jolly along

I have this headcanon that the first night Lena sleeps over Kara’s she wakes up to the sound of Bruno Mars’ “Treasure” coming from the kitchen and a very jolly Kara singing along. She steps out to find the blonde dancing while making pancakes and she just can’t believe what she’s seeing. Kara senses her and starts dancing toward her in her cupcake underwear and baggy t-shirt, spatula in front of her mouth as a microphone, “You know you can make my wish come true, If you let me treasure you”. Lena can’t control her emotions very well so she looks down and shakes her head, cheeks burning. Kara just wraps her arms around her tightly and softly sings, “You are my treasure, you are my treasure”.

The pancakes forgotten.

My mom recently asked me to explain what it’s like for me when neurotypicals try to give me advice about coping with my mental illness. This is what I came up with. 

Imagine that you have to live your life always carrying a massive boulder. Some days you manage better than others but for the most part you’re tired and your muscles hurt. Then a fit and jolly person comes along and they’re carrying a feather. “Oh no, no, no. You’re lifting all wrong. You do it like this.” They fail acknowledge the size difference between your objects and with each demonstration they get more and more pissed when you cannot balance that boulder on one hand.  

Victoria Beckham’s letter to her 18 years old self.

Dear Victoria,

I know you are struggling right now. You are not the prettiest, or the thinnest, or the best at dancing at the Laine Theatre Arts college. You have never properly fitted in, although you are sharing your Surrey school digs with really nice girls. You have bad acne. You think the principal has put you at the back of the end-of-year show (in a humiliatingly bright purple Lycra leotard) because you are too plump to go at the front. (This may or may not be true.)

There is a red telephone box outside the school and you have just rung your parents, crying, “I can’t do this, I miss home, I’m not good enough.” And Mum has told you to come home. “We’ll go to Lakeside and buy a new pair of shoes,” she said. It’s tempting. But then Dad got on the phone: “Stay there, prove everyone wrong.” If you’d listened to Mum, you would be going to Lakeside. (Shoes are important, just not right now.) It would be theeasy solution. And I’m writing to jolly you along, to offer consolation and encouragement, and to tell you, aged 18, to be strong.

You haven’t forgotten being bullied at school, have you? Do you recall that first day at secondary school? Most children were wearing their own coats and had the latest cool bag, but not you. Kitted out in the full St Mary’s High School uniform, you stood in the freezing playground while other teenagers walking past threw soggy tissues and old Coke cans that they plucked from the puddles. But the thick skin that you developed then is already standing you in good stead, and it will do so for the rest of your life.

Your complexion will sort itself out (in fact you will launch your own make-up brand); as soon as the Eighties are over, your perm will die down, and your weight will settle itself. At school you eat Super Noodles and boxes of Frosties because they say they are fat free, and you will endure many other silly fad diets (including an addiction to green juices). Instead, learn to embrace your imperfections – that is what I want to tell you. Let your skin breathe; wear less make-up. (And don’t ever let that make-up artist shave your eyebrows! The effects last forever.) You will always be addicted to Elnett hairspray but you will tone it down. Less of the “Hello! I just got stuck in a wind tunnel”, please. And I should probably say, don’t mess with your boobs. All those years I denied it – stupid. A sign of insecurity. Just celebrate what you’ve got.

Do answer an ad in The Stage, looking for candidates to form a new girl band. Line up around the block and audition to change your life. You love musicals – Miss Saigon, Cats, Starlight Express and Les Misérables – so you will perform “Mein Herr” from Cabaret, while everyone else sings a Madonna song. You haven’t yet heard of the internet or electronic mail or smartphones. Nor have you perfected the art of the selfie for Instagram (you can’t even turn on a computer right now, and Dad still drives to London to send a telex). But one day you will find that audition performance again online, and at the same time discover that your name brings up 47,800,000 search results on Google.

The judges of the competition will match you to four other girls, all misfits in their own ways. Together you will make it OK to look different. And, as the Spice Girls, you will sell 75 million records. You cannot possibly imagine your future life right now. You will travel on private planes, visit incredible countries, stay in fantastic hotels. (At the beginning, you will steal the hotel mini shampoos, shower gels and conditioners, but you soon realise that they leak in your suitcase – often disastrously.) You will storm into people’s offices, leap on to tables in hotels and go crazy (although you will also be the one checking that the table isn’t going to collapse). You will meet Nelson Mandela, Mariah Carey and Elton John. But please, I implore you, keep a diary. There will be so many amazing moments, and you will forget.

There will also be down days and bad days. You will often be so busy that you will be in a different country every day. And being young and a bit silly, you’ll complain and sit in hotel rooms and moan about being tired. Go out and see the country where you are. Go to galleries, go to museums. Soak up the culture. You are lucky to be there. If you don’t join the Spice Girls, you might always be that insecure person in that little shell, and you will never become who you truly are. With this in mind, be kind, be polite, be considerate of others’ feelings, because I know that every one of us would sit here now and say they’re not the main culprit, but we didn’t fully appreciate each other a lot of the time. So practise what you preach when you sing “friendship never ends”, and celebrate everyone’s uniqueness.

You are going to have so much fun with your clothes – PVC catsuits; chokers that say absurd things; weird spiky blonde hair. It will never occur to you that you appear ridiculous. You will turn up at awards ceremonies resembling a drag queen. But I look back at you and smile. It will add interest to your life to go from one extreme to another. I love the fact that you will feel free to express yourself. Fashion will take on added stature one day, but try not to be stifled by it. You will learn, as you mature, to swap heels for Stan Smith trainers, minidresses for crisp white shirts. And you will never be one of those people who just roll out of bed. Wear sunglasses a lot. Even inside. Especially at airports. They turn a nothing-outfit into something quite pulled together and cool. You are going to really like Aviators. (Then one day you will develop your own!)

On boyfriends and lasting love: learn more about football, especially the offside rule. And yes, love at first sight does exist. It will happen to you in the Manchester United players’ lounge – although you will get a little drunk, so exact details are hazy. While the other football players stand at the bar drinking with their mates, you will see David standing aside with his family. (He’s not even in the first team at this stage – you are the famous one.) And he has such a cute smile. You, too, are close to your family, and you will think how similar he feels to you. He’s going to ask for your number. (He still has the London-to-Manchester plane ticket on which you wrote it.) I’m afraid that most of your first dates will be in car parks, which is not as seedy as it sounds. It is because your manager, Simon Fuller, will warn you, “Don’t let anyone see you out together or you’ll get hounded.” At the time, you won’t understand why.

You are going to be very, very famous, both for the band you form and because of the man you marry, and then later for a fashion business you will launch in your own name. You will get used to fame. Although you cannot set a price on losing privacy, you will learn to use celebrity to your advantage. For good things. For charity. One day you will have the privilege to campaign on behalf of the United Nations to end mother-to-child transmission of HIV and Aids in Africa. And people will listen. Changes will happen. That is not to say you won’t be affected by what you see of yourself in the press. It will hurt you when people comment on your weight. It will continue to upset you whatever age you are, because we women are very tough on ourselves.

The paparazzi will become part of your life, their long lenses waiting. Some are nice, some not. They may make your children cry, or they may give you a compliment – but you will not be able to control every image they publish. When you are pregnant with Brooklyn, they will snap you sitting by the pool at the Four Seasons Hotel in Los Angeles in a black-and-white bikini, and the picture will make the front page of a British newspaper. It is an unkind shot and so upsetting that for the rest of the tour you will barely leave your hotel or sit outside. And I’m the same now. Do I relax on the beach in a bikini? No. I am still hugely self-critical, and because of that I can be a little uptight. My 60-year-old self would probably say the same thing to me as I am telling you now: enjoy yourself a little more. Be less image-conscious. Learn to relax. You are going to make mistakes – of course you are. You will be super-super-successful, but you will find out that you can lose it all much more quickly than you can earn it. That is a hard lesson to learn. Collectively, I now see, the Spice Girls were victims of our own success, believing we could do anything, that the sky was the limit, that we could do it all on our own. You will learn from that, and when you have another opportunity you will not lose it again.

On being a mother: once you are a parent, you worry. And you are going to have four, so that’s a lot of worry! Mum likes to say, “You might be 42, but I still worry about you.” Children mean that you will be constantly tired and will develop big bags under your eyes. Your children will always come first, but never forget who you are and what you want to achieve. Is it possible to have it all? To be a successful working mother? You will hear this question asked by many women as you grow older. What you will realise is that by working hard, yet always putting family first, it will be possible to achieve that balance. Nothing will be perfect, but it is only now that I have learnt to appreciate all I have and all I have been blessed with. I am happy.

A word on school sports day: never wear platform heels and flares if you have to take part in the mothers’ race. And never believe another mum when she says she will stick with you at the back of the race. Because she won’t. And when they announce, “It’s the taking part that counts,” it’s not. It’s all about winning. You will shout at home but never at work. Be a nice boss. Ultimately, go with what you think, but don’t smother those who are talented. (If they are not, then admittedly I get frustrated – I’m not very tolerant.)

On marriage: have patience. Bite your tongue. Be supportive. And preserve a bit of mystique. Never let yourself go completely (at least brush your hair, clean your teeth, have a bit of a brow going on because you will always want him to look at you and feel attracted). Always make time for each other. Because if you don’t, everything will revolve around the children and I’m not sure how sexy that is! And do not forget the person you fell in love with. You will follow your man around the world, moving from Manchester to Spain, and then America. In Spain you will revel in watching him enjoy some of his best footballing days. Spain is also where you will lay the foundations for your own fashion brand by collaborating with others on denim and sunglasses.

But I need to warn you: a lot of your time there will be really hard. I’m not afraid to say now what a horribly difficult time it was. People will say awful things. You will be a laughing stock. Every time you turn on the television or look at a newspaper it will seem as though someone is having a go at you and your family. You will learn how mean other women can be. (And it will teach you always to support the women around you, to take them on a journey with you.) Others would crack under the pressure, but you won’t. Use that time to close off, to focus, work hard and protect the children. In relationships people will throw obstacles in your way, and you either manoeuvre around them or you trip up. You will never discuss with David how many children you both want; you don’t say to each other, “Where shall we live?” You don’t discuss any of that because you will be young and in love. Even when you don’t necessarily want the same thing, your support for each other will mean that you will stick together and grow up together. And it will be worth it.

Most days, you will look at your life and think, “Wow! I was never the one who was supposed to get all this.” I want to tell you that I still feel that way now. Recently I was in New York for the British Vogue cover shoot in a penthouse at the Carlyle hotel. I looked out of the window and I could see the sun shining and all the yellow cabs below and I pinched myself. You are going to have many of those moments. Don’t take them for granted.

the reason why Joss Whedon is a bad fucking director and AOU is trash, isn’t just because he didn’t give us deaf Clint, and gave us Nat/Bruce instead of Clintasha like everyone wanted. it’s because he refuses to capitalise on the awesomeness of the friendships that are already there

within the core team, we get Sciencebros and a tiny bit of Nat&Clint, and that’s it. everyone gets along jolly well at Tony’s party, which is one gigantic cameo sandwich, Marvel powers that be basically patting themselves on the back for being oh so clever (though I will admit the Rhodey war story thing was hilarious)

we get Steve’s pointless Peggy vision, instead of a Bucky one, which would have made 1000% more sense, since Bucky is the one Steve really lost, and not to a happy life without him (which Peggy got, what with her successful foundation of SHIELD, and home life with husband & kids), but to pain and torture and icy sleep for 70 years, and we just had an entire movie based around Steve’s loneliness and isolation and then guilt about Bucky. Bucky is the one supposedly gonna get a bigger storyline as the film series progresses and I just. gah.

we get a tiny snippet of Steve & Thor friendship in AOU, with this scene:

plus the fuckery with Mjolnir when we ALL KNOW that in comics canon Steve is one of the few people who can wield her, fuck you very much Whedon

BUT WHAT MAKES ME REALLY MAD is that Whedon talks about how he was bullied into including the Thor cave scene, so there was enough Thor in the movie, and how he finds Thor the most difficult to integrate into the team

and I’m just like:
why? why is it so hard? 

isn’t it obvious that it should be Thor and Steve as Superbros? 

Steve is a man out of time. Thor is from another planet. they are both strangers in a strange land

Thor is a demigod, Steve is superhuman. Surely Steve is the only one Thor would feel okay sparring with (since the Hulk is not fully self-aware, and might actually turn destructive), and the only one Steve could use all his strength on, not worrying about going too far?

I want Steve and Thor getting drunk on Asgardian ale. Comparing war stories. Crying over their lost loved ones (Loki and Bucky). No one else in the team knew Loki or Bucky before they turned ‘dark’, so they therefore cannot understand Thor and Steve’s innate need to save them, as a duty to the man they once were.

If TPTB let Steve become ‘worthy’, then they could exchange weapons where appropriate, and have practice sessions in the Avengers gym. 

Steve correcting Thor’s stance to throw the Shield and slay enemies (◡‿◡✿)
Thor teaching Steve the movements and willpower needed to make Mjolnir create lightning/generate a tornado (◕‿◕✿)
Steve clinging onto the hammer for dear life, flying around the Tower with no idea how to land safely while Thor just laughs unhelpfully (ノ◕ヮ◕✿)ノ*:・゚✧

I am not a screenwriter. But it took me 2 minutes to come up with bonding experiences that could make for interesting, believable interaction between the two Avengers Whedon cannot seem to understand. but instead of my Superbros, we get Thor fucking about in caves and shitty Steve characterisation with the lame ‘bad language’ joke that just won’t die

it’s not that I hated AOU. It’s just that it could have been so. much. better.

djlegz  asked:

I know they have yet to really stare longingly into each other's eyes (eye in Mac's case), but ★FOLEY AND MAC?

I like you / I hate you / I dislike you/ I love you / You are family / I would take a bullet for you / I would shoot you / I would lie to your face / I would say something cruel to you on purpose / I would say something cruel to you accidentally  / I would cheat on you / I would physically hurt you / You annoy me/ You amuse me / I’d laugh at you / I’d laugh with you / I’d manipulate you / You scare me / You confuse me / I wish I knew you better / I trust you / I don’t trust you / You inspire me / I consider you an equal / You are beneath me / You’re better than me / I would trust you with my life / I think you’re mean / I think you’re petty / I think you’re childish / I think you’re smart / I think you’re stupid / I think you’re a bad person / I think you’re a good person / I’m not sure what kind of person you are / I wish you would listen to me / I want to make you proud / I wish you would notice me / I want to impress you / I would hurt other people for you / I’m not sure how to make you happy / I’m a bad influence on you / You deserve better than me / We make a great team / I’d have a one night stand with you / I’d have a relationship with you / I would marry you / I fantasize about our life together / I would trust you with my most treasured belonging / I would tell you my darkest secrets / You disgust me / You intimidate me / I hope I intimidate you / I’d hug you / I’d let you hug me  / I’m scared of losing you / I don’t think you like me / I want to be better for you / I respect you / I don’t respect you / You’re my mentor / You’re my friend / You’re my best friend / I have a crush on you / I could easily watch you die / I’d get drunk with you / I’d party with you / I’d comfort you / I’d prank you / I’d spike your drink / I’d act behind your back / I’d abandon you / I’d hurt you to get what I want / I would choose my happiness over yours / I would choose your happiness over mine / I despise how much I care for you / I need you / I’m dependent on you / I don’t know what I’d do without you / I’m scared of you leaving me / I’d give my life for you / You frustrate me / I’d call for you in a time of need / I would protect you / I’d visit you in hospital / I’d carry you if you were hurt / I’d feel guilty if I hurt you / I’d let you be near me when I am vulnerable / I’d ignore a phone call from you / I’d call you at 3am / I’d break you out of jail / I’d get angry at you / I would shout at you / You’re too loud / You’re too quiet / You’re too sensitive / You can’t take a joke / You embarrass me / I feel nothing for you / You’re reckless / You’re bossy / You bore me / I would ask your advice / I would blame you for something I did / I would cry in your arms / You have the power to hurt me more than anyone else /

Lighten up.

🔅Hey! If you have time do you think you can write another Carl imagine? If so can you do one where they are in the line up and the reader is with Glenn, Daryl, etc in the van when the others are brought, and Neagan taunts her. Even though she tries to be tough, She starts to break down. (If that makes sense) Thank you so much! I love your writing! Hi, I was the one who just requested the Reader/ Carl one in the line up. Would it be possible to have as much comic Carl as possible please? Thank you!🔅

 I hope you like it!💕

-Dwight! —you heard a male voice call from the outside. —Chop, chop!
As the last words were spoken, the doors opened up and a blonde man with a scarred face pulled you out, one by one.
You fell to the ground, knees and palms scratching, and your hair falling on your face. Behind a dirty lock, you saw your friends, your family, kneeling with terrified grimaces on their faces. Carl set his gaze on you, he frowned and his breathing quickened immediately.
-Alright, we got a full boat! —a man said in a jolly tone. —Let’s meet the man!
He knocked on the RV, and you knew who would be walking out of it.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and it was killing you. The suspense left everyone shaking and breathing heavily, but not Carl. He was only looking at you. If you didn’t know him all too well, you would say that he had a poker face, but his eyebrow was slightly twitching and his forefinger was nervously tapping his knee; he was worried, not for him, but for you
-Pissin’ our pants yet? —was the line that broke the silence. A man walked towards the group, carrying a bat and tapping it over his shoulder. You noticed he was tall, very tall, with broad shoulders and a cocky grin on his lips. —Boy, do I got a feeling we’re getting close.
He kept walking down the line up, inspecting the fear he had cause on you. When he introduced himself as Negan, you knew what would happen and you knew what he wanted. Jesus tried to warn you, but you thought you were invincible and taunted them anyway.
-So now, I’m gonna beat the holy fuck fucking fuckity fuck out of one of you. —he said. —This… This is Lucille, and she is awesome.
You turned to the right and saw Glenn, his eyes were fixed on the bat that Negan held in his hands, this time you noticed it had barbed wire wrapped around it. Rosita was kneeling at your left, she had tears in her eyes and her lips were shivering in fear. Then you noticed Rick, his eyes were wide open and his entire body was shaking, you shed a tear at the picture. The leader of your group, who had always been the brave one, the tough one, was breaking down before your eyes.
Negan strolled down the line up, watching every single one of your faces, trying to choose which one was going to be beaten to death.
-You got one of our guns. —he stopped in front of Carl and crouched. You gasped, for a moment you thought Carl was the one Negan had chosen. —You got a lot of our guns.
Carl stayed still, facing Negan instead of looking away, like Rick had. He wasn’t afraid, if he was, he hid it really well because all you could see in his face was defiance.
-Shit, kid, lighten up. —Negan smiled, you saw a bit of amazement in his eyes at the boy’s courage. —At least cry a little.
Carl turned to look at you, giving you a knowing look, letting you know everything was fine. Negan saw that and chuckled, he followed Carl’s eye and saw you.
-And what do we have here? —he stood up and started walking towards you. —Well, hello there, sweetheart.
You flinched and faced the ground, hoping he would lose interest and leave. Instead, he used his bat against your chin to lift your face. The spikes pierced your skin, drawing tiny drops of blood; you grimaced, letting out a little groan.
-I wonder if the kid would finally show some emotion if I kill you. —he said with a bitter laugh. You kept your eyes on his, trying to let him know that you weren’t afraid, but it was hard, because you were. He started shifting his bat on your chin, opening more wounds. You closed your eyes and tried to shuffle away from it, he took the bat away but leaned closer to you and held your face with his free hand, squeezing tightly.
-Look at me. —he ordered, any trace of his jolly tone was gone along his cocky smile. His voice was deep and you could tell he was angry. You opened your eyes and looked at him, your hands starting to shake when you noticed he was so close to you.
-Take your hands off of her. —Carl commanded with a neutral voice, but defiance in his stare. Negan’s eyes were still on you, but he dropped the angry expression and started laughing.
-Now, that’s all I fucking wanted! —Negan said with a smile. He let go of you and stood up again, still holding Lucille in his right hand. —So, back to it…
He raised his bat in the air and swung it at you, but before it could hit you, he stopped abruptly. A sharp spike stinging your nose.
-Stop! —you heard a muffled sound that you recognized as Carl’s voice. It was a gutural sound, coming directly from a tearing throat.
Everything happened so quickly that you barely had a change to shut your eyes tightly and duck your head. You expected to feel pain, judging by the strength with which he held the bat inside his hand, it would be really deep pain. Instead, you heard his laughter again.
You opened your eyes and saw the horrified looks on everyone’s faces. Glenn was breathing heavily, his eyes wide open. Daryl’s lips were parted, sweat drenching his forehead and his blanket sliding down his shoulders. Rosita had taken a hand to her mouth, her eyes were also wide open, letting small tears fall down her face. But when you saw Carl, your heart skipped a beat. His face was raging with anger, and you could almost hear his heart beating wildly, pumping furiously against his chest. There were tears staining his cheeks, but not for sadness, for hatred.
-Well, that was fuckin’ fun! —Negan yelled with a smile and a bitter laugh. —So, where were we?
You turned to look at Carl. Even with his long hair covering half his face, you could see that he was looking at you. You pushed the corners of your mouth up into a faint smile; you weren’t happy to be there, you weren’t smiling because of what was happening, but because even in that moment, with a terrifying man threatening to kill you, Carl stood up for you. He took a deep breath and when he let it go out his mouth, you saw a smile spreading faintly across his lips.
Negan grinned eerily and proceeded to walk down the line up, stopping right in front of Rick as he pointed his bat at him and saying just one word before continuing strolling through the line:

Christmas Charades - Fred Weasley Imagine (requested)

Request: Hello! Can I have just a very fun, fluffy Fred imagine? It’s kinda specific but please change anything! The reader is at the burrow for the holidays and her and Fred are being silly and dancing and singing to a record (or whatever it is wizards use) and are being a little flirty and everyone is just happy and Molly is rolling her eyes and the whole fam is there and someone makes a comment about them being a couple and then there’s some sort of confession and it’s all fluffy? Thanks!!!!!!!


Y/n’s pov-

A red blazing fire provided a blanket of serenity like warmth over the lively living room in the Burrow. The whole Weasley family minus Charlie, and Percy and added in with Hermione, and Harry gathered around the fire sharing stories which soon turned into goofy dancing not long later when Molly put on the new Christmas record she had bought the week before at a Holiday sale. Christmas was only two days away and the Christmas fever was finding its way inside the Weasley home.

Fred had invited me to his home for the break just like we did annually every winter season. We were coming close to our third year anniversary as a couple and I couldn’t be more excited. Fred was a complete dream. He always put my needs before his despite my pleads not to.

Molly entered the room with a tray full of steaming hot chocolates distributing them around the room. Fred stood up from the love seat we were sharing and grabbed two mugs and a handful of marshmallows handing the suburban blue cup to me and dropping four fluffy mallows inside mine and two in his. I rolled my eyes and he smiled pecking my cheek before I could react. I slapped his arm and laughed at his shocked expression.

“Hey!” Ginny laughed watching from across the room. Fred shook his head,

“Ungrateful, my god.” I gasped, swinging my legs off from his lap and sitting down on my knees to place a small cute little kiss to his pouty lips. Pulling away, I smiled at Fred’s change of expression.

“That’s better, love.” Molly came back into the room, hands bare seeing as she had brought them empty tray to the kitchen, and clapped loudly catching the attention of the room.

“Why don’t you kids have fun and play a game or something. Charades?” All heads in the room nodded and Ginny jumped up from the floor bouncing slightly from her spot,

“Oh mom can I go first?” A smile found its way to Molly’s plum face and she gestured her hands out motioning for Ginny to go when she pleases.

The youngest Weasley took her spot in the front of the room facing the group and began acting out an unknown action. It was like learning a foreign language me, I could barely tell if she was being serious or not. Fred suppressed a chuckle from besides me, covering his mouth and hiding in my side. Blank looks around the room greeted Ginny as no one recognized what she was trying to act out. Bill Weasley rubbed his temples looking as if he was concentrating a bit too hard. Hermione stared lostly at her friend and scrunched her eyebrows together into a straight line. Harry cleaned his glasses then pushed them back onto the bridge of his nose examining Ginny once again with the same confused look. Ron and George looked like they were in a distant land and Arthur seemed to have zoned out fully.  

A loud laugh escaped from Fred’s locked lips as I covered his mouth with my hand. Ginny glared over at him setting her hands on her hips.

“What, do you really think you could do any better?” She spat eyes narrowing at her older brother. Fred smirked tapping my side. I repositioned my black sweat pants covered legs giving him an opening to get out of the chair and stand up.

“Actually yes I think I can.” He said matter-of-factly. Holding his hand out to me. I groaned but gave in deciding to either help him or be by his side as he failed. Fred leaned down to whisper quickly in my ear,

“Just go with it…” I gave him a skeptical look but followed his lead anyways. Fred slid his free hand in mine pulling my body tight against his then back away, then close again. I soon caught on that we were dancing.

 Fred lifted his hand up above my head spinning my around in a 360 circle then proceeded on with the most randomness dance moves. His happy jolly voice sang loudly along with the record on replay and I joined in closely behind. The whole room erupted in laughter and Ginny scowled. Fred wiggled his eyebrows and held my waist dancing to the beat of “Here Comes Santa Clause”. He kept placing lone kisses along my lips until George let out a shout,

“Oh, oh, I know what you are! You guys are like all those cute lovey dovey couples!” Fred pointed a finger to his brother with a wild look in his eyes.
“Brillinat, Gred!” George fist pumped the air earning high fives from his other brothers and Harry. I shook my head returning to my previous seat on the comfy cushioned arm chair.

“That was stupid! Mom c’mon that one doesn’t count! That’s barley something that counts for being legible to act out! If we don’t take George into consideration, who else would’ve gotten that one? I mean they’re twins, they probably did that mind reading thingy beforehand so George already knew what Fred had in mind!” Ginny scoffed with an annoyed look. Molly shrugged not fully understanding what just took place. Arthur sipped his coffee keeping his humorful chuckles in.

“Aw don’t be too upset Ginny! It’s okay, I mean you can’t win everything!” Fred pressed at ease wrapping his arm around my shoulder. I leaned into his shoulder. Ginny gave up throwing her arms up in the air as George took his turn. When nobody was looking I placed my hand on Fred’s firm chest perching up to kiss the small space behind his ear then a few small ones down his neck, leaning away before anyone could take any notice. A shiver ran through Fred’s body as he interlocked our hands as one.

“God I love you, beautiful. I guess George was right, we are like those cute lovey dovey couples.”


anonymous asked:

Emma is a pirate captain and she takes the jolly rojer from blackbeard along with its crew and killian is th deckhand from the finale and are falling for each other and he doesn't know how to act around her and its funny

A/n: I’ve got about ten more of these who were sent in earlier than this one, but I suddenly got inspiration for this prompt, so here we go. Not exactly smut, but I’m planning on writing a second part.

Rated: T

The Dark Feather

Emma smirked as Blackbeard toppled overboard, his red coat flapping pathetically behind him. She turned to the men assembled on deck - both her crew and Blackbeard’s - and relished in the stunned looks she received left and right.

She sheathed her sword. “The ship is ours, gentlemen.”

Her crew cheered, throwing up their hands and chanting her name. The defeated crew let their weapons clatter onto the deck. She smirked as she beckoned over her Lieutenant. Ruby smirked. “A perfect defeat, Captain.”

“Thank you, Ruby.” Emma looked over the cheering crowd. “Ruby, I have some good news.” She clapped her hand on her shoulder with a smile. “Effective immediately, I name you Captain of the Black Feather.”

Ruby’s jaw drops. “Emma, are you - ?”

“Of all the men and woman on the Feather, I trust you above all. The Jolly Roger is a fine ship and I intend to make her flagship. You will Captain the Black Feather.” Emma smirked. “Congratulations, Captain.”

Ruby laughed, and Emma knew her best friend would’ve hugged her, if they had been alone. But Emma had a reputation to uphold. “But for now, Miss Lucas. Gather up the men of this ship. I want to talk to them.”

“Yes, Captain!”

Ten minutes later, the defeated crew were gathered up on deck, while she was situated by the helm. “You fought valiantly, and were each of you brave. I admire that.” She looked each of them in the eye. “I am not a cruel woman. I will not blame the crew for the mistakes of their previous Captain. Therefore I offer each and everyone of you a place among my crew. You will be treated well. Should you wish to recline my offer, you may do so. They who wish to leave, may do so, the next time we make port. You have till dawn to decide.”

She stepped down, and made her way to the Captain’s cabin, eager to find out what treasures Blackbeard had hidden in the depths of his ship.

A surprise awaited her in the cabin however.

When she opened the door, a sword was pointed at her throat. A young, trembling sailor was standing in front of her, his blue eyes big with fear. Emma smirked. “Hello, lad.” she said, moving forward. The sailor stepped back quickly. “Were you not at my speech just now?” Unconcerned, she moved to the desk, grabbing the decanter of rum. From the corner of her eyes, she watched him move around. His breath was going fast, his shoulders moving up and down quicker than had to be healthy. “I haven’t seen you fight this morning.”

“N-no.” he stammered.

“Can’t fight? Or won’t?” She grinned wolfishly. “Are you one of those pacified pirates?”

“I’m a deckhand.” the man blurted out, his cheeks turning bright red.

Emma chuckled. “So you can’t fight?”

It was silent for a long time as Emma sipped her rum and looked intensely at the man (honestly, she could see he was a man but he was acting like such a boy). He seemed to struggle with himself, his sword trembling in his grip, and Emma felt a twinge of pity for the man.

“Oh, lower your sword, sailor. You’ll never take me in a fight, and I won’t harm you. If you’d come on deck as ordered, you’d have known that.”

The man seemed to deflate completely, dropping his sword with a miserable sigh and closing his eyes. “Apologies, m’lady.”

“That’s Captain for you, sailor.”

He immediately stumbled over himself to correct himself. “Yes, Captain, apologies, Captain.”

Emma sized him up, wondering what in the hell had brought this flustered idiot into piracy. He was young, inexperienced in…well, everything. He looked pretty enough, though. His hair was long, gathered in a ponytail, but a few locks of hair escaped on his forehead; it makes him look cute. And his eyes were bright blue, beautiful really. Yes, he was easy on the eyes. “So what’s your name, sailor?”

“Killian Jones, C-captain.”

Emma sucked her lower lip between her teeth, letting her eyes rake up his body. “So, Deckhand Jones…” she said. He turned even more scarlet. “Will you pledge allegiance to me, or go ashore when we next make port?”

Deckhand Jones looked taken aback by this question. “I - I…you’re not going to kill me?”

“Why would I want to kill you?”

“I was Blackbeard’s crew. You…you are Captain Swan. You are the most feared pirate to ever set sails. You…don’t spare your conquered crew.”

Emma laughed. “Who’s been spreading those lies? Blackbeard, I suppose?” When Jones nods, she chuckles. “He’s always been bitter that I defeated him twice before. He doesn’t like being defeated by a woman. Not many men do.” She pushes off the desk, stepping closer to him, relishing in the fumbling he did to step away from her. “Do you mind being defeated by a woman?”

“Ehm - no, not really. If she’s better than myself, she deserves it. I guess.”

Emma chuckled, then turned her back on him. “Get back on deck, Mr Jones. I shall expect your decision in the morning.”

She bit her lip to stop herself from laughing when Jones tripped over his own feet to get to the door quickly. Emma took another swig of rum, and grinned. She really hoped he would stay, because messing with him would prove excellent entertainment. Who knew, maybe she could draw an actual pirate out of him.

She wasn’t exactly sure why she was so interested in this stumbling, fumbling, barely grown up boy, but she was and she was eager to find out more about him.

This could be fun.

we’re simply meant to be [1/1]

Rated: T; language, smooches, a touch of gore

Words: ~ 10K

Summary: A Nightmare Before Christmas captain swan AU.  Emma is the princess of Valentine’s Day Town.  Killian is a realm traveling, liquor looting, candy stealing Pirate King. Sparks fly when they cross paths on their quest for a new adventure.  Literally.

Notes: For CS Spoopy Week: Wild Card (Day 7).  This tale takes place sometime after the events of the film.  This was a little bit of silliness that turned into a rather ginormous bit of silliness.  My eternal gratitude to @seastarved, whose encouragement and edits provided the push needed to finish this epic.  I hope you folks enjoy it.  Happy Halloween!

Also on ao3 and ff

Killian Jones stalks along the shore, fog swirling in his wake as he basks in the light of the moon. As many things are wont to be in this realm, the sand beneath his feet is black, sharp, gnarled.  It glitters in the faint light of the moonrise, and tumbles airily down the slope of his footfalls.  The water that heaves along the banks clings to his boots like oil before slithering back along the sand with a dulcet hiss.

In short, Killian is caught in a bit of a rapture.  Naught but a moon cycle remains before the next Halloween and he can practically taste it on his tongue.  The debauchery sets his blood aglow, and unlike the skeletal King of this realm, he never tires of it.  Granted, the enchanted wood of the Jolly Roger allows them subtle passage from Town to Town, and they were fresh from plundering an unholy cache of liquor from the – now rather irate, he imagines – citizens of St. Patrick’s Day Town.  So he never quite manages to find the opportunity to be bored. 

He does, however, find it easy to feel a bit overcrowded. Hence, the promenade.  A bit of peace before his crew demands to know every trivial detail of their Next Great Heist.  Addicts, they are, but then so is he, gears in his head aweigh even as the ale pilfered oh so lovingly from St. Patrick still warms his face.  

Keep reading

CS Fic Recs Featuring Deckhand!Killian

Real talk: I adore bashful, innocent Deckhand!Killian/Deckhand!Hook. Thus, I decided to comb the tags for some good fics featuring the AU version of Killian Jones. There aren’t enough by far, but if I’m missing one, please let me know. 

I Will Choose You, Always by @xerxesrises. This is my holy grail of Deckhand!Killian CS fics. 

Emma wakes to find herself, Henry, and Killian shipwrecked on an uninhabited island, the Jolly Roger badly damaged in their escape from Emma’s tower. As they work together to survive, Emma and Killian are drawn to each other, their passion undeniable. Will Emma give into her baser desires and show shy, deckhand Killian what he’s been missing?

Someone Like You by @seastarved. This was truly excellent.  But what happens after the end of the story? What happens when the heroes lose and the villains win and nobody at all is happy? Perhaps you write a new ending. Perhaps the story goes on. Canon Divergence from the Season 4 finale. (Thank you for reminding me of this one, @annaamell!)

The Making of a Captain by @gusenitsaa​. Fantastically fluffy for the author, a deleted scene to fill in the gaps from the AU with the adorkable Deckhand!Killian. 

Just a Memory by @terreisa​. I think this is the fic that prompted me to follow the author. 

There’s a land where the Villains are heroes and the Heroes have lost their happy endings. Only one person knows the truth but Emma’s been locked in a tower, helpless to change everything back to the way it was. When Henry rescues her she realizes the true price of what has been done. A missing Operation Mongoose moment featuring Emma, Henry, and Deckhand Hook.

The Deckhand and the Swan by @nerdywriter15​. I have yet to read this, but it’s happening!

What would have happened if Emma, Henry, and Killian had had more time in the AU version of the Enchanted Forest?

The Dark Feather by @cssmut​.  From the prompt: Emma is a pirate captain and she takes the jolly roger from blackbeard along with its crew and killian is the deckhand from the finale and are falling for each other and he doesn’t know how to act around her and its funny.

A Chance to Change by @startswithhope​. Deckhand Killian helping Emma find her new outfit on the Jolly Roger.

The Seduction of Deckhand Jones by @lifeinahole27. An AU of the AU!  Emma pulls an I’ll-make-a-man-outta-you on deckhand Killian. (Thanks for the additions, @startswithhope!)

Cancer Fighting Fic #7 by @jscoutfinch. This was written at my request, so obviously I love it! Killian whisks Emma away to safety, but they find more along the way. 

Make You Mine by @amagicalship.  Canon divergence from 4x21/22 with a sprinkle of AU. In which they have an extra day to return to the Enchanted Forest, allowing them to stop overnight. Emma knows this isn’t the same Killian she’s used to, but tonight she just needs to be in his arms. (This is my next reading project!)

Originally posted by darkjonesaf

Have at them! And if you send me fic prompts that feature him, who’s to say I won’t work on those? 


I’m having a little bit of fangirl overload here – our buddy Sarah Wendell from Smart Bitches, Trashy Books taped a Pop Culture Happy Hour small batch edition, and it’s out now!  Here’s what Linda Holmes has to say:

Sarah and I talk about romance readers, e-reading, rating sexy books with numbers of hot peppers, and why there’s an optimism at the heart of reading romance.

Just the thing to jolly your Thursday along!

– Petra


It is the anniversary of Liam’s death and Killian is locked away to brood alone. But a certain saviour is not willing to let him do that.

Read if on here

It was a Sunday. Usually this meant taking out the Jolly for a trip along the coastline - stretching out her sails and breathing in he familiar aroma of the sea.

But not this Sunday.

Instead he found himself barricaded inside his quarters, shutters drawn, the only light provided by a withered candle that flickered on the table to his left. Lying with his legs crossed at the ankle, he stared blankly at the ceiling above him. Counting each painful second. Willing this day to be over.


Her soft voice bled through the wooden walls of the room. He stayed silent.


It was louder now. He heard footsteps echo through the ship. But still he didn’t move.

Then the door to the small room swung open.

“Hook - oh, there you are-”

There was a pause for a few seconds as he heard her make her way down the wooden steps - one, two, three-

“Are you sleeping?” she asked as she approached. He didn’t stir, instead he kept his gaze affixed to the same spot above him. She seemed to ignore his silence, continuing, “I thought you always took the boat out on Sundays? I actually didn’t expect you to be back yet-”

“We have remained in port today Swan.”

“Oh,’ she sighed softly, sensing the tension in his voice.

Hesitantly she inched closer, though the room was dark she was illuminated by the flickering flame of the candle, her hair shining like spun gold as it swung around her shoulders.

"And I’m not really in the mood for visitors today Emma, perhaps whatever has drawn you here could be discussed tomorrow.” He briefly caught her eye; something unspoken passing between the two.

She licked her lips as she made to step backwards, “Um, alright-” She started to turn but then stopped, “Are you okay?” she asked, the words tumbling out of her mouth, almost tripping on each other.

“Aye lass,” he replied, almost in a whisper.

“It’s just, I mean, I’ve never seen you like this before. It worries me.” Her words were etched with concern. He turned his head to the wall.

“I said I am fine,” he snapped, her sharp intake of breath caused a little ripple of pain to flood through him. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean to talk to you in that manner.”

Then she was beside him, her hand was on his arm - fingers gently clasping his brace.

“Talk to me,” she said, her voice radiating a gentle melodically timbre that filled the room.

He sighed again, biting his lip.

“You can trust me.”

And he knew he could. He could tell this woman anything. He could share his heart and body and mind with her, and he would in an instant. But this…

“Today is a day I would rather forget. Or at least, it was many years ago.” He finally turned to look at her: her brow was creased in concern.

“Milah?” she asked, turning so her hip rested on the wooden edge of the bed.

“No… Liam.”

Recognition flashed over her features.

“Today was the day he…”

Killian nodded, pursing his lips as he pushed himself up against the pillows at the end of the bed.

“Aye,” was his solitary reply.

A few bare seconds passed by, the only sound the gently creaking of the ships timbers as the boat rocked in the light winds that were focused on Storybrooke that day.

“Tell me about him,” she asked, her thumb began to rub against the inch of bare skin that bridged the gap between his brace and his shirt.

“He was brave. And honourable. Far more honourable that I could ever hope to be.” He folded his legs at the knee, laying his head back against the wooden hull. She watched him quietly, shuffling a little closer. “He raised me - after our parents were gone it was just him and I.” A flicker of a smile crossed his lips as memories of his brother flooded his mind, “He was so good and strong - he fought for me to be educated, helped me get my commission. Without him I would have ended up as some gutter rat and probably would have rotted away my life in a stinking jail cell.”

“You don’t have much confidence in your own abilities.”

“I am what I am love,” he retorted, giving her a long look before he picked up the frayed piece of leather that lay on the bed beside him.

“What’s that?” she asked, nodding towards the item. He held it out to her.

“Military insignia - it was his. It hung on his satchel. It’s all I have left of him now. I keep it with me at all times. In a way it makes me feel less alone.”

Instantly he regretted the last statement. He was being far too open - too trusting. Letting her in more than he ever intended to.

“It must have been a lonely life at sea,” she nodded as she fingered the lettering punched onto the leather.

Did she understand? Did it resonate with her? Surely - she had been alone too most of her life. Perhaps she understood the pain - the aching pain of having no family of your own. The overiding sensation one of darkness and anger and pain.

“You and I are more alike than you care to admit Swan.” This made her smile, but she ignored the implication.

“He would have been proud of you,” she said as she handed back the insignia. His brow raised as he took it; fingers brushing briefly against hers - a little spark leaping between them.

“I hardly think so Swan.”

“No, he would have. You are a good man Hook. You have shown that many times.”

He bristled at the compliment. He was never any good at accepting them. Never thinking anything he did could be considered good or worthy or brave. Beneath the bravado was still the young man seeking his brother’s acceptance in some way.

“And you are brave, and strong and kind too. And you don’t need to be alone anymore.”

He felt her fingers wrap around his hand - itself balled around the leather piece. Her hand was warm and soft, his eyes rolled shut at her touch.

“The lot of a villain is one of vengeance and toil and most often ends in pain.”

“You’re not a villain.”

“Oh?” he asked, hooking his thumb over her hand as she looked down at him. Her hair was pooled around her shoulders. She looked almost unearthly in the scant light. Like some kind of dream creature who would be gone when this moment ended.

“No,” she shook her head, “You are whoever you want to be. We are all part hero, part villain, part brave - part coward,” she shrugged one shoulder, tilting her head to meet it, “But most of all we are people who make mistakes and get to also make our own choices. And you have chosen to be alone. Perhaps it is time to try something new.”

She gave him a small, but warm smile, tightening her grasp for a second until he nodded a small reply. Pushing off the bed, she turned to leave before saying - “Dinner at the loft, seven pm. We’ll be waiting.”

Not pausing for a reply she was suddenly gone and once again he was alone with his thoughts.

Slowly he slipped down from the bed, the insignia in his hand as he stepped over to his desk. Carefully he slid open one of the ancient wooden draws, depositing the scrap of leather inside before sealing it away.

Perhaps she was right.

Maybe it was time he let the hurt go.

And perhaps she was the one to help.