the firmest foundation we can build our lives on, not just listening to his word, but putting his word into practice, living by his word. When we heed Jesus’ words and live according to his teaching, we are building the house of our lives on the firmest foundation imaginable. Then, when the storms of life come, as invariably they will come, we will have a firm footing.

And/Or

(xi) Thursday, First Week of Advent

In the gospel reading, Jesus makes a distinction between two kinds of listening, the listening that leads to action, to doing, and the listening that has no impact on behavior. He calls on us not only to listen to his words, but to act on them. Jesus wants his word not just to impact on our ears but to impact on our lives. Every minute of every day we are hearing something, if we are fortunate to have reasonably good hearing. However, we are not always listening to what we hear. Much of what we hear doesn’t require attentive listening. There are other times when we really do listen to what we are hearing. When someone we love, someone who matters greatly to us, has something important to say to us, we listen very carefully. What they can may enter deeply into us and impact on what we do. Attentive listening to what we consider significant can really shape our whole life. This is the kind of listening that Jesus calls for. He loves us so much that he laid down his life for us; he calls us to love him as he loves us. When he speaks to us, he has something very significant to say, because his words reveal God and God’s purpose for our lives. Here is a speaking that calls for the most attentive listening possible. Such deep listening will impact on us deeply and will shape our way of life. When that happens, Jesus says, we are like the builder who built on rock. Our lives will be solidly grounded and deeply rooted. In the words of today’s first reading, ‘the Lord will be our everlasting Rock’. In the words of Saint Paul, we will be ‘rooted and grounded in love’, in the Lord who is love.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[gojo-x-reader]

Not So Special Now

Relationship(s): F!Reader x Gojo Satoru

Warnings: canon-typical violence

Tags: fluff (at the end), reader-focused

AO3 Link: here

Words: ~4k

Request: “hello there, i love ur soulmate and marriage life hc 🥺 can you make scenario/hc/drabble whatever u prefer where his fem/gn so is also a sorcerer and gets hurt/injured on a mission? thank you!”

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” Your boyfriend, Satoru, asked you. His hands were on your biceps, giving it a worried, yet comforting squeeze.

“Yes, Satoru,” you answered, a little annoyed at how he was treating you. It’s been several years since either of you were in high school; this wasn’t your first mission.

“I can’t help but worry, you know. It’s your first ever special grade assignment.”

“Just because I’m not the same rank as you, Mr. Special Grade, doesn’t mean I’m weak. Besides, there are two others going so I’m not doing this alone.”

“I know, I know.” Satoru pressed his lips gently onto your forehead, then gazed into your eyes lovingly. In a rare instance while on the job, his blindfold was replaced with dark sunglasses. You reached up to shift them down, allowing you to gaze into his bright blue eyes. They were breathtaking no matter how many times you saw them. You moved your hands from his glasses to his shoulders, forcing him down so you could reach up to leave a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I’ll see you tonight,” you promised.

The two of you embraced one more time before you joined your other group members for the mission. You turned back and waved at him as the three of you entered the car to be driven to the location for your mission.

“Sure wish Gojo-san was coming with us,” one of them mused. “He could handle this mission single-handedly and we could just stay home.” He sighed deeply, then put in headphones and stared out the window.

“Why isn’t he taking this mission?” your other group member asked. She stared at you, eager to know.

You had just met these two today (not even knowing their names, except that they were both Grade 1 sorcerers like you) and you weren’t sure how well this mission would go. “Well,” you began, “for one, he works best alone. Second, Satoru fights best when he’s away from civilians.” 

The girl hummed, then crossed her arms in thought. The three of you awkwardly rode in silence for about five minutes, before the girl grabbed your arm suddenly. “Soooo, how long have you been dating Gojo Satoru?” She asked eagerly. There was something about her that seemed familiar, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it.

You weren’t sure why this was any business of someone you just met, but you decided to indulge her to hopefully make this awkward car ride, well, less awkward.

“Two years, almost three,” you answered. The two of you had known each other since high school, but it wasn’t until almost four years ago that you had reconnected after you moved back to Tokyo, and almost three years ago when you started dating. To this day you still had no clue why he would get a crush on you over all people. There were much prettier girls he had spent more time with, why you?

“Annnnd? A ring soon?” She gushed, gripping your arm harder.

You shrugged. Satoru and you had discussed marriage at some point, but both of you were busy at the moment, especially with Ryomen Sukuna being somewhat revived into the world. While Yuuji was still technically “dead” to others, Satoru had trusted you enough to tell you about how his student had pretty much been revived from the dead. On your days off, you often visited your boyfriend and helped out with Yuuji’s training regime. He was a nice kid, despite his circumstances and being thrown into the jujutsu world suddenly.

The girl let go of your arm and got out her phone, furiously typing to someone. “Oh, my little sister won’t be happy to hear about this.”

“Little sister?”

“Yeah, my sister Momo goes to Kyoto. She’s pretty close with another girl, Kasumi, who I consider almost like another younger sister. She was super excited to meet Gojo-san a week ago. She’s like a superfan of him or something. I like to indulge her sometimes. I think she even made a fan club for Gojo-san or something. Anyways, Momo, even though she’s friends with Kasumi, she often gets annoyed with her talk about Gojo-san.”

You vaguely remember Satoru mentioning a girl from Kyoto that asked him for a picture. It wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence for your boyfriend to be asked to take pictures with, from the jujutsu world or from civilians; he had devastatingly good looks, so you couldn’t blame any of the people who asked for pictures. Besides, you knew his heart belonged to you and you only, so you were fine with others recognizing his allure.

“Oh, Kasumi’s calling me,” the girl said. She answered her phone, only for a younger voice to scream over the speaker. It was loud enough that you could hear it. Your teammate held her phone away from her ear.

“What do you mean he has a girlfriend?”

“Oh, come on Kasumi. You know how handsome he is. Besides, he’s like, what, twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”

“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine in December,” you confirmed.

“Way too old for you, ma’am,” the girl relayed to Kasumi.

“I don’t like him like that , Sumi-san! I j-just really admire him, okay! W-Who wouldn’t? World’s strongest jujutsu sorcerer in all.”

“Mhm. Anyway, I’ve got a mission today with the said girlfriend of Gojo Satoru. Want me to get you an autograph?” Sumi joked.

“...Could you?”

You let out a tiny laugh. This girl was funny, so you decided to humor her and leaned toward the phone. “One autograph for Kasumi?”

“M-Miwa Kasumi!” the voice on the phone squeaked out. She told you what kanji made up her name as you rummaged for a scrap piece of paper and pen from your bag. You made out the autograph, laughing a bit as you handed it to Sumi.

After you told her you signed an autograph for her, Kasumi said goodbye, hanging up the phone before Sumi could reply goodbye back. She seemed embarrassed about the ordeal.

“You were right, she seems like a good kid.”

“Kasumi is nice. She really balances out how serious my little sister Momo is,” Sumi responded.

For the rest of the car ride, you and Sumi chatted. Apparently, this was also her first Special Grade mission, as well as her first mission after graduating from Kyoto. Their other group member was also from Kyoto; he was two years Sumi’s senior. His name was Takahashi Daisuke. She didn’t know much about him since he tended to keep to himself. But she did know this wasn’t his first Special Grade mission. That relieved you substantially since you were nervous about this mission (as much as you didn’t want to admit to Satoru).

Eventually, the roads transformed from paved to just dirt. The driver turned onto a road on a hill, then began briefing the three of you on your mission. This was a Special Grade, suspected to be awakened by a Sukuna finger. This was just based on speculation, since the last Special Grade to pop up was from a Sukuna finger as well. The Special Grade had taken over an abandoned shrine, supposedly terrorizing the local village just down the hill (which had been evacuated just hours before). As the driver parked the car, the three of you exited the car. The air was crisp, with a distinct chill in the air. You could sense a particularly strong cursed energy in the premises, on par with Satoru’s cursed energy. You shuddered; this was not going to be an easy task.

The driver placed a curtain around the area, the sky darkening. It only made the situation seem even more grave. There was something in your gut telling you to run, not from being scared of the Special Grade, but because something bad was going to happen.

Sumi grabbed a wand from her belt. Her family was a pretty small sorcerer family on her mother’s side, as she had told you in the car. She and her sister have cursed techniques similar to “witches”; hers involved spells while her sister’s involved levitating a broom, among other objects.

Your cursed techniques, however, involved nature. There was a reason why you were selected specifically for this mission; the shrine was in the middle of the forest, the perfect place for you to go wild. Cities like Tokyo were incredibly constraining for you to use your cursed techniques, so you almost exclusively were assigned missions out in the country where nature was plentiful.

Neither you nor Sumi knew what Daisuke’s cursed technique was, but you assumed it was pretty strong considering he had been on missions with Special Grades before.

The mission started off fine. The three of you approached the shrine. It wasn’t particularly impressive, nothing that you would expect to house a Special Grade curse. The stone torii at the entrance was standing tall, unbothered by neither age nor the moss and vines growing on it. The shrine itself, however, was crumbling. One of the pillars holding up the roof was destroyed, so the roof was lopsided. The shimenawa knots were cut in half, the ends completely frayed. Definitely not a good sign.

After crossing the torii , you felt the Special Grade’s presence. It was overwhelming, unlike anything else you had experienced before. It possessed near-equal amounts of cursed energy as Satoru, but unlike your boyfriend, it held malicious intent within its cursed energy. To your left, Sumi was shaking. You held out a shaky hand onto her shoulder and squeezed. While you yourself didn’t feel confident about this mission now, you had a duty as the oldest member of the group here to be strong, for their sake.

The shrine began to shake, then the roof was suddenly blown off. You used your cursed technique to form a barrier of tree roots that erupted from the ground. Slabs of wood hit the roots, then bounced off. After the rain of wood subsided, you controlled the roots back into the ground in their original position.

You finally got a good look at the Special Grade curse. It was humanoid, but only in form. Its flesh was midnight blue, with eyes covering every centimeter of its body. Great, it had no blind spots. The curse had no apparent mouth, yet you were able to hear it let out an intimidating roar.

Daisuke made the first strike. He quickly pointed a handgun at the Special Grade and pulled the trigger. Out came a burst of his own cursed energy instead of a bullet. The blow just grazed the Special Grade enough for it to let out a screech of pain. Interesting, so this was his cursed energy. You wondered if it was limited to guns, or if he could apply it to a bow as well and use his cursed energy for arrows. You’d have to ask him later after this mission was completed.

It was apparent after Daisuke revealed his cursed technique that all of you were primarily distance fighters. There wasn’t much Sumi could do if her cursed technique focused on spells through her wand apparatus and Daisuke seemed to only have a gun on him. So, that meant you had to switch to a melee approach.

You weren’t the biggest fan of hand to hand combat. You weren’t very strong, preferring to assist from a distance. Recently, Satoru has been helping you learn new ways of fighting in close quarters. You decided to take the risk and make an attempt at using this still relatively new technique. You reached out your hands, summoning leaves from the trees. They surrounded your fists like boxing gloves, your cursed energy reinforcing the leaves to be almost as hard as the bark from the trees they came from.

You sprinted toward the Special Grade, preparing to land a blow. As you reared back for a punch, the Special Grade disappeared from in front of you. Then you felt a blow land on your back and you were sent through the forest until a particularly thick tree stopped your projectile body. Luckily, you reacted quickly enough to reinforce your front with cursed energy. If it wasn’t for your quick thinking, you probably would’ve been knocked out immediately.

You picked yourself up from the ground, but the world was spinning. You leaned against a tree to collect your thoughts and rest a bit. The Special Grade was insanely fast and had no blind spots. You were panicking; this was well out of your skillset. Perhaps Daisuke was right; Satoru should’ve joined in on this mission. But you knew that wasn’t possible, as he also had his own Special Grade mission to handle today.

You brought a hand up to your face and gave yourself a hard smack. This was no time to doubt yourself or panic. You had two comrades out there fighting a Special Grade curse alone. There was no doubt that the Special Grade would notice you if you tried to rejoin the fight, at least on the ground. Your best bet would be to get the high ground; there would be fewer eyes on the top half, so the chances of you being noticed would be less than if you arrived by foot.

Okay, you had an idea. Now, to get an idea of how the fight was going. You kneeled down to the ground and placed your hand onto the ground, closing your eyes. You sent a minimal, hardly detectable pulse of cursed energy toward the fight through the ground. From what nature informed you, the fight was mostly one-sided in favor of the Special Grade. Daisuke was pretty beat up, and Sumi wasn’t in good shape either.

You got up then hurriedly began climbing the nearest tree. As you climbed up, you manipulated the bark to form grooves for you to place your hands and feet on. As you reached a decent height, you created a bridge with the overlapping tree branches sturdy enough for your weight. You sprinted across the bridge, ignoring your double vision. You definitely had a concussion, but now was not the time for you to worry about that. You didn’t wanna lose your comrades on this mission. Not again.

You wiped the tears that were threatening to fall from your eyes. In your final year of Tokyo High, your two classmates were killed right before your eyes on a mission. You escaped out of pure luck, but was determined to get stronger to avenge their deaths. If you let those two die… well, then, that meant you hadn’t gotten strong enough to protect anyone else.

Once you were just out of sight range of the cursed spirit, you closed your eyes to sense the battle again. Sumi was sitting on the ground, back to a tree as she watched the fight between Daisuke and the Special Grade. She was barely conscious, and it seemed like she had lost a lot of blood. You had an idea, but in order for it to work, you needed her help.

Using thin vines, you sent a message within her sight: I am still alive. I’m going to trap the Special Grade curse with branches. Use a fire spell on it when it’s bound.

All you could hope was that she was able to read the message and had enough cursed energy to cast the spell. You began moving branches from distant trees close to the Special Grade, as fast as possible without your cursed energy being detected. Once they were close enough, you waited for the right moment.

As Daisuke finally landed a hit with his cursed energy, moving the curse to the center of the shrine remnants, you launched your attack. The branches extended as fast as you could make them move. The hit Daisuke landed had temporarily slowed the Special Grade, enough for your branches to immobilize it. As the branches gripped the curse, Sumi sent a fire spell toward it, just as planned.

The branches (and the cursed spirit) caught on fire. But something was wrong; normally, you could extract cursed energy from a curse with your cursed technique to exorcise, but that wasn’t happening. Was it resisting? You felt a tug on the branches.

Without thinking, you acted on your own. You re-equipped the leaves cursed technique, as you jumped from the trees above. As gravity brought you closer to the Special Grade, you reared back to prepare the punch you had wanted to introduce it to earlier. As your fist landed on the curse, you allowed the leaves to leave your fist, sending it into the curse’s body. The leaves caught on fire before they entered the curse, imploding it.

So, you managed to exorcise the Special grade. But, doing so took all of your cursed energy and you had no more left to cushion your fall. Luckily, you managed to adjust your fall so that you slid on your stomach parallel to the ground instead of falling headfirst. It still hurt, and you definitely broke a few ribs doing that.

You somehow had enough energy to turn yourself onto your back, looking up at the starry night sky as the curtain was released. Your first Special Grade mission. Everyone lived and you exorcised it without Satoru’s help. Ha. He would be so proud of you.

You began to fall into unconsciousness right as you felt familiar arms lift you up.

When you woke up, you were in Shoko’s infirmary. There was a thin blanket covering your bottom half. Suddenly the events came back to you.

You sat up, gasping for air. Where were Sumi and Daisuke?

“You might want to lay back down,” a familiar voice told you. “Shoko healed you, but the pain might still be there.”

You did as the voice said, laying back at the elevated position you woke up in. You look over and blinked a few times, seeing your boyfriend sitting in a chair next to your bed. He was in his work uniform, including his blindfold. You winced as you felt a pain in your chest; Satoru was right, there still was residual pain.

“I exorcised a Special Grade,” you croaked.

“I know. I’m proud of you.” He grabbed your hand and squeezed it, giving you a soft smile, showing off his tiny dimples. His smile quickly turned to a frown as he lectured, “However, what you did was risky and crazy.”

“Aren’t you the one who says that jujutsu sorcerers have to be crazy to survive?” you argued.

“Yes, but there’s a difference between crazy and throwing your life away.”

“You saw that?” you asked, much more awake than you were a few seconds ago.

“I hurried as fast as I could with my own mission to come assist you if you needed. I got there right as you pulled that stunt of yours.”

You pulled your hand from his and placed your face in both of your hands, embarrassed that he saw you launch yourself from several meters high, use up all of your cursed energy, then make a hard landing onto the ground.

“How’s the other two?” you asked, refusing to move your face from your hands.

“Alive and doing well. You’re the most beat-up out of everyone.”

You removed your hands, clasping them together in your lap. “Thank goodness…”

“There wasn’t a Sukuna finger either,” Satoru reported to you. “The villagers’ fear of the shrine must have caused it to grow to a Special Grade. Now, come on. Shoko said you could come home once you woke up.” Satoru stood up, then scooped you up from the bed. You screamed in protest, now wide awake.

“Wha--Put me down!”

“No can do, honey. Doctor’s orders. Nothing strenuous for the next week.”

“Satoru, I don’t think walking counts as strenuous!”

He smiled his signature shit-eating grin, then gave you a kiss on your forehead. No fair, he knew forehead kisses were your weakness. You melted into his arms at how tender his kiss was, now docile and less likely to argue with him.

In a flash, he teleported the two of you to his apartment, setting you on the bed in front of him. After placing you on the bed, he yanked off his blindfold and began rummaging through his dresser, looking for a set of his clothes for you to wear. He tossed the shirt and pants toward you, not even bothering to turn around while you changed. You’d been together for so long (or at least, it felt like a long time) that there wasn’t anything particularly embarrassing about changing in front of each other.

You winced while lifting your hands up to take off your shirt, so Satoru was by your side in an instant, helping you take off your shift without much pain. He even helped you out of your bra and put on his shirt.

“You don’t need me to help you with the pants, do you?” he teased.

“I think I can handle it on my own,” you replied, standing up and shuffling out of your pants. Satoru’s pants were much too long for you, so you had to roll not only the waistband but also the cuffs so that they didn’t constantly drag on the ground. Not like you minded doing that; there was just something about his clothes that was infinitely more comforting than your own, and he knew that more than anyone else.

As you adjusted the pants, Satoru left the bedroom to head toward the kitchen, no doubt to start cooking some of your favorite foods. You laid down on your shared bed, happy to be home. It was a long day (Days? How long were you even unconscious?) and you were glad to have such a caring boyfriend, even if he was being a little annoying about this.

About an hour later, Satoru came into the bedroom with a tray of food. He wouldn’t let you even touch the chopsticks, insisting on feeding you food because he didn’t want you to “strain yourself.” You thought he was just being a little too overprotective, but you allowed him to feed you anyway. The look of satisfaction on his face was just too cute for you to deny him this tiny pleasure.

After dinner, you immediately wanted to go to bed. Satoru quickly ate his portion of dinner then changed out of his work clothes into something much more comfortable to sleep in. He joined you under the covers, using his cursed energy to turn off the lights. You felt his arms gently snake their way around your waist, pressing you into his front. You sighed in contentment; he was warm, but not too warm.

After a few seconds of silence, you piped up, “Satoru?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for taking care of me. I love you.”

He placed a gentle kiss on your neck, just behind your ear. “Anything for you, my love,” he breathed onto your neck. You could feel him smiling gently. “Maybe we should just get married.”

You grumbled something, not even quite sure what you said or even what he said completely. Before sleep overtook you, you mumbled out one last final “I love you,” incredibly happy to be in your boyfriend’s arms at the moment.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

[pregnant-piggy]

A little elf

Ron Weasley x reader

This is part of All I want for Christmas is fanfiction

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: pregnancy, slight mention of abortion

A/N: I’m back with a pregnancy-fic (gotta be true to my url in some way). This fic is all support and Ron’s soft and protective side

As the skies grew more pale outside, the rain and wind of the autumn made place for the cold and ice of the winter. Grass turned dry and died out, leafs had fallen of the trees and froze overnight. Icicles hung from the corners of buildings if it had frozen and the roads were getting slippery.

The shops had taken out their Christmas decorations and red and green adorned the streets. Fairy lights had been hung in trees and gardens flickered at night with colours shows in the shape of reindeers and fat Santa’s. At some houses Christmas trees were already standing in living rooms and cringe texts hung behind windows. Children dressed as angels went past streets, singing Christmas carols to whoever passed.

Normally you loved to walk outside at night and look at all the decorations. Countless of rounds you had made around the block with Ron every December. You knew which houses did what for Christmas, which ones were the first to put up the tree and which families always forgot and then put up the lights on Christmas Eve.

However, tonight none of the decorations were noticed by you as you walked home. With your hands in gloves in your pockets and your scarf tightly around your neck, you walked as slow and fast as possible; wanting to get home as fast as possible yet not wanting to get there at all.

Faint carols reached your ears as you turned around the corner to the street of your house. Halfway on the street stood the choir you hadn’t seen yet this December. You had gotten to know the leader a few years ago and feared you wouldn’t get out of a conversation when you walked by.

You took a halt in front of the choir and listened to the children together with some of your neighbours. Mrs and Mr Sanchez, the couple that lived next door, stood listening happily with their arms around each other. You watched them for a while as the choir sang ‘O Holy Night’.  

And indeed as you had thought, the leader of the choir, Francis, walked over to you after she had told the children to continue to sing.

‘Hey, y/n, long time no see!’ Francis happily said.

‘Hello, Francis,’ you nodded. You weren’t exactly feeling as ‘jolly’ as one might be in such a scene, but you conjured a smile on your face for the woman in front of you. ‘How are you?’

‘Busy, busy, busy,’ Francis said. ‘We are booked full for December. I don’t think I have a day off. But that doesn’t matter!’ she quickly added. ‘I enjoy working with these children so much. I believe they truly are my Christmas miracle!’

A bit more genuine smile came to your face. Francis was someone who was grateful for everything that was going on in her life. She enjoyed every second of her life and made sure she did plenty of things that she could look back at when she was old and grey and stuck in a chair at a retirement home. You loved to listen to Francis’ enthusiasm. Though you didn’t see her very often, because she was indeed always busy, the times you did see her you always were happy.

‘Is Ron not here? You usually come together,’ Francis noticed and the smile fell off your face.

‘He was busy,’ you lied, putting the fake smile back on your lips. You glanced around. ‘Are you coming back here?’ you asked, hoping to change the subject.

‘One more time, on Christmas Eve,’ Francis said.

‘I’ll make sure to come and bring you some snacks.’

‘They would love that,’ Francis sighed. One of the children signed for her and she had to leave you alone. ‘I’ll talk to you soon, y/n.’

‘See you soon.’ Francis went back to the choir and you turned around and walked to your house.

The light in the kitchen was on and a yellowish glow shone on the bare bushes in your little front yard. In the spring and summer they would be full with flowers and green leafs, but in the autumn and winter they lost their beauty.

Taking a deep breath you put your key in the lock and opened the door. The hall was dark and the door to the kitchen closed, only a stripe of light coming from the crack between the door and the floor. When you closed the front door behind you and put on the light, something dropped in the kitchen and a moment later the door was opened to reveal Ron.

He was wearing the apron you had gotten from your great aunt, one with little flowers and bees. His cheeks were red and there was a smudge of flour on one of them. The red locks that needed a haircut, though you actually liked it better like this, were standing in all ways, like it looked when he woke from a rough night. On his lips played a relaxed smile, that soon dropped as he noticed your tense state and worried eyes.

‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’ he asked and quickly walked over to you to help you take of your coat.

While he turned around to the coat rack, you answered. ‘I’m pregnant.’

Ron dropped your coat on the floor and he spun around. His eyes were big and his jaw dropped. He stared at you for a second, before a big grin formed on his face.

‘That’s amazing! You’re pregnant? We’re gonna have a baby?’

‘No, it’s not! We aren’t prepared! There’s no room in our lives for a baby! What about our jobs? And our friends? We can’t just come over with a baby! Our lives would change so much!’

Ron took your hands and tried to look you in the eye, but you kept your gaze at the ground. He pulled you in an embrace and a tear escaped your eye. His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back and his lips were pressed against the top of your head.

Ron brought you to the kitchen and sat you down on a chair. He turned the stove off and gave you a glass of water before he took place opposite of you. He waited until you had drank the water and then took your hand over the table, forcing you to look him in the eye.

‘Listen, I am not forcing you to have this baby. It is your body and your decision and I am no one to change that. But I also want you to realise that this could be a good thing. Can you imagine how our lives would be if we had a little one running around? A happy baby, part you, part me. And it won’t be so difficult with jobs, you could even just keep yours the way it is now if you want. I won’t mind working less, I actually was thinking of already doing so. It is scary, but we will make it work.’

Ron squeezed your hand and you chuckled softly while the tears were streaming down your face. Ron got up from his chair and sat down in his knees in front of you. He wiped away the tears from your face and pressed a kiss to both your hands.

‘I am not asking you to make a decision right now, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘But just think about it. I will be happy with whatever you decide, as long as I am with you.’

You smiled tilting your head as you watched Ron get up and continue with dinner. His words had put your mind to work, but you pushed it aside for now, feeling that your emotions would influence the decision.

For the rest of the evening you talked with Ron about other things. You told him about Francis and the choir and he talked about his work and the new invention George had made. Of course you couldn’t just forget you were pregnant, but you just didn’t pay much attention to it and you noticed neither did Ron.

A part of you felt guilty for the burden you had placed on his shoulders. He had seemed so excited when you told him you were pregnant and the look on his face when you told him that you weren’t ready was still fresh in your mind.

Ron had sensed how you were feeling, like he always could. At night as you lied in the dark in bed, his hand took yours and he gave a little squeeze.

‘Don’t feel guilty, sweets,’ he said. ‘I am happy with or without a baby. Really. I support you whatever you decide.’

‘Thank you,’ you said with a hoarse voice. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you more.’

}|}{|}{|{

For a few days you and Ron didn’t talk about it. You both just went your normal ways, doing what you normally did. But that didn’t mean that you didn’t think about it. In contrary, it was all you could think about. You tried not to show it too much to Ron, but you knew he noticed. He was a little more gentle towards you, making sure there wasn’t anything to worry about at home or making sure you were comfortable.

Those days you barely slept. You ate little and felt nauseous with every smell. You were always cold, but whenever you put on a jumper you were hot. Your lips were cracked and your eyes dull. Your skin was breaking out and with every hand that you brushed through you hair, you pulled along hairs.

On the fourth day of all this, you had called in sick from work. After you had reassured Ron that you would be fine on your own and that he could just go to work, you were alone for the first time in a week.

Your plan was to just stay in bed all day, but an hour or so after Ron left you got antsy and wanted to do something. Your bed was uncomfortable and warm and you couldn’t lie in it for another second anymore. So you shuffled downstairs in a pair or leggings and one of Ron’s jumpers. You made some breakfast for yourself and after that sat in the living room staring at the TV for a while.

If you had watched TV the whole time or had fallen asleep, you didn’t know, but around lunch time you startled awake. You turned off the TV and decided to go for a walk.

It was snowing outside and the world glistened with little crystals. It wasn’t so cold that the streets were slippery; the snowflakes only lied on the ground for a second before they melted. Soon your hair was wet from the snow and your cheeks cold, but you didn’t mind. The cold, fresh air did you good.

In the park close to your house you sat down on a bench and watched the people around you. There was an elderly couple walking arm in arm with each other. Two businessmen sat on a bench not far from you. They were talking about something you didn’t understand and you frankly didn’t care about.

The park was fairly empty for the time of the day. Normally it was full of people that would take a little stroll at lunch time, especially in the holiday month. But today it was empty and you liked it so.

You sat on the bench for a while, just staring ahead of you, until you were started by a woman with a stroller.

‘Can I sit here?’ she asked and you nodded at her. The woman flashed you a smile and sat down next to you, turning the stroller around so the child in it was facing whom you assumed to be their mother.

You paid little attention to the people next to you. Or at least you tried to. The mother had started to talk to the baby while giving them little bites from a piece of bread. The baby giggled when the woman started to make funny faces and you couldn’t help but smile.

The baby looked at you, when their mother turned to take something from her bag, and made grabbing hands to you. You chuckled and stuck out your tongue to the child. They copied you and chirred with excitement.

‘She seems to like you. Usually she’s not like that with strangers,’ the woman said when she turned back. ‘Do you have kids?’

‘Uh, no…’ you said and flashed the woman a quick smile.

‘I’m not judging you!’ the mother said quickly. ‘It’s just usually mothers who make her feel comfortable. Maybe you just have a special talent.’

You laughed and shook your head. ‘No, I don’t think that is it.’

‘Well, at least you made her happy,’ the woman said while she got up. ‘It was nice to meet you.’

‘You too,’ you said and smiled at the mother and waved at the baby. You watched them walk away and then got up yourself. With renewed confidence you walked home and for the first time since you had heard that you were pregnant, you felt happy.

}|}{|}{|{

That evening you had taken a hot bath, soaking off all the negativity you had been holding for the past days. You were standing in front of the mirror in your underwear and stared at your belly. Your finger was tracing your skin lightly, as if you were tickling the baby that was growing inside of you.

‘Sweets? Where are you?’ Ron yelled from downstairs as soon as the door had shut behind him.

‘Up here,’ you said with a distant voice as you kept staring at your mirror image.

Loud and fast footsteps were heard on the stairs and Ron came bursting into the bedroom. Worry stood on his face and he was panting lightly. You looked up confused to him.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked and the anxiety left his face as you nodded. ‘Why are you standing there?’

You shrugged as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Your hand had dropped from your stomach and was now hanging along your body. Ron took of his coat and stood behind you. He rested his cold hands on your shoulders and you hissed.

‘Oh, sorry,’ he muttered but when he tried to take his hands away you kept them there.

You looked at Ron through the mirror and smiled at him. ‘I made a decision.’

Ron froze and you turned around so you could look at him. He looked at you with big eyes and you took his hands, placing them around your waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

‘We’re having a baby,’ you whispered softly.

Ron stared and after a few seconds swallowed. ‘We’re having a baby?’

You nodded and giggled at Ron’s anxious face. He started to smile and pulled you close against his chest. His hands on your back were cold and his cheek in your neck too, but you held onto him. For minutes you stood like that, until Ron turned you back to the mirror and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his hands on your lower-stomach. His touch sent shivers down your spine and sparkles through your veins.

‘We’re gonna be parents,’ you said.

‘We’re gonna be the best parents,’ Ron said.

- - - - - -

Taglist:

General HP: @kitkatkl @girllety @yuptha-tsme @sleep-i-ness @iamak20 @thefuturelawyer @weasleydream @missmulti @deafgirltingz @moonstarrnghtsky @mytreec @lilulo-12fanfiction @emmaloo21 @kashishwrites @ananad1 @figlia--della--luna @kylosleftbuttcheek @mrs-malfoy-always @thefandomplace @magicwithaknife @mt2413 @aesthetically-hailey @superbturtlemakerathlete @the-natureofme @missswriter

MASTERLIST

#all i want for christmas is fanfiction #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley imagine #ron weasley #harry potter #tw pregnancy #pregnancy

[kailedger]

for all the YOI fanfic authors

I’ve been reading a lot of fanfics in this particular fandom and, as a Russian, there’s like... little things that constantly bother me. Don’t get me wrong, the works are amazing, but every time I see this little innacurate details in a really good piece I’m like... slightly dissapointed lol

So here’s a couple things from a native speaker and someone who actually lives in Russia. (Also pardon my grammar, since English is not my first language).

NAMES. I couldn't stress it more, honestly. Here's the thing: most of Russian names have a full version and a short version. For example Victor (or Viktor, whichever you prefer) is the full version and Vitya is the short version. Sometimes I see authors using the short version, but most of the time it's described as something unusual (like Victor gets TOO excited to hear it from Yuuri). But in real life everyone in Russia will call him Vitya. It's not a big deal, the closest equivalent I can think of is this: if you wanna adress someone as Ms. or Mr., you can use the full name, but if two people are on the first name basis, in Russia they most likely will use the short version. So, like, Yakov, Yurio, Mila, Georgi will definitely call him Vitya (as I recall, in anime Yakov actually does? Or have I been reading too much fanfiction?). 

If it's an official kind of thing (for example, press meetings etc.) Victor can be adressed by his full name, sometimes even with his paternal name. (Paternal names in Russia is a whole other thing, pretty close to second names, but a little bit different. We always adress elder people like teachers with both full name and paternal name). I actually think Victor would adress Yakov with his paternal name, but that heavely depends in their relationship (honestly, Victor has like zero chill, so I wouldn't put it past behind him to have no respect in this matter lol). 

Oh, and Yurio's name is a mess in most fanfics. The full name would be Yuri, the short version is Yura. Since Otabek is from Kazakzstan, there's a very high chance he's actually fluent in Russian, so he would definitely use "Yura". The cutesy dimunitive would be Yurochka (not Yuratchka as it's stated in the anime subtitles), but it's only appropriate to use with a big age difference (like Yurio's granpa calling him that) or in a really sweet manner, to a point of being almost nauseating. (BTW, dimunitive from Vitya is Viten'ka). 

Mila's full name doesn't actually have a short version, but if you're looking for a dimunitive it's Milochka (which is also the same word for "darling" in Russian, and this version can be kind of sarcastic, so be careful with it). 

Georgi... Oh my God, where do I start lol. There's like two common short versions: Zhora or Gosha (sometimes even Goga, we have a very popular movie quote with this name, it's like a well-known joke for Russians).

Pet names. That's a whole other different level of hell. I often see people writing Victor using pet names, sometimes it's good, most of the times it makes me go "He would never use that, please, stop". 

"Zolotse" as in "gold" is actually a pretty good one - altough it's a little conservative and not often used, it has a personal meaning for Victor and Yuuri and isn't, you know... cringy. But for the love of God, don't use "krasavchik" (handsome guy) or "detka" (baby), it's just... no. Miliy (darling), lyubov moya or lyubimiy (my love) are pretty good. A little too sweet for my taste, but I actually think it's appropriate for Victor since he's clingy lol.

Accents. So here's the thing. I lived my whole life in Russia, I learned English through some additional courses (not very advanced) and watching a lot of american/english tv-shows and movies and reading literature in english. When I had the chance to talk to native speakers (one was from Boston, I believe, and also a bunch of people in England when I went on a vacation there), most of them said that I barely had any accent at all. 

Victor presumably has been participating in international events from a very young age. My point is - sure, he can have an accent, but in my opinion it's not gonna be very distinctive. Unless he's specifically speaking in a broken English, but, like, why would he do that? On the other hand, Yurio and Mila are both pretty young, so it would actually make sense for them to have an accent or even have trouble speaking English.

Customs and traditions. Pretty sure most people know it already, but in Russia we do wear our wedding rings on the right hand. Has something to do with our main religion being eastern orthodox church. 

We don't usually celebrate Christmas. Our Christmas is on 7th of January and it's a pretty religious holiday, most of us barely acknowledge it. So 25th of December is not a holiday in Russia. But! New Year is the biggest holiday for the whole country. We celebrate it starting from 31st of December, and the celebration itself usually involves the New Year tree, champange, tangerines and a whole bunch of salads. We have official holidays from 31st of December all the way to 7th on January (some years even 8th or 9th). So it's a whole week of celebration where people usually get drunk a lot lol. 

The stereotype about russians drinking a lot is not exactly a sterotype tbh. We DO drink a lot, not all of us, of course, but still. And yeah - vodka is pretty common since you can find it really cheap and it doesn't have a particular taste or smell (if you don't count the smell and taste of alcohol itself). But I, for example, prefer rum in my cocktails, so it's like a preference thing. 

Not exactly a tradition or custom, but still fits here. Yeah, it can get pretty cold in Russia, especially in winter or late fall. But this winter (of 2019-2020) was pretty mild honestly, not a lot of snow and the temperature was rarely below -10 degrees celcium. And our summers can get unbearebly hot. Since the humidity in St. Petersburg is very high, it makes the hot weather even worse. Oh, yeah, and in St. P it rains A LOT. The city itself is pretty gloomy and dark, but that's kind of part of it's charm if you're into this kind of thing (some people are not, I've got a lot of friends from Moscow who hate St. P for being so moody). 

Russia is also pretty big. The travel from St. P to Moscow is from 4 to 12 hours on train (depends on what train you're on) or 1.5 hour on plane. But both of those cities are in the western part of the country. Vladivostok (the city on the eastern coast) is actually closer to Japan than it's to St. P or Moscow (2 hour flight to Japan, 45 hour flight to St. P, crazy, right?)

Homophobia. Kinda heavy topic, beware. Russia is a homophobic country. Not to the point of same-sex relationship being a criminal offence, but propaganda, as our authorities would call it, is an administrative offence. And the court can judge A LOT of your actions as a propaganda, especially if you’re a public person. I mostly prefer to not dwell on this topic in fanfiction, I think even the creators of anime itself stated that there’s no homophobia in YOI world, so best stick to it, I guess? But if you wanna go for something realistic, here’s how it would have been in Russia. If Victor EVER publicly acknolewged being in a relationship with another man (like... kissing one on a national televion, ya know), he would be heavely criticized. There would still be supporters, people who would say that it doesn’t matter, what his personal life is like, but there would be a lot of backlash, especially on official level. Which would make his life in Russia pretty miserable tbh. He would most likely lose a majority of his sponsorships in Russia, there’s even a high chance of administrative penalty (since he’s a public person). That’s really sad and makes me very, very angry, but, unfortunatly, that’s the reality. Oh, and same-sex marriage is illegal in Russia, in case that wasn’t clear. 

Phew, that was a lot, and I think I haven’t covered all that I wanted to lol. But in case you have any question, feel free to ask!

p.s.: part two, if you’re interested: https://kailedger.tumblr.com/post/621623611041759232/for-all-the-yoi-fanfic-author-p2

#yoi #yuri on ice #yuuri on ice #victor nikiforov #viktor nikirofov #yuuri katsuki #victuuri #viktuuri #fanfiction

[ad1thi]

2020 fic recs!! [Part 1]

this idea was stolen from @iam93percentstardust cuz i just,,,thought that this year was absolute shit and it would be nice to make a fic rec list of fics from this year that helped me through it. this will be over a range of fandoms and ships, but all fics were written this year. 

fics are ordered by the month they were published. ive tried to keep to five fics per month, but this is not obviously all the fics ive read that month - i just didn’t want to make this insanely long. 

im releasing the first half of this on the 1st of December, and the second half on the 1st of January 2021 - because otherwise it would just get so long (and also so i will actually have fics for December)

happy reading!! hopefully you find fics on this you haven’t read yet

***

January

The cat is mighty dignified (until the dog comes by): @five-wow

Steve and Danny find them on the pillow in the corner of the dining area, where Eddie is on his side, ass half on the floor because the pillow is more cat-sized than lab-sized, and Pickles is nestled between Eddie’s front legs, essentially being spooned and looking very I-got-the-cream about it. Pickles’ head is tucked into the crook of Eddie’s neck and Eddie’s head slots perfectly on top of Mr. Pickles’, like a furry jigsaw puzzle.

“They’re cuddling,” Steve points out, unnecessarily.

Or: There is a love story unfolding under the McGarrett roof.

Captain ‘Socialist Rage Muffin’ America: @baffledkingcomposinghallelujah

It takes three months of dating Steve Rogers for Tony to understand why Aunt Peggy once shot at him in sheer frustration.

Alternately titled, Honey, I committed treason again.

The Best Laid Plans (Of Mice and Men): @arboreal-elm-ash-oak

His Dark Materials AU

It was Annalise who noticed their small visitor first.

“Tony,” the spider daemon said softly, skittering up the collar of his dress shirt, two of her eight legs resting delicately against his cheek, “Don’t startle them, but I believe we have a guest. Look, by the coffee table.”

Fourteen Million to One: @tunastorks

Six months after Thanos, six months after Tony’s death, six months after Steve returns to his own timeline, Tony Stark turns up on their doorstep.

Brewed Awakening: @iam93percentstardust

Two years after he comes out of the ice, Steve is drifting through life. On his teammate's recommendation, he decides to go back to school where he meets the grandson of an old friend. He finds happiness with Tony but Steve won't be in Boston forever and someone is out to hurt the Starks. Will Steve and Tony be able to reach their happily ever after?

February

the young, the reckless and the foolish: @bruciewayne

In most universes, they don't know each other, not in the slightest, or they hate each other, in a way that's perfectly logical for anyone who were to find themselves in a similar situation.

In this one, they've known each other since they were four years old and naively idealistic.

This is them over the years, against the odds.

a giant sign: @areiton

“Think you can get him to open the weapons division up again?” his CO asks, his voice hungry and Rhodey laughs because this--

“No. Tony hung up his weapons.”

“That’s not what the suit says,” his CO objects, and Rhodey shrugs.

Tony has always had rules, rules he expects the entire world to live by.

And then there was Rhodey, slipping under them.

my heart is driftwood, floating down your coast: @nethandrake

Tonight, there’s a stranger in his backseat. That’s not unusual.

He’s also sad. That’s not unusual either.

What is unusual is that the stranger is silent.

(One night, a stranger enters Steve's taxi. Nothing is the same again.)

Just A Cold: @/delighted 

There’s a new text waiting for him. It’s from Steve of course, and it’s vaguely threatening as most messages from Steve are these days. Still Danny ignores it, and now he’s really playing with fire. Maybe it’ll burn the cold out of him.

Or, Danny’s sick, and Steve can’t stay away. The usual comfort fluff. With a little cameo from a gently meddling Grace.

An Unexpected Guide: @/Rachel500

Danny Williams has hidden his Guide status to keep being a detective, but his time of hiding is up when he unexpectedly finds his Sentinel, Steve McGarrett in the midst of a tragedy.

March

Why don’t we (Collide the spaces that divide us): @five-wow

When they finally catch sight of each other again through the milling crowds, they’re both a little worse for wear. Danny’s left side is covered in glitter and every time he brushes a hand over his hair, more blue and purple confetti rains down. Steve is- Well, Steve is randomly shirtless, which is all things considered not excessively remarkable, but he’s also covered in smudges of colorful paint and has a very nicely printed bloodred lipstick kiss mark on his cheek.

“What did you do?” Danny asks, because it looks like Steve had a lot more fun than he did.

Or: Steve and Danny accidentally end up in the middle of something entirely new.

A Little Unsteady: @finduilasclln 

Written for the Tumblr prompt meme : "Hey! I was gonna eat that!"

Tony lashes out at Bucky for eating his dessert. Only, it really isn't about the dessert.

a national treasure: @starklysteve

Steve isn't looking for an apple and Tony decides his passion is to inspire young souls. -x- OR: the AU where Tony is a Youtuber and Steve is Captain America and somehow they still save the world together.

April

cycle through: @ambivalentmarvel

Twenty-five years ago, Tony Stark disappeared from his family home a month after the tragic deaths of his parents, Howard and Maria Stark, leaving a billion-dollar tech conglomerate without an heir and the world wondering what happened.

Twenty-three years ago, HYDRA gained another super soldier.

Ten years ago, Peter Parker’s parents died in what is ruled as a home invasion gone wrong but he knows was murder, plain and simple, because he spoke to the killer.

And in the present, Project Insight fails, and the Iron Soldier pays the price.

FOREVER-LOVE YOU-I: @/Eudoxia

Tony Stark is twenty-one when he loses his voice. It shouldn't matter, but in a world where the first words your Soulmate says to you are marked on your skin, it can be pretty damn annoying.

Especially for Tony's soulmate.

--

Companion piece to my fic Thumb, Index, and Pinky Extended. This is Steve's POV, with a few extra scenes, as a treat.

(Edit: Sorry if you guys get multiple notifications for this. I just realized (about two hours after posting it) that I fucked up the grammar in the title and I HAD to fix it. YOLO, I guess.)

come build a home out of me: @maguna-stxrk

Steve clears his throat.

“What if I went with you?” he asks nonchalantly, like his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his ribcage.

Tony blinks a few times, looking at Steve, his mouth ajar. “As a— As my date?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods, feeling a little breathless.

“You don’t mind?” Tony furrows his eyebrows.

“I don’t. In fact, you can just tell them I’m your boyfriend. I’m sure they’ll back off, wouldn’t they?”

What.

“I— Huh?” Tony stares at him, brown eyes blown wide open.

What. What. What.

“Huh? Uh, I mean— You know, that way people will see that you have definitely moved on. Monica will see that you have moved on. Right?” Steve smiles, hoping that it masks his inner panic, because what?

Steve Rogers, what have you done?

i don’t have a choice (but i’d still choose you): @nethandrake

There’s a name inked onto his chest, a name written in an all-too familiar scrawl. And it’s— It’s—

Steve doesn’t realize his body is quaking until he’s tracing the tattoo with a shaky finger.

Because of course that is the name etched into the skin. Like a brand, a reminder for everything he has done. An appropriate retribution.

Anthony Edward Stark.

(When Thanos snaps half of the universe away, he unknowingly leaves the other half with soulmarks.)

ua haʻalele ʻoe iaʻu (a ua hoʻomālamalama ʻoe iaʻu): @just-fandomthings

"The truth is, I was shot in the chest and nearly died, and not even three days after I was released from the hospital, you up and left-- and of those two, I'm not sure which one hurt me worse!"

(Coda to 10x22 because come on, we all need a better ending than the one given to us.)

Title loosely translates to: "You left me in the dark (you lit me up)" -- inspired by the brilliant song "Say You Won't Let Go" by James Arthur

May

A Piece Of The Past: @hddnone

It had been so many years since Bucky had gone undercover in the Stark family's mob, he thought he'd gotten away clean.

Then Tony Stark slid into the seat across from him at his breakfast diner, and Bucky's boss has a new case for him.

the privilege of loving you: @starklysteve

“Why won’t you let me touch you?”

It’s a desperate plea, half-shouted and half-whispered, Steve’s voice cracking at the end. Tony stops in his tracks, halfway to the stairs. He doesn’t dare to turn back, and he really doesn’t want to fight, or to leave, to spend the last month of his life away from his husband and their son. But Steve can’t know, can he?

-x-

Or: Tony has palladium poisoning, but he doesn't tell Steve and Peter

your pillow feels so soft now (but still you must advance): @firebrands

When Bruce is 13, he decides to go to boarding school. It's an opportunity for him to learn about other people, and how to interact with them.

Bruce has the misfortune of meeting Tony Stark upon his arrival in Roxbury. Bruce is moving into his room, and Tony opens the door of his room to watch. He looks a bit younger than Bruce, hair wild and eyes bright. Bruce has never seen a boy like him before—handsome and confident.

Bruce doesn’t like it.

IMPORTANT: This fic has them meeting at 14, then progresses slowly until they’re 17. Includes underage drinking and kissing.

This is set before Bruce becomes Batman and Tony becomes Iron Man and I have no explanation as to how or why they just DO Canonically, Bruce is 17 when he finishes school and goes around the world to train, so we're sticking with that

The Real MVP: @sword-and-stars (part of a series)

[“I have saved this Tuesday!” Sokka announces, rattling the bag upon reentry.

Zuko doesn’t even look up from his phone as he deadpans, “It’s Thursday.”

Okay, so Sokka is still having trouble getting his days right without checking. At least he’s gone back to sleeping at night! Going to bed at night is way easier when you have a cute, cuddly boyfriend who starts falling asleep around eleven o’clock. It also helps that he and Zuko are on solid gold butt-touching terms.

It’s been a while since Sokka has been on butt-touching terms with someone and it’s amazing.]

Or,

Sokka knows a guy, gets laid, and introduces Zuko to the merits of an afternoon delight.

When is a bed not a bed? (When you’re not in it): @riotwritesthings

There’s a tiny safe house, with one tiny window and one tiny couch.

And one tiny little bed.

June

Nice Fingers: @anthonyed

A single compliment given by Tony stirs Bucky restless until he caves in and asks him out on a date.

With Steve’s help of course (whether he likes it or not).

The Darkest Touch: @starkrogerrs

This is the story of how Steve finds that it has been ordained that he is to marry a monster he cannot resist aka the God of Love himself, Tony.

It's Cupid x Psyche retold, but with thrice the amount of porn.

The Night Shift:  @weethreequarter

Welcome to the Emergency Department of San Antonio General where Dr. Tony Stark joins the team fresh from his most recent tour in Afghanistan and - much to the consternation of the other staff - strikes up an instant rapport with Nurse Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, new resident Bruce Banner refuses to give up on his patient, and Dr. Sharon Carter learns something from her own patients. Throw in a pissed off hospital administrator, Clint using the coffee pot as a mug again, and a major car crash and you have, well, just another night shift.

Wind Beneath My Wings: @iam93percentstardust

Sam first meets Tony Stark in 2005 when he joins the EXO-7 Falcon program.

In jest: @/apathyinreverie

“No, babe,” Danny shakes his head with a grin. “If the apocalypse were to go down while I’m elsewhere for some godforsaken reason, then you stay put and I’m coming to wherever you are.” His grin widens. “And I expect you to have cleared any aliens or zombies or whatever else might be messing with us off the island and to have set up a nice, comfortable military dictatorship for us to rule over by the time I get back.”

It’s a joke.

Of course it’s a joke.

Until it isn’t.

(A the-day-after-tomorrow-style apocalypse AU, where the world decides to end right when Danny is visiting one of the other islands with Grace. Because, of course, it does.)

#adi's rec list #mcdanno #stevetony #buckytony #brucetony #rhodeytony #zukka #samtony #january - june #there's so many different ships on this #and different authors #and it spans three fandoms #so hopefully you guys enjoy this!!

[chat-noir-always-here]

“Hey Arnold!” and “Miraculous!” parallels

Ever have an idea for a post that you take forever to get around to because 2020 is 

actively 

trying

to kill you?!

 Welp, that’s me. I mean, uh, this is that post.

Long post is long and I don’t like cuts cuz I’ve lost a few posts in the past using them. Please filter the tag “long post” I use it for walls of text like these.

So there’s this show from my childhood called Hey Arnold! 

Having been on air before I had cable (I and my unsupervised brothers and sisters spent our childhood watching Jerry Springer and Maury because there was literally nothing else on our cheap little TV. How hilarious is that?) I didn’t really have much of an experience with Hey Arnold! aside from brief little glances at it when i visited a friends home or the rare occasion where they showed cartoons at school. By the time I got satellite, the show was no longer on the air save for some late night reruns and the Christmas special which aired in December along with other Nickelodeon Christmas episodes (THE best Christmas episode EVER btw).

Really I couldn’t remember much about it until hearing about the Jungle Movie finally getting a release date (a total flop but at least its no cliff hanger) and decided to re-watch the entire series in preparation for said movie.

By which point I had discovered another show—Miraculous. 

At first glance the two shows have absolutely nothing in common. Miraculous being a French-born mahou shoujo-esque CGI superhero TV series about a couple of middle schoolers who regularly battle a walking peppermint-frappucino-looking psychopath. Hey Arnold! being a more realistic children’s sitcom about a young football-headed boy who deals out humanitarian aid in the form of advice and simple good deeds to his neighbors, classmates and friends. 

In terms of setting, logic, and animation the two series are as different as night and day.

So imagine my pleasant surprise to discover a whole post’s worth of parallels shared between the two shows???

And here they are in no particular order:

1)Arnold’s Parents/Adrien’s mom

Prior to the start of Miraculous, Emilie Agreste disappeared under mysterious circumstances leaving her family behind. Later on it was revealed that she was in fact sleeping (dead?) in a glass coffin beneath the Agreste mansion--unbeknownst to Adrien, or anyone else in Paris save for Gabriel and Nathalie.

In a similar fashion, Arnold’s parents, Miles and Stella, also disappeared prior to the start of Hey Arnold! and like Emilie were always referred to as “missing” rather than “dead.” 

The Jungle Movie later revealed Miles and Stella weren’t dead, but like Emilie appears to be doing in her coffin, they were sleeping. Having caught a bout of sleeping sickness (apparently they do not need to be hooked up to IVs or other medical devices while in a comatose state cuz fuck logic) they simply needed their orphaned son to come and cure them with the help of the magical golden heart Helga provided him with.

Perhaps Mari holds the key to waking Emilie? That would be nice to see. 

Not the miraculous of course--but some other key.

Although personally I’m hoping for a hardcore, devastating ending like Emilie dying, Gabriel going to prison where he belongs, and Adrien leaving the country for a bit until the second Hawk Moth shows up because I just like devastating cliffhangers and angst and being in utter turmoil over fictional people. But that’s just me.

2) Their best friends are dating

Smol parallel here: Arnold’s best friend Gerald and Helga’s Best friend Phoebe wind up together in The Jungle Movie after being imprisoned together by Lasombra. Similar to how Nino and Alya ended up together after being imprisoned by Ladybug (for their protection, of course).

3) The Bag of Money Episode/ The Ladybug episode

OOh boy both of these episodes make me rage. 

Some context about the Bag of Money episode: Arnold and his friends Gerald and Sid find a random bag of money containing almost $4000. Sid is ecstatic and wants to split the money evenly between the three boys, but Arnold worries it could just be lost and convinces them to let him, Arnold, take the money to the police station. On the way he accidentally switches the bag with another one that is identical and contains a bunch of useless junk, and when he tries to explain what happened to his friends they don’t believe him because their bag of money was accidentally taken by an “old lady with pink hair and a peg leg.”

 Arnold’s a good boy and he’s telling the truth--but the truth sounds crazy, even to my ears. Sid accuses Arnold of stealing the money and spreads lies to their classmates, whom Arnold has spent the ENTIRE SERIES helping in some form or fashion. Despite everything he’s done for them though, the vast majority of the class come to believe Arnold is a thief. Even Gerald, Arnold’s closest friend, nearly believes Sid over Arnold but eventually comes to Arnold’s defense. The other kids (save for Helga who doesn’t really make an appearance this episode) gang up on Arnold, but thankfully the old lady with pink hair and a peg leg shows up with an officer and together they explain the bag of money is now at the lost and found where it will remain and if gone unclaimed will be returned to Arnold, Gerald and Sid. 

Pretty much everything is resolved and things return to normal between the kids. 

But I hate this episode. I hate this episode so, so much. Arnold has spent the entire series helping these people out in some form or fashion. Literally thats the entire show. And after everything he’s done for them they’re so. Quick. To. Turn. On. Him. 

Sound familiar???

4) Hidden Personality                   vs.          Surface Personality

 I do not refer to the cruddy “true selves” thing half the Miraculous fandom believes in. Depending on one’s individual circumstances, environment and how comfortable they are, said person’s behavior can fluctuate or even do a complete 180. This can be kinda frustrating when dealing on one’s own--”Who am I anyway? Is that me or is this me???”

It’s all you, fam.

Arnold and Helga are themselves too, no matter what metaphorical/actual mask they put on. There’s the side that everyone sees and then there’s the side almost no one sees. The hidden personality isn’t hidden due to a lack of trust, necessarily, but rather it is the result of retreating to their respective “shells”--ones which both Arnold and Helga were kinda punched, kicked, and shoved into. 

Helga’s surface personality: Class bully, puts up a tough front, constantly torments Arnold because she can’t stand him and his niceness

Helga’s hidden personality: Poetic, abused and isolated, is in love with Arnold to the point of being obsessed with him and bullies him via surface personality in order to hide that fact

Of course Adrien is no bully--his reasons for not being the “cunning, funny, ultra-charming Chat Noir” 24/7 DOES have a lot to do with his toxic household, his dad, and the overwhelming expectations which are constantly smothering him as Adrien. 

Adrien is a bug under a magnifying glass (or so he feels)

Chat Noir is a chance for a freedom.

 Adrien’s surface personality was molded by his dad.

 Helga’s is the result of her entire family. Her father is brash and loud, her mother is a confirmed alcoholic, her sister is a gifted prodigy, well-rounded and spends most of the series at university or elsewhere. Although her sister, Olga, has been shown to genuinely care for Helga, Olga is kinda the reason their parents neglect Helga. With their first daughter being the genius and prodigy she is, Helga’s parents poured all of their pride and affection and parental devotion onto her. Meanwhile Helga had to walk to pre-school alone. At four years old. In the rain. Not for the last time. 

Which leads me to the next parallel.

5) Umbrella in the Rain

squeals in delight over this parallel<3<3<3

If you’ve never seen Hey Arnold! do yourselves a favor and watch this short little clip over how Helga and Arnold first met. If you have seen it, watch it anyway because it is the most adorable clip in the entire show.

Dr. Bliss: “So nobody’s ever noticed you?”

Helga: “...There was someone.”

The soft way Helga confesses that--you can actually hear how grateful she is to have such a tender memory from such a painful time. 

 In a similar manner, Adrien offered his umbrella to Marinette. Of course Adrien did it because Mari had to walk home in the rain and Arnold did it as a simple gesture of kindness (seeing as they were already at the school)--one of the many kind acts he displays throughout the series. 

 But just like Adrien needed unconditional love coming from somewhere, so did Helga. They were both denied this one common necessity which everyone else around them had. It’s not a lot to ask for, and they should’ve already had it coming from their families--but they didn’t.

 And then, one rainy day, there it was--the unconditional love they needed.

6) Clinginess

What happens when you take someone, specifically a love-starved abused child from an unstable home environment--deprived of the one thing most crucial to their mental well-being--and miraculously provide them with that very necessity? 

Clinginess. 

I can’t really think of the correct word to describe this. “Clinginess” is pretty close to what I’m trying to describe, if not on point, so let’s go with that. 

 What I mean is Helga and Adrien both need Arnold and Ladybug respectively. That’s not a bad thing--it’s okay to need somebody else. What’s bad is hinging your entire being on this one connection. For if either kiddo were to be left behind they wouldn’t handle it very well.

 It can’t really be helped with either Helga or Adrien. They didn’t really have the option to learn certain things and went deprived of unconditional love for such a long time. They’re kids--nine and fourteen/fifteen respectively. They’re not perfect and they’re traumatized for life. Being denied love from your family--the very people designed to love you--would do that to a person. Naturally they would cling to the first people to show up and provide them with the love they needed. 

 The Hey Arnold! wiki says this about Helga and Arnold’s relationship

Due to her unstable family upbringing where both her mother and father constantly neglect [Helga] and shower all of their attention onto Olga, leaving her deprived of the love and attention she needed growing up. On her way to preschool, Arnold helped her by keeping the rain off her with an umbrella and even complimented her on her hairbow. He even later gave her crackers during their snack time. Arnold's kindness and being the first person to notice her quickly caused Helga to transfer all of her love and attention to Arnold.

Of course Adrien’s tunnel vision isn’t quite as bad as Helga’s.

 He treats his friends better.

 He does love his father--

Even though his father is THE. 

WORST.

 PARENT.

 EVER!!!

--because he’s Adrien and he’s just too precious a cinnamon roll and that’s still his dad even if the man does belong behind bars.

7) Unhealthy Obsession

I--

I...

Ugh. I am not going to delve too far into this. You’re just going to have to take my word for it. Helga’s creepy stalker behavior is a thousand times worse than Marinette’s. That pic up there of Helga hiding out in Arnold’s room watching him is pretty decent evidence to back up my argument, but it’s hardly the only example or even the worst incident.

 Honestly I’m amazed at what Nicktoons were able to get away with in the late nineties/early 2000s. 

But yes, Helga’s obsession with Arnold is rather unhealthy in the most extreme moments leading her to display behavior which is more often than not disturbing and concerning. 

The Hey Arnold! wiki has this to say about Helga’s obsession with Arnold

Helga is possessive of her love for Arnold and thinks non-stop about him to the point of obsession. This is evidenced throughout the series by the many shrines and poems she makes of Arnold and of her frequent dramatic soliloquies about her love for Arnold.

Again--Mari isn’t as bad as all that. She’s a sweet girl with many healthy relationships in her life. She has ambition, creativity, and drive. But yeah she can be rather possessive of Adrien too, and that needs to stop. Like right now. Adrien doesn’t need another girl being possessive of him and thinking he’s perfect--he needs someone who acknowledges him as a flawed person and loves him despite that. 

As for Helga and Arnold--show creator Craig Bartlett confirmed they are “made for each other” and wind up married with three kids, so I’m guessing Helga grew out of some of these bad habits? Or at least I hope so...

8) Helper/Humanitarian tendencies

As mentioned before, the plot of Hey Arnold! is more or less about Arnold helping people. As stated by Gerald in The Jungle Movie, “He’s a humanitarian! Like his parents!” Of course not every episode is about Arnold helping people. There are episodes devoted to supporting characters and they’re just as enjoyable and satisfying. 

 But as he is the titular character he spends a lot of time in the spotlight. 

Remember that “best christmas special EVER” episode I mentioned before?

 The reason it’s the best special, in my less than humble opinion, is due to a few things.

 The special is not about Santa Claws. In fact, I don’t think he’s even mentioned, let alone shown and treated like an actual living character.

The focus on the entire episode is again on Arnold helping someone, but he doesn’t succeed. Not really.

The one who succeeded in helping someone was Helga, who accomplished the goal Arnold had set out to do. 

The episode deals with some rather dark subject matter and is actually quite heartwarming as the “perfect present” Arnold was trying to provide someone with wasn’t something you can buy in the store

It’s also one of the episodes where Helga’s love for Arnold leaves her to do good and as her love for him is a secret, she expects nothing in return. She’s just happy to help him.

 Kinda similar to Mari who is, as Adrien puts it in Mayura, “Our every day Ladybug.” Her kindness and devotion to helping others is what drives her as Ladybug and Marinette. It’s what brought Ivan and Mylene together. Is the reason Nathaniel and Mark now have a comic book together. And at the end of the day, that’s the reason for her strange behavior around Adrien--she wants to help him. Even if it’s just as a “good friend.” 

9) There are two main characters

Although Hey Arnold! is technically a show about Arnold, one could argue it is just as much Helga’s story. 

Similarly, Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir is named thusly in order to convey the fact that Adrien is just as much a main character as Marinette is. 

Although I must say Hey Arnold! did a much better job of giving it’s co-character their dues. GIVE. ME. MORE. CHAT NOIR. FOCUSED. EPISODES. DAMMIT.

But, yes, in terms of screen time, Helga gets about as much as Arnold does. Her story and struggles were given just as much importance as Arnold’s and many people have even come to believe that the show is really about Helga. I’d say its about both of them.

10) Constantly bumping into each other

Granted this happens between Arnold and Helga more often than it does to the love square dorks. 

 But yes the two people meant to be together keep knocking into each other in their respective universes. 

 I forget who, but I remember reading that someone a while back theorized that this was the universe’s way of trying to push Arnold and Helga together. Kinda like the “Now kiss!” meme

Perhaps it’s the same for Adrien and Marinette? 

;)

#long post #adriennette #shortaki #hey arnold #miraculous ladybug #love square #nicktoons #zag toons

[dannypuro]

Okay but what was the heinous spelling error Enj made 200ish years ago and was it really as bad as he said it was ?

Also I am here to further scream over your fics and flail about how Good they are and how On Point your characterization is and how I am still thinking about them all. All at once. No exceptions

THANk YOU VERY MUCH AND GOOD NIGHT :^D (the nose is there for Grantaire reasons) - boom-goes-the-canon because Tumblr disallows sending asks from side blogs like governments ban personal lives

( Something Telling verse, post-chapter 9 (aka time-zapped Enjolras, modern-era). also THANK YOU!! HELLO!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!! GOOD JOB ON YOUR MOST RECENT FIC I ADORE. to everyone else... send me prompts/questions/thoughts. i shall respond to them. thank u)

Feuilly and Bahorel come over for brunch on a Sunday in December. Grantaire makes a quiche, sets the table all nice, and everything, and then realizes, ten minutes before they’re supposed to arrive, that they ran out of coffee the day before. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, as he stares down into the empty bag and wishes that for once in his fucking life he could have just a tiny bit of forethought. “Fuck.”

Enjolras hums from where he sits on the kitchen counter, where he’s been steadily working his way through a truly impressive number of clementines. “Something is wrong?” He asks; he passes Grantaire a piece of clementine, as he says it. (God, Grantaire fucking loves him.)

“Yeah,” he says, but his heart’s not really in it, anymore--it’s hard to keep up any semblance of anger past annoyance when Enjolras is doing things like- like feeding him orange segments, and shit like that. “We- I forgot we’re out of coffee. And Baz and Feuilly’ll be here in, like, a second, and the quiche is still in the oven and I don’t-” he doesn’t have time, and he has never been a shitty brunch host but brunch without coffee is a shitty brunch, and-

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says firmly. He hops down off of the counter, takes a second to frame Grantaire’s face in his hands. “Please do not panic over brunch. I shall go and buy some more coffee.”

Like it’s simple. Fuck, it is simple, and Grantaire loves him, and he’s not going to be a shitty brunch host, and-

“God, I love you,” he says. 

Enjolras smiles, leans up for a quick kiss. “I love you, as well. Now, mind your cookery--I shall return before the hour, and all will be well.” 

He leaves, and Grantaire repeats it to himself--All will be well--and as soon as he’s done that, there’s a crack of thunder, and it starts pouring, icy and relentless, outside the kitchen window. And. Well. So much for that mantra, then. But oh, God, it’s raining, and Enjolras never takes an umbrella with him, and if he had any sense he’d just turn back and come back to the apartment, damn the coffee, but Grantaire knows him, and he knows that he doesn’t have any sense, most of the time, so he stares out the window and wills the rain to stop before his boyfriend freezes to death. 

No such luck. By the time Enjolras gets back, coffee in hand, he’s soaked to the bones, and he’s got an equally-as-sopping Feuilly and Bahorel in tow. 

“R!” Bahorel crows. “Found your boy!”

Grantaire sets the quiche down on the table and looks them over. Feuilly’s teeth are chattering. They’re all three of them dripping on his carpet. Enjolras is wearing Grantaire’s hoodie instead of a coat and beaming. 

Right. A change of plans, then.

They eat brunch on the couch, once Grantaire’s thrown all of their clothes into the dryer and they’ve changed into some of Grantaire’s spare sweatpants. Of course, Baz and Feuilly borrow his clothes because they need to; Enjolras borrows his clothes because he’s fundamentally ridiculous. (Grantaire loves him so fucking much.)

“You know,” Grantaire says, over couch quiche, despite the fact that he already knows that Enjolras does, in fact, know, “You could have just changed into your own clothes. If you wanted to. Since you live here, and all.”

Enjolras gives him a very, very pointed look. And you know what? Fair.

They eat brunch. 

“I did have a question about your essays, actually,” Feuilly says, once they’ve finished the quiche and moved on to coffee and coffee alone. He’s tucked under the same quilt as Enjolras--one of Jehan’s, bright and warm. 

Enjolras nods, snuggles back against Grantaire, where Grantaire’s got an arm wrapped around his chest, where he leans up against him in an awkward half-pivot. “Of course,” he says. “Anything you require, easily.”

“Awesome, great,” Feuilly says, with a smile. “What’s lacrity?”

Grantaire can feel Enjolras tense against him, freeze. Which is… not what he was expecting. “You jest,” he manages, eventually, and Grantaire holds him a little tighter, never mind that he doesn’t know why. 

Feuilly frowns. “Um. No? I mean, I looked it up, but I couldn’t find anything.”

Enjolras is breathing a little faster, now; he takes Feuilly’s hands in his own. “Feuilly, my dear fellow,” he says, and his voice shakes. “Tell me you jest.”

Grantaire doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.

Feuilly looks just about as confused as Grantaire feels. He reaches into his bag, pulls out a book--Enjolras’s book, a little thing, six essays bound in public-domain paper. He opens it to his bookmark, hands it over. “Lacrity,” he says, and then he reads, “It is only through lacrity and fortitude that the people of this nation might ever be free; it stands testament to the chance of man, then, that itis lacrity and fortitude both which comprise the foundation of the citizen’s heart. It’s in the fifth one?”

Enjolras stares down at the book. He clears his throat. “Alacrity,” he says, very, very softly.

“Uh, yeah,” Bahorel says, from where he sits with an arm thrown over Feuilly’s shoulders. “A lacrity. But, like, what is it?”

A pained noise rises at the back of his throat that Grantaire can feel, up against his chest. “You misunderstand me,” he manages. “I- This is a nightmare.” His heart is beating just a little too fast for Grantaire’s comfort.

“Enj?” he tries. “Are you-”

“Excuse me,” he blurts out. “I- Excuse me.” He’s on his feet in an instant, making off for the bedroom before anyone can stop him. Grantaire’s side feels pretty fucking cold, without him.

Feuilly looks stricken. “I don’t- Did I say something?” Grantaire’s feeling pretty stricken, himself--he doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t know what could have gone on in Enjolras’s head that would make him talk to Feuilly with anything other than kindness edging on reverence. 

“I’m gonna go see if he’s-” he gestures towards the bedroom. Bahorel and Feuilly nod. He goes.

Enjolras is sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands.

Oh, Jesus.

“Enj?” he hazards. 

He doesn’t look up. “This is mortifying,” he mumbles into his palms. “I have been personally wronged by every single editor who has ever lain their hands upon my essays.”

Grantaire still doesn’t- doesn’t really know where they’re going, here. He sits down beside him on the bed. “Did-”

“Lacrity,” Enjolras grits out, half frantic, and finally, he turns to face Grantaire. “Lacrity is not a word. It is- It- Alacrity. Which I did not know when I wrote those essays, because I was twenty-two years of age and a fool. And this is something which, despite the fact that he was paid to do so, my editor did not deem necessary to correct!”

Ah.

Um. 

Grantaire doesn’t really know that he’s qualified to offer comfort on 200-year-old publishing woes, but fuck, he’ll try. “I’m sure-”

Enjolras holds a hand up to stop him. He stops. “This was bad enough. I was already aware of this injustice. What I cannot abide is the fact that evidently, in the two hundred years since its unfortunate publication, nobody has taken pity enough to correct it! And now Feuilly thinks that I am a fool! Grantaire, this is humiliating!”

He’s looking pretty genuinely distressed; Grantaire can’t bear to do anything but to pull him into a hug, firm and solid. Enjolras, for all his bristle, folds in against his chest. “Feuilly doesn’t think you’re a fool,” he says, into his curls. “Feuilly thinks you’re awesome.”

He lets out a pained groan. “I shall never recover.”

Yeah, okay. Grantaire holds him a little tighter. Only- “Hey, why don’t you care about me or Baz thinking you’re a fool?” 

Enjolras snorts a laugh against his chest. “I have personally witnessed Bahorel misspell his own profession. I hold little concern that his regard for me will be impacted.”

Honestly? Fair. “But-”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, and he pulls back just enough to press his forehead to Grantaire’s. (Grantaire’s heart thrums.) “We live together. We are courting. If you do not already know that I am a fool, I worry that you never will.”

“You’re not-” he says, on impulse, and then he thinks about, like, actually living with Enjolras, fucking wonderful thing, and he grins. “Well. Maybe a little,” he admits.

Enjolras smiles back, still half-shaky. “Perhaps a little,” he says. 

“Feuilly doesn’t think you’re a fool,” Grantaire reminds him, firm. “Feuilly likes you no matter how many typos you made when you were twenty-two.”

He sighs. “Oh, I suppose so.”

Grantaire kisses him, because he can. Enjolras takes a minute to kiss him back, then stands with a sigh. 

“I suppose that I had better explain my pitiable situation to Feuilly, then,” he says, with a hint of a smile. 

“Guess so,” Grantaire says, and he lets Enjolras tug him to his feet and press a kiss to his cheek, before they go.

#enjoltaire #enjoltaire fanfiction #exr #exr fanfiction #les miserables #something telling #les miserables fanfiction #les mis #writing #Anonymous

[adhd-disaster-willie]

seventeen and strung out on confusion; chapter 3/4

chapter 1

chapter 2

So for the sake of this fic, we’re pretending that Alex is actually the youngest and he turned 17 right before the Orpheum. :)

This chapter is a little short, but writers block has been killing me recently.

Warnings: Mentions of homophobia

---

July 7, 1995

Alex remembers Luke once telling him that it would be cool if the weather could shift to match your mood. Like if you were sad, it would start raining in the middle of July, or if you were happy, all the clouds would clear. Alex thought that was stupid, until he woke up on his 17th birthday with the sun shining on his face and not a cloud in sight. It was summer in California so he wasn’t really expecting it to be a gloomy morning, but nonetheless, he’d been hoping it would at least be a little cloudy.

Now, Alex had nothing against birthday’s in general; but considering it was his first birthday away from home and living in a garage (not to mention, having to sleep next to Luke who talked in his sleep and could not stay still. He and Reggie had done rock paper scissors in figuring out who’d get the mattress in the loft and who’d have to sleep on the pull-out with Luke. Alex had lost) he wasn’t feeling very celebratory.

Alex pulled his blanket over his eyes, half-hoping he could just sleep through the day, but apparently his friends had other plans.

“Alex!” Luke called, tossing himself onto the bed and almost sending Alex careening over the edge.

Alex yelped and shot up, glaring at Luke. “What the hell, man?”

“Happy birthday!” Reggie piped up, waving enthusiastically from the loft, promptly followed by a soft shriek, likely from Bobby slapping his shoulder. “What?” Reggie whispered. “I’m just-”

“Dude,” Bobby hissed, nodding his head in the direction of a miserable, exhausted Alex, with horrible bed-head that did nothing to help the fact that he already looked like a vampire that’s just been pulled from his coffin after 100 years. Reggie opened his mouth in recognition, before closing it and smiling apologetically.

Alex pulled the blanket back over his head as if he were a disgruntled 12 year old being forced to dress as a sheet ghost. “Can I go back to sleep now?” He asked from inside the blanket.

“Nope!” Luke replied, pulling the blanket off of Alex’s head and earning himself several mumbled curse words. “We’re going to keep you distracted all day-”

“I’d be pretty distracted if I were sleeping,” Alex grumbled.

“We’re gonna make gingerbread cookies since those are your favorite and you love baking-”

“I was having a really good dream.”

“And Bobbers found an ice-skating rink that is somehow not melted-”

“Why would it be melted?” Reggie asked. “They have like… stuff to keep it frozen right?”

“I was a fish. In the dream. Surprisingly calming.”

“Wait what keeps it frozen though?”

“The water was pink,” Alex sighed, sinking further down until he was hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Sciencey stuff,” Reggie replied to Luke, very matter-of-factly.

“You guys weren’t in the dream,” Alex mused. “Probably why it was so quiet.”

His three friends turned to him now, faces contorted in various degrees of offense. Alex only continued to scowl at them.

“Low blow, man,” Bobby said, shaking his head remorsefully.  

Luke clapped Alex on the back and grinned. “Well! It’s a great thing we woke you up, cause now you don’t have to be a boring fish with no friends.”

“I had friends. Fish friends.”

“Doubt it. Now stand up.”

“What if we just practice. I mean we’re playing the Orpheum in like two weeks-” Alex was interrupted by Bobby’s hand over his mouth.

“Shut up, dude! Do you know how much persuasion it took to get Luke not to make us practice all day?!”

“A lot,” Reggie clarified, looking at Alex with wide eyes. “He gets the loft mattress for a week,” he sighed dismally.

It took several more minutes for Alex to be fully dragged out of bed, and it wasn’t for another hour that he was dressed and standing in Bobby’s kitchen, glaring at the oven.

Alex’s stomach tied itself in knots and he fiddled anxiously with the hem of his shirt. He knew his friends had good intentions, and they really were just trying to keep him distracted. But Alex did not want to bake. Especially not gingerbread, even though they were his favorite and he hadn’t them since… Well he hadn’t had them since the day he’d been kicked out. But he wasn’t gonna tell the band that and ruin this for them. Staring at the ingredients they’d already taken the time to lay out (and in order of what got mixed in first too! Just like Alex liked it), Alex’s mouth felt dry and bitter.

Baking had been his and his Mom’s thing. It was the only “feminine” thing she let him do without glowering at him. And every December, they’d spend days making hundreds of gingerbread cookies to pass out to friends and neighbors. Last year, he didn’t get to help make the cookies and every one he ate tasted like cardboard. Alex settled his hands on the edge of the counter in a futile attempt to stop them from trembling. These were just cookies. Stupid cookies. And at least they weren’t making the cake his mom had made him every year for the first 15 years of his life. Lemon with chocolate frosting, Luke hated it but Alex had always refused to cave and make a normal chocolate cake. But this wasn’t the cake, so there was no need for Alex to get worked up. And yet, his whole body felt like it was made of tightly wound springs and he just wanted to cry.

“I feel like that’s not enough sugar,” Luke mumbled underneath his breath. “Alex, come look at the recipe, that’s not enough sugar, right?” He poked Alex’s shoulder and earned no response.

Alex shook his head, not really processing what Luke had asked over the buzzing in his ears. He looked down at the counter again and felt sick. So he ran. It wasn’t until the three other boys heard Now or Never begin very aggressively that they shared a knowing look and jogged off to the garage.

Alex was only half paying attention to his movement, it really was muscle memory at this point. He choked back tears, guilt rising like bile in his throat. They were only trying to help, and he’d ruined it. But he couldn’t make gingerbread; it would only remind him of the way his parents unconditional love gained conditions as soon as he stepped out of line, as soon as he didn’t quite fit into their nuclear family. He almost scoffed at the thought, because really, his family had been far from perfect, they were just good at keeping things shoved underneath the rug. But apparently Alex being gay was too big a dust bunny for them to sweep up.

A sudden cough from the entrance of the studio snapped Alex from his trance. His drumsticks fell quickly to his sides and he looked up, swallowing thickly and trying to rid himself of the lump in his throat. Reggie stopped wringing his hands together to wave and offer a weak smile. “Hey Lex,” He said quietly.

Alex sighed, running his hands over his face. “I’m sorry,” He said. “I- I know you guys were only trying to help but I just-”

“We know,” Luke interjected, earning a glare from Bobby. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m making it so he doesn’t have to explain and start crying again!” He stuck his tongue out at Bobby before continuing. “Gingerbread… we uh, we didn’t think it through.”

Alex nodded. “Thanks,” he whispered sincerely.

“Do you still want to bake though?” Reggie asked. “We can make something else-”

“Can we just practice?” Alex twirled his drumsticks. “I’m already ready.” He smiled hopefully at his friends, two of which let out frustrated groans. Luke was beaming comically.

“Aw man, but then I gave up the loft mattress for nothing!”

“Dude, I’ve been sticking up for you all day, but Lexi. Come on.”

Luke slapped a hand over each of their mouths. “Practice sounds great!” He shouted. “I mean, don’t you guys want to make Alex feel better?”

Reggie and Bobby shared a look. Alex tapped his cymbals lightly and smiled. “Can’t forget the-”

“The Orpheum, we know!” Reggie whined. “But that’s two whole weeks away and my hands are still cramping from yesterday. We practiced for 6 hours!”

“6 hours,” Bobby repeated grimly, shuddering.

Alex grinned wickedly before standing up and throwing an arm each over Reggie and Bobby’s shoulders. “Come on, it’s my birthday.”

“You can’t just suddenly be okay with it being your birthday! That’s not fair!”

“Nuh uh, birthday card is illegal. And just yesterday you almost hit Luke for asking you to play that one drum line again,” Bobby reminded him. But he was already slinging his guitar over his shoulder.

Reggie picked up his bass, pouting. “On my birthday, I’m gonna make you and Luke practice alone while Bobby and I watch.”

“For 6 hours,” Bobby tacked on.

Alex shook his head and laughed. “Deal.”

They never made it to Reggie’s birthday.

---

...sorry about the last sentence, please don’t hate me :)

The next chapter will be about Alex coming out to Julie, because mlm and wlw solidarity and also I can’t write a fic without Julie in it, that’d be treason.

Taglist: @stars-soph, @thatsmyverb

chapter 4

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #sunset curve #alex mercer #alex mercer fic #reggie peters #luke patterson #bobby jatp #trevor wilson #willow writes

[vintagedolan]

a concept about y/n just lovin on Ethan when he's insecure about his acne, just giving him kind words and cuddles

basing this on when his acne was closer to its peak fyi

-----

february 2020

“Only if we order it in. Postmate it on my card.” 

He wasn’t doing well that day. Curled up on the bed with a hoodie and a beanie on, expertly pulled down over his forehead like he always so carefully placed it these days. 

“Okay, what do you want?”

“Usual.” His tone was short, and he was lucky that the two of you had been to Monty’s enough times for you to know that meant a double burger, fries, diet rootbeer and a coffee milkshake. It was a usual send day meal for him that was becoming a three-times-a-week-meal. 

You knew the turn that the evening would most likely take. 

You weren’t sure when it would hit him, become too much. You cuddled up to his neck, hoping that maybe tonight it wouldn’t be so bad. His arm curled around your waist, pulled you tighter against him. That was a good sign at least - on his worst days, he didn’t want anyone to touch him, not even you. It made you hesitant to even get up to go get the food at the door - who knew how he would feel when you got back into the room.

Grayson watched you with sad eyes when you answered the door, accepted the paper bags and drink carrier with a smile from the delivery man.

“He alright?” 

“Not sure. Hasn’t eaten much all day, but he said Monty’s sounded good.”

“That’s the third time this week.”

“I know.”

“It’s thursday.”

“Grayson I know.” 

“He’s self sabotaging Y/N, he’s just...”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair, trailing off. His frustration was obvious - his usual tough love approach wouldn’t work, and every time he tried to talk to Ethan when he was in a low place about his acne, it never went well.

You were both surprised when you heard footsteps, bare feet soft on the floor as he made his way into the kitchen. 

“Did you get some too?” Ethan’s eyes followed their usual trail when he looked at Grayson - eyes first, then forehead. Smooth forehead. ‘Perfect’ forehead as E called it when he was pissed off mid acne-discussion. Your heart cracked a bit further when you watched him readjust the beanie, making sure it was covering everything it could, eyes dropping down to his feet. 

“Nah, I made veggie soup earlier. There’s plenty of leftovers if you wanna help me knock it out tomorrow. Can’t eat it all by myself.” It was his subtle way of offering a healthy meal without shoving it down his brother’s throat. 

“Yeah.” His eyes moved to yours. “Wanna watch another episode?”

“Sure,” you smiled, taking his hand as he headed back to the room. You unpacked the bags once you got settled on the bed, frowning as Ethan shifted around on top of the covers. 

“You good?”

“S’ hot in here,” he mumbled, wrestling with his hoodie and pulling it over his head.

His beanie fell with it, and you got a glimpse of the skin he’d been trying so desperately to hide all day. It was red and angry, agitated by the medicine he’d started on. They’d told him it would probably get worse before it got better, and it seemed like it had, even in just the first few weeks. You’d never seen him so unconfident before, so determined to hide from everyone, even you... even Grayson. 

He scrambled to get the black knit fabric, pulling to down over his head again, too far down. 

“You might be hot cause of the hat,” you said before you thought about it. His eyes flickered to yours - accusatory. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Right.” You tried not to take it personally, knew that he wasn’t trying to be short with you. But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting just a little bit. 

Dinner was consumed mostly in silence, the show neither of you were really watching playing mindlessly in the background, making it less uncomfortable. But it seemed like every bite made him more angry, more annoyed. 

By the time he got to the milkshake, he was scowling, almost spilling it when he sat it on the nightstand.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I keep doing this to myself. Grayson was right, I’m self sabotaging.”

You gulped around the fry you were trying to get down.

“You heard that.”

“You all weren’t exactly quiet,” he grumbled. “I don’t know why I keep doing this. I feel like shit, so I eat shitty. But then I feel even more shitty cause I ate like shit. It’s a fucking cycle and I don’t know how to break it.”

“I can help you with that. If you’ll talk to me.” You tried it, hoping maybe now would be the time he’d decide to let you in. The only time he was willing to talk about it all was when he was already at the breakdown stage, and that generally just consisted of you reassuring him and trying to comfort him. You’d yet to have a productive conversation about it. 

But he just looked at you, eyes unreadable. 

“I feel gross. I’m gonna shower,” were the words he finally chose. “I’ll clean up once I’m out.”

You watched him walk to the bathroom, closing the door behind him as the tears prickled in your eyes. Fighting them back, you gathered the bags and wrappers in one hand and his milkshake in the other before you headed to the kitchen. 

You were able to hide your face from Gray until you stowed the shake in the freezer. He saw the redness in them and frowned. He’d treated you like a sister ever since Ethan had brought you into his life, and he was as protective of you as he was anyone else. 

“What’d he say?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N, you know he’s not himself right now. Whatever it was, he didn’t mean it.”

“He didn’t say anything Gray. That’s the problem, he won’t talk to me. I don’t know how to help him, and it’s killing me.”  

“Hey. C’mere.” Grayson was waving you over when you finally looked at him, and just that was enough to almost make you cry all over again. He stood up from his chair, wrapping you in a hug that was sturdy but soft at the same time somehow. He just held you for a minute, both of your worries unspoken but understood as you squeezed yourself against him. 

“All we can do is love him. That’s all we can do,” he said, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or to himself. 

You took those words with you when he let go, mulled them over as you went back to the room, heard the shower running behind the door. 

You brazened yourself for the rejection you knew was going to come as you went into the bathroom, stripping down and taking a deep breath before you pulled the shower door open. 

Ethan was standing under the water, letting it run over him as he stood perfectly still, a statue in the rain. He flinched when you wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing up against his back. He was vulnerable here, no clothes to hide behind. So you weren’t all too surprised that once you made your way around his form, hands coming up to his shoulders, then his neck and then his jaw, he caught your fingers, stopping them.

“Don’t.” He turned his head away from you, staring at the rough rock wall to your left, looking anywhere but at you.

“Ethan... please.”  

It took a minute, but he finally looked back at you, eyes sad and void of the Ethan that you knew, the confident, bubbly man that you’d fallen for so long ago.

“Don’t act like you don’t see them. Don’t act like they aren’t disgusting.” He couldn’t look you in the eyes when he said it. 

“No part of you could ever be disgusting to me. And of course I see them. But it doesn’t change how I look at you. I love you, no matter what.” You hoped with every fiber of your being that your words got through to him.

“You have to say that.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. You’re my girlfriend, it’s what you’re supposed to say.”

“Oh, right. Cause I’m being held hostage here. I’m choosing to be here because I love you. No amount of bumps on your face is gonna change that for me. Because you’re you. And I know you don’t feel like yourself right now, but I know you’re still you. And you’re gonna come out of this stronger. I know you are.” The words spilled out before you could stop them, and the tears did too. 

When he finally looked at you, you could tell he was crying too. He hadn’t found his voice yet, but you didn’t care. The way he looked at you told you everything you needed to know. 

As gently as you could you traced your hands up over his head, over the short soft hairs, and then around to his face. You knew they were sore, didn’t want to get more oil on them that could make it worse. 

You ran your fingers over them anyways, felt the raised skin, his skin, his face that he hadn’t let you touch in so long. So you cried. You both cried, let it mix in with the water as you traced over him, over and over, no hesitation to be found. His hands held onto your hips, fingers squeezing there as he let you touch him, let himself be felt for the first time since December. 

You stayed until the water ran cold, but you stayed close as you dried off, eventually collapsing back into bed in each other’s arms once you were dressed.

“Thank you,” he murmured once he tucked his face up against your neck. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” You let those words hang in the air for a few moments before you remembered something. “Question.”

“Answer,” he said, perking up a bit.

“Can we eat your milkshake now?”

He laughed, a delicious sound, before he nodded, rolling off of you so you could both get up and head to the kitchen. You talked while it thawed, your voices traveling down the hall and making Grayson raise his eyebrows. 

When he snuck down the hallway he couldn’t help but smile - the man in his kitchen was the man he hadn’t seen in a few months, and he’d never been happier to see him coming back to him, little by little with your help.

#Im sad now #this got long #but #im so proud of him and I love him so much #ethan blurb #blurb #anon #ask #also sorry this strayed from the prompt #it kinda wrote itself #e:blurb

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

I gotta know more about unfinished Christmas Griomer!

Our favourite snake boys. The horse lords of “gods who thought that was a good idea?” 

So this is from when I was tinkering around with trying to write a spoopy halloween Griomer fic. It ended up taking place around Yule. Then I dropped it and wrote the stupid Yuletide Hallmark Christmas Movie nonsense one. 

Anyway - basically, a village has up and disappeared. Like everyone just gone. Left food on the table, clothes laid out to wear etc. Eomer and Grima investigate. 

Excerpt: 

The simplest thing a man can do is know himself. It is also the hardest thing a man can do. If he looks in polished brass, sees a reflection looking out at him, how does he know it’s his own face? If a person scrys on a black mirror for to tell the future, how do they know where the message came from? If a person falls apart, bit by bit, can you say that they’ve changed or merely that they’ve revealed different sides of who they always were? 

-

Snow glints. Meduseld is ahead of them, upon the hill of Edoras with its golden roof shining upon the opal white of snow clad land. Smoke drifts up from households of the city, and the farmsteads and villages that spill out from Edoras into the fertile valley of the Westfold. The air, breathed in, is cold and crisp. It feels clean. The sky is the bluest Eomer has ever seen it. 

[He remarked to Eowyn, back in July, It’s a wonder, how quickly the world cleans itself. Meaning the tar of Mordor, the stain of the Dark Lord on the land, the dust veil that choked lungs and air and sea.] 

It’s a late December day of the first winter since the war ended, what clean sky. What clean snow. He remembers years when it came down pink and grey from the horrors Sauron spilt up into air. 

Mixes with the clouds, Grima had explained the first year pink-red snow occurred. It’s how we also get rain that’s more acid than water. He had then gone on about air and lungs and miners and something about birds but Eomer hadn’t paid too much attention. 

He suspects he ought to have. He suspects it was one of the many things he ought to have paid attention to but didn’t.  

But now, clean snow. It shines, as if silver gold were embossed across the land. And all smells of pine and cedar and that, too, is relished when breathed in. He imagines the scent of wood unfurling in the middle of his lungs. It is to be filled with the smell of home at yule-tide. 

He and his men are making a gentle paced progress from Aldburg to Edoras to spend the high days of the season at the king’s court. The first Eomer has spent away from his home city in years. He has mixed feelings about it. 

Because he has mixed feelings about many things and doesn’t like how this has become the new normal for him so shoves it all away in a chest in the back of his mind. He will attend to such matters later. They are not important. 

So, away with the unease that followed him from Minas Tirith homeward, when he finally departed in September. The last of the riders to leave the marble city for gold and silver grasslands. Away with the tension that sat along his shoulders, the source of which he could not find. Away with the pervading belief that all is not well despite victory and celebration. 

In a brash moment on the road towards Eomarc he had asked Eothain, Do you not feel some unease? To which Eothain laughed, Hardly, my lord. I’m excited to be heading home. Does my wife remember me? Only time will tell. If she’s booted me out in favour of the blacksmith I’ll be upset, though. 

If Eothain did not share this unease Eomer reasons that it must be imagined. This herring-bone-caught-twisting-in-his-gut feeling can’t be serious. He puts it down to the shadow of Theodred who haunts his footsteps. Who whistles through the halls at night. Who sits, a ghostly figure beside his uncle, asking, Who are you to wear the crown that is rightfully mine? 

And no matter how many times Grima said: My lord, the dead don’t haunt the living. It’s the other way around. Eomer does not believe him. Because that is something Grima must surely be required to tell himself if the man is to sleep at night. 

Besides, everyone knows where wights come from; and what are draugr but the restless dead come back with horrific body wretched up from sacred grave? 

Thank youuu! Maybe one day I will finish it. Love a good “why is everyone vanishing” story. Especially if it’s supernatural. 

<3 

[ask meme] 

#ask #reply #ask meme #writing #LOTR #lord of the rings #eomer #grima wormtongue #griomer #grima x eomer #swimming through fire

[justfrozenthings]

The Sea Nymph

Pairing: Kristoff/Anna

Rating: T+

Notes: I finally started writing that mermaid fic I have been saying I would write since like December! Yay! I will try to post as often as I am able. I also haven't really planned out this fic either so that this will be an experience. I plan on making this super long and maybe even adding shorter stories to it. I honestly have no clue what I am doing. Also, would just like to note that a majority, and if not, all of this won't be looked over by friends who understand grammar better than me, because they are usually too busy. So prepare yourselves to see some poor literacy mistakes. Enjoy!

Summary: Kristoff has always loved the sea, and after meeting her he didn't know it was possible that he could love it more.(I will try to make a better summary later on. But for now, this will have to do.)

Kristoff sat on a lava rock as he gazed across the expanse of the crystal blue waters of the ocean. Growing up near the sea had made him unable to stay away from it for long periods of time. But, after the passing of his parents, it was too hard for him to stay in the small town they called home in Norway. So that’s why he moved here, to a secluded little place on the shores of a tropical island that not many people knew the name of. Come to think of it, he didn’t even know the name.

   He had come upon it after stopping by to fuel up his boat, while he was on a two-month fishing trip with a friend, or I guess he should now say ex-friend after Hans chose to follow a much more sinister fisherman’s life. But that will be a story for another time. Even though it was a bit warmer than to his liking, he decided to give it a chance. Upon arrival, he had discovered that the island had quite a few different biomes, and while humid, he found that where he currently resided was one of the towns with cooler weather due to how often it rained.

   As he got up from where he sat he patted his leg and whistled for Sven, his Norweigian Elkhound, who was currently hunting down the tiny fish in the tide pools. Sven happily trotted over to his faithful owner and joined him as he walked along the shoreline.

  It wasn’t long before Kristoff noticed a fisherman’s net caught on some rocks up ahead. “I swear,” he grumbled, “some people just don't know how to take care of our oceans huh Sven?”  Sven barked in agreement.

   Kristoff strode over to the net, taking off his shoes as he grabbed his knife from his pocket. “Stay here buddy. I’ll be right back.” He carefully slid into the water and followed the rope to the sandy bottom of the ocean. It wasn’t necessarily deep per se, but for being so close to shore it wasn’t shallow either. Only then, did Kristoff notice that the rope was moving, but it wasn’t due to the movement of the waves...something was tugging on it. Something big.

   A wise man probably would have turned around and swum back up to shore. Kristoff however, was determined to free this rope and whatever it was down there, no matter how dangerous it might be. Doing so would bring him comfort, knowing that he helped nature in some way.  But, as he got closer to the bottom, what he saw was certainly not what he was expecting.

   There, laying on the sandy seafloor was a mermaid. Her hair was like copper and her tail was an emerald green, dusted with specks of gold. Kristoff almost forgot what he was doing as he was too stunned by her beauty. He pulled himself out of his reverie and swam down to where she was entwined with the net and seaweed. She looked terrified, more so especially upon noticing him. She struggled to pull harder at the rope in hopes of escaping but calmed once he took out his knife and began cutting away at it.

   Luckily, it didn’t take very long before he cut it to where she was able to wiggle herself free. However, as she tried to swim away she wobbled and fell to the floor once again. Not having much longer before he had to swim back to the top to catch his breath, Kristoff quickly and gently scooped her up, hoping he hadn’t frightened her in doing so. When he broke to the surface he gasped for air, feeling the mermaid tremble against him as he made his way back over to Sven.

   As Kristoff pulled himself onto the rocks, being careful not to hurt the poor girl, Sven gave a curious happy bark as if he were asking, “Whatcha got there?!” Frightened by this the beautiful redhead clung tighter to Kristoff’s neck, burying her face in his chest. That brought him some relief, knowing that while she was afraid of Sven, who he knew wouldn’t hurt her, she seemed to be comfortable around him. Kristoff doesn’t know if it was because he freed her that made her trust him, but he decided not to question it.

   Not knowing what else to do, he decided to speak up. “Hey..umm. You don’t need to worry about Sven.” he said nervously, “He won’t hurt ya.” She peered up at him with shy eyes that he swear resembled the sea and gently stuck her hand out for Sven, shutting her eyes tightly until she felt him lick her hand. She peered away from Kristoff’s shoulder, gently stroking the downy fossil gray and carob brown fur of the happy-go-lucky dog. She giggled, moving from Kristoff’s lap to sit on her knees so that she could pet Sven some more.

“Thank you for saving me by the way.” Kristoff looked up from where his hands were curled up in his lap, eyes open wide from the shock of hearing her voice. “I have never met a human who would do such a charitable act. That’s why I didn’t try to escape after you brought me up here. I knew that any human who was kind-hearted enough to help me would never have any intention of doing me any harm.”

Kristoff rubbed the back of his neck nervously, trying to look anywhere but her as he just now noticed that she wasn’t wearing a top and her breasts were exposed. His mother always taught him to be a gentleman. He also still could not get over the fact that there was a real-life mermaid right in front of him. Mythical beings that he only thought existed in fairytales until now.

“Oh-uh, yeah. It’s no problem.”

“Well, I should at least give you something in thanks.”

“Seriously, it’s okay,” Kristoff chuckled. “I was just doing the right thing.”

They stared at each other smiling and Kristoff swore he felt some sort of connection. But, he just passed it off as astonishment due to seeing a beautiful being. He also noticed how many freckles she had and wondered just how far those freckles went. He shook the dirty thoughts from his mind, mentally punishing himself for thinking such things. Among these observations, he also noticed that her tail had deep gashes from the net. He couldn’t let her go back into the ocean without helping clean them up a bit.

“Umm,” he cleared his throat. “That net cut you up pretty bad. If you’d like I can take you back to my place and get them cleaned up for you.” She gave him a confused look, “I-I mean...as long as you’re comfortable with that. I’d hate to pressure you...cause...well.” He thought it was best to stop talking before he made the situation even more awkward.

To his surprise, she giggled. She actually giggled. “I would appreciate that very much thank you.”

He smiled softly. “Great!,” he said with a bit too much excitement. “So...I think the only way I could get you over there is by carrying you. Are you okay with that?”

“Oh. Umm. Yeah...that’s fine,” she said as she nervously tucked a piece of auburn hair behind her ear. “I’m Anna by the way.”

He bent down and carried her bridal style back to his home. “Kristoff.”

End Notes: Sorry, it wasn't very long. I felt that was a good place to stop, and honestly just wanted to finally get a chapter of this fic posted. I feel like I made their introduction a little weird, but that's what my brain had me write out.

Ao3

#kristanna #kristanna fanfiction #my fanfiction #mermaid au #i actually finished a chapter of it #the sea nymph