#I was about to be like “pumpkins have stems; why not base him off a pumpkin instead?” and then I remembered

[inkandpaintleopard]

Oh my god I was looking around for Imp and Melo art and found these RE redesigns from 2022

I've never seen these before look at them!!!

OH MY GOD

WAIT BUT DUDE REMEMBER THESE GUYS

I THOUGHT THEY LOOKED SO OUT OF PLACE COMPARED TO THE REST OF THE ART AND IT MAKES SENSE NOW

Eyes reference you can’t hide from us

[koji-haru]

Pumpkin Pie

[Based off of @inubaki's pumpkin pie recipe! I've never made or had one before, but I will be making them tomorrow. My first ever pumpkin pie!]

Adam had been at Charlie’s hotel for almost a year now, trying very hard to redeem himself back to heaven. 

The first few weeks of trying redemption had been another form of hell, not just for Adam, but also for everyone at the hotel as the first man’s arrogance and pride made admitting any wrong doings difficult in the first place, with only the king of hell’s own pride surpassing it. And of course, two prideful beings together in an enclosed area…was not a good combination. Things appeared to be rough and difficult to improve until one day there was a knock at the hotel’s door, loud and demanding. And when Charlie opened the door, eager and ready to welcome a possible new guest, an angel, with a presence so holy that it felt like Heaven itself had gone down to her hotel, instead pushed past her demanding to see his husband. That angel was none other than the archangel Michael himself looking for his apparently missing husband, Adam the first man.

Since then, Adam had been taking redemption much more seriously, not really having much of a choice with Michael staying with him at the hotel and ensuring he did every possible thing to get back home to Heaven as quickly as possible. There were some heartfelt conversations here and there, vulnerabilities admitted and exposed, and relationships rekindled and rebuilt even stronger. 

And now, Adam found himself partnered up with both Lucifer and Michael for one of Charlie’s activities, this time baking. Supposedly, cooking together would bring people even closer together through group work and communication. But really, if Adam had any choice, he would rather do all the work himself. Michael, as much as Adam loved him, had many talents across the board except for the kitchen. Then there was Lucifer, the only thing Adam had seen that little devil make were ducks and pancakes and nothing else. If anything, the real job wouldn’t be baking, but to monitor the two brothers and ensure they wouldn’t set the whole place on fire, which Adam didn’t mind but he needed to get back to Heaven (and also he didn’t want to see Charlie upset).

A large, heavy pumpkin laid on top of the countertop, just waiting to be prepared along with the other ingredients Adam had prepared beforehand. He stood in front of it, both hands on his hips as he announced the rules of the kitchen, HIS kitchen.

Lucifer raised a hand. “But why a pumpkin pie? I think apple pies are better.”

“Because I said so,” Adam replied curtly. 

“Pumpkin pies are nice,” commented Michael. 

Lucifer silently eyed Michael, “This lovestruck idiot.” 

“Alright, so some rules before we start. 1) Keep the countertop clean: spills and any messes are to be cleaned immediately; 2) Put things back where you got them; 3) Clean dishes when you’re not busy; and most importantly, 4) Listen to everything I say and don’t get in the way. All clear?,” Adam instructed akin to how he used to talk to his exorcists during training. 

Michael nodded seriously at Adam’s words, knowing fully well how his husband could be when it came to the kitchen. While Lucifer, on the other hand, seemed rather offended at the prospect of being ordered around by Adam. He was the king of this place for Satan’s sake. He looked up, a finger slightly raised, ready to oppose Adam’s fourth rule, when he felt a sharp jab to his side that quickly drowned his complaint back down his throat. To his left, Michael had somehow moved closer to him, giving him a subtle warning look. Again, he was not about t back down, this was his–

“Okay, so let’s start then.” Adam turned around and grabbed the pumpkin off the countertop and it off to Lucifer. “Remove the stem, cut it in half and remove the seeds and the stringy bits. Then go grab a baking tray and place it in the oven at 175C.” He then turned to Michael. “You’re helping me with the crust for now.”

With Lucifer kept momentarily busy with a simple task, Adam had Michael measure and bring him the ingredients he needed to make the pie crust. First the flour and salt into a large bowl, then butter and shortening cut into the bowl with flour. 

“You want to cut them enough that they look like this.” Adam scooched a little to show the course texture of the flour, butter and shortening mixture to Michael.

“Why not make them finer?,” asked Lucifer behind the two, on his tiptoes, curious to see what the two were talking about. Adam jumped, nearly stabbing him with the fork he was holding.

“Don’t just pop out of nowhere! I thought I told you to do something!,” Adam yelled out, startled. 

“Already done,” Lucifer coolly replied as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

Adam squinted at him before handing the two forks to Michael. “You keep breaking the butter and shortening,” he said before making his way to the oven to check on Lucifer's progress. It looked fine enough, nothing seemed out of place. At least until Adam decided to check the oven’s temperature. It was set at the highest temperature!

“Are you trying to burn it into crisp?!,” he asked as he quickly turned down the heat and checked on the pumpkin. Good, it wasn’t burnt.

“No? I’m trying to soften it faster,” Lucifer replied as a matter of factly. 

Adam took a deep breath. They had just started, there was no need to get heated up this early. “175C for around 1 hour, then we check on it,” he said with finality.

“But–”

“Rule number 4, you listen to everything he says and not get in the way,” Michael called out from the countertop.

“Exactly,” Adam added, arms crossed. “Now go grab some ice cold water and help your brother.”

With a small huff and pout, Lucifer marched his way to the fridge to grab some cold water and some, unfortunately, as Adam had told him. Normally, he would simply do whatever he wanted, he was the king for fuck’s sake, but in order to keep Charlie, his precious princess, happy, he needed to play nice. That, and of course because his brother, Michael, who Adam clearly had wrapped around his finger, would ensure he stuck to the rules, just like how he ensured that everything went smoothly at the hotel ever since he decided to stay in Hell for a while. 

While waiting for the pumpkin to soften in the oven, guided the two brothers on how to make the pie crust. They began quietly, working as asked, folding and kneading the dough, then suddenly everyone was covered in flour. Adam’s hair barely even looked brown anymore; how the flour even managed to reach so high up there, he wasn’t sure, but now that he was involved, he sure wasn’t about to back down. 

It didn’t matter who started it at this point, it was an all out war. The first man, an archangel, and the devil, all throwing flour and pieces of dough at each other as they ran around the kitchen trying to avoid getting hit, but got hit all the same. Flour and dough arcing through the air; the countertop, walls and the floor either a dusty white or sticky pale yellow. Almost no spot in the kitchen was spared from the onslaught. 

Lucifer snuck behind Michael and wrapped and pressed a piece of dough on his hair while the other was busy trying to duck from the flying wet dough that was speeding through the air. Michael managed to escape a wet dough to the face in exchange for a dough stuck on his hair, while Lucifer took a loud, wet splat on his proudly laughing face, which was quickly silenced. The sticky dough clung to his face and sent him stumbling down onto the kitchen floor in a slight panic while both Adam and Michael laughed at the site before them

“My hair!,” Michael gasped aloud when he finally noticed the heaviness on his hair, clutching at his hair as he tried to remove the dough deeply entangled in it.

“Ahahahah! Bullseye bitch!,” Adam cackled as he pointed at Lucifer’s pathetic state on the floor. Michael might have been his initial target, but seeing Lucifer like that made the innocent childishness he used to have in Eden bubble back up to the surface. Back when they used to play pranks together, often at Sera and Michael’s expense…

“Oh, it’s really on now!” Lucifer scraped the dough off of his face, a very determined glint in his eyes and a confidently playful curve on his lips.

Just as Lucifer stood up, ready to dish out hell onto the two, a loud, almost deafening sound rang across the kitchen. The pumpkin was ready, but the kitchen was far from it. The three looked around the kitchen and then at each other, before groaning, at least Lucifer and Adam did, while Michael already poofed up cleaning supplies. 

“I’m pretty sure Lucifer started it,” Michael blurted out as he handed everyone their cleaning surprise.

Lucifer gasped dramatically, a hand clutching at his heart, “You’re betraying me! Again!”

“Okaaay, I’ll let the pumpkin cool down while we clean up…,” Adam cut in, not wanting to go down that route. He looked around the chaotic mess that was once a clean kitchen and suddenly felt his head become numb and heavy. Well fuck his kitchen rules, he supposed.

With the kitchen all cleaned up and the pumpkin cool enough, the trio continued their pie making process. Somehow through their earlier mess, they managed to make and save their pie crust, and some still usable though dough for some decor.

The pumpkin puree was made without any more incidents, especially since Adam made sure that Lucifer was distracted enough by asking him, ‘the creative one’, to make decor for the pie using the leftover dough. Adam whisked the sugars, spices, salt and cornmeal into a sauce pan, ensuring they’re the sweetness was to his taste, with Michael as his assistant, handing him things he needed. Then after removing the pan from the heat, he added the wet ingredients, stirring and mixing until everything was smooth and even. 

The two then checked on Lucifer working on the countertop, and unsurprisingly, all the pie decor that Lucifer made were either ducks or apples. 

“Is there any dough left?,” asked Michael. 

Lucifer pointed to his side. “Just a little left.”

Then both Michael and Adam grabbed the remaining and split it between the two of them as they started making their own decor. Little guitars and horned masks for Adam, and swords and scales for Michael. 

“Hey! I’m the head of decor here!,” Lucifer called out, offended at the display in front him. They put him in charge only to take his materials away at the last minute!

“I don’t want just ducks,” commented Michael.

“I hate apples,” added Adam. 

Lucifer simply huffed at his spot. The audacity! In his own home!

~

In the end, the pie was made, miraculously cooked to perfection, decorated with pie crust ducks, apples, guitars, masks, swords and scales, and of course, served with whipped cream! The pie looked good, it tasted really good too, but the three bakers didn’t particularly look good with flour and dough stuck in their hair and clothes as if they themselves almost became an ingredient for the pie. Adam himself was so covered in flour, he looked almost as pale as the two brothers.

Charlie looked around the kitchen, it looked clean enough, the hotel wasn’t burnt down and no one had died, or at least no one that she knew of. There was no need to ask how all three of them ended up looking like that. She would count this as an absolute win!

[dreamwritesimagines]

Burn The Witch 5 - Cross Your Heart [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Lying is supposed to be easy for spies.

Series Masterlist

You were beginning to think undercover operations were some sort of punishments given to agents, because lying was one thing, but creating a whole life around that lie was another.

Not only were your knives replaced by a bunch of paintings on the wall, you now had some photos in frames; old photos of people you didn’t know, people who were supposed to be your “cover” family.

You’d still prefer to have your knives on the walls though.

“You’re my best friend, you’re supposed to be on my side!” you pressed the phone between your shoulder and your ear, and heard Chloe’s laugh.

“I am on your side, I just can’t do anything about your uniform.”

You plopped down on the couch, setting your heels down on the floor.

“Bucky might be from 1940s, but he knows that it’s the 21st century now,” you said, putting the heels on, “No reason to make me dress like a….weird pin up waitress.”

“It’s a part of your mission,” she reminded you, “What, you can kill a target with a wine glass but a pin up costume is where you draw the line?”

You clicked your tongue, “Anyone can kill someone with a wine glass. It’s not that hard.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Babe it’s not rocket science, you just break the bowl part, then use the stem to stab them in the—“ you got distracted when you opened the kitchen cabinet, “I’m sorry, why do I have so many kitchen supplies?”

She held her breath in excitement, “Do you like them?”

“I don’t know what to do with most of them.”

“Cover Y/N likes cooking!”

“And the real Y/N can’t stand her,” you deadpanned, making her stifle a laugh.

“So he hasn’t texted you yet?”

“Barnes?” you asked, “Not yet. Why?”

“Well, I took the liberty of taking a look at his messages the other day.”

“Oh God, don’t tell me,” you said, “He’s seeing someone else?”

“No no, not at all,” she said, “He’s totally single, and probably ready to mingle. With you, that is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He and Wilson were talking about you the other day. Well, more like Wilson was telling him to get his shit together and ask you out.”

“I don’t think he’s the type to ask someone out via text,” you said, “I think he will come to the shop one of these days.”

“Why?”

“He looked sort of….” You searched for the word in your mind, “Uh-clueless?”

“Clueless?”

“Yeah, you know how assassins usually flirt,” you ignored her noise of disagreement, “He wasn’t like that.”

“You really need to focus on the personal details of his file.”

You scowled, “What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, “I know his favorite weapons, what knives he—”

“Personal file,” she repeated, “You know there’s more to people than their weapons of choice right?”

“I might have to engage in combat if I’m ever compromised, and do you know how many people walked away alive after engaging in combat with the Winter Soldier in all these decades?” you asked, “Three. Three people; Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and they are legends. I might be good, but I’m not that good.”

“Just memorizing his arsenal can’t help you in this mission,” she said, “Did you know that he hasn’t exactly dated since becoming the Winter Soldier? His ex Connie ended up having 3 kids and a long career at the post office—“

“What am I supposed to do Chloe, stalk grandma’s Instagram?”

“No, she passed away 5 years ago.”

“Of course she did,” you mumbled, “Listen, I don’t have time for this. I’m already knee deep in my own cover, I can’t get into Barnes’s past when it’ll give me no advantage in the mission.”

“Y/N-“

“Trust me,” you cut her off, looking in the mirror to fix your uniform, “I have everything under control.”

                                              ***

You had maybe like one thing under control and that was the milkshake you were currently pouring into a mason jar. After a crash course in different recipes yesterday, you barely needed any help from your coworkers and seeing that the shop wasn’t very crowded, you didn’t have to rush.

And now you knew how to make three things; pasta, eggs and milkshakes.

If Keith were here, he would’ve said those were 3 main food groups.

“Tara, we’re running low on maraschino cherries,” you said as you shook the can and your new coworker turned to you.

“Oh that’s okay, there’s another jar are under the counter.”

You put the cherry over the whipped cream, and handed the jar to her. “There you go.”

“Another week of working here and you will come up with your own recipes,” she said, “Tell me the truth, are you like a spy sent by a rival company?”

You stared at her, then forced a laugh.

“I wish,” you said, “Maybe I’d be paid more.”

“Good point,” she said and walked to give the milkshake to the customer while you put the empty jar aside, then went under the counter to search for a new jar.

“Strawberries….” You read the labels out loud as you heard the wind bells chime by the door, “Figs, berries—cherries!”

You reached out to grab the jar and stood up but as soon as you did, you caught the sight of the figure by the door and held your breath, the jar slipping from your grip before you caught it mid-air.

“Bucky.” You breathed out, before you remembered to plaster a smile on your face.

Naïve, soft hearted civilian.

He stole a look around as if he expected someone to attack him at any seconds in a milkshake shop before he stepped closer to the counter you were standing behind.

“Hi.”

“Hi-hi there!” you said, putting the jar down, “You came!”

“You sound surprised,” he smiled and you shrugged your shoulders, shooting him a mischievous look,

“Better late than never, I suppose.”

He hissed in a breath, “Ouch, was it that late?”

“Just a little,” you said “So what can I get you?”

He looked up at the board over the wall, “What are my options?”

“Well, we have Unicorn Cotton Candy, Pumpkin Spice Latte, Candy Cane Passion, Lavender Macaron—“ you stopped talking when you saw the clueless look on his face and cleared your throat, “Or hey, maybe chocolate? We have chocolate milkshake.”

“Chocolate sounds good.”

“Coming right up.” You took a mason jar from the shelf to get to it and he grabbed his wallet, making you raise your brows.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh come on—”

“I’m going to make you an overly complicated milkshake if you try to pay for this,” you warned him, shaking the can before putting whipped cream on top of the milkshake, “It’s on the house, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said quickly, making you point at him with the straw.

“Either way, I’m warning you. I’m armed and dangerous.”

“Consider me intimidated,” he said with a grin as he put the cash into the tip jar and you narrowed your eyes.

“Bucky.”

“Well technically, tip doesn’t count.”

“I wonder where I heard that before,” you muttered under your breath while he walked to pull himself a seat.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you said, reminding yourself that your cover probably wouldn’t make dirty jokes and went to place the milkshake in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” You waved a dismissive hand and rested your elbows on the counter, leaning in slightly.

He was gentleman enough to not check out your cleavage, instead kept his gaze on your face, making you suppress a smile.

“You were right,” Bucky said, his eyes darting around the café after a couple of seconds, “About how this place looked. It is creepily accurate.”

“Really?”

“I mean we didn’t have a neon flowers corner, but…” he trailed off, “Yeah. Yeah, I would say so.”

“Is that why you look like you expect someone to jump out of shadows and attack you?” you asked and his head shot up before he scrunched up his face.

“That obvious?”

“Not that I have lots of experience but so far none of the customers looked this uncomfortable while drinking a milkshake,” you said, “Is it because deep down you actually wanted to try Unicorn Cotton Candy?”

“Oh no, I’m good with classics,” He held up his milkshake, “No I just think that I’m a bit….uh, rusty.”

“Rusty,” you repeated, “On what?”

“On this.”

You batted your lashes, looking up at him and you could almost feel him being lured in.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” you said softly after a beat and he gulped, taking a deep breath.

“It’s just that you’re—“ he cleared his throat, “You’re very beautiful and it’s been decades since I last asked someone out for a date.”

Winter Soldier, credited with over 100 assassinations, you reminded yourself Don’t lower your guard, it’s just a cover.

Don’t believe in your own cover.

You bit down a smile, tilting your head.

“Well, I didn’t think you were rusty,” you said and he raised his brows.

“You didn’t?”

“Not at all,” you said, “For the record, I’m definitely going to say yes.”

“Are you?”

“Absolutely,” you grinned, “Once you actually ask me, that is. With words, not an implication.”

His smile was almost playful, “With words, huh?”

“I’m old fashioned like that,” you taunted him, “Let’s see how we can make it less awkward for you though. Would you feel more comfortable to ask me out if you knew some weird stuff about me?”  

“You know, that would help a lot actually.”

You tapped your fingernails on the counter, looking up at the ceiling, pretending to be in deep thought. Your superiors had always said the best cover stories were somehow based on real life without revealing your identity, so you figured telling him random things about you wouldn’t hurt or put the mission in danger.

“Well, I really like grapes but I don’t like the skin, so I end up peeling every grape I eat, one by one,” you counted with your fingers, “I watched a documentary once and now I can’t swim in any lakes because I keep thinking I’ll get attacked by that weird flesh eating bacteria. When I was sixteen, I was the president of the chess club but I had a boyfriend who didn’t believe in the moon landing—”

“I heard about the moon landing!” he said quickly, “I didn’t get around to watch it yet though.”

“Oh my God, you should.”

“What else?”

“I’m scared of peacocks,” you confessed, “I know everyone says they’re beautiful but they look like they’re waiting for the right time to attack you.”

He looked like he was fighting with himself not to laugh and he pressed his metal fist on his lips, his whole attention on you.

“You can’t laugh!” you exclaimed and he shook his head, trying to look as serious as possible.

“I’m not!” he managed to hide his chuckle with a cough, “Keep going, this is very helpful.”

You heaved a sigh. “Well, do you want to hear the most embarrassing one?”

“Absolutely.”

“I normally keep my phone on mute 24/7 but since last week it’s been on full volume because I was terrified I’d miss something important.”

The amused light in his eyes got softer and he lowered his hand, a smile warming his face.

Hook, line…

“I was um— I was hoping for you to call, you see.” you said, averting your gaze from him to look down for a second, biting on your lip.

His voice was raspy; “Were you?”

You shrugged your shoulders, mumbling an inaudible maybe, and his eyes trailed down to your lips before snapping up to lock your gaze in his.

“What time do you get off work today?”

And sinker.

Time to pull back.

You sucked in a breath through your teeth, “I work at the soup kitchen tonight.”

“Oh –I thought you said it was on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

“I did, I’m just covering for a friend tonight. Family emergency, she says.” you said and pushed your hair behind your ear, shifting your weight, “But my shift is over at 6 tomorrow and I can be ready around 7, I live really close by. If you’re- if you’re free, that is.”

“I am.”

“It’s a date, then.”

“It’s a date,” he repeated and stood up, “See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See you tomorrow Bucky.” You smiled as he walked out of the shop and Tara came closer to you.

“Wow, you’ve been here a month and you met someone that hot?” she said and winked at you, “Good job there.”

Right.

Good job.

                                             ***

“So, wait—“ Chloe came closer to sit between you and Keith, holding a huge bowl of popcorn, “He just showed up?”

“Mm hm.”

“And you have a date tomorrow?”

Keith uncapped your beer and handed you the bottle as you rested your feet on the coffee table.

“You’re being careful, aren’t you?” he asked you and you nodded.

“Sure.”

“He doesn’t suspect anything?”

“No, he’s buying this whole naïve soft hearted civilian thing,” you said while Chloe snatched the remote from Keith’s hand, ignoring protests.

“And are you?”

You dragged your eyes from the list of movies on the screen. “I want a horror movie.”

“Well too bad, I want an action movie.”

“We’re watching a rom-com and that’s final!” Chloe pointed at both of you, making you groan.

“Why does this keep happening?” Keith asked to no one in particular and she snapped her fingers.

“It’s my turn and my place so I pick the movie,” she said and shot you a look, “I’m still waiting for an answer, by the way. You don’t….you don’t have feelings for Barnes, right?”

Keith stole a look at you before turning to Chloe,

“I don’t think our dear friend here wants a relationship beautiful,” he told her, “Not after what happened the last time.”

You could feel the goosebumps rising on your arms as a shiver ran down your spine.

“I don’t even know Barnes all that well yet, but I can assure you he’s not the type to—“ you paused, “Do something that cowardly.”

Keith gritted his teeth. “Where is that asshole anyway?”

“Hungary,” Chloe said and you raised your brows.

“Undercover?”

“Yeah. I hope he gets compromised and dies there.”

“Very unlikely,” you murmured, “Anyways, what brought this on? My feelings for Barnes?”

“It’s just that I recently read Vincent Smith’s file,” she said, “You guys remember Vincent?”

“Who?”

“His code name was Marco.”

“Oh, I remember Marco!” Keith said, “That guy took down a whole unit by himself. What happened to him?”

“He is missing.” Chloe said and you pulled your brows together.

“Since when do agents go missing and we don’t know where they are?”

“Since they fall for the target.”

“No way,” Keith chuckled, “Badass spy Marco fell in love? Poor idiot.”

“You’re a terrible person, Keith.”

You sat up straighter, “Wait, did you say he fell for the target?”

“Yeah, I saw the reports from his handler. And now he’s missing, and I don’t want you to run away with Barnes like Marco did with his target.”

You and Keith exchanged glances and you clicked your tongue.

“Chloe babe, he’s not missing.” you said “He’s dead.”

She pulled back slightly, “You don’t know-“

“Yes I do. You don’t fall for the target and compromise the whole mission, not unless you want to end up dead.”

“There’s no report of that,” she insisted and Keith sipped his beer.

“What did his report say, sweetheart?”

“That he was removed from his mission before going missing.”

Keith scoffed, “Rest in peace Marco, you won’t be missed.”

“How do you know—“

“Because that’s the code,” you said, “If the report says he was removed from his mission and went missing, it means he was killed by an agent on our side.”

“We killed our own agent?” she exclaimed and you turned the beer bottle in your hand,

“He stopped being our agent the moment he fell for the target.”

Chloe covered her mouth with her hands, worry etched into her expression, “Y/N, please, please promise me you won’t somehow get too involved in this mission and fall for Barnes and put yourself in danger.”

You let out a small laugh, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“It’s the Winter Soldier we’re talking about,” you reminded her and chewed on the popcorn, “Trust me, that would never happen.”

“Cross your heart?”

You heaved a sigh and clinked your beer bottle with hers.

“Cross my heart honey,” you assured her, “There’s no way I’d sign my own death warrant by doing something that stupid.”  

Chapter 6

[bookwyrminspiration]

What do you think Sophie's friends and herself are going to dress as for Halloween?

I'm answering this a little after Halloween but let's pretend that it's still spooky season just for the sake of this ask!

I was talking a little earlier about Linh dressing up as Fintan to make fun of him, but I have plenty of ideas for other costumes!

Linh: Seeing as I was just talking about her it seems fitting to kick things off with her. Pumpkin. I do not know why but she goes as a pumpkin. Not the form fitting ones but the flowy like...cape? Thing? And a hat with a little stem!! And she'd have the pumpkin trick-or-treat baskets to go with it.

Keefe and Dex: They go together as elves. But the human version of elves. They've got the pointed ears and all the foliage all over them. Shoes with little curls at the end--I can't help but feel like Keefe goes hobbit-elf. Like he specifically dresses up like an elf from The Lord of the Rings because he loves it. And Dex does it too because he's seen so many human movies. It just feels right!

Biana: Fairy. She does the stereotypical thing where she puts on a corset and fishnets and calls herself a fairy but for some reason it really works for her and she stands out. Dex helps her make these incredibly detailed wings that actually move (unfortunately they cannot fly and are purely for aesthetics). Unsure what specific genre of fairy she would be though!

Sophie: I think she'd cosplay as a character from a book she enjoyed when she was younger. She's read The Lord of the Rings, so maybe she'd dress up as Frodo, which would also motivate Keefe and Dex to match her. I don't know what character she would be, but I think she'd go back to her human roots and pick a fictional character!

Fitz: oh this one's hard. For some reason my mind is saying a gladiator but I don't know why. Maybe the chance to show off his physique or something. Maybe the strength that's associated with them. Maybe he just likes to take his clothes off. Who knows! I am also open to any other suggestions because I'm very unsure about Fitz.

Tam: I can't decide if he'd refuse to participate or go all out just to spite Keefe. If he refuses, then I think Linh would dress him up like a cat and give him the ears and draw on whiskers for a really simple costume. If he does it himself and goes all out...I'm feeling vampire/general undead vibes. Really leaning into the aesthetic and picking something he can use his ability to enhance. Maybe like a Dark Lord and wearing royal regalia and a crown and all that.

Marella: Pirate! Boisterous, social personality that's actually deeply involved in politics feels great for her! And then there's the strength and cunning associated with them. Pirates know so much of what's going on and are really team people. Also maybe I want to see her in a pirate's outfit. The quiet intelligence of pirates...so good. Also I'm basing all of this on Black Sails, not the more common idea of pirates.

These are just a few of my personal ideas, but they could be anything! I think Sandor should also bring back that grandma costume from the earlier books. They suited him so well <33

And I think they'd all enjoy the chance to partake in a human holiday as Sophie reminisced about her past, which is a cute way to support her.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

A chatty writing update | novels, short fiction, etc!

Hi folks!

It’s been a while since I last wrote an update on this blog! I thought it’d be fun to go back to basics, and just talk about writing. This post chats about: new plans for Feeding Habits, my newest novel, my short story goals & growing collection, along with process reflections.

(image description: a photo of green leaves with the text “writing update” in a white font written on top. /end image description)

Post starts under the cut!

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed)

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites, @avakrahn, @maisulli

What have I been up to?

For starters, I finished my second year of my Writing undergrad last week and got two of my final grades back today (A+ baby)! For anyone who has taken online university, y’all already KNOW, but this year was so difficult. Would not recommend! Really proud of myself to have gotten through this absolute rollercoaster of a school term and am excited to get into some writing. That leads us to:

What have I been up to (writing edition)?

2021 started off so fast. By the time January hit, I was so consumed in my new semester that I did not have time to write Feeding Habits (my novel). In the first few days of the term, I managed to write between class, until I could no longer keep up! Essentially, I did not write any of that novel until exam season (last week), where I did manage to get in about 3k words in ~4 days.

Feeding Habits

I’m currently drafting what I believe will be the last chapter of this book (chapter 10: Swan Song). This chapter is so bizarre for a few reasons. It begins the book’s third part and also marks the shift back into Lonan’s head from Harrison’s. I originally thought this part would be much, much longer, with at least another five chapters to go, but quickly realized the book’s content was nearly completed. In my 4 day 3k palooza, I hit 50k in the book (the word count goal), and couldn’t see myself extending past 60k. Since then, I’ve made the loose decision to write this final chapter as a ~novella. Here are a few reasons why:

1. This chapter is structurally very strange.

I unashamedly shift from present to past to present to past past, and so much more every 12 words. I mapped out the timeline on a sheet of paper, and there were over 20 shifts in scenes (the chapter is only about 4400 words at the moment). The fictive past is incredibly important to this chapter, more important than the present, and I thought it would make more sense to not break randomly for a chapter so I could upkeep the consistent inconsistency of the chapter.

2. The chapter is very abstract

This stems from the structural changes, but there are paragraphs in this chapter of the fictive present that are loosely based in reality. They’re more poems than they are factual paragraphs, and keeping them all contained in one place (so a mega chapter/ novella) would reduce the most confusion!

3. There’s not much left to cover

Like I said above, Feeding Habits is on its last leg, lol! I know exactly where the book needs to end up, which is very, very soon from where I’m currently at on the timeline. Swan Song should cover what 2-4 chapters would cover in terms of arcs.

Feeding Habits and I have a really weird relationship, tbh! When I realized a few weeks ago that it’d been over a year since I started the book, I realized I just needed to finish it. Not that I want to rush (because I’ve taken longer than a year to write a book in the past), but that in order to move onto another project, I’d like to put this one behind first. This book has been the hardest thing I’ve ever written, and has reminded me there’s always a time to let go. This sort of scrounges up a conversation about letting this entire series go, which is certainly something I’ve been contemplating doing soon(ish). If this spinoff series gets a third book, that may or may not be the last Fostered book for a very long time (or ever)! There are many complex reasons to move on, but the main one is that I have other projects I’d like to focus on. This is not a definitive decision, but something I’ve certainly been thinking about!

Here are a few excerpts I wrote recently:

(TW: death, gore)

Dying feels like being a trout dangled out of water. Clinging to a hook. Mouth open. Scales iridescent in a final death cry. It’s like blood spurting up the knuckles, drowning out the flesh. It’s that moment on the long fall down when the clouds cup the body. Easy drifting. The sound a skull makes when it cracks is really just the afterthought.

(TW: death, gore)

Kill shot. Death blow. Coup de grace. Right in the heart. He feels it. The blood swelling, slicking his palms. He can do it. Reach into the cavity. Feel for the ribs. Part each bone. Then cup the humming heart. Stay there. Right. It’s never been easier.

Look at this PURE moment of Lonan holding a baby I CANNOT:

The grocery store was a fifteen-minute walk away. With Olivia clinging to his shoulder, Lonan was acutely aware that she could feel his heartbeat. Open valve. Close. Repeat. Hers pulsed right above his, a miniature drumming. The sky had bruised purple, misted with clouds. The evening air nipped his cheeks, so he made sure Olivia was securely fastened between him and his jacket. With wide eyes, she absorbed the drowsy suburbia, all its family cars pulling into driveways, all its couples heading back home after a sunset walk. When Lonan passed a young boy walking two golden retrievers, Olivia giggled, and didn’t stop, even after he’d spent fifty dollars on groceries and nearly the rest on a red Corolla marked with a MUST GO NOW sign outside a convenience store.

Let’s move on!

Mandy and Cora

I said I wouldn’t talk too much about this project, but I just love it so much?? I wanted to share my SUPER early thoughts on drafting a novel, especially one that is SO different from what I’ve been writing recently. I talked about this before in THIS post, but the summary about this project is that it’s a YA contemporary novel! Can’t believe I’m writing YA again, it’s been so long, but I also think it’s going so well. Everything I’ve learned as a literary fiction writer has been a fantastic primer for transferring back to the genre. Admittedly, I have not written much, but I’m having a lot of fun diving back into a lighter project. This is the summary:

Cora and Mandy are identical twins who’ve always done everything together. But when Mandy decides to go to university out of province after graduation and Cora doesn’t, Cora takes this as an opportunity to “test run” life apart from her sister for the first time by spending the summer at her aunt’s house across the country.

I have come up with a few ~things since I last talked about this project, mostly how I’d like to structure it. As of now, I’d like the book to be structured super loosely. I’m really pulling on a lot of inspo from “We Are Okay” by Nina LaCour (which is SO good), particularly how “nothing happens-y” that book is. This project (which I still need a title for!!) will be structured in short chapters that cover something Cora does on her own for the first time (without Mandy). For example, a few ideas are “Flight”, “Lunch”, and “Groceries”. “Flight” is the first “chapter” (they’re really kind of vignettes) where Cora flies to her aunt’s house. I still can’t determine if this book will take place in Canada. On one hand, I feel like there will be a wider audience if it takes place in the US (is that just an assumption??? maybe?? someone let me know!), but also: don’t really care too much about an audience at the moment! It could also take place in Canada (So Ontario and British Columbia). But if it does take place in the US, I think it may take place in NYC and San Francisco. The problem is: I really don’t like researching lol, and while I’ve been to NYC many times, I will definitely write it wrong! Does this really matter on a first draft?? absolutely not lol, but of course I am already overthinking!

But back to structure: I am looking forward to seeing what this looser structure will do. This is a story that is solely around one half of a set of twins learning to be her own person (and ultimately that she doesn’t have to completely forget her sister in order to do that), and as a twin who KNOWS this feeling, I think this structure of her doing things for the first time is SUPER relatable.

I was worried it might sound silly/worrying to others who are not twins that Cora hadn’t done things like “lunch” or “groceries” on her own, but I feel this so much as an identical twin myself! Not that she hasn’t done anything at all by herself, but as a twin, when you do something without your twin for the first few times, at least in my experience, you notice. If any twins are reading this--weigh in!

This story is the most personal thing I’ve ever written. It definitely is an OwnVoices book! Usually, I avoid details that are remotely similar to me because they make me uncomfortable haha, but with this book, it’s all me, lol! The characters are all Guyanese, which is SO fun because I’ve been planning what they eat (my fellow Caribbean peeps know: the FOOD!), which is so fun (yes they have pumpkin and shrimp, yes they have roti, yes they have pera, yes they have mithai). Every time I’ve gone to dabble at this book, or even think about it, I get incredibly emotional for this reason? I don’t exactly know why. I think this is a story I just so want to tell, with the culture I love SO much that I definitely struggled to love as a child. This is reclamation bitchessss!

Not going to lie tho: the prospect of writing ~a book~ is kind of freaky! I’m going to make the minimum word count for this book pretty short (50k) and see where it goes from there. I think I will focus on this project this summer! Originally I was going to write a literary novel this summer, but I think this one’s calling my name!

Here’s a pretty rough excerpt:

Try. I remind myself that’s what I’m doing after the flight attendant fills me a disposable cup of Coca Cola and all I can think of is Mandy and I shoving Mentos into a bottle of the stuff when we were twelve. Just me, wedged in the middle seat between an exchange student heading out for summer break and a middle-aged woman sipping a cocktail, thinking of Mandy and I bursting whole oranges in a blender when we were bored one Winter break as the plane dips through a wave of turbulence. Mandy and I dying our hair neon green with highlighters (didn’t work—our hair is too dark) as the plane lands on the tarmac. Mandy and I arguing so loud last month, we both lost our voices as I lug my carry-on out of the overhead compartment and shuffle off the plane and through the airport, searching for Aunt Vel.

Short Fiction

I’ve written so much short fiction this year! I have a goal to write a short story a month (they can range in length, as long as 1 is “complete”), so my short story brain has seriously been soaking it all up lately. Let’s chat my month to month breakdown so far:

January:

I wrote four stories in January! The first is a flash fiction piece called “Shark Swimming” that follows a young woman who attends a shark swimming class after breaking up with her girlfriend. I wrote this story for a “test” workshop for my fiction class, and it was based off the prompt “think about something you’re afraid to do and make the character do that thing”. I’m not particularly afraid of sharks, but had been wanting to use the title “Shark Swimming” for AGES (literally since 2018).

This story is one of my favourites. It’s only about 900 words, but I think there’s something profound in how mundanely specific it is. The entire story doesn’t even see the narrator swim with sharks once; it actually takes place fully in the sanctuary’s lobby. But I really love this narrator. This is the first story I’ve written in second person in a while, though I felt really connected to the unnamed narrator. She struggles with accepting that she truly is a “boring” person, and there’s something about the final image that really gets me!

I’ve been submitting this around, though it’s been rejected a handful of times. Hoping I can secure it at a magazine one day because I really love it!

The second story is “Joanne, I’ll Pray for You” which is actually a rewrite of one of my very first short stories (the first story I did not write for a class haha), “NYC in Your Apartment”. I LOVE this rewrite a lot, and also learned the original is not a very good short story! Revising this story taught me just how much I’ve learned in the 2 years I’ve been writing short fiction. Seeing the 2019 version versus the 2021 version side by side is fascinating because I essentially “gutted’ the 2019 version of its beginning and end until all that was left was the middle of the story (aka the actual story). AKA: this is the only story I’ve ever written with a hopeful ending and I cut out all the happy bits lol I am SO sorry (that arc is more for a novel or novella). That’s how this went from a 5k word story to an 1800 word story (my Submittable thanks me for this lol). A lot of details and scenes I included were more pertinent to a 3 act structure/novel, which of course short stories don’t often have because of their brevity. I love rambling about writing theory, and seeing that actually pay off is so fascinating!

(TW: trauma)

Like the original, this story follows Joanne, a woman in her early twenties, who spontaneously breaks up with her boyfriend. She claims the poltergeist haunting her drove her to this decision. The original draft focused a lot more on the traumatic events Joanne survives, but this draft really loosens them up. It focuses less so on the events themselves, and more on how Joanne’s life is affected. I found the details of these events were less important, and even sort of contradicted Joanne’s insistence she is being haunted. Instead, the poltergeist really takes more precedence in the new draft as a force Joanne doesn’t understand. That ambiguity, I think, is what the story truly needed.

I also centralized Joanne’s relationship with her boyfriend, Julian, here. Now don’t get me wrong, I really didn’t add anything to this draft. It was a matter of trimming the fat around it to leave the lean “meat” in the centre. But by removing that fat, I was able to emphasize what was most important here, and that was her relationship. Julian always played a really big role in the original draft, but I feel like his role as both a friend and partner to Joanne is much more emphasized since this draft literally is only two scenes now. Because there is less, there is more room for Joanne to reflect, which I’m happy about!

A final change I made was the setting and therefore the title. The original, which was “NYC in Your Apartment,” I couldn’t keep because I shifted the setting to Toronto (this is how I originally saw it, but in 2019 I just?? couldn’t?? write?? canlit??), and “Toronto in Your Apartment” sounded sort of gross LOL. The new title comes from a line in the story which I think is more relevant to the themes!

The next short story I wrote in January was “How to Spell Alpaca.” This one is super fun because I wrote it SO fast (in about 15 minutes or so). THIS is the writing update if you’re interested in learning more. I talked extensively about this one in that update, but some developments are that I dove into an edit a few weeks ago to really understand the core of the story. I’m still not quite there (this is just an intuitive feeling; I know not everything has “clicked), but I am really intrigued by the two mothers in the story, the narrator, and her newfound acquaintance, Violet. Both really struggle to understand their place as mothers (the narrator even declares she isn’t a mother anymore). The narrator, who is in her 50s, sees herself in Violet, who is much younger (~20s), and so she views Violet’s relationship with her daughter in a cautionary, yet mournful way, like she can see it will end up like her own relationship with her daughter, despite wanting the opposite. This is a really subtle story. I feel like if you blink, you’ll miss the message. But I think it’s compelling for that reason. It’s really a portrait of parenting and how to grapple with mistakes you may make that inevitably affect your children. Wow just unlocked the theme writing this lol.

The final story I wrote in January is “The Party,” which may be in my top 3 faves I’ve ever written. This story follows Aida, a recent divorcee in her ~40s. The day her divorce turns official, she moves into a new house and receives a party invitation addressed to the previous homeowner, yet RSVP’s anyway. At this party, she’s hoping to find some sense of noticeability, having struggled with being nondescript her whole life. Things seem quite normal at the party, until it gets bizarre.

I LOVE this story, y’all. Like “How to Spell Alpaca” it really delves into motherhood. Aida, our narrator, is incredibly hurt after her divorce. She now lives farther from her children she struggled to feel connected to in the first place, and doesn’t really know how to reignite her life. This party is a means to do that. This is the first story I’ve written that contains a “twist” which is strange because I really prefer stories that give us as much info as possible upfront, but yes, this one sort of twists.

February

I wrote one story in February, and that was “Protect the Young.” This title is SO changing when I think of a new one because it’s thematically incorrect, haha, but this story follows a woman in her late 40s whose daughter, Lindy, announces she is married the same day all their backyard chickens turn up dead. The discovery of dead chickens prompts our narrator to recall her ex-husband’s murder and the role her daughter may have played in his death.

I love this story so much! I think this would make a great closing for my short story collection. It just has that vibe! I wrote this for my second fiction workshop. I thought I had to hand in the story a week earlier than I had to, so I panicked and wrote this in one sitting! Little did I know, I did not need to do that lol but I’m very happy because this story is so fun. We get to learn more about Arnold (her ex), his relationship with Lindy, and how that translates to Lindy’s relationship with her new husband, Malcolm. I LOVE true crime (I listen to about 3-4 hours of case coverage daily), and this is my first “true crime” story. Because of that, I’m very sus of a few details that probably wouldn’t slide in actual investigatory work, so I’ll also be working on that in a revision. My professor also gave me a great suggestion that may alter the story’s structure a bit, though I look forward to toggling with it in the future.

March

In March, I was really on a Criminal Minds kick lol. I’ve been watching this show since I was seven (oops), and dove into a rewatch since it hit Disney+! This story, “Where to Run When the Lamb Roars,” is very clearly Rachel watching 5 episodes of CM a day. Oops! We follow 14-year-old Astrid as she and her older half brother kidnap a young girl to sacrifice for their yearly ritual.

I knew a few things going into this story, but the main thing was that I did NOT want to show any details of a potential murder (if one even occurs). I really wanted to keep all of those elements off the page because this story is not about those events, but about Astrid’s relationship with her brother. They are a murderous duo, with Astrid actually being the dominant partner. I wanted to explore that. I knew her brother, Fox, was more of a submissive partner in their team, even when he used to do this same thing with his father when he was much younger (chilling!), and so it was a task to explore how this young girl’s desire for violence works. The end actually comes right before the story starts, one could say, but I like it for this reason. It really made me contemplate the story by the time I finished it, and helped me examine what it really was about versus what it appeared to be about.

April

(TW: sexual content, non explicit)

I was so busy this month! Who knows if I’ll write a story last minute, but I did write one story this month called “Five Times Fast.” I wrote this during a “writing sprint” that was being hosted at a flash fiction workshop I recently took with one of my favourite writers ever, K-Ming Chang. I learned so much from this class, and am so happy I came out of it with a draft! This story is just over 300 words, so the shortest flash I’ve ever written, but I’m really happy with it. It was based off the prompt “describe the last time you or your character was naked.” In this case, the narrator has a “friends with benefits” relationship with Ricky who works at a laundromat. This story highlights a moment in this relationship (and also Ricky’s goofy personality lol). I really like it! Hopefully I’ll submit it to some magazines soon.

My short story collection

Very briefly I wanted to touch on my short story collection which I’ve titled “She is Also Dead.” I’ve been meaning to make a blog post on this, so look out for that in the coming months, but this collection is already at around 35k words (about 14 stories so far). The collection also surprisingly has a solid amount of flash fiction which is kind of fun! There’s definitely a range here, which is what I personally love in short story collections.

I feel very professional now that I have a ~collection chart. This is her:

(image description: A chart with the title “She is Also Dead.” It is broken into four columns: Story, Status, Word Count, and Published. Entry 1 - Story: Slaughter the Animal. Status: Revisions, Word Count, 3982, Published: N/A. Entry 2 - Story: Joanne, I’ll Pray for You, Status: Polished, Word Count: 1809, Published: N/A. Entry 3 - Story: Primary Organs, Status: Published, Word Count: 2342, Published: The Malahat Review. Entry 4 - Story: Faberge, Status, Polished, Word Count: 619, Published: N/A. Entry 5 - Story: The Wolf-Antelope Will Not Come for Us, Status, Polished, Word Count: 1556, Published: filling Station (forthcoming). Entry 6 - Story: How to Spell Alpaca, Status: revisions, Word Count: 1327, Published: N/A. Entry 7 - Story: Blink Twice for Final Judgement, Status: Polished, Word Count: 6572, Published: N/A. Entry 8 - Story: The Species is Dead, Status: Published, Word Count: 1208, Published: Minola Review. Entry 9 - Story: Shark Swimming, Status: Polished, Word Count: 907, Published: N/A. Entry 10 - Story: The Party, Status, Polished, Word Count 2339, Published: N/A. Entry 11 - Story: Fig, Status: Polished, Word Counter: 947, Published: N/A. Entry 12 - Story: Protect the Young, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4128, Published: N/A. Entry 13 - Story: Where to Run When the Lamb Roars, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 2174, Published: N/A. Entry 14 - Story: Phantom Limbs, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4844, Published: N/A.) /end image description.

This order is DEFINITELY not permanent (at this point whenever I write a story, I just fit it randomly into this chart lol), and some of the info is outdated (for example, Slaughter the Animal is now polished!!! thank god!!!). But just an idea of what I’m thinking of including.

This is the summary so far:

In SHE IS ALSO DEAD, characters are pushed to act on their gravest impulses. A small town turns murderous when their local invasive species, the Janices, begin dying. A child struggles to understand her mother’s suicide. A college dropout who insists she’s being haunted by a poltergeist unexpectedly breaks up with her boyfriend. A mother acknowledges her daughter’s murderous tendencies after her backyard chickens mysteriously die. A young girl caters the funeral of a girl rumored to be killed by a wolf-antelope. A newly-divorced mother RSVP’s to a bizarre party she was not invited to, and a murderous brother and sister upkeep their yearly tradition of abducting a young girl. These stories follow characters who navigate death, violent desires, womanhood, and loss, both self-imposed and otherwise.

This is also so subject to change as I may pull and add stories to the collection!

I think I’m going to leave this update here for now! I’ve written TONS of poetry too, but I honestly ~hate my poetry right now lol, so! Hope you enjoyed this chill rambly update. Hope writing has going well for you all! All the best!

--Rachel

[thiswasinevitableid]

54. I’m not sure what you think I said, but you start calling me an asshole and whip a ruler at me and somehow, we both end up in detention

Indruck, sfw, please?

Here you go! Content note: spiders appear at one point.

I based some of this AU--namely the concept of the Crucible and how magic is channeled--on the Carry On series by Rainbow Rowell. And Duck is trans in this, because any good wizarding school is inclusive.

After three years at Amnesty Academy, Duck is used to the objects being magically propelled through the air. But a ruler zipping through the air and smacking the back of his head is a new, unpleasant experience.

He tracks it to two chairs to his left, the new third year with the silver hair. He hasn’t even been here a day, what the fuck the is his problem?

“Hey, what the hell man?”

“You know very well what.”

“Uh, no I don’t, and I don’t appreciate bein hit with a fuckin ruler!”

“The maybe think before you insult someone next time!”

“I didn’t fuckin insult you! I don’t even know your name!”

“Ahem.” Ned, their Charms professor, looks down at them reproachfully, “gentlemen, while I know the review of Zone of Truth is rather dull, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t entertain yourselves with mindless conflict.”

“Sorry, Ned.” Duck mumbles, sending his pencil shooting below desk level to whack the other guy in the leg at the exact same moment he whips his pen at Duck’s hand.

“OW!”

Ned sighs, “I hate to do this, but-”

------------------------------------------------

“Detention! Lovely, my first day here and I’m in trouble. Thank you so much, Duck Newton, for landing us here.”

“You started it!” He growls as they take their seats. God, he hopes this isn’t one of Woodbridge’s days.

“Huh, only two.” Mama wipes her boots on the mat, closes the door behind her, “Afternoon, Duck. And…”

“Indrid.” Says his nemesis, “It is nice to meet you Professor C-” he cocks his head, “you really prefer I call you ‘Mama?’”

“Yep. Never could get behind that more formal stuff. Let some of the first years call me ‘Ms. Mama’ if they really need to feel like they’re showin some deference.”

Mama is deputy Headmistress of Amnesty. The only reason she’s not fully in charge is that she’s not a witch and some families object to that. So The Quell technically runs the school while Mama does most of the actual day to day work. She also teaches a course of non-magic practical skills because, “some things you can’t magic your way out of. Like taxes.”

Duck loves her class and, while he doesn’t understand why someone would opt into this weirdness, he admires the guts it takes as a fifteen year old human to walk into a wizarding school and declare that there was plenty you could learn there even though you couldn’t so much as send a spark from your fingers.

As he and Indrid watch the clock tick down, Mama pulls a bag from her satchel. The contents are cookies, which she offers to each of them.

“Barclay tryin’ out new recipes?”

“Course he is. Kid is gonna be the best damn kitchen witch in the country by the time he graduates. Guess he’s plannin to spend the summer drivin around and learnin the food magic of different regions.” She smiles, “bet you’ll never guess who’s goin’ with him.”

“Joe?”

“Bingo. Apparently he wants to study niche cultural magic.”

Duck’s pretty sure there’s another motive; sharing a van bed with Barclay. It sounds fun, roving the country, discovering new places with someone handsome by your side.

All that’s by his side is a glower hiding behind red glasses.

“Mama? I, ah, would it be possible for me to leave five minutes early? I’m supposed to get my pairing from the Crucible tonight.”

The older woman looks between the two of them, “Better tell me how you landed here first. Ned just said it was an argument.”

“He threw a ruler at me outta nowhere.”

“It was not, you know what you said.”

“The last thing I said before you hit me was ‘“nah, man’ when Billy offered me a pizza roll from his lunch.”

Indrid goes still, “Oh. I, ah, I misheard you. I thought you said 'mothman.' I apologize. I ought to have given you the benefit of the doubt.”

He seems so suddenly downtrodden that Duck shrugs, “Yeah, you should have. But it ain’t the worst thing that’s happened to me here. Not by a long shot.”

“No kiddin” Mama leans back on the desk, “Two of you can go at five til.”

His evening turns uneventful after that; dinner, hanging out with Juno and Aubrey, half doing homework and half fucking around on his phone in his room (the agreement between the school and the government is that a long as the students don’t post vidoes of themselves doing sick stunts with magic, the government will ignore any explosions and/monsters in the vicinity of the school).

He’s never had a roommate; when the Crucible spat out his name in fire on his first day, there was no other name with it. Almost everyone else rooms in pairs or trios. So his belongings are strewn about the tiny cabin that makes up his home away from home. Which is why, when the door creaks open at ten p.m, he sits up and prepares to fire off a spell.

Indrid stands in the doorway, one bag over his shoulder and another in his hand. He looks tired.

“Hello, Duck. Ah, I guess that one is my bed, then.”

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The class schedules for Amnesty are generated by the heart of the school itself. Indrid isn’t entirely sure what that means, but the heart must not be terribly creative. It stuck him in divination class. He’s been seeing the future since he was five, managing it with his drawings since he was eight. Even the professor has no idea what to do with him, since the images come in like a garbled T.V signal when he uses a crystal ball and the cup shattered when he tried to read tea leaves.

At least Barclay gave him a conciliatory caramel while they swept up the shards. It made him feel a bit better, though whether that’s due to enchantment or Barclay being exceedingly good at cooking is hard to say.

And now he has to go to “Magical Weaponry.” Magical Defense he understands; there are still lots of malicious forces out there, or even just everyday evils that it’s good to be able to ward against. Plus, Vincent is a good professor, enthusiastic and understanding.

Professor Minerva is just as enthusiastic but twice as loud. This is their first day in the actual gym, as opposed to at a blackboard, and his visions suggest it’s going to go poorly for him. As it should; he’s not a fighter, he’s a disaster.

At Amnesty, magic is channeled through objects. Most people use wands or their hands but some, like Aubrey, use jewelry (a necklace from her mother) or another accessory.

Duck Newton uses a sword. Or he’s trying to. The sword seems to be winning.

“Exert your will on him, Duck Newton, he answers to you!”

“I answeeer to only the capable.”

“Shut up, Beacon.” Duck adjusts his grasp, but nothing happens until he drops the sword and sends a spell through his fingers. The target explodes. Indrid suddenly feels a bit better about his own probable performance.

Duck notices him, indicates the practice area next to him is clear. While they started off poorly, his roommate is doing his best to demonstrate southern hospitality. He invites Indrid to eat with him, helps him when his visions offer no help in navigating the grounds, and even lent him a blue and green shirt (Amnesty's colors) for his first Spirit Day. Duck is the best thing to happen to him in his first month here.

By the time class is over, they have six broken targets, a shredded mat, and a knife that is now a very confused frog between them. They manage to laugh about it, even as Duck scoops up the amphibian and tucks him into his shirt pocket.

It’s then that Indrid realizes he has a crush.

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“You comin to the game tonight?” Juno measures her sapling.

“Assumin nothin comes up and nobody’s tryin to kill me, you know I’ll be there.” He loves cheering Juno on during her soccer games (hey, not everything has to be magic based, even at a wizarding school).

“Drat.”

The hissed frustration draws his attention to the far end of the work table. Indrid is trying to coax his Venus Flytraps to perk up, but they remain brown and limp.

“Need some help?”

“Please, as you clearly know what you’re doing.” Indrid tilts his head towards the sapling pine tree Duck is working on. If he does his growing spells right, he’ll be able to take it home as a Christmas Tree during winter break.

“You tend to picture words or, uh,pictures when you do your spells?”

“Images work best. The trouble is that the futures sometimes make it difficult for me to picture a spell clearly.”

“What if I try describing how I’d see it and you picture what I say?”

“It’s worth a try.” Indrid closes his eyes.

“Okay. Think about the roots drawin water up from the soil, about the traps absorbin nutrients from prey. That brown is goin green as they do, they’re stems are growin stronger…” he grins as the plant turns bright green, it’s mouths open, “hey, ‘Drid, look”

“Oh!” Indrid flaps his hands, “it worked! Now I can keep them healthy and big andohno, nono not again.”

The table cracks and collapses as the plant turns gigantic, blocking out the light from the greenhouse roof.

“Holy fuck, that’s great!”

“Language, sport, but I agree.” Thacker, the head of the magical Horticulture classes, whistles as he looks the plant up and down, “this is mighty impressive Indrid. Wonder if we could use it on some pumpkins come fall…”

“I don’t recommend it, unless you want them to chase people.” Indrid points to one of the heads, which is swaying in the air and lowering closer to him. It snaps and he leaps back, falling to a pile of potting soil. Thacker raises his walking stick and the flytrap returns to its proper size.

Duck helps Indrid up, but his friend stays quiet through the end of class and on the walk back to their room.

“You know it ain’t anythin to be ashamed of, right?” Duck flips on the light, “we all fuck up spells now and then. Hell, Aubrey is on track to be the best spellcaster this school’s ever seen and she still has trouble.”

“But mine go haywire constantly” Indrid flops, dejected, onto his bed, “forget mastering my powers, I’ll be lucky if I graduate able to keep them in check. If I graduate at all.” His hand searches the bed blindly; Duck sets the weighted, plush bat into so Indrid can set it on his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never lasted more than a year at a magical school. Or a non-magical one. I started at Mt Vernon when I was fifteen. Tried Deep Hollow and Shasta the year after that. I’m powerful but I can’t seem to channel it well, and three different schools decided I was more trouble than I was worth.”

“Bullshit.” Duck rests a hand on Indrid’s knee, “you’re strugglin with somethin; that means you need more help, not less. And if anyone gets it into their heads to kick you outta Amnesty, I’ll raise a goddamn ruckus.”

Indrid chuckles, quiet and disbelieving.

“I’m serious. You know Aubrey and them would side with me, and Joe knows school policy well enough he could probably find a reason why them tryin to get rid of you was against the rule.”

“Thank you.” Indrid’s smile is a rare flower, fragile and stunning.

“You want one of those calm-down caramels Barclay made?”

“Please.”

Duck grabs the box from the cabinet of their little kitchenette, then snags a Coke and a pineapple soda from the fridge. Indrid is no longer horizontal, is instead sitting with his back to the wall so Duck has space to join him.

Under the fizz of fresh bubbles, his friend murmurs, ‘“Have people really tried to kill you?”

“Yep. Someone sent an assassin after me my first year, and there was a Dire wolf on the grounds last winter that was clearly locked on to my scent. Perk of bein a Chosen One.” He grumbles as he swigs his drink.

“...Who on earth sends an assassin after a fifteen year old?”

“Right?! Fuck if I know, they never got any information out of the guy. Fuckin prophecy I swear, I didn’t even want these powers, let alone to be some kind of hero.”

“I sympathize.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “there are prophecies around my birth as well.”

Duck clunks their bottles together, “To bein’ fucked over by stuff we can’t control.”

Indrid drains his soda, then perks up, “Oh! Oh dear, you should go if you want to be there for Juno’s match.”

“Come with me?” Duck can’t get the image of the two of them sharing a giant pretzel while smushed thigh to thigh on the bleachers out of his head.

His friend grins, “Of course.”

-----------------------------------------------------

Duck hoped, after his not-great time in middle school, that a magic academy would be asshole free. But no, there are assholes everywhere, and these ones have even more tools for tormenting their targets. He’s never been one, nor have any of his friends. The one time someone tried to bully Barclay, Dani sicked three spectral hummingbirds on them until they apologized.

Indrid, odd and new, is an easy target, though he seems to hold his own just fine (and his proximity to the most powerful witch in school does scare off many potential antagonists). But three guys in their Magical Defense class have zeroed in on him.

They’re standing in line to practice against an evil eye when Indrid’s glasses, the ones he doesn’t take off even when he sleeps, hit the floor by Duck’s feet. Duck scrambles to grab them before they get stepped on, wondering why everyone is making such a fuss. Then he turns and backs up in alarm.

An eight foot tall moth creature is where Indrid should be, red eyes wide and claws clicking together anxious.

“Who let that thing in here?” Someone yells from behind him.

Indrid’s antenna flatten.

“Fuck, wasn’t expecting him to be that big a freak” one of the bullies scoffs.

Black wings twitch.

“Newton, give him the glasses back so we don’t have to look at him!”

Indrid trills, upset, and leaps into the air at the same moment Aubrey yells, “that’s enough” and Vincent shouts a reminder about no flames in enclosed spaces and also detention for you three. Duck is to busy climbing out the window Indrid flew through to pick up the details.

One two-story fall later, he’s chasing a dark shape into the Monongahela forest. While the parts of the woods near his hometown of Kepler are non-enchanted, this chunk is magic down to the moss (he plans to write his final year project on how those halves of forest mesh on an ecological level). One of the worst aspects of the enchanted portions is their tendency to re-shape around travelers. His usual way around this is to have an unwavering sense of where he’s going and pretend the woods are giving him an unchanging path to get there. But that trick does fuck-all when he doesn’t know his destination.

After two hours of searching he’s no closer to finding Indrid, it’s getting dark, and he’s debating heading back to the school for help. He hasn’t been this deep in the woods since he fled the Dire Wolf, and he knows the deeper you go into the trees, the wilder the magic becomes. Bad news for him, even worse for his friend who's out there somewhere, upset and alone.

Eight gigantic eyes glitter at him from the dirt, and he quickly rearranges who has it worse right now.

Throwing a burst of light into the trapdoor spiders eyes buys him enough time to bolt to a tree and climb. As soon as it crawls free of its burrow he freezes; if he’s remembering right, they use vibrations to locate prey.

Fuck, that thing is the size of a VW Beatle. Why is that even a thing? No spider needs to be this big!

In spite of his stillness, it spies him and sets its forelimbs on the tree-trunk. There’s nothing else for it; he draws Beacon, pictures the spider shrinking, and casts his spell.

A soft crunch of leaves signals it hitting the ground, now an unremarkable size for an arachnid. Just as he steps down a branch, a second trap door opens and an enraged spider bursts out, looking for it’s friend. When it can’t find it, it turns and snaps its mandibles at Duck. This time, Beacon does nothing, no matter how Duck commands and curses as his eight-legged doom gets closer.

A crackle of electricity and then this spider disappears as well. On the other side of the trunk, red eyes regard him with worry, “are you hurt?”

“Nah, all in one piece thanks to you.” He holds out his hand, “you wanna head back?”

“Yes, please.” Indrid flaps to the ground, Duck following him on foot and then turning them towards campus, “you did not need to come look for me.”

“Course I did, not gonna let my friend get swallowed up by the forest. Oh, here” he holds out the red glasses, “you want these back?”

“Not just yet. That is, if this form is not too alarming to you.”

Duck takes in the glossy feathers, the charming ruff, the way the face is still obviously Indrid yet excitingly new, “I’m good.”

Light flickers from black claws, stars and flowers spinning out with ease, “It’s so much easier when I’m like this. I never foresaw my disguise charm being an issue, but the older I’ve gotten the more it seems to influence my ability to control my spells. But, well, you saw how people reacted. Even you were startled.”

“In my defense, I thought you’d been eaten by, well, you.” Duck casts the same spell, vines of light chasing the red flowers, “I’m still sorry, though. You ain’t horrible like this, ‘Drid; you’re fuckin stunnin. Never seen anyone as incredible as you.”

Indrid stops, looking down at him, “Do you truly mean that?”

Duck rises on his toes, pecking his cheek, “Yeah, I do.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

The Halloween Formal is the most elaborate event at Amnesty. Indrid feels that if there’s any day he’s within his rights to be in his true form, it’s when everyone else is dressed as monsters.

He doesn’t have a date. He thought Duck was in the same predicament. Then his friend left before he was half-done grooming his feathers, saying he needed to get flowers for his hot date.

Ah well. At least Indrid will get to see him there and spend some time with his friends.

He checks his reflection in the gleaming black walls, orange and purple lights glowing and jack’o lanterns floating above his head. He adjusts his robes, the nice red ones his father sent him, and prepares to enter the ballroom.

“Hold up.”

When he turns, Duck is standing there in his black dress shirt and green tie, looking for all the world like he’s alone.

“You got one more thing to put on” He holds out a bracelet of flowers, sized to slip perfectly over Indrid’s hand. There are matching flowers pinned to one side of Duck’s hair.

“Oh. Oh my. You really-”

Duck uses a small spell to bend Indrid into a kiss; it’s a bit messy, since their mouths aren’t meant to fit together, but Indrid would not trade it for all the magic in the world.

“Yeah, ‘Drid, I really do.” With that, Duck offers his elbow and they walk arm in arm into the great hall.

[op-charlotte-family-blog]

May I ask a headcanon to Kato, Kanten and Montby?

ooo yes I have thoughts about them. Most of these are derived from Kato's weird half-race, and them being triplets has made me wonder why Kanten and Montb looks more human than Kato.

Kato

Sexless and non binary, doesn't mind any pronouns tbh

A part time gardener. He helps around Compote's fruit farm sometimes

Isn't really interested in fighting/swordsmanship, but only learned it because his twin brothers also were learning it, and in the Charlotte household, everyone must be able to fight or you're useless. To be honest though, he'd rather be a gardener.

Everyone was weirded out by him when he was first born. Out of the triplets, he was the one who's inherited the most of the recessive genes of the father, who came from some sort of plant race. There were many leaves involved, and Kato was a fragile little pumpkin. Literally a pumpkin, he had a face but his body was the stem (no humanoid limbs) and the doctors didn't know if it's safe to cut any of the leaves because it might be a part of his body. Kato is also sexless, but to answer Big Mom's question, they just referred him as a son. Researching about Kato's odd half race, they nurtured him like a plant - his bed a rich selected soil and they watered him daily. As he grew up, the leaves connected to his body started to naturally fall off, and his stalk body started to grow out limbs and a humanoid body. By 3 years old, he's able to walk like a human.

When Kato started to walk, they played around a lot, and one time Kanten overpowered him in a wrestle and accidentally tore off a limb of him. That's the time Kato realized he has the natural born power to re-grow out parts of his body by treating it like a plant - bury, water and fertilize. It takes long though.

He's laidback and easy to talk to. People often mistake his pumpkin head as a costume, and tired of being angry about it, he instead goes along with them

Kanten

The healthiest out of the triplets born. He helped look over and nurture his sibling Kato. They grew up close to each other.

The odd shaped of his head is actually a red kuri squash. When he was born, he and Montb looked human so the doctors assumed they were normal. But as they started to grow up, Kanten started to feel the bump on his head. His skin was always a bit reddish hue, and his hair, oddly, is very thin and easy to fall out and regrow like leaves. By 3 years old, a full grown red kuri squash grew with his skin on the top of his head, and if he accidentally bumps it, it hurts him. So he wore a hat (not a helmet - unfashionable and heavy) to protect and hide it.

The other half of his face is also half-red kuri squash, and his eye is like Kato's. He gets bullied for being a weird looking half-plant human, there were times people tried to carve on or cut off the squash part of his skin. He ends being bandaged quite often, and when he grew up, he didn't need the bandages anymore because he could protect himself, but he continues to wear them anyways because it covers the half-plant part of his face, and he thinks it makes him look cool and mysterious

Unlike Kato, he can't regenerate parts of his body. So the scars on his red kuri squash skin and head remains there.

Married off at the early age of 15 and had a son at 16, the bandaged boy (headcanon source)

Montb

he hates his plant-race half, he thinks it makes him physically fragile. This hate extended to hating himself and his triplet brothers for looking the way they are. He's bitter seeing Kato being confident about how he looks, ignorant of his brother's hardships of being able to accept his body.

He separates himself from his triplet brothers (who are also quite close together). He's quite of a loner, and determinedly trains alone to be stronger. Kato and Kanten followed his footsteps in swordsmanship and he hated that they copied him, but the two are unaware

When he was born, he looked completely like a human like Kanten. But as he grew older, he began to realize the change of color and size of his torso - it was turning into a bottle-shaped gourd. It extended to his chin, which is why he clothed himself the most he could: wore a cape, a high collar shirt, long sleeves, gloves, long socks, etc. He feared his body would transform into a complete gourd as he grows older and that he would having to mask his face and be completely an unknown person to the world

(based off this one from Gumi's Coward Montblanc song bc I read that Montb might be derived from the montblanc dessert) Montb has fallen inlove once, but he couldn't express his feelings right. He hated himself and how he looked like, and he couldn't bear the thought of the person he loves being disgusted of how he looks once they see him as he truly is. In the end, he couldn't confess to that person - feelings remained unsaid and before he knew it, it was too late. He hates himself even more and sees himself as a coward.

He has the authority over the Homies guards and overlook patrol duties.

[harrybabystyles]

Oh, Angel! (harry styles)

chapter four - m a s t e r l i s t -

warnings: language

a/n: this is my favorite chapter so far, I had so much fun writing it :)

I found myself annoyingly excited, practically bursting at the seams every time I thought about him, and the surprise date that was now only a few minutes away.

My friends were beside themselves, over the moon that I was going on an actual date. I can’t say I blame them, I hadn’t been on a date in well over a year, only hookups and one coffee get together. 

Although I hated how much I was looking forward to seeing Harry, I couldn’t help it, and I had the feeling that I wasn’t the only one who got so worked up over him. He was just so charming and kind, not to mention attractive, it was just something about him.

The fact that his little surprise date was most likely a one and done experience had me cherishing every moment even more. 

I knew it would be just for tonight, and I was okay with that.

My friends keep saying that we were meant to be and that we were defiantly getting together based on the fact that he wrote a fucking song about me, and even though my heart leaped at the thought of the song, I tried not to think about it due to the fact that every time I did, my head filled with a million questions, and it stressed me out. 

My friends were beyond disappointed when they couldn’t find the lyrics online, but to be fair we didn’t even know his last name, and he had only written it sometime between last Friday and Tuesday. 

Plus, if I was going to confront the song, I wanted to get the answers from him, not from the internet. 

But regardless, they all squealed when our buzzer rang.

“Who is it?” Paige replied in a sing song voice, smiling at me the whole time while I rolled my eyes.

“It’s Harry, I’m here for Anna” my stomach flipped at the sound of his voice, the low rolling tone perfectly highlighting his accent.

“God he’s hot” Harper groaned from the couch, and I shot her a “really” look, and she just shrugged.

“Alright, I’m off guys, see you later”

“I doubt it...” Evelyn starts, looking up from her phone, “...more like see you tomorrow morning” she winks at me, and I groan.

“I hate you all” I say beginning to walk out the door.

“No, you love us!” Harper yells as I click the door shut, and I hear Paige yell a mom like “be safe” before I head towards the elevator.

As I approach the doors of my apartment building, I see his silhouette standing tall just outside, his hands in the pockets of his dark skinny jeans, the loose fabric of his red floral shirt shifting as he straightens his posture, and his suede chelsea boots shuffling as he grabs the door from my hand.

“Hello, Anna” he greets, a smile tugging on his lips, and I smile back, “Evening, Harry” 

“So...what is the big surprise?” I ask, and he brings his hand up to tug on his bottom lip.

 “I can’t tell y’yet...” he leans in, “...it’s a surprise remember” he whispers.

“Oh, silly me” I say sarcastically, and the dimple in his cheek pokes out as his smirk grows. 

“Well, c’mon then” he gestures with his head, starting to walk away, and I have to jump forward to catch up to his big strides. We walk along the busy New York street, and he glances over to me every now and then, making sure I was keeping up. I glance over to him too, mostly in confusion, but every glance leaves me in awe at how truly gorgeous he is. 

I’m still convinced that he is an angel.

“Harry...” he turns to me instantly, his eyes scanning my face, “Where the hell are we going?” I laugh, and a smile pops back on his face. 

“Uh, uh, uh...” he tuts, waving his finger in the air, “...surprise, remember?” he reminds me and I roll my eyes, a smile on my face.

“Fine, but how much longer till we get to the surprise” I bring my fingers up to air quote surprise, and he shakes his head. 

“You really don’t know how surprises work” he tells me and I cross my arms over my chest, “I’m just impatient” I argue. 

“I can see that” he raises his eyebrows, and I shove his shoulder. He laughs, stumbling a bit to the side, but quickly regaining his balance. 

“We’re almost there” he tells me his voice soft as he leans in towards me, almost like it was a secret. I just give him a smile, and he returns it with an even brighter one. 

Eventually, we take a right, and it leads us to a large metal door, surronded by high fences that we couldn’t see over or in. 

“Harry?” He turns to me and smiles, “Where are we?” 

“Shh..” he places a finger over my lips, “...close your eyes” 

I raise my eyebrows, and he scoffs, shaking his head.

“Anna, just close your eyes” he laughs, and I sigh, closing my eyes. 

“If you peek, Anna, I will never forgive you” he states, and I laugh. 

“I won’t peek” I reassure him, and I hear the turning of a lock, and the rusty hinges of the metal door start to creak. 

“Promise?” he whispers, and I now notice how close he was, and my heart skips as his hands slide down my arms to take my hands in his. 

“I promise” 

The door creaks the rest of the way open, and he gently tugs on my hands to walk me forward. 

“I swear Harry, if you run me into a wall I will slap you” I threaten, and the vibrant laugh that rings through my hears makes a smile bloom on my face. 

“Don’t you trust me, Anna?” he says, and I can hear the playful sarcasm in his voice. 

“Hm...depends...” I tell him, and he gives out a small chuckle. The thick aroma of moisture hits my nose, just like the grass after it rains, and I quirk my eyebrows.

Where are we?

“Okay, you can open your eyes now, love” my heart skips as he uses that name again, a hopeless reaction that I sort of wished I didn’t have. I open my eyes, and look around.  

It was breathtaking, I was surrounded by lush green plants, the leaves holding drops of dew. There were flowers of every kind, roses, marigolds, daisies, tulips, and more I didn’t recognize.

I saw pumpkins, zucchinis, melons, strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and in the corner a orange tree caught my eye. 

“Harry...” I gasp, and I see his presence out of the corner of my eye, his hands folded behind his back. 

“Beautiful isn’t it?” 

“Its beyond beautiful...i-it’s...I don’t even have words” I chuckle out of pure joy, my eyes circling back onto him. 

His dimple was pressed deep into his cheek, his eyes bright and shinning and deeply green, matching the setting around him, the setting sun glinting on his skin from over the fence, his curls falling loosely around his face.

He is beyond beautiful too.

“I thought you might like it” he mumbles, stepping a bit closer to me, and I suck in a breath, realizing I wasn’t breathing. 

“I do...” I start to look around again, noticing some things I didn’t before like a swing in the right corner, and a fountain almost engrossed in the center of a cantaloupe patch, “...I love it” 

I had heard about these little community gardens, but I had never seen one before, and I had no idea that they were so precious, like a little pocket of heaven.

“Wait...” I say, turning my attention back towards Harry, “How do you have access to this? Isn’t your apartment still several blocks away?” 

“It’s my friend’s, he lives in this complex...he gave me a key, let’s me come here whenever I please” He shrugs and I nod. 

“Makes sense” I comment, and he smirks again. 

“Go on...” he gestures with his head, “...try something” 

“R-Really? I gape, and he laughs.

“Yeah, try anything you’d like” 

In a whirl of joyous emotion, I reach up and kiss him on the cheek, watching as his cheeks tint the lightest shade of pink, then I run straight to the orange tree, and he follows, watching as I pick a large one and start to peel it. 

“You’re not going to have one?” I ask, my fingers still working at peeling the orange, and he looks towards the tree. 

“Sure, why not?” he shrugs and picks an orange of his own. 

We are silent as we peel our oranges, making sure to place the peel in a neat pile by our feet, and I smile through the whole thing, my heart feeling like it’s floating. 

“You ready?” he asks, picking off a slice of his orange and I do the same.

“Yeah...” I nod, and look up to him, “One...two...three...”

We both plop an orange slice into our mouths, and I close my eyes at the explosion of flavor that slides all around my mouth and down my throat. 

“Holy shit” I mumble, my mouth still full of orange, and plop another slice in. 

He laughs with his mouth full, almost spitting orange all out the place and I giggle, “What?”

He swallows, “Slow down, Anna! There will be no choking tonight” 

I laugh, and shrug, “Its just so delicious!” I exclaim, and he chuckles, nodding his head in agreement. 

We continue to try several other fruits, Harry following me closely and trying everything I try, even though I’m sure he has tried all of them before. 

I had never tasted fruit that amazing, and I was sure that the grocery store fruit I usually ate was ruined for me. 

We stayed well after dark, and I was dazzled when rows and rows of lights came on above us after I complained about it being dark and Harry promptly walked over to a switch and flipped it on. It was so beautiful and precious, and I felt like I could stay in the little garden my whole life and never be anything but happy. When I was so full I physically couldn’t eat anymore, I helped Harry pick up all out peels and stems and placed them in a compost bin by the door, and he switched the light off as we excited the garden. 

My heart tugged at leaving that place, and the feelings I felt when I was there, I felt like I wasn’t even on earth, like I was actually up in heaven. 

“Thank you...” I begin, watching as Harry locks the metal door and smirks at me.

“Don’t thank me yet...” I quirk my eyebrows at him and he leans in, “...I have one more thing to show you” 

I raise my eyebrows, “Is that so?” I question as he calls over a cab. 

He just gives me a mischievous nod, and opens the cab door for me. I climb in without another word, and he walks around to climb in next to me. 

Harry gives the driver directions, and money to pay for the cab, and I furrow my eyebrows when she just sits there, her mouth hanging wide open. 

“Ma’am-”

“You’re Harry Styles!” she cuts me off, and I look at Harry whose expression hardens. 

“That is correct” he informs her, and gives her a small smile, but I can see his jaw clench, his whole body tensing up as he avoids looking at me. 

“Holy shit! Harry Styles is in my cab!” She jumps up and down, “I’m a huge fan”

I look at Harry confused, but he keeps his eyes to his hands, twisting the rings on his fingers. 

“I’m Jessica” she reaches out her hand, and he smiles, shaking it.

“Nice to meet you, Jessica” he gives her a smile smile, and I can see the squeal that she tries to suppress, “Holy shit” she mumbles before pulling onto the road. 

The ride is silent, and I scan his face as he continues to look at his hands, his demeanor suddenly closed off and reserved.

The cab comes to a stop a few minutes later, and I recognize the building as Harry’s apartment building, the one I was at only last Friday. 

“Thank you” I tell the driver, but she completely ignores me, burning her eyes into Harry as he thanks her as well and gets out. 

He walks over to me, and I see him suck in a deep breath. 

“You okay?” I ask, looking for his eyes, and he looks back to the cab disappearing behind a corner before finally looking at me again. 

“Yeah” he smiles, “Never better”

I don’t push him, and let it slide, even though I knew something was definitely wrong in the cab, and give him a smile, to which he returns. 

We walk in and Harry greets the doorman and pretty much every single staff member that we walked by, and we step into the elevator. 

I quirk my eyebrows at him when he presses the button for the roof, and he smiles, “There is something I want to show you” he explains.

“I thought the garden was the surprise” 

“It was one, but I have another” he shrugs, and I smile.

“A double surprise...your’e really stepping up your game Harry” I brush his shoulder with mine playfully and he runs a hand through his hair. 

“It’s the least I can do after I made y’faint yesterday” 

I face palm, feeling the heat in my cheeks. “...that is so embarrassing” I mumble.

“...But don’t give yourself all the credit, it was mostly stress and dehydration” I explain, and he gives me a worried look. 

“About that...and tell me if I’m overstepping, but...is it true you lost your job?” 

I look to the ground, feeling anxiety rise in my chest, twisting my stomach in knots. 

“Uh, yeah...I did” I whisper, and I feel his hands on the sides of my arms. 

“I’m sorry, Anna” he whispers, and I shrug, “Its not your fault, shit just happens sometimes” I tell him, and I can feel him looking for my eyes, but the elevator doors slide open before I look back up from my hands. 

“Now, for surprise number two” he places his hand on the small of my back like he always does, and we step out in a small hallway, with a door to the right. 

“Close your eyes again” he instructs, and I do so with a groan. 

“Atta girl!” he exclaims, taking my hands and moving me along. I feel the night air rush past me as we step out of the building, and I feel the familiar whipping air around me that only comes from standing on a roof. 

“Remember when you told me that you go to the roof when you can’t sleep?” He asks, and I nod. 

“Well...I’ve been thinking a lot about that, and I even tried it a few times myself...” I raise my eyebrows, my heart swelling at the thought of him thinking about me, “...and I must say, it is my new favorite thing to do, but...” he pauses, and I feel his body get slightly closer, and his hand brushing down the side of my face, “...I knew I had to do it with you to get the whole experience” 

My heart skips, and I can’t help the smile that comes to my lips. 

“Y’can open your eyes” he whispers, his breath fanning over the side of my face. 

I flutter my eyes open, my breath immediately getting hitched in my throat. The feeling that erupted in my chest was similar to the one I felt when I looked out his apartment window Friday.

The sparkling lights and the energy radiating off the city was like no other, and that same streak of hope flickered in my heart. 

My eyes scanned over the city once again, slowly taking in different aspects of the busy streets, and I can’t help but smile. I feel Harry’s warmth press up against me as he slides a hand down my back, sending chills up my spine. 

“Harry...if you keep leaving me breathless like this I might pass out again” I say, looking at him as he throws his head back with laughter. 

“That was the point” he tells me and I furrow my brows at him. 

“To get me to pass out again?” I cross my arms, a smirk on my face. 

“No, no...” he shakes his head, running his hand through his hair again, “...to make you breathless...like how you leave me breathless” his voice is low, and his body is closer to mine now, his eyes dancing around my face. 

I can’t help the fireworks that set off in my chest, I wish I could, but I welcome the feeling no less.

My mind thinks back to yesterday, and the song that he wrote about me, some of the lyrics stuck in my head like a piece of old gum to the bottom of a shoe. 

“Harry?” I whisper, and his eyes flicker between my own as I look up to him. 

“Anna” he says, low and deep, and I smile, those fireworks setting off again. 

“Why did you write a song about me?” 

He sighs, a smile forming on his lips, and looks off to the city for a moment before returning his gaze to me. 

“Song writing has become...very raw... for me,” his voice is just above a whisper, and I feel his hand brush a strand of hair behind my ear, “I write about feelings that I can’t quite wrap my head around, or that I need to understand better...” he explains, “...and you, Anna, gave me feelings that I couldn’t quite understand, I couldn’t get you out of my head” 

My heart switches between stopping completely and running like a racehorse, and it leaves me with this fluttering feeling deep in my chest that sucks the breath from my lungs.

He sure is succeeding at leaving me breathless.

By now my body is facing his, and his hands are resting just above my elbows, his chest close to mine. 

“Will you sing it to me?” I ask, my voice gentle under the noise from the ground below, and I bring my hands up to rest on his warm chest. 

“Sure..” he smiles, “...on one condition” 

“What’s that?” I smile, fidgeting with the button on his shirt. 

“We dance” he says, his voice so soft that it almost gets carried away in the wind. 

“Okay” I bite my lip, and he takes his hand in mine, my other hand settling around his neck, and his other one settling on my waist. Surely anyone watching would think we were crazy, but it felt right, it didn’t feel weird at all.

“Don’t know where your’e laying...just know it’s not with me” 

His voice is perfect, gentle but strong as it floats into my ears, a subtle rasp behind every note, and we sway slowly back and forth as he continues on. 

“Don’t know what I’d tell you if, I passed you on the street...I don’t want your sympathy but you don’t know what you do to me, oh, Anna” 

I recall the guitar and backup vocals from when he performed it yesterday, and I smile thinking about how upbeat the song is. 

“Every time I see your face there is only so much I can take, oh Anna” 

When my name rolls of his lips my heart beats a little bit faster, and knowing the lyrics are about me is tying my stomach in knots, but in a good way. 

“Don’t know how you taste when there’s smoke in your perfume, chew me up and spit me out, nothing left to do...I don’t want your sympathy but you don’t know what you do to me, oh, Anna” 

My eyebrows knit in confusion at the second verse, but I make a mental note to ask him about them later.

“Every time I see your face there’s only so much I can take, oh, Anna”

He starts to sing the guitar solo, and I laugh, looking up at him as he lets out a chuckle too. 

“I don’t want your sympathy but you don’t know what you do to me, oh, Anna...every time I see your face there is only so much I can take, oh Anna...hope you never hear this, but know that its for you...don’t know what I’d tell you if you asked me for the truth” 

He takes a deep breath in, and we continue to sway back and forth as his voice carries through the air. 

“I don’t want your sympathy but you don’t know what you do to me, oh, Anna...every time I see your face there is only so much I can take, oh Anna“

 By this time during his performance, I was already woozy, and my head had been spinning. He hums another guitar solo, and I slowly recognize it. 

“Is that George Micheal?” I burst and he scoffs. 

“Rude to interrupt someone when they are performing, Anna...” he tells me with a smirk, “...but, yes, it is”

I mumble a sorry and he smiles, taking in a breath before he continues. 

“Well, I guess it would be nice if I could touch your body...if I could touch your body...if I could touch your body...if I could touch your body” 

My cheeks heat as his voice carries the notes perfectly, and I smile to myself as he finishes the song off with one last run of the chorus, before pulling away and bowing like he was actually on stage. 

“So...what did y’think?” he asks, stepping back towards me and pulling me into his chest, I can hear the nervous tones in his voice and I smile.

“I love it, and your voice is incredible” I comment, and if I wish it wasn’t so dark so I could see the blush that rises to his cheeks as he looks down. 

“I do have a question” 

“Go ahead” he instructs, and I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him to me as nervous energy starts to flow out of him. 

“What did you mean when you talked about smoke in my perfume?” I ask, shyly, and his chest bumps as he laughs lightly.

“Well...” he begins, “...I went to this place, an old pub down town, and there was a girl there, she was wearing a very similar dress to the one you wore Friday...” I look up at him, watching as he looks out over the city, “...immediately you popped into my head, and it got me thinking about if you smoked, or what it would be like if we smoked together...” he softens his voice as he looks back down on me, meeting my eyes, “...how your lips would taste with a cigarette in them just a few moments prior...or how my sheets would smell with your scent and smoke wrapped up in them” 

His eyes float down to my lips and back up as he sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth, and that warmth from last Friday returns deep in my belly.

“Anna...” he whispers, his voice so low my stomach flips. 

“Harry” I reply, and he smirks.

“Why won’t you get out of my head?” 

I scoff lightly and laugh, “Funny, I could ask you the same thing” 

My eyes flip to his lips, and I feel my heart start to race as we slowly get closer and closer, his breath fanning over my face.

Our lips just brushing together when my phone starts to buzz, and I jump, immediately fetching it out of my pocket. 

“Hello?” I blink, as Harry scratches the back of his neck, and I give him a small smile.

“Hey, Anna, it’s Claire” 

My heart jumps at the voice of my sister, and I smile. 

“Hey! What’s up?” 

She starts to talk, but I find myself struggling to listen to her words as Harry’s lips land on my face peppering my cheek with small kisses. 

I giggle and try to push him away, a low chuckle rising out of his chest.

“Uh, Anna?...Is this a bad time?” I can hear her laugh on the other end of the phone, and I blush completely turning away from Harry as he tries to keep kissing me. 

“No, no-” 

Harry’s lips attach to my neck, his arms wrapping around my waist from behind, and my whole body freezes. 

“I’ll just call you tomorrow” she giggles, and I start to panic, taking in a breath. 

“Claire-” 

“Have fun, Anna, but not too much fun” She hangs up and I sigh, Harry’s lips still lapping the skin on my neck.

“Harry” I groan, and I feel him smile against my skin.

“I couldn’t let her ruin our moment” he explains, pressing his cheek against my own, holding me close to him.

“I hadn’t talked to her in two days you jerk” I spit, but a smile is on my face, and I chuckle, “...you couldn’t wait?”

“I’ve been waiting all day” he comments, and I roll my eyes.

“If you waited all day, you could’ve waited five more minutes” I tell him and he grazes his lips over my ear.

“Would it really be five more minutes though?” he whispers, and my stomach does another flip.

“No...” I admit, and I can practically see the proud smile on his face.

“The way I see it, I did us both a favor” he shrugs and I scoff.

“Yeah, uh huh” I reply sarcastically, and I feel his chest vibrate with a low chuckle. His lips are back on my face, placing kisses on my cheek and down to my shoulder, I close my eyes and melt into his chest.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look this evening?” he asks, placing a slow kiss on my shoulder.

I shake my head, “I don’t believe so”

“Well, you do...you look absolutely stunning” he mumbles into my neck, and I feel my spine tingle, and my cheeks redden.

“Thank you...” I turn in his arms so that I am facing him, and I wrap my arms around his neck, “...like seriously, thank you, for the garden and bringing me up here...” I look out at the city and smile, “...it’s been perfect”

“Are you breathless?” he whispers, his hands pulling me closer to him by my hips.

“I am, actually” I laugh, and he grins.

“Good” he smiles, and I catch his eyes again, and notice how they look almost grey in this lighting.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and butterflies swarm in my stomach, my heart racing.

“Of course” I reply, smiling as his lips connect with mine, the distant taste of the fruits we had at the garden dancing on his lips.

Oranges, cherries, and blueberries popping into my mouth in waves, and the taste only gets more intense as his tongue slips into my mouth.

My fingers knot in his hair, and he presses gently on my back, pushing me further into him. Our mouths mash together, moving and twisted with each other as we melt into one another, and as time slips away, our kisses get rough until we pull away gasping, begging for air.

“Goddamn...” he breathes, resting his forehead against mine, and we both let out a breathless chuckle.

We take a few moments, panting and smiling to ourselves over the kisses we just shared, and when our breathing returns to normal, he pulls me into an embrace and we silently look back out at the city.

His warmth was comforting, and listening to his heart thud in his chest put my mind and body to rest, a wave of peace washing over my being.

It felt so good to be in his arms, like nothing could get to me, it felt like I was above the rest of the world, looking over the city, like he was my wings, lifting me higher and higher.

But my heart sinks, and I feel that all too familiar anxiety stir in my chest.

I can’t get my hopes up, I had recently just met him, and I can’t tell myself he will still want me tomorrow, because in reality, he won’t.

We will split, and he will carry on with his life and so will I, we will go our separate paths, I can’t get attached to him.

I sigh and push away from his chest, “I- I should go, it’s getting late” I mumble, and I can’t look him in the eyes, I just stare at my hands.

“You sure you don’t want to stay? I can sleep on the couch if you’d like...”

“I don’t know Harry, I don’t want to be a bother...”

“Stop” he interrupts, and I sigh, “You are never a bother, never” I can feel him looking for my eyes but I avoid them.

“Hey...” he coos, running his hands down my arms, “...what’s the matter?” I hear the concern in his voice, and I blow a heavy breath out of my lips.

“I just don’t want to get in the way...plus, it will be easier to leave now then in the morning” my voice is hushed as I fidget with my fingers, and he sighs.

“You think I’m just going to use you and run?” he asks, rubbing his hands up and down my arms.

“Aren’t you?”

“Anna, I know we just met, but I don’t plan on leaving your life anytime soon...” he takes a deep breath in, and I do too, “...truth is, I’m hooked on y’like a drug, probably couldn’t stay away from y’if I tried” he gives off a soft laugh, and a small smile tugs on my lips.

“You mean that?” I ask, my fingers now fidgeting with the button on his shirt, and I finally meet his eyes again.

“With everything that I am” he says, his eyes flickering between my own, “I would never lie to you”

I can hear the honesty behind his throat, and deep down I know he is telling me this from the most sincere part of his heart, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off of me.

“C’mon, please stay the night, it’s already very late” he pleads, and I give him a small nod.

He smiles at me and I take his hand, following him back into the elevator, down his hallway, and into his apartment.

My eyes float over the familiar room, events from Friday popping up in my mind.

“Let me get you something to sleep in” he says, disappearing into his room, and returning a few minutes later with a stack of clothes.

“Wasn’t sure what you liked, but I brought a shirt and some sweat pants” he points to the clothes in his hands and gives them to me, and I can tell he is trying his hardest to make me feel comfortable and safe.

“Thank you, they are perfect” I smile at him, and he smiles back.

“Bathroom is right down there, and there should be a new toothbrush under the sink, along with some toothpaste” he points down the hallway to a crisp white door, and I follow his directions.

I strip down to just my underwear and pull his t-shirt over my body, his scent washing over me.

He always smells so good.

I leave the sweatpants off, knowing I’ll be more comfortable in just his shirt and brush my teeth before exiting the bathroom, leaving the toothbrush on the sink.

I find him setting up his couch for him to sleep on, laying down blankets and a pillow.

“Harry?” his head whips to me in a flash, and he strides over to me as I give him back his sweatpants.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch” I whisper, and he shakes his head, “I really don’t mind, I want you to feel comfortable” he says back, and my heart melts.

“I’ll feel more comfortable in your arms” I tell him, and he scratches the back of his neck.

“Are you sure-“

I place my finger against his lips, his words cutting off.

“I want you to stay with me” I demand, and he gives me a soft smile.

“If that’s what you want...” he raises his eyebrows and I nod.

“That’s what I want”

He nods and takes my hand, leading me into his bedroom, and I look out the window as he puts his sweat pants away, and turns off the lights that were left on through out the apartment.

“Let me just get ready real quick” he mumbles, disappearing into his bathroom to brush his own teeth, and he reappears in loose sweats, his chest bare.

My breath hitches at the sight, I forgot how beautiful his tattoos were...

“Here” he says, lifting up the duvet on his bed and letting me crawl in it before he does the same.

I immediately scoot close to him, my arm wrapping around his waist as he slips one under me, his other folded behind his head as he rests on his back.

His skin feels even warmer than before, spreading deep into my bones as he traces invisible patterns on my shoulder, his eyes scanning the city outside his window.

We lay there as time slips away, neither of us sleeping, just our slow breaths and steady hearts, and I feel safe.

I feel protected in his arms, and for now I am reassured that he won’t just pack up and leave, that he actually will stay, and even when my eyes get heavy, I let them fall, knowing he will be there in the morning, knowing he will stay for at least another day.

[dreammthief]

In Your Arms

Requested: yes / no

Rating: M

Warnings: language and reference to sex

Words: 3.5k

Prompt/Summary: Some friendships are based on mutual respect and admiration, while others stem from relentless banter and mischief. This one is a bit of both with a dash of mutual pining. 

Pairing: Theodore Nott x slytherin!reader

A/N – I figured since my name claims that I write, it’s about time I started doing that. I do have an AO3 and FFN account where I post fuller fics and one-shots, but I decided to keep short fics like these (especially reader inserts) to tumblr only. You can join my tag list for any notifications of new postings for fics by sending an ask with a ☆ (requests are open for any hp pairing!).

“Salazar’s balls, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“No arguments here.”

Theo rolls his eyes. He slings his school bag over his shoulder and rakes a hand through his unruly hair. While the motion was probably meant to make his hair fall handsomely over his face, you can’t help but laugh as it only seemed to make it worse. 

When everyone files into the classroom and begins unpacking their things as Professor Slughorn drawls on about another one of his charming ex-students, you turn to Theo and arch your eyebrow. 

“So, what did you do that caused you to realize you’re such a fucking idiot? Other than look in the mirror this morning,” you add with a smirk. Draco snickers and elbows Theo playfully, who huffs indignantly.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, L/N?”

“It’s less that I actually care what you did and more that I know you want to talk about it.” 

Theo is about to respond when Professor Slughorn waddles over to the table where you and your fellow Slytherins are huddled about two cauldrons. You straighten immediately, the brilliant student you are – which is to say you are not a teacher’s pet, not like Granger anyway, just that you happen to understand the advantage of pretending to care about a Professor and their subject when in their presence – and await today’s instructions. 

Draco and Theo notice this abrupt change in behavior and stifle laughs in their robes. 

For good measure, you kick each of their shins under the table.

“Oh-ho! Why aren’t you all already in your groups? Two and two – Yes – There you go – Ah, no, no. This won’t do. Malfoy, you go with Zabini. Nott, you work with L/N.” He beamed at them once he was satisfied, then waddled over to the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor students. You catch him muttering, “Nott could use all the help he can get, bless him,” and turn back to Theo with a knowing smirk.

However, your smirk immediately fades when you see Theo is already grinning mischievously at you.

“Don’t,” you hiss, “ruin this for us, Nott, I beg of you.”

“Begging already, L/N? Naturally, I assumed I would have had to work a little harder for that, but I suppose n–”

Theo cuts himself off as your wand finds itself just below his belt loop. 

“So help me, Nott, if you don’t shut your mouth, I will do it for you.”

You narrow your eyes warningly at him, not daring to move your wand; you both know the threat is relatively empty. After all, you’ve only ever hexed students in other Houses and only when they absolutely deserved it… Allegedly hexed, that is. They couldn’t prove anything.

But Theo doesn’t blink. In fact, his grin deepens slightly.

“Is that a promise?” He finally says.

“Begging already, Nott?” You counter, laughing at him and finally leaning away to focus on the actual project demanding your attention. 

–––

The castle was still and quiet. You yawn and rub at your eyes as you trudge through the halls; as deserted as the library had been after curfew, the potions classroom was even emptier. That is, until Nott bound loudly and carelessly into the classroom, throwing his school bag on the floor and falling into the stool beside yours with an exasperated sigh.

When you don’t acknowledge his presence, he dramatically sighs again.

“What?” 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m late?” He prompted, reaching out to steal a dandelion root. He retracts his hand after you deliver a well-deserved smack to it, and his brows furrow momentarily before his trademark smirk lightens his expression. “Hello? L/N? Anyone home?”

“Nott, for the love of Merlin–”

“Salazar’s balls, Y/N, who spit in your pumpkin juice?” He backs away, hands raised, then crosses the workbench to hand you the next ingredient required to make the very complicated Dreamless Sleep potion. “You look terrible. Have you slept at all since we’ve been assigned this project?”

A glare suffices to answer the question for you.

Still, Theo doesn’t let up his rambling. He goes on about the woes of sharing a dormitory with Draco for the fact that he constantly mutters about Potter in his sleep when you finally drop your wand beside the cauldron in frustration.

“Y/N! What the fuck?” Theo shouts, eyes widening in alarm. He rushes over to the cauldron and continues stirring it counterclockwise three turns, then clockwise once. “What the hell is going on with you?” He asks once the allotted time for stirring has passed. 

While the concoction simmers for thirty minutes before the next ingredient must be added – at precisely 11:58pm on the third Thursday since starting the potion which is why you’re both there in the first place – Theo crosses his arms and fixes you with a stern look. 

“What gives, L/N?”

“Nothing,” you groan. 

Theo purses his lips, taking in your sudden urge to lay flat out on the cold floor. “Doesn’t look like nothing to me.”

“I’m tired is all. A bit stressed.”

“A bit?”

“Fine,” another groan. “A lot stressed. I need to get full-marks on this assignment, the essay for Arithmancy is due next week and I haven’t even started it, and don’t get me started on Runes or I might kill myself.”

Theo glances briefly at the potion, then settles on the floor beside you, leaning back against the table leg and kicking out his long legs. 

“Fucking hell, Y/N, you need to alleviate that stress before you implode. Preferably sooner rather than later, because I have no intention of failing this potions project either, and unfortunately that means I need you.”

“Hold on, can you repeat that last bit? I need to commit it to memory and hold it against you forever.”

“Ha, ha,” he counters, rolling his eyes. “You’re a bloody mess, you know that don’t you? Get your shite together, L/N.” 

You huff indignantly, then sit up on your elbows and brush your hair out of your face. “How are you so bloody relaxed? Have you finished your Arithmancy essay or lost sleep because of this ridiculous potion?”

“Not all all,” Theo scoffs. “Then again, I couldn’t be stressed even if I tried. It’s not in my nature. I certainly could never be as wound up as you’ve become. Truly, it’s unsettling.”

“Thank you. That’s so helpful.”

“Come here.”

You blink up at him.

“What?”

“You want me to help you unwind? Come here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, disbelieving the trickster god incarnate himself is not about to abuse your fatigued state for the sake of a perfectly good prank. He purses his lips, then tugs gently at your arm. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N, for fuck’s sake.” 

Theo turns you slowly then settles himself behind you. Instinctively you tense as his legs extend on either side of yours; you hold your breath because if you dared to exhale, your spine would rest against his chest, and given your vulnerable position, that was the last thing you wanted. 

At least, you muse internally, Theo can’t see the heat rise to your cheeks.

“May I?” He asks. His long fingers hover above your shoulders, and you glance skeptically at them before nodding, not meeting his blue eyes. 

His thumb digs into the trapezius muscle peeking out from your robes, and a hiss escapes from between your lips.

“Fuck, L/N. Your knots have knots.” Theo laughs.

Although Theo is suspiciously good at kneading into your very tense muscles, his proximity and the breath from his lips that tickles your ears only serves to make you more tense. Which is odd because you’re usually quite relaxed around Theo; it was why he was one of your best mates. You always felt like you had the upper hand in every interaction, but not here. You are completely at Theo’s mercy, and what was stranger was that this Theo was somehow the same as your Theo and yet, completely different.

You stand up abruptly and brush nonexistent dirt off your robes. 

“The potion,” you blurt out, dragging your attention from the flicker of vulnerability in Theo’s eyes to the bubbling violet potion on the counter. You busy yourself with adding the next ingredient at precisely 11:58pm, but the next opportunity you have to sneak a look at Theo, you take it.

The familiar glint returned to his eyes, and his trademark smirk spread lazily across his lips.

Perhaps, you imagined the other Theo – the one who was infallibly gentle and soft.

“I know a few other tricks for unwinding if you’re interested,” he taunts, jutting his chin upwards.

“I’m not one of those girls, Nott. I’m not going to sleep with you to de-stress. Dream on.” 

He laughs, packing up his bag and heading for the door with you after storing away the potion for the next evening. “It’s funny how your mind immediately jumped to sleeping with me when I said absolutely nothing of the sort.”

“You alluded to it.”

“Did I?” His eyes dance with mischief in the torchlight as you make your way across the dungeon floor to the common room. “Do you have something you wish to confess, L/N?”

“No,” you snort. “I wouldn’t sleep with you if we were the last two people alive and the human race depended on it.”

Something flashed behind his eyes, but his haughty expression masked it before you could decipher what it might be. 

–––

Neither of you talked about what happened that night. Which was perfectly fine because you didn’t spend half the night tossing and turning and wondering what the blood hell even happened. 

No – Nothing happened.

Theo was one of your best friends and he was just… helping? It didn’t mean anything. Sure, there was that moment where you could’ve sworn he looked hurt when you stood up and scrambled out of his hold abruptly but – but that couldn’t have been right.

You and Theo were mates. 

Bantering and playfully flirting were part of that. 

Your internal anxieties over the interaction, however, presented in decidedly obvious external behavior changes that did not go unnoticed.

At breakfast, you bite your lip before taking the last seat available amongst your friends and try, with every fiber in your being, not to brush up against Theo as you slide into the seat.

“Morning,” you say.

“Morning.” Theo replies, just as drily.

For the most part, you believe you pulled it off, just like you have with every forced interaction with Theo since that night. Unfortunately, you would be very wrong.

Because when Theo leans across you to grab the syrup and his shoulder brushes against yours, you yelp loudly and nearly leap into the air.

Theo, likewise, overreacts and drops the syrup jar, causing the glass and sticky substance to splatter across everyone’s plates.

“Alright,” snaps Draco, grimacing at his syrup-coated fingers with disdain before glancing between the two of you. “What the hell is going on with you two? You’ve been acting very strange.”

“Yeah, what the bloody hell happened?” Demands Pansy, flicking her dark bob over her shoulders. “Did you two finally sleep together or something?”

“What?” 

“Yes,” remarks Theo, idly teaching for his wand and cleaning up the mess.

“No,” you glare at him before facing the others. “We did not sleep together. Fucking hell, Pans.”

“Well you should,” she replied.

“Can we please stop talking about my two best mates possibly shagging? I’m trying to eat here,” shuddered Draco.

Theo laughed and arched a dark brow at Draco.

“You jealous?”

“For your information, Nott, I get plenty of–”

“Cut it out!” You yell, standing up and preparing to leave. “If either of you think anyone here wants to hear about your sexual prowess then I will gladly inform you that you are mistaken. Grow up.”

As you bend to retrieve your bag from under the bench, you overhear Draco and Theo whisper to one another.

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how mad do you think Y/N is with me because of that comment?”

“Nott, they haven’t invented a number high enough.”

Later that week in Runes, Theo drops silently into the seat beside you. You can feel his eyes on you, but rather than indulge him, you opt to stare blankly at the board. By the time you’ve read thrice all the way through, he clears his throat.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

“Figured that out all by yourself, did you?” You counter, still choosing not to meet his eye.

Halfway through the lesson, in which Theo remained suspiciously quiet, you sigh exasperatedly and whisper to him between copying translations into your notebook.

“I am mad at you. That was completely uncalled for the other day, when you said–”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you? Or, are you just bored of only having Draco to banter with and play tricks on?” Finally, you sneak a glance at him and catch a bit of color below his sharp cheekbones.

Good, you think. 

Let him be humbled. He deserves it.

–––

The common room is alive with nearly every student immersed in some form of entertainment. Draco suggests a round of exploding snaps and is met with plenty of enthusiasm from your friend group. 

Theo looks askance at you, and you bury your head further into your book.

For once, it’s not a textbook, and you would rather lose yourself in the fictional world than play a game with Theo.

He plucks your bookmark from the space on the floor between you two and surreptitiously starts to place it on your page.

“Come on, L/N, you’re joining in for a round or two, right?”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“But it’s your favorite game.” He blinks, then tries for a mischievous smirk. “I’ll make it worth your while. How about we make a wager? If you win–”

“I said no, Nott.”

Draco lets out a low whistle, then begins the game.

You take the bookmark and place it away from his grasp, then resume reading even though you can’t help but feel a little elated that Theo thought of you. When he turns to face the game, you can’t help but notice that his heart doesn’t seem in it anymore and smile to yourself as you flip to the next page.

An hour or so later, you make your way from the common room and down the hall into the potions classroom. It’s quiet, and you take a moment to let the pleasant silence wash over you before retrieving your potion and checking on it one last time.

It was due tomorrow, and although you finished it a few days ago – in an incredibly awkward and tense session with Theo – you can’t help but take another look just to make sure. It had to be perfect.

“I figured I’d find you here.”

Theo stands in the doorway of the classroom; normally, he leans against bannisters and doorways with unfathomed arrogance and cool, but not this time. His shoulders are tense, and his long limbs are rigid. 

Slowly, he makes his way over to you, but despite the obvious height difference, he appears small.

“Everything’s perfect I presume? Just as we left it.”

You nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

He sighs, then turns on his heel and takes a hand through his hair.

“Fuck, L/N.” Theo makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a chuckle, then continues. “Everything is weird between us. What went wrong? What happened?”

“What happened?” You repeat, trying not to swoon at the familiar scent of parchment and pine needles that is characteristically Theo; something you don’t want to admit to yourself that you missed the past few weeks, but you did. “What happened, Nott, is that you have intimacy issues.”

“I have intimacy issues?” 

“Yes.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, L/N.”

“Hey,” you start defensively. “You’re the one who made things weird between us with your stupid unwinding technique.” 

“I was trying to be nice!” He argues, throwing his hands in the air. “Bloody hell, Y/N, you were so fucking stressed, so I just figured – You know what? That’s not on me. You’re the one who made it weird by pretending it didn’t happen at all afterward.”

“You didn’t talk about it either!”

“Because I could tell that you didn’t want to. Again, I was trying to be nice!” He inhaled sharply, then exhaled slowly. “Listen, I know I said we slept together and that was wrong, but–”

“Oh, really?”

“Oi, I’m trying to apologize here,” he groans. “I feel bad enough about everything without you making it infinitely worse, alright? I deserve it, I know I do, but – just –”

Theo taps his fingers on his thigh, barely containing himself from visibly exploding. You can tell there’s something else he wants to say, so you stay quiet and let him tick, tick, tick like an exploding snap ready to fire. 

“I like you, ok?” Theo practically shouts, startling you. He, however, leans into the outburst. Words begin spilling out of his mouth so fast you almost struggle to string them together. He is turbulent water breaking through a dam. “I like you. I think I always liked you, Y/N. I just – We always fight and banter and mess around which is easy and nice. It makes it bearable, I think, to have you so close to me but also so far, but then – then you were in my fucking arms and I couldn’t – I can’t.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, fixated on his widened blue eyes.

“You were in my fucking arms, and then you weren’t.” Theo says, chest heaving. “I didn’t know badly I needed you in my life, like that, until that moment. Then you said that thing about never wanting to be with me even if we were the last two people on the planet and – and again at breakfast.” 

He paused momentarily to hold up his hands in surrender. 

“I know, fuck, I know I said some things that were uncalled for, but it was a joke. It was a stupid fucking joke because I couldn’t – I still can’t – bear the thought of you thinking of me like that. Like being with me is so unthinkable that you–”

Theo cuts himself off and finally looks away from you to stare at his feet. You take the brief respite to blink back the tears welling in your eyes.

“I hated when we were apart and I’m sorry, really truly sorry, for how I acted. I need you, Y/N. I didn’t know how badly I needed you until you were gone, and I swear I’ll never make that fucking mistake again. Fucking hell, can we please just go back to the way it was before?”

Finally, you take a deep breath and uncross your arms, wiping your slightly sweaty hands on your jumper.

“You want to go back to being friends?” You clarify.

Theo’s head snaps up. “Merlin’s beard, no. I don’t want that at all. I want – Err–”

“You want more?” You ask, and he nods, clenching his jaw as he awaits your response. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Well, I do.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Come here.”

“Seriously?”

“Nott, don’t make me say it again–”

But your words are lost in the night as Theo wastes no time taking you back in his arms, causing you to gasp as your feet leave the floor. His nose brushes against yours, and you close your eyes, inhaling the sweet smell of parchment and pine. 

“May I?” He asks, lips lingering dangerously close to yours as the words leave his lips. It takes every ounce of strength you have not to make a smartass retort; instead, you close the space between you and him as a way of response. 

The kiss is sweet, slow and romantic. It’s everything, and when it ends, you can’t imagine spending another minute of your life not kissing Theodore Nott. 

“Why haven’t we been doing this all along?” Theo says.

“We might have if you had simply said something rather than joke and mope like a complete child, Nott.” You counter with a derisive smirk to pair.

His breathy laugh skating across your flushed cheeks; his hands are trailing up and down your spine while your hands are conversely tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

“Salazar’s balls, I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“No arguments here.” 

[sweetboybucky]

Pumpkin

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Word Count: 1700

Warnings: It’s all floof, y’all. It might kill you. Maybe a swear somewhere in there.

Summary: You come home with a fun little surprise for the boys. 

A/N: This is my piece for Mimi’s Fall Into Marvel Challenge hosted by @captain-rogers-beard . My prompt was “carving jack o’ lanterns” and it turned into completely pointless fluff. There is basically no plot here, just happy stuff because nothing has changed and I am still a flower. This could be read as a sequel to Flowers, but you don’t have to read that to understand this. Also, I know I just posted something about having a bit of writer’s block right now, but this just came out and I wanted to post it. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but I hope you like it. 

This is also dedicated to my love and light, @marvelous-avengers because she is incredible and I adore her. I hope it makes you smile, angel. 

My Masterlist

***

Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

The soft scent of vanilla coming from the air freshener you plugged into the wall. Warm, autumn colors littering the walls. Filling the vases and draped over the back of your favorite chair in a thick quilt. Weight against his side, Bucky’s body under his arm as those steely eyes trace over the video playing on his phone. Something Steve can’t understand.

Your house around him.

No, that’s not right anymore.

His house.

Because you opened it up for them. Let them in. Gave them a home in the walls around him and in your heart, as well. Kissed them and told them they could stay. They could always stay.

He smiles.

He’ll never get used to it.

Blue eyes flick around the maroon decorations you bought at the beginning of the season. The oranges and pale yellows. The new crimson, fuzzy blanket resting on his lap. Lying under the book he has resting there and pulled up to Bucky’s chin.

Fingers run through the dark hair fanned around his chest. Strong shoulders shake at the happy hum he gets in return.

And it’s like all those years ago in Brooklyn, in some ways. Holding Bucky. Bucky holding him. Resting on the couch with that familiar weight pressed into him. Tilting his head and kissing the pale skin of Bucky’s temple. Looking at a face he’s known for a century, a face he’ll never tire of seeing.

But it’s different, too.

Because they’re not hiding anymore. They don’t need to.

And there’s you.

Stepping through the door. Grocery bags in hand - more than Steve assumes necessary for a simple trip to the store, like you’d told him you were making.

He catches your eye once the latch clicks. Once you’ve started making your way to the little table. And there’s a moment where you seem to search the scene in front of you. Watch the way Bucky nuzzles into Steve’s chest, pulls his phone a little closer to his face.

A fond smile curls your lips, and Steve finds a grin of his own at the sight.

Because you’re beautiful.

His jacket blanketing your shoulders. Deep blue and heavy. Bucky’s sweater resting beneath that, thick and dark gray. Warm. Sweet in the careful darkness of early evening coming in through the windows.

He looks the glow of the dim light in the room around you, the only source being the lamp on the end table. The lamp he flicked on to read a book he’s long since abandoned in favor of looking at the man next to him. Thinking of you.

“Hey,” he whispers, lips parting just enough to form the word. Still sitting in that soft smile. “Find everything you need?”

You chuckle. Swipe a hand across your face and start pulling something out of one of the bags. “Mostly things I didn’t need. But what’s new?”

And Steve laughs because it’s true. Because he wonders why he ever lets you do the shopping. Can already imagine the new array of things you bought that will never be eaten or used.

But then orange comes into view, more than the shades tinting the decorations you scattered around the house. Brows furrow and the head on his collarbone shifts a little before lifting entirely, that handsome face looking so adorably sleepy from where Steve can see it out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s that?”

Bucky beats Steve to questioning. Rubs his eyes and sits up.

You smile. “It’s a pumpkin.”

Steve blinks.

“Why did you buy a pumpkin?”

A laugh punches from your chest. Makes your eyes fall shut and that beautiful smile on your face grow. And Steve wants to laugh with you, but he wants an answer to Bucky’s question, too, confusion and curiosity rising within him.

“I thought we could carve them,” you say, holding the little thing up and tracing one of the ridges with your fingers. “Got one for each of us.”

Bucky makes a happy, appreciative sound. Stands and steps over to you, scoops the pumpkin from your hands and inspects it.

Steve watches with careful consideration. Measured silence as Bucky gives you an excited look before turning back to him, another set of eyes landing on him as you follow suit.

And there’s this hesitant happiness in your gazes as flesh and metal alike skim against the skin of the small pumpkin. A look Steve hasn’t seen on Bucky in a long time. A look he would like to see on you more often.

So he sighs. Thinks he has more kids than partners as he says, “Okay.”

Happy noises fill the room. Feet pad across the floor as you step over to him. Wrap him in your embrace as he stands to meet you. Kiss his jaw and the base of his throat.

“But we need to cover the table.”

A laugh against his skin. Your next words are muffled into the cotton of his shirt, “Why?”

He scoffs. Runs his fingers against your sides and feels a familiar warmth blooming in his chest at the noise you make. Looks down at you and answers, “So it doesn’t get pumpkin guts all over it.”

You wrinkle your nose. Steve wants to kiss it. “Who cares if pumpkin guts get all over the table?”

“I do.”

“I bought that table,” you counter.

“Want me to reimburse you?”

“Okay,” you quip. There’s no bite behind it, but Steve can see that little spark burning in your eyes. “We can cover the table.”

“Gosh, Stevie,” Bucky begins, “Don’t you know half the fun is the mess?”

“Yeah,” Steve answers, dropping a kiss to your hair before untangling himself from your grasp. “I’m sure you two ditching me to clean the mess myself would have been really fun.”

Bucky barks out a laugh. And Steve catches you covering your own amused grin with your hand as you round the table.

Everything is so wonderfully foreign. The domesticity he’s found. The morning coffee you make for him and the routine kisses against his back as he makes breakfast and the way you both fall asleep on him on the couch most nights. The prospect of carving pumpkins with the loves of his life in his cute little house just outside the city.

And he may not be used to this, the life he’s lucky enough to lead, now.

But he’s happy to have it.

It’s minutes later that you’ve found a tarp to cover the surface of the table - Bucky asking, “Where the hell did that come from?” - and everything is set out. Steve is looking at the two of you, grinning like kids.

Bucky has three knives in front of him. Knives Steve is sure didn’t come from the drawer in the kitchen. And they’re already at work before Steve can say anything about it, the two of you slicing into the flesh of the things. Getting started.

It isn’t until you look at him, cock your head to the side just a little and give him a questioning glance that he realizes he’s worlds behind the two of you. That he’d been so caught up with memorizing your happy expressions, he hadn’t started his own carving.

“You going to do some carving there, Steve?”

It’s teasing. Breathed through careful laughter as your hands still where they’ve started to cut into the pumpkin in front of you, seeds littering the table.

Bucky doesn’t even look up as he answers for Steve, “He’s just scared that my pumpkin is going to turn out better than his.”

Laughter parts full lips. Fans out into the air as ocean eyes shield themselves behind pale lids. Steve can hear your amusement joining his. Your voice scolding Bucky as he finally leans forward and lifts his gaze. Finds that happy little smirk on familiar lips.

Steve sighs another quiet chuckle. “Sure, Buck,” he answers. “You got me.”

Bucky’s eyes flash with a certain fondness. One Steve feels so deeply. One he’s happy to share with the two of you.

And it’s that - the affection resting in his heart - that makes the stress of pumpkin carving better. The number of times he nearly slices off his thumb. The choked laughter from Bucky as Steve struggles to get the basic shapes down.

“Thought you were an artist,” Bucky says.

Bucky’s name is light on your lips. Gentle scolding and a soft smile curling around the letters.

Steve finishes his pumpkin long after you and Bucky. Takes one look at the lopsided, ugly little face he’s carved into the ochre flesh and tilts his head down, chuckling to himself. 

A hand squeezes his shoulder as Bucky moves to stand behind him, muttering a teasing, “You finally done?” before he’s howling beside him. Doubling over and spitting out unintelligible sentences.

He doesn’t care.

He hopes Bucky never stops laughing like that.

“Is it that bad?” he asks anyway, keeping his eyes on Bucky. A metal hand waves in the air, a gesture Steve can’t decipher the meaning of as flesh fingers wipe at a tear that managed to escape one of Bucky’s steely eyes.

You’re coming around soon enough. Draping your arm across Steve’s shoulders and leaning into him. He tucks himself into your embrace, presses his nose to your ribs and feels them shake with your amused words.

“I think it’s cute,” you tell him. Fingers stroke through golden hair as another hand reaches for the stem and places the pumpkin in his lap.

He looks up at you, then. Lets the pads of his fingers ghost over your cheekbone as you lean down and press your lips to his forehead. Whisper, “Just like you.”

And Steve doesn’t really know what to say to that. He isn’t sure what words can capture what your gentle statement makes him feel. What he feels for you and the man trying to squeeze onto his lap, laughing the whole time.

“A work of art you’ve got there, pal,” Bucky tells him, pressing his nose to the side of Steve’s neck.

“Think you’re talking about the two of you, Buck.”

Bucky huffs out quiet laughter but smiles something genuine and full despite it all. Drops a sloppy kiss to the spot just under Steve’s ear and whispers, “Real smooth, pumpkin.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest. And Steve can feel your amusement, too. Pressed into his side, muffled into his hair.

Steve holds the two of you close, listens to the laughter that fills your home.

His home.

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[atlasifyllm]

hdcs

1.) Nix is absolutely terrified of purple fire

2.) Janus has no idea that Bellona, number 10 soldier of Firesun, number 1 soldier of Watermoon, ruthless killer of both sides' own soldiers, is Lux's kind and caring mother... as well as his aunt. It just hasn't clicked with him properly yet

3.) It's a surprise through Lux's time that Watermoon has held out in the war for so long, as they have a weaker and smaller military, low medical knowledge, and mass trade cut off from most empires

4.) Despite living in the castle of Watermoon in which the main element is Water, Nix's heritage originates from the south and north poles of Watermoon, where ice elementals are more common. However, Nix has never been to his native part of WM

5.) EarthEclipse puts an emphasis on clans/families in the floral elementals, such as Chancellor Cladis and Serenum originating from a "Rose" clan

6.) In EE, it is common to get tattoos of your floral clan somewhere on your body. I say floral since other plant elementals and rock elementals may not have the most aesthetically pleasing looking tattoos compared to flowers

7.) The national flowers of the empires are sunflowers, moonflowers, and starflowers. You can probably assume which is which. (I'm unsure about EE's flower, though. LN probably has irises, and DV probably has bat flowers)

8.) It is unknown why Sols are much more "intimate" with their elements, as they can control their element beyond simple hand gestures. Their intamacy with their fire element enables flames to form on the head (in a "flamehead" mode), and stem from the throat like a dragon

9.) However, fire breating is extremely tedious to master, as if not done correctly it will send the Sol into a painful coughing fit

10.) The empires typically has seasonal festivals native to each empire, with WS with the Autumn festival, FS with the Summer festival, WM with the Winter festival, and EE with the Spring festival

11.) LN and DV are both based off of Ancient Greece, but not so much in terms of character design since it will limit my creativity when ETSS has such as specific aesthetic

12.) Nix slightly regrets staying in Windstar, as WS provides military support to FS against WM. There's a part of him that believes anyone or everyone in Windstar is out to kill him for being a Luna

13.) Nix loves all snowy white animals. Harp seals, snow hares, arctic foxes, and especially arctic wolves.

14.) Nex enjoys pumpkin flavors, and overall the general taste palette of WS in the fall

15.) While Firesun is somewhat vaguely inspired by Japan, it's most likely Watermoon that would invent sushi. This is due to the fact that mermaids (fellow citizens in WM) eat fish raw, and land dwellers sought to try raw fish as well. This also means that in The Sailor and The Mermaid, Luka is surviving off of ghost ship rations and Althea can just swim around and slurp up a fish or two. Literally.

[wander---woman]

My tamales must be getting cold. Almost as soon as the thought strikes me, it’s whisked away on the breeze passing through the boat. Other tajineras drift by us. They float lazily in the river like driftwood. A woman with a silver braid inches closer in her ramshackle tajinera. Virgins of Guadalupe, medallions, and bundles of cilantro are piled up beside her. This very scene could have been taking place decades ago, even a century ago. Before the influx of zinc-nosed, safari hatted-gringos with our penchant for street tacos and Che Guevara t-shirts. What was Xochimilco like before us? I stare at the woman, looking for an answer. Did I have a right to be here? I get so caught up in my thoughts that I forget all about the tamales.

The next tajinera to pass by is loaded down with bouquets of mango florets. Dark red peels are shaved off in a single flourish. The bright orange flesh that remains is transformed into a blossom with the tip of a knife. Juicy petals glisten in the sun. For the coup de grâce, a skewer is inserted at the base with a torero’s precision. Each mango is baptized with chile, salt, and lime before it is passed from boat to boat until it reaches its new owner.

Ten pesos later and I’m holding my own mango flower. I pluck off the first petals and turn to one of my dining companions. “How old d’you think the guy rowing this boat is?”

“Mmm. Maybe 15,” Axidi says.

I’m hoping this is just a summer job at that the boy is going back to school in the fall. I think about bringing this up, but reason that labor politics isn’t the most appropriate subject of conversation for a relaxing boat ride.

Little waves lapping the bow of the boat eat up the silence between us. The remnants of my mango flower are withering on my empty plate. We spot a patch of land ahead with what appears to be a dock jutting out into water. This is a chinampa, a floating garden. Designed by the Olmecs 2,000 years ago, each chinampa is host to a milpa. Food is grown on the milpas in a polycrop system, which makes it a fully sustainable farm. Someone once told me the chinampas could feed all 20 million inhabitants of Mexico City, if utilized properly. But people buy their groceries at Walmart instead.

“My dad sold corn in the D.F. when he was a kid.” Axidi isn’t looking at me. Her eyes are focused on the chinampa ahead, but I know she’s talking to me.

“He did?”

“Yeah, from the time he was six until high school. On the streets, you know? My parents didn’t have a lot of money growing up. I guess that’s why they went to the U.S. Anyway, I just mean, when you asked that, it made me think about how that could have been my dad. Or if we had stayed in Mexico, it could have been my brother.” She adjusts her sunglasses and fusses with the straw in her agua de jamaica.

“That must be a lot to think about.”

“Yeah, like, my dad sold corn on the street right here and now I go to boarding school and study abroad and shit. My parents can’t even come back here in case they got caught. They don’t have their papers, you know?”

“Yeah.” We stare at the cold tamales between us.

“My mom told me all the girls go on the pill before they leave Mexico because everyone gets raped before the border. Did you know that?” Her eyes meet mine. I shake my head.

“I don’t know why I told you that,” she continues. “It’s just so weird. I’m here and they’re back in California. I’ve just been thinking about it a lot. It’s like coming home, but it’s not your home. You know?”

Clouds roll in and the umbrellas come out. I want to say something that lets her know I care, but that I’m not assuming I know what it’s like to be the child of Mexican immigrants in Trump’s America. I want to close the space between us somehow. I want to tell her that I’ve been looking for my home for a long, long time. I stay quiet.

“Painting reminds me of him,” Axidi calls back to me as we file out of the boat and onto the chinampa. “He started a painting and construction business back in the U.S. Isn’t that such a stereotype?” She laughs.

I know she’s referring to the volunteer work we’ve been doing back in Guanajuato. We’re painting an albergue, a shelter, for families who have loved ones in the hospital nearby. Each day, after we put on the final coat, we wear our paint stains out the door like medals. We want to feel that we have done something good and lasting. When we go home to our host families at night, we reluctantly peel the mustard yellow splotches off our skin. “Hoy fue duro. Pero hicimos mucho,” we announce at the dinner table. Today was hard. But we got a lot done.

The paint is already starting to chip by the time we finish the service project.

 ***

My fingers wrap around a scythe. It’s the first time I’ve ever held one. I test the weight in my hand. Light.

Our backs are bent low over the rows and rows of plants. Hands pass me a bundle of fresh-cut lavender. I remove the stems below the flowers and pass it on to other hands, which will tie it with twine. A bee lands on my sleeve. I stop snapping the stems and steady my breathing to hear it buzz.

I think back to the last time I had my hands in the dirt. Before college, surely. Most likely before high school. I remember our 8th grade class adopting a highway and plucking weeds from the medians. My small fists clamped around dandelions. I remember summer camp by the lake, covered in algae after a swim. I remember killing tomatoes, onions, and chives the summer I decided to become self-sufficient, to live off the land.

But everything about this is different. My body feels strong and right next to so many others under the sun.

“Tomemos un descanso,” a voice calls out.

For our break, we crowd into someone’s kitchen, waiting to try our hand at making tortillas. The comal sizzles with each slab of masa. Mine comes out a little lopsided, but I like it. I put a pumpkin flower inside and eat it so hot that it burns my mouth.

The woman who is teaching us how to make tortillas is named Señora Simona. She has 22 children.

“We started the community 34 years ago,” she begins her charla. “We left the old ranch because they treated us badly. When we got here, we had no water, no food, no nothing.”

“Where did you sleep?” someone asks.

“Wherever we could. They beat us bad those first few days. But we stayed.” She slaps another tortilla onto the comal. “Y, pues, eso.” And that’s that.

From talking to one of her children, I piece together this narrative:

The farmers were promised the land they worked on back at their old ranch, but the government decided to give it to another patrón instead. So the workers chose to leave and to found their own community instead of remaining on that land and continuing to be indentured servants.

Years later, they started the Lavender Project to help solve the emigration crisis. The idea was to provide jobs to community members so they wouldn’t have to cross the border into the U.S. in search of steady work. They chose lavender because it does well in the market and the plants can survive without a lot of water, which is one thing they don’t have. The community doesn’t have any potable water and the water they do have is contaminated with arsenic. A decade ago, eight women built cisterns for every family in the community that wanted one. Now they can collect rainwater to drink. The only problem is that with climate change, it’s been raining less and less, so now they’re facing another challenge.

I taste the sweat on my lips as I take a swig of my Dasani.

After the talk, we’re taken to the shed where lavender oil is produced from the dried bundles hanging above us. We are led through the lavender’s life cycle – planting, harvesting, and distillation. We learn about the different types of lavender. Lavanda dulce is for the kitchen while lavanda de groso is destined for perfumes and soaps.

Our volunteer work for the afternoon consists of making lavender soap. When we cut the bars of soap in the backroom, our hands work in unison. One hand holds a knife to cut the large blocks as another shaves off the rough edges, while still other hands work the leftover shavings into shining globes. The air is heady with the scent of lavender and rosemary. We take deep breaths and puff our bellies out on the inhale. We smile at each other. We are proud of our sore muscles and our sunburns.

When we get back to the U.S., we will write about this moment on résumés and in travel blogs. We will talk about the month we spent volunteering in Mexico on dates and during interviews. We will forget Sra. Simona’s name. We will think about starting a fundraiser to buy more cisterns for her community, but we will forget about it over the ensuing weeks. We will forget how to make tortillas and how to hold a scythe. We will forget what it’s like to run out of drinking water for the day. But we will remember the sticky feeling of lavender on our sunburnt skin.

After we finish with the soap, we log how many bars we made into the book and clean up our work stations. We turn off the lights and take off our purple-stained aprons. We go back to our homestays and pack our bags to leave in the morning. Today was hard, we think. But we got a lot done.

El Proyecto de Lavanda

[theblogdesign]

Ginger Benefits And Uses

Ginger Benefits And UsesGinger is perhaps the best food on the planet. Especially in the Asian, Indian and Arabic custom, the root has a long history of utilization both as a flavor and natural cure.

The root has been utilized for ages to animate its drive. Likewise, the ginger root has a warming impact and invigorates blood flow.

This sound super carrot ought not be absent in a solid, adjusted eating regimen. Today, most stores sell top notch new carrot.

Ginger decreases garlic smell

I have been utilizing ginger in different dishes practically day by day throughout recent years.

Ginger decreases garlic smell

In which dishes would you be able to utilize the carrot?

Utilizing ginger in your dishes

Why is ginger so sound?

Diminish torment with these quality food varieties

Improving your cerebrum capacities

Ginger for sickness and colds

Ginger assists you with shedding pounds

Diabetes and ginger

Is it accurate to say that you are consistently cold?

Delectable ginger tea/ginger water formula

Mending impacts of ginger tea

1 Ginger decreases garlic smell

Garlic is generally utilized in cooking and is solid. In any case, garlic has a significant downside and that is its serious smell.

Individuals who go to your space who have not eaten garlic will quickly smell that you have eaten garlic.

Numerous individuals discover the garlic smell terrible.

I additionally had a place with this gathering, which is the reason I stayed away from dishes with garlic for quite a long time.

A couple of years prior I heard something brilliant: utilizing garlic in mix with ginger and the garlic smell has vanished.

I would not like to accept this thus needed to give it a shot right away.

I think you got it, it works consummately. The mix of ginger and garlic kills the smell and the food is more absorbable.

From that point forward I fry finely slashed garlic along with finely hacked ginger as the reason for every one of my dishes.

2 In which dishes would you be able to utilize the carrot?

As said previously, I utilize ginger in practically all dishes.

I utilize the sound carrot in chicken sautés. When simmering chicken filet,

I add one to two cloves of garlic to the dish alongside finely cleaved ginger root. Ginger root fits very well with meat.

In a newly made chicken soup or meat soup, this super carrot gives your soup an enhancement.

Crude and finely cut, it is flavorful in fiery plate of mixed greens dressings, spice spread or quark.

Genuinely intriguing utilized me ginger own blends of mango chutney, Karot cake and natively constructed bread.

With a delectable pumpkin soup you can undoubtedly cook a huge piece.

3 Utilizing ginger in your dishes

What you can be sure of is that ginger never bubbles delicately. In the event that I set up a chicken or meat stock,

I add the carrot in an enormous piece to the soup, to effortlessly eliminate it from the soup later.

All solid fixings are as yet in the soup following 2-3 hours of cooking time. In different dishes you need to cut it finely.

I for one prefer to chomp on a little piece of ginger, yet on the off chance that you don't care for that I can suggest utilizing a fine grater.

With the grater you make a fine ginger puree and it spreads well in your dish.

4 Why is ginger so sound?

It animates the blood flow, has a calming impact, reinforces your heart, brings down cholesterol and invigorates the digestion.

New ginger comprises of 160 unique fixings. It is plentiful in minerals like iron, calcium, potassium, zinc, copper, sodium and phosphorus.

Moreover, the ginger root contains nutrients like C, B1, B2, B6, water, proteins, starches and fiber.

The common sharpness of the ginger root is because of the dynamic substances present like gingerol, shogaol and zingiberene.

these substances have cancer prevention agent properties on your body. Because of its fundamental oil (bisabolene, farnesene, cineol, citral and gingerol), it is effectively utilized in fragrance based treatment for respiratory sicknesses.

Gingerol is to a great extent liable for its mending impact.

5Diminish torment with these quality food varieties

Logical investigations have tracked down the pain relieving properties of ginger.

It goes about as an inhibitor of cyclooxygenase (COX) and lipoxigenase, bringing about a hindrance of the creation of leukotrienes and prostaglandins.

Henceforth, ginger is utilized as a pain relieving. The pain relieving impact depends on the hindrance of prostaglandin union in your body.

The prostaglandins invigorate the vibe of agony in your body.

6 Improving your cerebrum capacities

Customarily, its concentrate has been utilized as a methods for improving mind capacities.

It builds the degrees of noraddrenaline, adrenaline, dopamine and serotonin in the huge cerebral cortex and hippocampus.

Furthermore, the dynamic fixing 6-gingerol likewise hinders the protein cholinesterase, which thusly builds the centralization of acetylcholine, a synapse that assumes a significant part in learning and memory.

7 Ginger for sickness and colds

Conventional Chinese medication has been treating illnesses like stiffness, muscle agony and colds with ginger for a very long time.

The gingerol from the root assuages torment and diminishes the chemical serotonin in the digestion tracts.

The chemical serotonin in the gut is answerable for sickness, torment and bulging.

Thus, it is utilized, likewise in kids, as the solution for queasiness, movement ailment or nausea, to stifle the sickness and propensity to upchuck.

The root animates gastric juice, bile and spit creation and helps digest food, particularly fats.

Examination has shown that the superroot likewise has a useful impact against sickness during chemotherapy, after medical procedure and around feminine cycle.

In any case, for this helpful impact, you need to eat a genuinely huge measure of ginger (tantamount to 5-6 bundles of salted stem ginger).

8 Ginger assists you with shedding pounds

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For weight reduction, this sound root can be useful as it manages hunger and along these lines forestalls food yearnings.

Ginger additionally invigorates the digestion to consume additional calories.

As indicated by an examination by Columbia University, drinking or eating ginger toward the beginning of the day will decrease the sensation of craving.

It isn't prescribed to eat a lot of ginger during pregnancy,

9 Diabetes and ginger

Different examinations (in vitro, in vivo and clinical) have shown an enemy of diabetic impact on him.

The components of activity fundamental this are identified with progress of insulin delivery and activity and improved insulin affectability, bringing about expanded glucose take-up in fringe fat and muscle tissue.

The intense lipid-bringing down impact of ginger may likewise help improve insulin opposition.

It likewise improves starch and fat digestion by restraining significant key chemicals in sugar digestion.

Also, ginger has a defensive impact against diabetes inconveniences. The wellbeing of ginger as a reciprocal hyperglycaemic control specialist has been enough shown in intense and persistent harmfulness considers.

10 Is it accurate to say that you are consistently cold?

Most ladies will concur with me now, we get cold rapidly and all the more frequently.

Really a ladylike quality! New ginger is a very decent cure. Its utilization animates blood dissemination and in this way you get it quite warm once more.

You can gradually bite a little piece of crude ginger into your mouth. You will be astonished how rapidly you get warm!

On the off chance that you don't really want to bite on crude ginger root, I suggest making a tea from the crude ginger root.

11 Delectable ginger tea/ginger water formula

Heat water to the point of boiling. Meanwhile, take a piece (around 2 cm) of new ginger and eliminate the skin.

Presently cut the stripped piece of ginger into little shapes.

Put this in a tea kettle or in a steeping ball, at that point you don't need to strain the tea later.

Empty the bubbling water into the tea kettle with the finely hacked ginger.

Put the cover on and let the tea steep for in any event 8 minutes.

Try not to permit the ginger tea/ginger water to soak for a really long time, as this will make the tea extremely sharp.

Take out the steeper. On the off chance that you utilized ginger pieces, strain the tea.

Eliminating the new ginger is essential on the grounds that generally your tea will taste excessively sharp.

You can in any case utilize the leftover ginger pieces in new servings of mixed greens.

To do this, let the pieces cool down well and slash them finely.

The solid ginger tea/ginger water is prepared! Drink it hot or cold.

Appreciated virus is the flavor of the ginger water lemon new, an extraordinary beverage for a blistering summer day, likewise for youngsters.

Incidentally, ginger tea and ginger water are something similar; on the grounds that ginger isn't viewed as a genuine recuperating plant, the sound beverage is called ginger water.

12 Mending impacts of ginger tea

Numerous societies all throughout the planet utilize in excess of 50 distinct kinds of ginger for tea planning.

The a wide range of arrangements of the ginger tea likewise all have an alternate recuperating impact.

In Burma it is blended along with the sugar extricated from the sap of the palm trees. As a solution for this season's virus.

The most recent pattern in China has as of late been well known with ginger tea blended in with cola or red bull.

The dynamic elements of the root in blend with caffeine is supposed to be a virus cure.

Indians use it exceptionally adaptable. It is a significant piece of Ayurvedic treatment.

Applying newly ground ginger root to the sanctuary is said to soothe the cerebral pain.

Ginger tea with the juice of the mango tree has been utilized in Congo for ages as a panacea for some afflictions.

The Indonesian populace utilizes ginger tea for exhaustion or as a counteraction against stiffness.

You see ginger can be utilized from multiple points of view. Ginger is exceptionally sound and in this manner has the right to be utilized in the entirety of your plans.

Ginger has been appeared to healingly affect sickness, colds and irritation.

It invigorates digestion and blood course and has a reinforcing impact on the heart.

Regardless of whether you use it in hot dishes, as ginger tea or crude, ginger is probably the best root on the planet

Last idea

the main fixings are extricated to positively affect your wellbeing.

There is a similar guideline likewise with tea produced using mending spices like sage, vex, chamomile or peppermint, which you need to pour over bubbling water and let it steep for 8 - 10 minutes.

Since I don't have a research facility,

I can't demonstrate the number of dynamic fixings are as yet in it, however on the off chance that you smell the ginger and taste it, it actually has its very own great deal taste.

[wildlilaccdciris]

Thursday, August 31st

The sun was out and the air was clear today, so while Madison offered an invitation to paint watercolor letters to friends in other classrooms, I took a group out to the garden to water our learning beds. Of course, not all invitations work out as planned, and we got to the garden only to realize the hose we intended to use was not available for us.

One thing this job (which is to say, the students of Wild Lilac) has taught me is how to be flexible, to see the learning opportunities in all activities rather than just the curriculum you go in having planned. It is always amazing to see children engaging in what appear to be fairly mundane activities and recognizing the complex inquiries being made about how the world works.

As we walked into the garden the group stopped at the planter that the school’s two hundred pound pumpkin is growing in. Many patted the hardened exterior, commenting on its immense size. It’s grown from a small yellow flower into something large than most of the Iris’s torsos. Frankie asked “How do we know when [a pumpkin] is ready?” The rest of the group considered the question for a second before coming up with hypotheses.

Saoirse: When it comes off of the stem easy it’s ready. Leo: When it’s bright red. Tilly: When it’s REALLY big.

The group continued walking through the garden together as I hung back and observed. Asher and Rowan both ran to climb up a tree as Carmen and Leo let out giant roars. Tilly climbed up the tree behind them as fast as she could and the twins and Asher began to talk about how high up they could climb. To make a point, Asher looked down and talked about how far he could see, when he made an observation about the berm, “Why isn’t there grass on the hill?” No one made any guesses on this count, but he walked down and felt the dirt with his hands, the dust and dead grass crumbling around him. “I’m going to blow all the flowers from the meadow here to spread their seeds. And the seeds turn to fertilizer and make grass grow.” He was making a connection to the day before, when Michelle had invited the Irises to join her in adding to the garden’s compost bin. She’d been explaining how plants, once picked, begin to decompose and turn back into earth and that earth is then used to feed and nourish new plants. Rather than considering that flower seeds may grow into flowers, he seemed to be recognizing that those flower seeds may decompose and their remains would turn the dust into more fertile soil for future grass.

Minnie Mae and Frankie had been spending time in the rose tunnel on the southside of the garden, but popped their heads out after deciding they were hungry and wanted to sample from the sensory garden. On their own, they scoured the plants to find a tag with a mouth (each plant is labeled with which sense is most interesting to experience it with) and plucked a few leaves from a small green shrub.

Minnie Mae: How’s it taste? Frankie: *her face scrunching up* Yuuuuuck. Minnie Mae: Let’s feed it to the chickens. Maybe they like it. Their mouths are different.

Animals all eat different kinds of foods, and while part of it is just based on what we digest best, I was standing there wondering, would a chicken like stevia more? Why are chickens mouths made to enjoy the taste of foods I would never eat? Do they enjoy eating the same way that I do?

We didn’t answer a lot of questions out in the garden, but we did roam and observe and enjoy and ask about how the world around us works. I’m excited to begin exploring these questions with the Irises as summer turns to fall and our outdoor space continues to change with the season.

- Autumn

[whoopsblackdress-blog]

Wedding Dance1

A/N:  It’s been a while since we wrote something together, but we hope you enjoy this.  We think it’s going to be about 5 parts long.  This part is all Harry fluff.  Enjoy!

It’s already dark outside, but the chilly summer breeze feels comfortable. It had been a warm day, not hot like the days in late August usually are -- a perfect day for a wedding. I want such a glorious day for my own wedding. The sun shone high in the sky during the day, and now the stars and the moon are twinkling with fairy lights.

I’m sitting in my chair, my place card in front of me in case I forget my name. Giggling at my own joke, I play with the white card which tells me my name in raised gold letters. My other hand rests on the stem of my wine glass. It’s nearly midnight. I promised myself I could leave at midnight, go upstairs to my room and sleep, falling onto the bed while still in my dress without removing make up. Who cares? I am alone here, so nobody will see me in the morning. My plan is to leave early tomorrow, so maybe I will be able to escape the parents of the bride. I crave my flat, a warm bath with a glass of wine, and listening to my favourite records. Yes, my flat is tiny, so I can hear the record player in my bathroom. Though my cozy home is small I could never relinquish the luxury of a bathtub. I sigh yearningly as I think of my empty flat.

I have been here for two days, helping my university friend to organise the final details of her wedding. She found a lovely man in her company. It was the perfect romance when they met at the copy machine. Since that auspicious meeting they can’t live without each other. He is a handsome man, the kind of man any woman would want as a husband. Allen is funny, but you can chat with him about serious issues too.

Admittedly, I’m a little bit jealous. No, jealousy is not the right word. I grant her this man, every single inch of him, though I miss the feeling of a good night kiss, of coming home and someone being there, waiting only for me, asking how my day was. But I also make it less than easy for the men in my life. Ruefully, I turn the glass in my hand, observing the dark red liquid. I can hear my mum in my head, “You’re married to your job! You have to step back!” Maybe she’s right, but I had to climb high mountains to be where I stand right now in my career.

Looking around on the table I reach for the bottle of wine two places over. Pouring the smooth red wine with relish, I smile slightly.

I knew it would be a big wedding, but I was speechless as I arrived at the manor. My old VW beetle looked very shabby with his worn out red color in front of the stately home. It’s like she is marrying Mr. Darcy, and I’m Emma sitting here alone at the table dwelling on my thoughts, thinking of missed opportunities, elusive kisses, mucked up dates. Asking me why I don’t wear the white dress and dance with my new husband.

Closing my eyes, I hear the band play another love song.

But here I am. Sitting at the round table which is covered with a white tablecloth and a glamorous flower bouquet in the middle. I cannot see those seated across from me because of the huge floral arrangement. I have brought no company with me, so I am practicing self-care, rewarding myself with wine.

My feet are throbbing with pain; my big toe is numb, so I decide to break the rules and slip out of my shoes. I usually wear sneakers or some comfortable shoes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like to dress up elegantly occasionally.

I wiggle my toes under the table, not caring that the tablecloth only reaches to my ankles. God! I feel the cold ground under my feet. Can I say the feeling is better than sex? I guess I can say that since the last time a man visited my bedroom was because he installed my new bed (by the way, no man has slept in that bed).

I close my eyes, leaning back while listening to the music. I resist the urge to put my heavy legs on the empty chair next to me. The crowd has thinned out with only a few dancers still on the floor alongside the bridal couple. Opening my heavy lids, my glance weaves through the tent. The band is playing “Have You Met Miss Jones,” and I slug deeply from my wine. I would be lying if I said I don’t feel the pleasant feeling of the wine in my veins. During the week I allow myself sometimes a glass of wine, mostly on Friday nights when I’m sitting at my desk working on paperwork.

My eyes wander further through the room and rest on my dear friend in her bridal regalia. She looks beautiful in her dress, a little bit like a cupcake, but a gorgeous one! I roll my eyes. Did I really think that? Biting my lip, I try to hide my smile. All the dresses I pulled out when we were shopping for wedding dresses, the bride claimed were too simple, too straight, or too boring. Finally I sat back in the chair, defeated, and examined her in several dresses. The one with the tulle skirt won.

They are in love. Anyone can see that, and it’s beautiful how he whispers something in her ear, and her smile brightens. My heart aches a little bit. I used a whole pack of tissues in the church, and I don’t want to continue crying, so I unfix my glance from them with a sad smile.

Weddings. What used to be fun has become a bit of a drudgery for me. One of the things my fame has stripped from me is anonymity, and at a wedding this size, every girl over the age of four wants to dance with me. My feet hurt. My legs hurt. My whole body aches. All I want is to rest and enjoy a glass of champagne and toast my friend Allen on his wedding day. Glancing at my watch, I see it is nearly midnight, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. At midnight I can turn back into a pumpkin and haul my weary ass up to bed. If only I can remember where my room is. Getting in so late last night and then stumbling downstairs barely in time for the wedding means that I have no idea which way to go to my room.

Sinking into my chair, I look at the congealed plate of meat. Having had no time to eat with all of the dancing, my stomach growls a bit, but no way am I eating this. It looks disgusting now, even though it probably cost a lot of money to serve. Maybe I’ll get some cake. There has to be wedding cake somewhere, right? My eyes roam the tented space, skirting over all of the women in the room who are still trying to make eye contact with me. Damn. I knew I should have brought a cousin or Gemma as my date.

As my eyes skim the room, seeking out the table with the sweet confection, they pause and return to settle on one woman. She’s sitting at a table by herself, her hand playing with the base of the wineglass in front of her. The look on her face likely matches my own, as she seems to be exhausted and anxious to leave.

A drunken wanker approaches her and begins talking. She’s annoyed, but polite. It seems he won’t leave her alone until she gives him a withering stare, which finally forces the drunk arsehole to back off. The satisfied look on her face makes me grin. I don’t know her, but I can imagine her internal dialogue. When she looks up, I catch her eye and raise my champagne glass in a silent toast to her.

Blushing, she looks away. Her eyes are slightly puffy, as if she has been crying. That’s what women do at weddings, right? My mum and Gems certainly cry buckets at these things. I continue to examine her while she looks away, her eyes resting on the newly married couple. The graceful turn of her neck captures my attention, and she raises her left hand to her cheek. No rings on her fingers, and I wonder why it matters to me enough to have noticed. Her long elegant fingers cup her cheek, and I have this urge to replace her fingers with my lips.

From here, I can see that she isn’t wearing her shoes. Oh, how I wish I were so bold as to remove my shoes, but I’m wearing my boots. They aren’t easy to take off, so I guess I’ll just have to suffer in my sweaty footwear. Besides, if I did manage to take them off, surely pictures of me wearing only my socks at my mate’s wedding would show up in tomorrow’s Sun. And no matter how many times I remind myself that I shouldn’t care what the tabloids say, it still bothers me. Plus, Mum would be upset with me for being so casual at an event like this.

It is only for a few seconds our glances meet, and he raises his glass, but….. Is it the wine? I didn’t notice him the whole day and evening. He sits across the room, the dance floor between us, and now I can’t see him anymore. What kind of man would raise his glass to a totally unknown woman? I’m nosy in a way, but maybe he is dunk. I give in and bend my head forward a bit, while I stroke a strand behind my ear, playing nervously with my earring.

The band starts a horrible version of Elton John’s “Your Song”.

His arm supports his chin while it rests on the backrest of the white chair. The fabric of his black jacket makes waves on his upper arm. I open my lips a little bit, bending further down as he looks at me again. I blush and feel caught. Damn. In shock I slip completely out of my right shoe, and my foot touches the cold ground again. He smiles at me. I never saw such a pure smile before. I don’t want to smile back, but I have to. A soft smile appears on my lips as I see his fingers. On nearly every finger is a ring. His head tilts to the right, and I can see dimples. Jesus! Dimples. I’m not sure if he smiles at me or at someone else, so I turn to the right and to the left. Nobody there. He means me. Biting my lips I frown, pointing with my finger at my chest, mouthing “Me?” My heart is racing. I feel how my mouth curves in a smile again. What am I doing here?! I’m not the type of girl who sleeps with the groomsman. Is he the groomsman? No. I would have recognized him in the church.

I can’t see him, an old couple is dancing between us. But there is something I can’t describe. Something in his glance, something between us, a tension? Is this the right word? God, I’m so bad at such things. The last time I was out, the whole evening ended in a catastrophe.

When she sweeps her hair behind her ear, I get a glimpse of that perfect shell there, and my cock jumps a bit thinking about kissing her right behind that ear. Just a whisper of my lips over the skin there would be enough. I bet her hair smells clean and flowery. She looks soft and warm, and I want to cuddle with her. That sounds stupid. We haven’t even met, and here I am thinking about kissing her and smelling her hair and cuddling with her.

This elderly couple continues roaming around the dance floor, blocking my view of her every once in awhile, and I wish they would move. They’re cute, though, and I suddenly get a stab in my heart as I think about dancing one day with my wife when we are old like these two. They are shuffling along, their feet barely moving. Their cheeks are pressed tightly together, and he holds her loosely around the waist. Together they look so in love, even though they are likely in their 80s.

When I glance back at her, I see that she’s been watching me watch the old couple, and I blush, embarrassed. She inclines her head and smiles at me, and my stomach does this little flip. It’s late, and I must be getting delirious because I’m compelled to go talk to her. That’s a silly thought because tomorrow morning I get on a plane to go back to LA to work on a new movie role. There’s no time to get to know this woman.

Briefly I consider a one-night stand with her. A fling. But the more I gaze at her, holding her eyes now with my own, the more I know that she’s not the type to fuck a stranger. No. This woman is the type you grow old with, shuffling around the dance floor together in your 80s. There is applause from the remaining crowd as the bridal couple dance, Allen twirling the bride around in her gown, lace flouncing out. It draws my attention away from HER, and when I look back, she has a wistful gaze on her face as she watches them dance. Why is she lonely? Why is she here by herself? A woman with her unconventional beauty should not sit alone at a wedding. It feels like a betrayal to women everywhere.

When her eyes turn back to mine, I try to determine whether I should approach her or not. Her fingers rest over her mouth now, absently tracing the line of her lips, drawing my attention to them. I lick my own lips as I watch her. It’s after midnight. I could easily head up to my room, making my excuses. No one would question me. But still, I hesitate.

He is still observing me. Is he watching or flirting with me? Nervously my fingertips dance over my lips. Shifting on my chair I feel a little uncomfortable. Why should a man like him flirt with me? I bet he is thinking of a one-night stand. Shag the bridesmaid, and then disappear in the morning. God! I have heard such stories. I know millions of stories like that. I take another slug of my wine. The velvet liquid moistens my suddenly dry lips, and I swallow it down without tasting.

I can hear my best friend, “Have fun! Maybe you’ll meet someone.” Then she smiled at me and kissed my cheek. Yes, why I shouldn’t have fun? Was it not allowed for me to have fun? Yes! But I know how it would end. He would whisper sweet things in my ear, so I would give in, and he would leave while I’m sleeping. Only the sheets which smell like him would disclose that he had been with me. And I would ask myself the whole way home why he left without giving me his number or without any greeting or even a goodbye. Then I would lay in my bathtub, disgusted with myself that I was so stupid.

Sadly I look down at my lap, smoothing my dress. But why not? I know how it ends, so there would be no surprises for me. Why am I hesitating? What if he is Mr. Right? I roll my eyes. What a stupid thought! But what if he is my Mr. Knightly? Stealthily, I try to look up to him. I try to hide my face with some loose strands which fall over my cheek. I can see only his right foot. He wears black boots, and the trousers are in a black and white floral pattern. The old couple turns around, and I recoil immediately as he appears in my point of view. The backrest of the chair drills into my back. What am I doing? Closing my eyes I hear the band start a new song. One of my favourites. Privately, I hoped they would play it. The soft tunes from the guitar wave to me as the musician on the record starts to sing.

“So, So you can tell...Heaven from hell”

Still with my eyes closed I start to sway my body to the melody. Slowly I open one eye to check to see if he is still looking at me.

Watching her sway as she listens to Pink Floyd makes me smile, and I decide to approach her while she’s enjoying the song. Maybe just a single dance with her, a sniff of her hair, and then I’ll go upstairs to my room to sleep the night away. At least I will have the pleasant memory of her in my mind.

My eyes stay on her as I skirt the dance floor. She opens one eye slightly, looking at the spot where I had been sitting. When she sees I’m no longer there, both of her eyes pop wide open, and she starts scanning the room. The look on her face is more than curiosity or mild interest. No, she is concerned, worried, disappointed. The moment her eyes find me rounding the table nearest her, her shoulders slump in relief, and then immediately stiffen again in fear. I see the emotions cross her face, and I know she considers leaving the table before I arrive.

Suddenly a drunken bridesmaid is in the aisle blocking me. Where did she come from? She’s chugging directly from a bottle of champagne, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand when she finishes, and then burping in my face before she says, “Aren’t you Harry Styles?”

Nodding, I look around for her keeper. Someone has to be in charge of this woman. She’s a clingy drunk, too, and she leans into me, turning around so her back is rubbing against my front, and I know exactly what she’s trying to arouse as she tilts her head back to look up at me. “I bet you get lonely, don’t you, Harry?” she slurs, and I roll my eyes.

Hearing laughter, I move my eyes to HER where she’s clutching her sides as she giggles uncontrollably. “Help,” I mouth at her, and she continues to chuckle until I add a “please”. Coming over to where I’m standing as I try to fend off the advances of this handsy bridesmaid as she actually grabs for my cock through my pants. I hop my lower body away from her, and her hand falls flat.

My savior swoops in and takes the drunken girl by the arm, turning her around. “Melody,” she coos, “I think your date is over here,” as she leads her away from me. I notice that she has slipped her shoes back on before rescuing me, and I watch her ass sway as she guides the offensive woman away from me.

Will she return? Spotting her evening bag still at the table, I know she will, so I sit in the chair next to the one she’s abandoned.

“I guess she had enough to drink tonight,” I press my lips tightly together as I hand Melody to her date. She falls clumsily on his lap, and I ask myself why I slipped back into my shoes. Bending down to Mel, I look over my shoulder and spot his curly head at my table. Shit! Too quickly I stand up, and my head spins a bit. Biting my lip, I feel butterflies in my belly. Butterflies? Jesus! I’m nervous. If the key to my room wasn’t in my bag on the table next to him, I would sneak out of the tent. But now I have to return.

God! His smile makes me woozy, and as I think of his dimples the butterflies start flying again in my belly. Pressing one hand to my stomach, I start to walk in the direction of my table. It’s not my table anymore, though. He sits in the chair which was reserved for my guest. With shaking hands, I attempt to smooth some strands behind my ear, a nervous habit I’ve developed. They are still behind my ear from previous swipes, but… God, I’m so tense. Only a few meters separate me from him. My hands are fists on either side of my body. I square my shoulders. Involuntarily, I smile.

He looks to the right, and I see his profile. He has no hard lines on his face: it’s very smooth, nothing angular. It’s like a painting that the painter drew in complete devotedness. His lips are curved slightly and the color of his lips… I have to breathe in and swallow as my glance wanders further up his face. The straight nose … and his eyes. Damn. I never saw such an intense glance. His gaze is awake, and suddenly his hand slides to his lip, pulling on it. It seems that he is nervous too. Such a handsome man is anxious? No, not possible. I reach the table, still with the soft smile on my lips as he turns his head in my direction. His green eyes look up, and I hold my breath for a moment.

“Thank you,” he says in a smooth, husky voice. “It seems you’re the kind of helpful woman a man needs by his side,” he winks. I blush, sitting down on my chair.

“I don’t think so,” I mumble, pressing my flat palms on the table. Where is my glass of wine? I need something to hold. He raises his eyebrows, fixing me with his eyes. I stretch out my hand to grab the glass, still looking at him. It was inevitable that exactly this would happen. My hand misses the glass, and I try to catch it. As clumsy as I am, the half full glass falls over. The white tablecloth stains immediately with the dark red, and some thick drops dribble from my hand. My eyes are wide as I follow the path of the wet liquid. On his left leg is a darker spot, and I see how the wine has soaked his trousers. All I want is to escape. Tears well up in my eyes, and I quickly grab the cloth napkin, pressing it on his leg. This is it. I will never be able to date a man. To marry a man. Or even talk to a man. Ever again.

“I...I..God.. I’m so, so sorry!” I press the napkin hard on his leg as if it were a bandage. His hand touches mine while I’m pressing on his leg. Shyly, I look up to him, only to lower my glance promptly again.

“Everything’s fine,” I can hear his smile, but I do not have the courage to look at him. “It’s last season’s Gucci suit.”

I ruined a Gucci suit. I ruined a suit which cost a fortune. Where is the hole into which I can disappear? Closing my eyes I press tighter on his leg. His hand slides tenderly over mine; his forefinger strokes over the back of my hand.

She’s so nervous, and it’s so sweet watching her press the cloth to my trousers. “It was an accident,” I try to tell her, but she’s having none of it. I don’t care about the suit. It’s a pittance in the grand scheme of things.

Her eyes have filled with tears, and she won’t look at me. “I can pay you back for your suit. It will take me a few years, so please tell me you’re okay with a payment plan,” she whispers.

I chuckle loudly at her comment, “You want to pay me back for spilling wine on my trousers?”

She nods, and those tears look like they are about to spill over. “Simple,” I smile at her, and I know that my dimple is showing at its finest right now, which is good. The dimple is a great weapon. “Dance with me.”

Her breath catches, and I want to bundle her into a hug. Her eyes roam over my face, and I can tell she doesn’t believe that it’s that easy. But I rarely wear the same suit twice, and I’ve worn this one three times, so it’s time it retired anyway. What would I want with her money? But a dance. Fuck me. I’ve wanted to dance with her since I laid eyes on her.

“Really?” she whispers, “You want to dance with me after I ruined your suit?”

“I’ve wanted to dance with you since spying you over here with your bare feet,” I reveal to her cautiously, afraid she will bolt at my attention.

She blushes, “You saw? I only took them off for a few minutes.” So I tell her how much I wished I could have taken my own shoes off, and she’s laughing within the next few minutes.

When the song changes to “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye, I stand and hold out my hand to her. She smiles at me shyly and takes my hand. Pulling her close, I practice shuffling my sore feet like the elderly couple had done. She feels so soft in my arms, and I spin us both around a few times, twisting her in time with the music. Her left hand grips my shoulder, and our right hands are intertwined.

As I had imagined, her hair smells amazing when I bury my nose in it. And when I press a soft kiss to that spot behind her ear, she shivers just a bit. I pull her tighter to me, sliding my leg between hers just as Marvin is singing, “I’m asking you, babe, to get it on with me.”

[madqueenalanna]

Of apples and other sweet things

York and Carolina go apple-picking, and she’s got something to tell him. Sequel to “Of roller coasters, emotional and otherwise.” For @lostlegendaerie and @ariosedreamer.

“Fun fact about apple picking,” York said, zipping up his hoodie. “I used to get hay fever wicked bad when I was a kid and so I’d get all itchy and uncomfortable, but I didn’t know it was an allergy because my dad told me it was all part of the experience.”

“It’s definitely an experience,” Carolina agreed as they entered the orchard.

“I also swelled up the first time I ate pineapple, and he just told me that now there’s more of me to love. I actually have a shocking amount of stories where my dad just completely failed to recognize I was having a medical emergency.”

“That should be more worrying than you think it is, York.”

“I’m alive,” he said defensively. “And I took like four Benadryl before we got here, so I’m fine.”

“I think your dad was trying to kill you.”

“Well, I’m not about to send him a father’s day card saying I lived bitch so it doesn’t matter. What kinda apples do you want?”

“All of them,” she said immediately.

“What, every apple in the field?”

She laughed. “Yeah, if you can swing it.”

“I mean, I’ll try, but…” He looked doubtfully down at the plastic bag they gave him. “This isn’t gonna hold that many.”

“Sure it will. Just push ‘em in.”

“Oh, okay.” The side of the bag listed the types of apples in the orchard and their seasons. “I thought there were like two types of apples. Like, there’s green, and there’s red. What the fuck is Macoun? What’s a Northern Spy?”

“I want to try a weird one. What’s the weirdest sounding apple that’s in season right now?”

“Uh… Jonagold.”

“Cool. We’re finding one of those.” She marched off down the lines of trees, inspecting every sign for the one she was looking for. York had to grin and follow.

They’d picked a perfect day for this, just a hint of chill in the air and a blue, blue sky above. There were a lot of families, and that particular scream-laugh of children was all around. Later he would have to see if she’d be up for going through the pumpkin patch, maybe taking some home and carving dirty jack-o-lanterns.

Wash liked to call them dates, these trips of theirs, and they… were and they weren’t. In the sense that they were an outing between two people who genuinely enjoyed each others’ company, yes, absolutely. Like any good date, Carolina had picked him up with a coffee and the playlist he liked thrumming through her speakers; like any good date, he intended to invite her in after they got home and lay her down in his fresh-washed sheets with the sun still warming their faces.

After the chaos of their amusement park outing, they’d gone right back to not talking about feelings. They talked about so much else, though, that York didn’t have it in him to mind; everything else would come in time, or it wouldn’t, and he would learn to live with that too. Just being with her, laughing with her, seeing her the way no one else got to– like when she got so drunk she burst into tears when his dog licked her hand– that wasn’t nothing. That was everything.

She vanished into the lines of apple trees and he let her go, picking a few of whatever was nearby, a few huge Honeycrisp and a bunch of the sharp McIntoshs he liked. One of them was so ripe it fell into his hand with hardly any twisting, stem and all, and it looked so photogenic he had to pull out his phone and save something for Instagram later. Surprised to see a missed call from South, he took the picture quickly and called her back.

“South Dakota’s down-home barbeque, you kill it, we grill it, how can I enrich your day today?”

“God,” York said with a laugh. “Please tell me you knew it was me when you picked up.”

“So can I enrich your day or not?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. You called me first.”

“Oh, yeah, that was a mistake. I was trying to change your contact picture to that one I got of you mid-sneeze and I called you accidentally.”

“Aw, I thought you deleted that picture.”

She laughed. “Why would I delete that? Anyway, how’s the great outdoors?”

“I’m not sunburned, but all this fruit is stressing me out. I’m craving a pizza hardcore.”

“Yeah, relax, you’ll be over for dinner tomorrow. You want pineapple on yours?”

“You’re a terrible friend,” he complained. “Did Carolina tell you I’m allergic to pineapple? Does she tell you everything? Is nothing sacred?”

“Nothing,” she agreed. “Have you… talked to Carolina yet?”

“Uh, I guess so, we’ve been talking all day. What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” she said again. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Just… one thing, real quick?”

“Sure.”

“Did I enrich your day?”

He hung up without a goodbye, but he was laughing.

***

He found Carolina in a row of trees heavy with little apples the size of his palm. She was reaching up to grab the perfect one, smooth and round and red as a fairy tale, only to hand it to a little brown-haired girl bouncing around the base of the tree. “Thank you!” the girl said in her peeping child’s voice, before running off.

“That was cute,” said York, picking his way through the rotting apples on the ground to stand beside her.

“Yeah. Kids like me, for some reason. I never know what to say to them, though, I get so nervous. One time a kid told me my hair reminded him of Clifford the big red dog and I just said ‘no’.”

York laughed. “I just get the weird questions about my eye.”

“What’s the weirdest one you ever got?”

“One of Wash’s eight billion nieces was very concerned that I only had one eye, because apparently when she asked her mother why we need two eyes, her mother told her that we have one eye to look up at God and the other to watch out for the Devil. She was very concerned that I would only be able to do one or the other.”

Carolina smiled. “What did you tell her?”

“That my eye is just twice as good as normal eyes, so it works out the same. Did you find the apple you were looking for?”

“Not yet. I found this one, though.” She picked out of her bag another one of the small apples on the trees. “Try it.”

“What kind is it?” He took a bite; it was very light, very sweet. He tended to prefer the sharper, crisper apples, but this was nice too. So was the way she watched him eat it, her eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas.

“It’s called a Sweetie,” she said. “I got it for you. A Sweetie for my sweetie.”

He choked on the apple. “Christ alive,” he gasped, voice hoarse. “That’s the lamest thing you have ever said to me.”

“Good,” she said. “I topped my last best, then. I’ll top this one too. It’s good to have ambition.”

“You’re gonna kill me,” he said. “You’re really gonna kill me someday.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But before you die, you’re gonna live.” There was apple juice on his chin; she leaned in and kissed it away.

***

They did find the apples Carolina wanted, near the edge of the orchard. “You always make me go through so much effort for you,” he complained, but he was smiling. “First you make me go outside in the outdoors, which has sun and bees, and then you drag me all the way down this orchard for some weird hybrid apple whose name I am probably pronouncing incorrectly.”

“You pronounce every word incorrectly. You’re from Boston.”

“Hey! I mean, I know, but you’re talking a big game for someone from Texas.”

She made a face at him but then turned to eye the gnarled Jonagold tree. This section had apparently been picked over, because there were not many ripe-looking apples on the tree, and most were near the tops of the trees. “Dare me to climb up there and get those?”

“Nope,” he said immediately. “I don’t want you to die or break the tree.”

“I won’t break the tree,” she scoffed, like he hadn’t even mentioned the other thing. “I just want a few. Just keep lookout so I don’t get yelled at.”

“I’m gonna yell at you!”

She ignored him and swung up into the tree. He put his bag on the ground and looked at her anxiously, ready for anything. She tossed him an apple, and then another, and when those were safely in his bag she made to climb down… but her boot slipped when a shingle of bark flaked off, and she started to fall. York rushed forward and caught her before she hit the ground.

“I warned you,” he said. He expected her to roll her eyes, maybe snap at him. He thought she might tell him off or mock him in return. But as ever, Carolina never did what he expected of her.

“I love you,” she said, and he was so surprised he just dropped her. “Ow.”

“Don’t joke about that,” he said, stepping back. She stood up and brushed the dirt from her ass.

“I’m not joking. I thought about using a line, like, I dunno, looks like I’ve fallen for you, but that’s such a you thing to do that I…” She looked uncertain, suddenly, confused and almost nervous. “I’m sorry, maybe this isn’t the best…”

“No– no.” He moved in closer again, took her hands in his. “Say it again. If you mean it, say it again.”

“I love you,” she said without hesitation. “I love you, York.”

He pulled her into a tight embrace. “Oh, God, Lina. I didn’t really think you’d ever…”

“Me neither,” she admitted against his shoulder. In her combat boots, she was just his height. “But ever since the roller coaster, I did a lot of thinking… I realized every time I think about my future, you’re always there, and I thought about why that is, and it’s because I don’t want a future that doesn’t have you in it. If– if that sounds good to you.”

God, but it was weird to see self-assured Carolina stumbling over her words, and he knew it was because this was important to her– that he was important to her. “That sounds perfect. Oh, God, Carolina, can I kiss you?”

“You’d better,” she said with a little smile, and he leaned in to crush their mouths together. Their noses bumped together and he had to reorient himself with a little laugh, and their lips were sticky with apple juice, and the sun was beating down relentlessly and his black hoodie suddenly felt too warm. It was the best kiss he ever had.