#bahamas bowl

[bongaboi]

UAB: 2022 Bahamas Bowl Champions

NASSAU, Bahamas – Reynard Ellis tackled Jalen Walker at the 1-yard line on the final play of the game to give UAB a 24-20 victory over Miami (OH) in the 2022 HomeTown Lenders Bahamas Bowl.

Jermaine Brown Jr. scored the go-ahead touchdown for UAB on 4th-and-1 with 1:33 left in fourth quarter. Brown Jr. rushed for 116 yards and two touchdowns overall.

Trea Shropshire was the game's offensive MVP after tying the Bahamas Bowl record with 183 receiving yards. Michael Fairbanks II was the defensive MVP with seven tackles, 1.5 TFL, 0.5 sack and a blocked extra point.

The win was UAB's third bowl victory in school history and the first time UAB has won back-to-back bowl games. It also marked UAB's 50th win since returning to action in 2017, which is the most of any team in Conference USA during that span. UAB finished the year at 7-6 overall is 50-26 since 2017.

On Miami's first possession, UAB forced a turnover on downs and quickly turned that into seven points. UAB's first offensive play was a 48-yard completion from Hopkins to Shropshire, and those would connect again on a 10-yard reception for an early 7-0 lead.

UAB's second drive of the game resulted in a 42-yard field goal by Matt Quinn to extend the Blazer lead to 10-0 with 3:31 left in the opening quarter.

Miami scored late in the first half on a 33-yard touchdown reception, but the extra point was blocked by Michael Fairbanks II which brought the score to 10-6 at the half.

The RedHawks took their first lead of the game with 5:44 left in the third. Following a UAB muffed punt inside its own 5-yard line. It took Miami one play to find the end zone for a 13-10 advantage.

The Blazers took the lead right back on their next possession, going 75 yards in 14 plays and capping it with a 3-yard touchdown from Brown Jr. with 13:29 remaining in the game.

Miami then came right back with a 12-play drive that took up 6:37 of the clock and converted a 3rd-and-8 for a 10-yard touchdown pass to regain a 20-17 lead with 6:52 left in the game.

UAB's defense came up big once again and gave the ball back to the offense with four minutes to go. The Blazers went 70 yards in five plays, and Brown Jr. punched it in for the 24-20 lead.

With a minute to go, Miami marched down the field, but it was Ellis who played hero by stopping the RedHawks on the final play of the game.

[unabashegirl]

my best friend's dad | part 2

/N and Scarlett Styles are best friends in college. They share everything even their plans for Spring Break. They have a trip to Bahamas planned. Everything takes a turn when Scarlett is unable to fly, and Y/N is forced to coexist and interact with Scarlett's dad.

Author's note: I initially decided not to post this part on Tumblr, but people began having issues with me because of that decision. I received rude messages in my inbox, but I'm going to posting it—not because of the rude messages, but because my Patreon subscribers asked nicely for another part. I want to be very clear: I WILL NOT BE POSTING THAT PART ON TUMBLR. No matter how many insults I receive in my inbox, this will not change. i hope you enjoy.

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all the one shots and much more :) thank you beforehand!

word count: 2.4K

warnings: smut

part 1

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Harry, determined to keep a respectful distance from Y/N after that morning’s perverted thoughts. He dressed in a freshly washed swimsuit and headed straight for his studio, a serene space filled with natural light and a calming view of the beach and pool below. The sound of waves crashing against the shore provided a soothing background as he settled in at his drawing table.

He immersed himself in his work, focusing intently on finalizing the layouts for the new building project. The creative process helped clear his mind, and he found solace in the familiar rhythm of sketching and planning. Occasionally, he glanced out onto the balcony, where he could see Y/N below, absorbed in her book.

She looked peaceful, the morning sun casting a soft glow around her. He noticed her occasionally reaching for a piece of fruit from a bowl beside her, her expression content as she turned the pages. Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight.

By midday, Harry had completed the layouts he set out to finish. He stretched his arms and stood up, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Glancing out at the balcony once more, he caught Y/N turning herself onto her chest and untying the top of her blue bikini. She slipped on the top and threw it beside the sunbed. She was topless and Harry tried to hold his composure.

“How is Bahamas?” Jeff, Harry closest friend asked as soon as he picked up the phone.

“It’s fine” Harry responded as he sat down and took off his reading glasses.

“It doesn’t sound like it. How is Scar?”

Harry sighed, knowing Jeff could read him like a book. "Scar's doing well," he admitted, leaning back in his chair and glancing out at the tranquil ocean view from his study. "But... there's something else."

"What's going on, mate?" Jeff's voice held concern.

Harry hesitated, unsure how to articulate the conflicting emotions he'd been grappling with since Y/N arrived. "It's Y/N," he finally confessed. "She's Scarlett's friend, and she's... she's a guest here."

Jeff remained silent, sensing there was more to Harry's unease.

"I find myself thinking about her more than I should," Harry admitted quietly. "She's smart , funny, and..." he trailed off, unable to find the right words to describe the attraction he felt.

"You've got it bad, haven't you?" Jeff said knowingly.

Harry chuckled ruefully. "It's complicated. She's much younger, and I shouldn't be thinking about her like this."

"Maybe it's just a crush," Jeff suggested gently. "It'll pass."

"I hope so," Harry murmured, running a hand through his hair. "I just need to focus on work and keep my distance."

"Or you could test the waters. What if she's also interested?" Jeff suggested, knowing that his friend always played it safe and never ventured into morally gray areas. He believed Harry needed to embrace life more, and perhaps Y/N was the catalyst he needed.

Harry sighed again, torn between Jeff's suggestion and his own reservations. The idea of pursuing something with Y/N was both exhilarating and unsettling. He valued Scarlett’s feelings and didn't want to jeopardize them or make things awkward between them.

"I don't know, Jeff," Harry finally replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "She's Scarlett's best friend, and there's an age difference..."

Jeff interrupted gently, "You can't control who you're attracted to."

Harry nodded slowly, considering Jeff's words. He knew his friend meant well and understood his perspective, but the thought of complicating things weighed heavily on his mind. He had always been cautious, preferring to maintain boundaries and avoid unnecessary risks.

"I just don't want to mess things up," Harry admitted quietly, his gaze drifting back to the view outside. The ocean shimmered under the afternoon sun, a peaceful contrast to the turmoil in his thoughts.

Jeff nodded understandingly. "I get it. Just see how things unfold. You'll figure it out."

As they ended the call, Harry leaned back in his chair once more, reflecting on their conversation. He knew he needed to tread carefully, balancing his growing feelings with his respect for Scarlett and Y/N’s feelings too. He just wasn’t sure if he just wanted to sleep with her or something else.

Harry hadn't been in a relationship for years. He had devoted his time to work, ensuring his daughter had a comfortable life. If he thought about it that way, he felt he deserved to have some fun. However, he still didn't know if Y/N felt the same way toward him.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Harry?" It was Y/N, holding a bowl of fruit. Her hair was wet but pulled back by her sunglasses. Harry noticed she was already getting a bit sunburned and looked tanner than she had just three days ago. "I just thought you might like a snack," she said sheepishly.

Harry smiled, touched by her thoughtfulness. "Thanks, Y/N. That's very kind of you," he said, standing up and walking over to her. He took the bowl of fruit from her and placed it on his desk.

"So, this is where the magic happens," she said with a grin, walking over to the drawing table.

"Yep, this is it," Harry replied, his heart racing slightly at her presence. "Come, take a look.”

He led her to the table, where his latest project was spread out. Y/N leaned in, her shoulder brushing against his as she examined the intricate designs. Harry could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, and he fought to keep his focus on the work in front of them.

“Oh! Look at that” she said, her voice full of genuine admiration. “The detail is breathtaking”.

"Thanks," Harry said, his eyes flicking to her face.

As Harry explained his vision for the project, he couldn't help but notice how close they were standing. The small studio felt even smaller with her beside him, and the tension between them was palpable. He tried to keep his voice steady, but the proximity was making it difficult.

At one point, Y/N reached out to touch a section of the blueprint, her fingers lightly grazing his hand. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through him, and he glanced up to find her watching him intently. The air seemed to thicken around them, and for a moment, the world outside the studio ceased to exist.

Harry cleared his throat, trying to dispel the growing tension. "So, um, that's the main living area," he said, pointing to the layout on the paper.

They stood there, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words. Harry's mind raced, torn between the desire to close the gap between them and the need to maintain the boundaries he'd set for himself. He could see the same conflict in Y/N's eyes, and it only intensified the pull he felt toward her.

Finally, Y/N broke the silence. "I should let you get back to work," she said, stepping back slightly, though her eyes lingered on his.

Harry nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. “I was thinking of taking a break and going for a swim. Do you want to come?”

She gave him a small, smile. “Yeah”.

They both made their way out of the studio and down the path towards the private beach. The sun was burning hot as it neared lunch hours, and the air was filled with the sounds of seagulls and the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore. The crew was starting to prepare the table for lunch, setting out plates and utensils under the shade of a large umbrella.

As they walked, the soft sand crunching beneath their feet, Harry stole glances at Y/N. She looked radiant in her bikini, her skin glowing under the sunlight. He felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

They waded into the water together, the cool waves lapping at their legs. Harry couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration as they moved deeper into the ocean, the water enveloping them in its refreshing embrace. The sun glinted off the surface, creating a dazzling display of light and color.

As they swam, Harry found himself drawn to Y/N, their laughter and playful splashes creating a sense of intimacy and connection. They floated on their backs, gazing up at the clear blue sky, the worries and tensions of the world seeming to melt away.

"I think my face is getting burned," Y/N said as she stood up near the shore, the water lapping at her waist. Harry swam over to her, concern in his eyes. He stood up beside her, leaning in to check on her more closely.

"Let me see," he said softly, his voice full of genuine concern. As he leaned closer, his eyes scanned her face and cheeks, which were definitely flushed from the sun. The close proximity made Y/N's heart race, but she couldn't help staring at his lips, her breath hitching slightly.

Harry noticed her gaze, and his heart pounded in response. He could see the nervous anticipation in her eyes, and it was all the confirmation he needed. Slowly, deliberately, he closed the gap between them, his eyes locking onto hers.

She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. "Harry," she replied, her voice trembling slightly.

Taking a deep breath, Harry gently cupped her cheek with his hand, his thumb brushing lightly against her sun-kissed skin. The world seemed to stand still as he leaned in, his lips finally meeting hers in a tender, lingering kiss.

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as she responded, her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss was soft and tentative at first, but quickly grew more passionate as they both gave in to the emotions they'd been holding back. The warm ocean water swirled around them, adding to the sense of intimacy and connection.

Harry's hands wrapped around her waist as the waves nudged them deeper into the water. With the sea current interrupting their kiss, Harry lifted her off the ground. Y/N instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, holding on tightly.

Their lips met again with renewed passion, the sensation heightened by the cool water surrounding them. Harry's grip on her tightened, anchoring her against him as the waves swayed them gently. Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

Harry kisses her again but the softness if gone and now there is a sense of urgency. Y/N lips moved to his jaw and then to the side of his neck. Harry hand coming to grip her jaw to stop her.

“Are you sure?” He asked, not wanting to take advantage of her. She was younger and with less experience than him. The last thing he wanted to do was to pressure her into having sex. “I don’t want you to do something you don’t want”

“I want to” Harry didn’t question her any further. Perhaps because of his own selfish reasons. He untied her top and released her breasts, he tend to them, putting one of them in his mouth as his other hand massaged the other. He bit her softly, earning a whine from her.

“Harry” she moaned as she watched him devour her breasts. His hot mouth against her cold skin was a different sensation. Y/N was surprised that she had deliberately agreed to have sex at the beach, in the ocean. However, the desire was too intense to make it back to the house.

Y/N’s feet started pushing his swimming trunks off his body wanting to feel and see him.

“This is wrong” Harry said as he started to make his way out of the water and towards the shore with her still wrapped around him.

“So wrong” Y/N said as he laid her down on damp sand. Harry’s hand went to her sides and untied the sides of her bikini. Something had taken over him. He was ravenous for her.

“Spread your legs baby. Wider” His face was quickly buried between her legs.

“What if someone see us?” She asked though it quickly converted into a moan as Harry pressed his tongue on her, his nose brushing her clit. Harry hummed at the taste of her, she still tasted salty from the ocean water.

“Just like I imagined it” His finger drawing circles over her clit as he continued licking her and sucking her sensitive folds. “Don’t cum yet. I want to be in you when you do” he warned, his English accent raspier that usual.

“Then fuck me” Y/N begged, to which almost made Harry cum in his swimming trunks. It was such a stark contrast from who had arrived a few days ago. His hands frantically pulled down his swimming trunks. Harry’s head teased her entrance for a second before he sunk into her. He filled her up completely and for a second Y/N was worried that she wouldn’t be able to take it.

“God” She whined, throwing her head back, her hair getting covered with sand. Harry stayed still as he allowed her to adjust. He also needed a second at the newfound sensation.

“Fuck” he groaned as he pulled out of her and back into her. Her wet walls around him clenched up, as she looked at him drunken eyes. “You are so tight”.

She was overheated. The sun, the hot sand, and the way he looked at her as he pounded into her was too much. They were starting to get sticky. Harry hands gripped her hips, helping him to keep the constant pace.

“Cum f’me” he exhaled between thrusts as he felt her clench around him. Harry watched her come undone as she whimpered his name over and over again. Harry followed right after her before dropping right beside her.

Y/N looked over at him as they both tried to recuperate after their orgasms. She could see his skin covered with sweat and salt from the ocean and he still managed to look incredibly attractive.

“Don’t smile at me like that. You know it drives me crazy” He said with a smirk with his eyes still closed.

She didn't feel an ounce of regret...yet.

part 3 | sneak peek

[st6rrrs]

YOUR BEST FRIENDS BROTHER - RAFE CAMERON X FEMALE READER

SUMMARY: for the longest you had an crush on rafe cameron aka Sarah's brother but you couldn't date your best friends brother and besides he didn't notice you anyway... well until one night

WARNINGS: 18+, age gap, smut, non con/dub con?, dark! rafe, swearing, choking, hair pulling, dom!rafe, virgin reader, lost of virginity, rough sex, fingering, unexperienced reader, lmk if i’m missing anything

A/N: rafe is 21 reader is 16 btww!!!

also this is short

Sarah had invited you over so you guys could hang out and watch movies. Sarah's dad, stepmom, and little sister had to go to the Bahamas for her dads work for the weekend. Sarah and rafe didn't have to go so they stayed.

rafe has never been nice to you like ever. he always calls you names like bitch, slut, virgin mary, whore, slut , etc. so you can say he isn't very fond of you.

"so what are we gonna watch?" Sarah ask "maybe comedy?"

"nah I like horror better"

"but im in an mood to laugh" Sarah explained

"okay then what about a horror comedy" you secretly loved horror comedies more than horror but you would never attempt that.

"oh yeaa" Sarah said as you laughed at her

"im gonna go get the snacks i'll be right back"

you said while hopping off her bed and exiting the room. as you walked down the stairs you heard something coming from rafe's room so being the nosy person you are you walk back up the stairs and slowly tip toe to his room door and you put your ear to the door.

you hear moaning and groaning you were scared you thought he was hurt so you quickly opened the door concerned and you see rafe laying down on his bed jerking off. he quickly pulls the covers over him

"what the fuck yn get out" rafe yells

You were shocked you quickly shut the door and ran down stairs, what the hell did you just witness. you tried to get the imagine of rafe's long cock out of your head. You opened the cabinet too look for the popcorn when you felt a strong hand grip your shoulder spinning you around.

"you know its not lady like to enter somebody's room without knocking"

it was rafe, he seemed overly calm... weird.

''i-i thought you w-were hurt."

he laughs slowly and looks you up and down. you take a deep breath to calm yourself down

"you might be a virgin but i know your not stupid princess"

he smirks

"wait..." "was my dick the first one you ever seen before"

he smirks once again, you were too embarrassed to answer that question so you looked down to the floor.

he grabbed your face really hard probably bruising it forcing you too look him in the eye.

"answer. the. question." rafe said "i don't like being ignored y/n."

he looked angry. you were scared to find out what would happen if u didn't answer his question so u did.

"y-yes" you stuttered

he chuckles and lets go oh your face which is most likely bruised now

"holy shit"

"rafe just fuck off okay jeez. every time you see me you don't have to remind me that im still a virgin."

you say as you turn around and grab the popcorn and putting it in the microwave. thats when feel something pocking your lower back.

"no ew rafe stop" you move away from him

"fine, fine"

he says putting his hands up in the air like he's surrendering and walking back up the stairs to his room.

you sigh of relief and grab the popcorn out of the microwave, pour it in a bowl and go back up stairs to Sarah's room.

"hey im back i got popcorn"

"finally you took forever" she laughs

"yea umm your brother wouldn't leave me only."

"just ignore him he's an ass to everyone" sarah says while shrugging

you guys ended up watching scary movie 2. after the movie yall soon fell asleep.

you woke up around midnight you looked over at Sarah she was sound a sleep so sneakily you got out of bed to get some water from the kitchen while you were walking down the stairs you felt a large hand wrap around your figure and put a hand over your mouth so you wouldn't scream.

it was rafe.

"stop moving"

he whispered in your ear but you still tried to wiggle your way out of his grip. he drags you to his room and throws you on the floor locking the door.

"oww what the fuck is wrong with you"

you say almost immediately getting up running over to rafe to try and unlock the door but before you can reach it he grabs you by your hair

"i told you to stop moving" "i don't like disobedience"

"oww rafe stop your hurting me"

he throws you onto the bed back first and pulls off your shorts and underwear and gets onto of you. you tried to scream but he puts his hand over your mouth.

he takes his time pulling your tank top and bra off. you tried to scream but it was muffled due to rafe's hand. Once your tank top and bra is off he started sucking your right nipple.

you didn't want this.

you tried to tell yourself over and over again but you knew it was a lie, what kind of best friend would you be hooking up with your best friends brother.

you moaned, you couldn't help it. but you still tried to wiggle out from under him.

he stopped to take his belt off, pants, and boxers then threw them on the floor using both of his hands so you finally had an chance to say something.

"rafe stop please" you begged "Sarah wouldn’t like this.”

"i don't give a shit yn, ill do whatever the fuck i want to you and you cant do anything about it"

"rafe please stop” you pleaded

"i'll be gentle" he said sarcastically

at this point you were straight up sobbing pleading him to stop but you knew it was too late when he felt the head of his cock at your entrance.

he pushed himself into you and he wasn't gentle at all he started thrusting into you at a very fast speed.

it wasn't pleasant at all it hurt like hell, he was painfully stretching you out. it was very overwhelming

“God, your so tight.” Rafe grunts, slamming into you at a rate that will leave you sore for days.

You moaned and screamed tears coming out you eyes as he kept going faster and harder.

“Be good and take me.”

As he worked you closer and closer to the end, he squeezed your neck chocking you.

he never let up on his speed or brutality

You finished around him hard and heavy, your limbs becoming pathetically weak.

As you came down from your high His hands tightened around your neck harder as he fucked himself into you, harder and harder, until he was coming, too.

part 2 ?

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,354 Words

Summary: Sun and Moon take Earth and Lunar on vacation, which leaves Ruin and Solar to babysit Eclipse.

Warnings: Imprisonment?, Babysitting, Brotherly Bonding, Self-Esteem Issues, Touch-Starved, Cursing, Fluff, Mild Angst, let me know if I should add anything else.

To Babysit A Grown Man

The fact that they’d allowed him to live now was seemingly moot, Eclipse was a glorified maid at this point. They always had him cleaning and running their errands for them. Especially Moon, Moon the most out of everyone with Sun being the second most.

Lunar avoided him, Earth as well due to unsavory memories at the previous Eclipse and the Original. Ruin outright hated him. Solar was the one who was ‘friendliest’. Solar didn’t make him do things, but he also didn’t pay Eclipse much mind. But at least Solar wasn’t using the household ’maid’.

Eclipse had been most surprised when Sun, Moon, Earth, and Lunar left on a family vacation, leaving him under the direction of Ruin and Solar. He wasn’t sure why they’d trusted to leave him under the influence of their cousins alone when they’d kept him under strict lock and key before.

It was a stretch to think they were beginning to trust him, so perhaps it was an exercise to see if Ruin or Solar would truly betray them while they were all screwing off to the Bahamas or wherever they’d gone. Eclipse sure didn’t know where they’d gone, he’d just been told they were on a week-long vacation.

Eclipse sighed as Ruin went to charge and finally the judging eyes left as Solar was now taking shift to watch him like a babysitter. It was infuriating but, not that Ruin was gone, he was relieved. He’d rather be ‘babysat’ by Solar anyway. At least Solar didn’t threaten him constantly.

“So what are you up to, huh?” Solar asked, following Eclipse as he went to the daycare kitchen.

“Hobby. Thankfully Moon didn’t throw it out before he left like he said he would.” Eclipse grazed his hand over the large bowl of dough on the counter he’d made a couple hours ago under Ruin’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Yeah, been meaning to ask about that. What is that giant container thing you have on the counter all the time? Venom or something?” Solar asked.

“Bread starter. Sourdough.” Eclipse answered as he took the cloth off the bowl and put flour on the counter, tipping the dough onto the counter and using a knife to divide it into six. God, he made too much. Eclipse sighed at the amount he’d made and shook his head.

“Why’d you learn how to make bread, Clipse?” Solar asked, simply sitting at the table with his feet on it as he scrolled on his arm computer.

“I wanted to learn something…harmless, I guess. It just interested me when I saw videos of it.” Eclipse told him, mixing matcha powder into one of the six doughs and putting nutella on the inside of the dough as he rolled it up and put it into one of the six baking dishes he had out for the bread.

“Well, I’m glad you found a hobby. What kinds are you making?” Solar asked.

“Well, I made too much. And I don’t think I can stand all one flavor. One of them is matcha nutella. One last said it tastes good but I’m not sure for the rest.” Eclipse tried to figure out what exactly to do with the rest.

“You want help?” Solar asked.

“You know how to make bread?” Eclipse asked.

“Nah, I’m not into baking. But I can suggest shit we have so you don’t overproof it, or whatever it’s called, having to go get more stuff to use.” Solar chuckled at him.

“Hm. Sure.” Eclipse agreed.

“I have instant espresso. You can probably put instant espresso powder in one so you have coffee flavored bread.” Solar suggested.

“That…actually sounds good.” Eclipse muttered as he looked through Solar’s cabinet and got out the instant espresso powder, mixing a bit into one of the doughs and putting it into a baking dish.

“Chocolate powder in one of the others Then we have blueberries you can use for one. Maybe one plain bread. Aaaand maybe rosemary and garlic.” Solar suggested.

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” Eclipse grumbled as he did the other four as Solar had suggested and scored them and put them into the oven with a pan with hot water.

“I don’t like baking but that doesn’t mean I don’t like bread.” Solar told him.

“Well, yeah, bread is good.” Eclipse sat with him to watch the oven. “Get your damn feet off the table.” Eclipse playfully shoved Solar’s legs off the table and onto one of the other chairs.

“Ugh. Can’t a guy put his feet up?” Solar sighed.

“Not when you’ve got those damn boots on. I don’t wanna clean the table a third time today alone.” Eclipse rolled his eyes.

“How long?” Solar nodded to the oven.

“Twenty minutes. Take the tops off and 20 more. Sadly, they need to rest for like an hour after before I can cut them.” Eclipse watched the clock.

“Fucker. Why can’t we eat molten lava bread?” Solar whined.

“Because it’ll kill every bit of our internals it touches. And it needs to cool to cut it. Or it won’t cut right or something.” Eclipse told him.

“Despair and disappointment.” Solar chuckled. Eclipse felt relaxed, he liked this little banter. It felt like he wasn’t being babysat, it felt like he was at home with a friend. Family? Were they family? Did Eclipse even get that title?

“You’re overthinking again. What’s in your head?” Solar asked.

“I…just….Are we family? Do I deserve that even? O-Or am I just being delusional or something?” Eclipse asked.

“You’re not delusional, we are family. You’re like my little brother kinda.” Solar smiled.

Eclipse halted and stared at Solar with slight awe. He’d thought Solar would call him a cousin or second cousin thrice removed or whatever meaningless title he could think of. Hell, he thought he’d get told no and called a nuisance.

To be called brother. It felt like someone lighting a fire into his core, it made his processors run on overdrive and his engines turn warm with heightened intensity. Eclipse felt…happy? Wanted? Loved? All he knew was he felt warm and excited.

“Eclipse, your bread.” Solar reminded him, opening the oven and taking the tops off for him.

“Thank you.” Eclipse felt tears well over his cheeks and he couldn’t help but smile, artificial breaths staggered with tears.

“You’re welcome.” Solar told him, not yet noticing that Eclipse was in tears. Solar put the tops of the cooking dishes in the sink to be washed. Solar came and sat back down with him and Solar finally seemed to take notice of Eclipse’s tears.

“You okay?” Solar asked, sliding a hand over but hesitating to hold Eclipse’s hand.

“You really see me as your brother?” Eclipse asked softly.

“Of course I do. I don’t get much time to hang out with you but yeah, you’re my brother.” Solar held his hand and Eclipse melted into more tears because of it. He hadn’t been touched that gently before, ever that he could remember.

“You’re too nice to me.” Eclipse whispered.

“Eclipse, come here.” Solar forced Eclipse to stand and hugged him into his arms. Eclipse melted against him and cling on tightly. The hug was so simple but it made him break down finally, choked sobs leaving him. His engines felt so warm and his processors felt like they were burning.

“It’s okay. I get it, it’s okay.” Solar rubbed his back softly and Eclipse sniffled, his fit of tears slowly petering off. He let go of Solar slowly and wiped his tears off his face, trying to stop crying.

“Thank you.” Eclipse whispered.

“No problem, little brother.” Solar ruffled his rays and made him laugh a little at the feeling of his messed up rays.

“Now about bread, I’ve got questions on if we can bake moondrops into them.” Solar told him.

“If we crack them like eggs maybe. Or melt them down.” Eclipse answered, laughing more at the idea.

“We’re doing that and giving it to Moon. Maybe force him to sleep for once.” Solar told him.

“You’re taking the blame. Not it.” Eclipse claimed.

[swaqcenix]

༻My Musical Muse | Wanda. Maximoff༺

Wanda Maximoff x gn!reader

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Warnings: Literally none, just tooth rotting fluff!

Summary: You'd moved to Paris for a mere few weeks to focus on some studies. Every night you heard the soft play of the guitar. It was when you joined in with the piano, you and Wanda connected eyes. Perhaps a break from the Avengers was what bought her to you, perhaps it was the instruments.. or maybe it was just all at once.

Pairings: Wanda maximoff x gn!reader

Word count: 2.9K

AN: This was actually inspired by watching the TV show 'Only murders in the building,' so I'd check out that series. Although NOT the couple in it. Anyway, just me writing fluff rare occasion for real! <3

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Your hand moved gracefully across the pages of work you had now got splayed out across your desk. You weren't sure whether moving to Paris was one of the most easiest things to do, but it was only for a few weeks.

You'd spent 3 years studying this course, although that being said it was a rocky 3 years. The Avengers with that Loki guy making your country spiral into hell and don't get you started on the metal guy in Sokovia. There always appeared to be some chaos spiralling around on earth.

The wind blew through the open windows, drifting slowly over to you and bringing you out of your thoughts. You shivered slightly, the air in Paris despite the time of year being seemingly colder than expected. It wasn't like you were in the Bahamas though, and the apartment itself was beautiful and peaceful for your studies.

You glanced at the clock that read 6:05pm, realising it was almost time. You grabbed your yogurt bowl, shuffling towards the window and sitting upon the ledge. Every time at 6:10pm the woman who you knew not a face only her instrument played.

You knew it was a woman from the glimpse of the fingernails you saw on the guitar. She played so beautifully, apart of you thrived on the mystery of your neighbour of the apartment opposite you. Sometimes you'd get a glimpse of her hair, the brown locks splaying down over the guitar.

That's all you knew of her though. Same time every evening, she strummed away at her guitar with such ease and precision it felt like it was calling you. Your favourite piece she'd played was Yellow. It was so beautiful on the guitar and it felt like it was calling to you.

Your mind was brought away from your thoughts when the all too familiar sound of a guitar drifted through the air. It plucked at your own strings, your heartstrings yearned for the music that had become apart of your life.

The consist longing of wanting to know who the person was behind it, yet deep down it felt like you knew them. As though every note, every strum of the guitar elicited you to know everything of the mysterious player.

You stood moving close towards the window cill of your apartment, wanting to get a better look at the anonymous woman strumming like the world wasn't ending. The wind drifted into your room and it sent a chill up your spine, running through your body. It wasn't due to the cold but simply the contrast of how it matched perfectly with the scenario you were encountering.

Upon further enduring the sound that drifted from her own apartment you recognised it's music. She was strumming along to the song, Until I found You, and it was utterly captivating.

All you heard was the tune, drifting around the streets of Paris around your own comforting apartment blocks. Those who dared to listen would listen to a blessing of a woman who sang through her instrument, telling the world of her story.

'Oh, let me hold you

I'll never let you go again like I did

Oh, I used to say'

The sound of the music drifting through to your own apartment, through your own window caused something in your to snap and break. An idea arose in your head, one of which you were surprised you'd yet to think of before.

Without warning, without question nor any thoughts your body unconsciously found itself levitating towards your piano. It remained untouched, calling out for the delicate hands of your own to place them upon it. Craving the sweet sound that left it, wanting to be heard once more.

You scarcely had time to think before your mind had settled on the matter and you were seated at your piano once more. You sucked in a heavy and deep breathe, before sighing out preparing yourself for the inevitable and closed your eyes, before joining in with the mysterious woman.

'I would never fall in love again until I found her

I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into"

I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her

I found you'

Your hands went away with the keyboard, carrying your mind and your soul with the music. Every note every sound every pressing time of the key, you became infatuated.

Turning your head towards the window once more, you trusted your fingers to play the keyboard without needing to look. Your hands would instinctively know which note was following suit, even with leaving an instrument for so long just bitterly untouched.

You almost let out a soft gasp as you saw the woman almost come entirely to the light, hiding only but her face. The way her brunette hair cascaded down, moulding all of her, her face cast in the shadows away from view of sight.

The cream coloured shirt ironically with spots of daisy's to complete it that entirely matched her guitar. The outfit matched with a light brown cardigan that carried her figure completely as your eyes drifted down to the deep blue jeans she wore well on her legs.

It was the way you had no explicit way of explaining it but the the way she dressed, her clothing the way her skin looked soft, was exactly how you'd envisioned it. As though she herself was in many ways like her guitar, spoke with a melody not with words.

She almost hesitantly stepped forward, almost allowing the light to illuminate her face. Instead she stopped, including halting her own strumming to the melody and you couldn't help the sinking feeling in your chest.

However, at closer inspection she was alluding toward you, directing the guitar towards you indicating she wished for you to carry on. Your head felt light, like you'd shot up to cloud 9 and that sinking feeling danced away instantly.

Your hands once more found the keyboard, playing by memory or thoughts you did not know. All you were familiar with was this mysterious woman, your own musical muse glancing from afar at your playing.

The way the lyrics spoke to you even with no one singing it. It felt like your own personal song with no explanation no illusion to why, just simply playing. You spoke not in poetry, not in singing or talking, but with a melody. Her posture seemed softer as you continued to lull with the rhythm of the keyboard.

'Georgia pulled me in, I asked to

Love her once again

You fell, I caught you

I'll never let you go again like I did

Oh, I used to say'

Although you couldn't see it, you felt it. Her smile could light up embers and a light of golden joy that you had no idea was missing. How could someone do that without even showing you it? You weren't sure but the mysterious musical muse woman had.

Your hands stopped dancing on the keyboard as you let out a heavy sigh, until you took a sharp intake of breath. Your breath got caught within your throat at the distant yet close sound of a guitar.

Turning your head to the side, you watched the woman once more strum away as though nothing and nobody could hear. Nothing and nobody except you. Your heart jumped at the final lyrics, being played towards you so softly.

'I would never fall in love again until I found her

I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into"

I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her

I found you'

You felt your heart jump in time with the strumming of the guitar almost as though it was your own heart she was playing. Not in a negative aspect but simply trying to worm her way into your own heart, making her own mark.

As the playing game to a sad end, you felt your eyes water and why? You weren't sure, you'd never been overly emotional yet for some reason right now you felt a wave of emotion hit you with such force.

Your hands clasped back into your lap, your nails digging into your skin to keep your heightened feelings in check as you watched the mysterious woman place the guitar down. Ever so observant, you noticed how her hands seemed soft and her nails looked after you felt the longing urge to reach out and touch them.

It was rare and odd to feel such away to someone you'd never seen let alone spoken to. Yet you had seen her just not her face. She shown her soul to you in another way, in the rarest and touching of ways a human could do.

Her body moved back into the light, swaying with a delicacy you didn't see possible until now. She moved with such grace her body carrying herself from one place to the next like music from an instrument. It was this moment your breath hitched and your world froze entirely in it's track's.

Her face touched the sunlight, the light cascading down as it kissed her skin and illuminated her identity finally to the light. You couldn't let out another noise nor move an inch. You recognised those features, those eyes and that facial structure anywhere. It was her. Wanda Maximoff.

The news spoke of her with a hatred, the public believing this woman to be reincarnated as though she came from the devil himself. You'd payed no mind to anyone, you saw her as a person all the same.

Yet you never saw her this gentle, this alluding to such kindness and a soul so bright. Her soul carried music and songs with laughter, while her outside world carried such a hatred.

Your eyes connected with her own as you gazed into the familiar, yet now not so familiar green orbs. They carried so much emotion and so much pain along with what you discover to be fear. She was afraid. Afraid of what you might think now you knew the face, the true face behind the mysterious music that carried such a weight.

As you fixed the pieces of the puzzle together everything made sense all at once. The hiding behind the sunlight not wanting to be seen, afraid of her own soul. The public had made her into someone so cruel she was afraid of herself. You recognised how they feared her hands alluding to her to fear her own.

You watched in silence on how her hands came back to tuck under her sleeves. She still feared them. Yet the music she allowed you to hear, her hands seemed warm and soft. They seemed like apart of her was made from a melody a song waiting to be heard.

You stood up with determination and found your body reacting as though it was no longer you in charge. Your feet spun on the spot, turning towards the door mind moving without thought. You caught a glimpse of how her face dropped and her head turned down, towards the ground.

You gathered she assumed you were like the rest, but you we're not. She sat at the window allowing the world to hear her song but you heard more than most. You heard her.

Feet padding along the floor, your door flung open and your mind raced as fast as your body was. The way everything fell into place as the realisation set in. Wanda Maximoff was no monster, she was anything but. She was simply human who had been taught to fear herself.

Her escape through music, allowed her eyes to close and her face to be hidden but her hands to be seen. That her hands weren't to be feared and for just one singular moment. She didn't have to fear them ether.

God only knows how you knew what her apartment number was, well frankly you didn't. Your mind was racing on instinct and adrenaline. Sure you knew what floor it was judging by the layout and the view from your own window, but the number would have to be a guess.

As you approached the floor with a ferocious speed, you allowed your gut instinct to take over your mind. Eyes glazing and dancing over each of the doors, one settled in your mind and you started out towards it.

Yet your fears caught up to you and your mind and body froze in front of the door. You felt your hands become clammy and shaking none stop as bile rose slowly up your throat. Your fear was settling in and overtaking your body.

Yet as that thought started to succumb through your mind and body, you reminded her own fear. How the public had embedded her own mind and soul into thinking she was a monster, into fearing herself. You had to show her you weren't apart of that public, allow her to see you and know you as she'd done for you.

With your mind racing with adrenaline and anxiety, you pushed away the thoughts and allowed your hand to reach up. 3 steady knocks echoed through the complex hallway and your heart hammered heavily in your chest.

The sound of shuffling came from the other-side and before you could back out you were greeted with a sight. You let out a heavy sigh of relief when you saw none other than the same woman, Wanda Maximoff stood on the other side of the door.

However, her posture seemed more on edge, fearing you in a way. Your heart shattered when you really took her in and noticed the red rim around her eyes as she'd softly cried at the thought of a stranger, yet one she'd showed herself to fearing her. The public moulded her into something she wasn't and anger shook within you at that.

"Hi," you whispered your mind too fearful to speak louder.

You didn't want to startle her or think you were here to cause trouble. You wanted to thank her, for all those moments she'd shared with a stranger across an apartment complex. A musical muse she'd shared toward you.

"Well hello," her voice was raspy and her Sokovian accent laced within it.

Her voice sounded so sweet in person, sweet like honey like a melody of a song you never wanted to end. She was everything you expected the mysterious muse to be and so much more.

"Listen I," you began but the Sokovian cut you off.

"I'm sorry for the fear I've caused. I know what people see when they look at me. I played the music to be heard, seen in another light. I'm sorry for frightening you, I know th-" her voice was cut off by your lips.

You didn't know what overcame you to surge forward and clasp your lips over her own, but the last bit of instinct took over you. You felt her body go rigid and you readied yourself to pull back but you felt her arms wrap around your neck, pulling you in closer.

Your lips danced together as one, the silent music didn't need lyrics, it didn't even need to be truly heard. You felt it and had no doubt in your mind that Wanda did too.

Pulling yourself back, the need of air became too strong and your foreheads rested together. Your breathes mingled together and you looked into the emerald green eyes of the Sokovian smiling softly.

"I'm Y/N, you can call me Y/N/N," you whispered earning a small giggle from the Sokovian allowing your heart to melt at the sound.

"Y/N," she stated testing your name on her tongue and it sounded delightful.

"Y/N/N," she repeated your nickname this time and your heart jumped.

This was a woman to be loved, to be heard her song sung loudly. Not to be feared.

"Wanda," you began but she placed a finger over your lips.

"It's Wands to you," she said her hands leaving your neck and your clasped them tightly in your own.

"I know you fear yourself and the public fear you. But you need to know, they're wrong about you. You are wrong too. I don't fear you and you shouldn't ether. Your songs you strummed and played with these hands. They're apart of you. All of this is in your soul and your soul is beautiful, as are you. Your soul is kind Wands. Don't see a monster. See a musical muse that showed me the truth," you whispered to her pulling back so she could see you.

Following your actions you kissed both her hands clasped tightly within your own before looking back at the Sokovian. Her eyes filled with tears as she surged forward, kissing you once more. Your tongues danced to a melody that you once again felt pull at the strings of your heart. You saw her and heard her, your muse.

As she pulled back once more, she tilted her head backwards so you could connect your eyes with your own. While she was a simple stranger to most, even to yourself there was much more to discover. She'd shown you herself the true her with songs and with a melody. She'd taught you her own song.

"Thank you for allowing me to see you," you whispered watching Wanda give you a watery smile in return.

Resting her forehead against your own she whispered back.

"Thank you for allowing me to be seen," she responded back.

≿━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━≾

[scarlettsandmaroons]

it was paradise | n. romanoff

about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist

pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader

chapter nine | chapter ten: all the love we unravel

chapter summary: you couldn't tell when mrs. romanoff became natasha romanoff; the woman who'd laugh with her friends, or kiss you in an empty parking lot. when did the big, bad, mrs. romanoff who you prayed would take you off her radar, became nat, the very woman you'd beg to look at you. when had the hatred turn to all this?

warnings: curse words, fluff; public displays of affection, platonic relationships, cheesy. unedited.

a/n: im sorry it took so long!!!! this was initially much much longer. but i had to cut this part in half. i had to sneak in this bit of fluff in the story, i think we all deserve it. but anyways, natasha and reader's relationship is just so <333333

"oh fuck off, romanoff!" tony yells when natasha steals the last bit of popcorn. the boys complain after him, clint taking a forgotten piece to throw at natasha. natasha expertly dodges even when facing away and walking back to her small kitchen. 

you took a handful of your popcorn and threw it at tony, "hey, don't talk to my woman like that," you laugh, but not as loud as thor did when he joined in and threw a handful from your bowl at tony. and thus begun the ruckus in natasha's apartment of you and thor teaming up against tony in a popcorn war; clint and steve laughing at how tony tries to hide behind his swatting arms, and bruce trying to avoid the flying pieces of popcorn. 

"fine. no college fund for you then," tony declares after you ran out of popcorn to shower him with, "and don't expect me to pay for your expenses the next time you visit." 

thor chuckles, giving tony a big slap on the back on his way back to his spot on the carpet. "i'm only helping the girl," thor says, "don't talk to her woman like that."

"oh let him have his fun," clint interjects before bringing his bottle to his lips. "he knows romanoff won't do anything to him because y/n's here." 

"shut up, katniss," tony hissed, dusting off the popcorn from his hair, "i'm not afraid of romanoff."

"you saying something, tony?" natasha says from the kitchen just a few steps from where you were inside her open floored apartment. 

"no ma'am," tony salutes, and you all broke out in laughter. 

natasha returns with a fresh bowl of popcorn, setting it down on the coffee table near the foot of the bed. "you guys are cleaning that up," she says, dropping herself down to the spot next to you. 

"hey, y/n started it," tony insists, but natasha only chuckles.

"well, she did say not to talk to her woman like that, didn't she?" 

tony stood up abruptly, pointing a finger at natasha who left no space between the two of you. "i'm sensing favoritism," he pushed. "this is unfair. i'm calling a for a vote."

"oh, sit down tony," natasha waves him off. she began picking the few pieces of popcorn stuck on your hair before bringing your forehead up to her lips for a soft kiss. 

you swooned. 

"i feel cheated on," tony sits down defeated, "can you see this, i can't do that now can i."

"you can always book us that trip to the bahamas," natasha laughs, still looking at you while holding either side of your face close to her own. she places another kiss on your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. and then she stares at you for a moment more before letting you go. 

"did anyone get this on video? we need this for blackmail," clint says. "the big bad romanoff secretly a softie." 

everyone coos. 

"agent romanoff is in lo~ve," tony adds on. 

"the wedding shall be held in asgard!" thor yells.

"i'm not paying for the space travel," 

"you own the ship though..."

"gas cost money, bruce."

"see, steve gets it." 

you and natasha shared a laugh. enjoying the interaction between the five. if you didn't see them in their best tuxedos earlier, you would've forgotten how half of them were professors and the others, massive billionaires. 

of course, earlier, that was all you could see them as: mrs. romanoff's big shot friends who you are terribly far from impressing.

"so what does your mother do?" steve asks breaking the silence after you'd all settled down on the table right at the center of the expensive restaurant tony book you in.

"oh, i—," you looked at natasha for a second, afraid almost that what you'll say next might turn her friends off. way to get on a bad side of people you're trying to impress is to tell them your mother is a drug addict. by then, every attempt you make at getting on their good side would only receive pity. "i don't have one," you resorted. 

silence.

you feel natasha's hand on your thigh. she soothed it. and then she leaned in to whisper, "i'm sorry. they could be invasive," she tells you. "i'll tell them off later." 

you were thankful the waiter came in to save what was filled with them avoiding your eyes and clearing their voices. you hadn't heard what everyone got. just that they all ordered a complete five course meal with fish, meat, vegetables, and everything else. 

you were supposed to order next. at least, after almost a year of dating natasha romanoff, you'd grown accustomed to always ordering first, but this time she doesn't let you. 

she ordered first. 

"i'll take the oysters on half shell please," she started, looking at the menu. "then the shrimp cocktail too."

"any salads?" 

"no, actually. maybe just the caesar salad for me," natasha's hand never left your thigh. in fact, if continued to soothe over your exposed skin. "then maybe pan seared scallops and steak tartare," she looked at you. "rib or strip?" 

you stuttered for a bit, at lost for words when you realized that she was ordering for you too. 

you didn't know what you wanted. you never really do. you always end up somewhat regretting your order every time you and natasha go out. 

but in a hurry, you just utter a, "strip." 

"great. i'll take the new york strip, braised short rib. and for sides, just the baked mac and cheese for the girl please," she smiled at the waiter and you swore he melted when he had to force his eyes off her and to his little notepad. 

and you can't help but smile. 

"did you want anything else?" she asks, looking intently at you but you just smiled and let your nose touch hers. you see her cheeks grow red. "what was that for?" she smiled. 

she was never used to public displays of affection. even something as little as your noses touching, or your eyes looking a second longer than it's supposed to into hers. but of course, neither should she. something as destructive as your relationship should be kept a secret. even the smallest touches. 

but at times like these, when you're neither alone nor allowed, but you still sneak in those rare moments of affection, she swears, she falls much much deeper. 

"okay enough of that, the boy here is getting nervous," tony interjects, making you giggle out of the small bubble you and natasha had encapsulated yourselves into. 

"i think you're getting nervous too, tony," clint laughs but he knew enough to stop when natasha shot him a sharp glare. 

you smiled, soothing over natasha's hand that remains on your thigh before taking a glance at the waiter who was only standing there awkwardly staring at natasha, then at the hand you hold over hers. 

that's right, stare at everything you will never have. 

steve clears his throat. "uh, any drinks?" 

"we—uhm—we actually offer—uh, we only offer wines in bottles for service. other drinks; cocktails, mocktails, vodka, everything else you can get from the bar." 

natasha prepares as soon as the boy finishes, "vodka for me, and one mocktail. what are you having, boys?" she asks. 

"isn't—isn't y/n going to like something with alcohol too?" bruce asks. you would actually, but before you have any time to say anything, tony beats you to it.

"exactly. give the girl a break, agent. she's not a kid," tony protests in your place. 

natasha only chuckles, fixing the napkin that she took off her lap neatly on the table, "i think i know what's good for her, don't i, y/n?" 

"boo!!!!!! give the girl a drink," tony still stands. "give the girl a drink!" 

"no. we're riding my motorcycle home, and i'm not having her fall off my bike," she says firmly, almost like a silent command. 

but you still insist. you looked at her with pleading eyes, extending your arm to hold her fingers. "i want a drink, please," you say. "i won't fall off, i promise." 

"give the girl a drink!" tony chants but natasha's eyes stay on you, her smile, daring, but firm. 

she leans against your ear, her lips softly grazing your lobes, and her arm supporting her weight through her grip on your waist. you shuddered. "come on, dear. won't you listen to mommy? mommy knows best, doesn't she?" 

you were aware how exposed you were. in front of her friends. being at the very middle of the packed restaurant as tony claimed was the best table because of the sofa seats, tony, bruce and clint sitting across from you and nat who were the only ones on that side because steve decided to sit on an extra chair at the head of the table. you were surrounded by people, covered by a few friends who even then you didn't expect natasha would be so open with. 

you almost wanted to complain. i'm only meeting your friends, what if they say we're too physically affectionate in public and it turns them off? what if they're reminded of wanda and billy, the very people we're betraying while we're doing this in front of them?

but you couldn't. this was one of the very rare times when you get to enjoy her physical affection, in public which was terribly off-brand of mrs. romanoff. this was one, if not the only moment when you don't feel hidden, when you felt normal, when you felt seen by the world. when you satisfy the small hidden part of yourself that craves for the domesticity of public relationships. 

"i think she really likes you."

you hadn't realized she was gone until only the memory of her breath against your skin remain. and you remembered you were with her friends. 

you looked up. within the 30-45 minutes of knowing these people, you've come to learn that tony is a very bullshit person. he's the joker, the one who would bullshit his death by making it into anything but serious. maybe through his narcissism, or sarcasm, or jokes. that's what makes him charming. other than, of course, his billions of dollars net worth. 

"you think?" it sounded coy but you were serious. you had to know. did she really like you? or was he bullshitting you? would he build this up into a joke, a thing to make fun of natasha when she comes back? 

no. because he chuckles, and it was more genuine than even his smiles. and for the first time he looks away, and it took him a few seconds before looking at you again, "you know, romanoff called me last week. told me she wanted us to meet her girlfriend," he let that sink into you for a moment before he raises a finger, "you know, one thing about romanoff. she never calls me," he says. "she calls clint, tells him everything. she meets with steve. but that's between them. romanoff and i—we have a more eye-to-eye kinda thing. she came and visited me once, nobody knew i had a child by then, we look at each other for one second, and she understood the entire life i built beyond stark industries," he wasn't looking at you again. he was looking over your shoulder, unmoving. "when she called me first of all, i knew it was serious. group serious sort of thing. and then she told me she wanted us to meet her girlfriend? i dropped everything in my lab." 

your mind still processed what he meant. actually, it was so far from that. you were stuck on the image of natasha visiting tony. or meeting up with steve. or telling clint everything. the little things that makes natasha further from her life as mrs. romanoff, or as wanda's wife, or as billy's mother, or as your secret girlfriend, and closer to just being herself, natasha romanoff, it sticks to you. and it remindes you that beyond the labels, beyond the titles, the names. that she was just natasha romanoff before all of these. 

"natasha dated a few people, but none that we actually heard of," steve clarifies, but tony quickly took his spot. 

"we knew about rogers and romanoff. they had a will-they-won't-they going on for a bit until she got together with bruce. of course that's something we just found out during a party when his face fell into her boobs—"

you choked.

and so did professor banner. 

"she never told us anything. we know what we see, and the rest, well—who knows." 

"actually, we didn't know she was married to wanda until three years into the marriage," clint adds. 

your eyes widen at that, choking for the second time but this time on your glass of water. "what?" you ask. "you weren't invited?" 

clint laughs, "oh no, we were invited."

"wanda invited us," bruce says. 

"she invited us through text. she didn't specify who was getting married so we always just assumed she's either remarrying vision or she's marrying a new man," steve continues. "we assumed the latter." 

"we've always been a vision fan, so we didn't go in case she was actually getting married to someone else," clint notes. 

tony laughs in somewhat a bitter tone, but still humorous, "mind you, we had group night outs, phone calls and we texted all throughout those three years that she could've told us she'd gotten married to a mutual close friend."

"she didn't. and three of us works with both her and wanda at the university," clint losens his tie and slouches slightly against the couch. "we found out when wanda invited us for thanksgiving and said natasha should be preparing the table so we all came assuming natasha was only there to help." 

"plot twist, she's married," bruce finishes. 

there was a silence between your shared glances of natasha just talking to the bartender while being handed two drinks. 

"you take care of her, okay?" tony says. his voice had zero pitch to it. it was low, and lazy, and sincere. "romanoff, spent decades taking care of us. you know, when we're sick, heartbroken, happy, drunk, sad, in trouble. she picks up after us. she holds us together. and she still does to this day," he looks up at you. "do us a favor, take care of her. i think you're the only person she'd let take care of her."

"what are you whispering about," natasha asks, setting down your drinks, just in time for your meals to arrive. she looks at you while sitting down, and bringing the napkin to her lap again, "do you still love me?" she sets both hands on your thigh, completely facing you. "whatever these idiots told you aren't true. do you still love me?" 

you giggled. "i was hoping it might be true, actually," you say. 

"this," tony interrupts. "this is true." 

natasha rolled her eyes upon realizing that what he said might not be anything that would jeopardize the relationship you two have. she lands you a kiss on the forehead before fixing herself to her seat, and assisting the waiter in distributing the first round of meals.

"hello, friends!" 

natasha doesn't tell you much about her friends. but she's told you enough to know where they live, and what her relationship is with them. you know one of them lives very far away. 

this must be thor. 

he came in late. he entered with much energy, immediately pulling you into a hug. you were sure he would've carried you right out of your seat and spun you around if natasha hadn't got out in time to make way for you. 

he still picked you up and spun you around nonetheless, "oh is this the girl?!" he said. "look at you! you're a lot prettier than nat described you." 

you'd gotten dizzy. your world spun, perhaps because of this giant man that spun you around like a kid with his doll, or maybe because natasha told them about you. she told them, like how you used to with billy over the guy you had a crush on in middle school. she told her friends about you. 

"okay, okay, please stop. she's getting dizzy," natasha's voice faded into your thoughts as thor slowed down. natasha was already standing behind you, ready to catch you the moment thor sets you down, and she did. you fell limp into her arms as the world tried to catch up. "i swear to god, she's not going to make it out of here alive with you doofuses." 

while everyone stood up to give thor a hug, natasha had her hands loosely wrapped around your waist, and her chin on top of your head while she holds you still to recover from the unsteadiness. 

"so i see the problem," you hear thor say behind you. you turned around, still within the warm hold of natasha romanoff. "romanoff's smitten." 

you blushed a little. 

"am i—am i allowed to say that or will i be in trouble?" thor speaks when natasha doesn't, looking at the others for backup. 

"you won't. y/n's here. we're basically untouchable," barton says, laughing. 

that's how you spent most of the night—laughing. you slowly started easing into the group. they were laughing hard, and so were you. a lot of times, they were making fun of natasha, the others, they were asking about your life. 

everything was light. and you noticed how they were smart enough not to put you in a spot where you'd have to mention either wanda or billy. 

you see a glimpse of natasha's past through them. they were her family. you pieced that together after a few of their stories. 

natasha was almost silent all-throughout, aside from the occasional protest when tony makes fun of her, or the rare interjections of when she feels they'd gone too far with you. 

but because of all the laughing, you hadn't realize natasha cutting your meat for you, and taking the vegetables off your meal until she subtly switched back your plates which you hadn't notice was switched in the first place. you feel her constantly returning glances, checking on you, watching you. and when you ran out of the mocktail she got for you, you see her silently go off to get you another one. 

"natasha, i'm okay. sit down and talk to your friends," you tell her softly when she comes back with another glass for you. this time, you take her hand that's been holding your thigh the rest if the night, and held it with both of yours on top of her leg. 

"you heard the girl romanoff, sit down," tony agrees. 

you were aware that these little moments between you and natasha were in front for everyone to see, and bask in. but you couldn't help it. you leaned against her, your head on her shoulder and your arm tangled with hers as you waited for desert. 

at the end, what was supposed to be your last solemn night alone with natasha, became a loud one with her friends when they all decided to come over her apartment. 

they all shared a car, going off first while you and natasha takes a moment to yourselves when you walk through the parking lot to her motorcycle. 

you were silent, and walking so painfully slow as if you don't want it to end. 

you spent the entire week together. alone. while you did have classes, your girlfriend was a professor, so was most her friends. she had you excused for a week, getting your work sent through her. while she was on a leave. 

there's never a gap between the times you have to spend with billy, and the times she has to spend with wanda. but this week, with billy's research, and wanda's inability to leave the house without her son for long periods of time, you found your window. 

natasha lied; said tony invited the group to the bahamas with their families. she knew wanda won't be able to come because billy won't. so she just "brings" you. 

and just like that, you had one uninterrupted week of just you and natasha. 

"did you have fun tonight?" she asks, stopping you to face her so she can wrap around you the coat you refused to wear when you left her apartment. you hadn't realized she carried it with her though. 

"mhmm," you say with a smile, beginning to rock back and forth on your feet like a child. her hands found yours to hold. "i had a lot of fun with you and your friends." 

"they weren't too much?" 

"i feel like they'd get in trouble if i say yes."

"your intuition is spot on."

you laugh, "nope, they weren't too much then."

you fall into silence. comfortable, soft, kind. you watch the way the breeze blows the strand of hair away from her face. then it falls back, so you took it upon you to do a better job and tuck it behind her ear completely. 

she smiled at you, holding your hand against her cheek now, warming up your cold hands from the heat of her skin. 

"i want to stay like this forever," she tells you. 

you weren't religious, but every day you thank the lord for every moment when you get to feel the bumps on her skin, or see the mole on her cheek; when you get to feel her lips twitch into a smile, not see it behind her office desk, or in front of the rows of people you're sitting behind of, but through the kiss that you share the moment her office door closes, or the last person leaves her classroom. 

you weren't sure when all your hatred turned into love, when you started searching for her in every crowd, when you silently prayed for her praises, when avoiding her glances became begging for her gaze. when did you seek for her warmth beyond her approval? when did you chase for her recognition besides her dismissal? when did you thirst for her touch aside her praise?

the lines between hating her, and loving her was a blur. all you know was that one day you prayed you'd stop being the one student she saw, then the next praying you'd be the only one she'd look at. 

"stay with me forever," you tell her. 

she was a secret. she was forbidden. she was the sin you've been engaging in for a year. 

you weren't religious, but every day you thank the devil for every moment when you get to feel the curves of her body, and the mounds on her chest; when you get to feel her tongue on your skin, or her hand between your legs. never in front of wanda, or billy, or anyone, but in every moment when one of them turns back, to every time they look lovingly into your eyes unaware of the touches under the table, or behind the counter. 

you thank the devil for inventing sin. 

praise the devil for every bite you take of your forbidden apple for god hadn't thought about  the paradise you'd find in hell when he sent your ancestors outside his heaven. 

you kissed her, basking in the taste of sin, and hell, and your home through the saliva that coats your tongue. 

"i love you."

[our-transmasculine-experience]

My family had a partial early Christmas because we’re doing some travelling to see family. And my mom made the boys of my family these matching bowling shirts (apparently inspired by me getting a Matt Damon haircut and the movie Good Will Hunting, on of my mom’s faves) and I feel so nice and included!

Also, my family has a tradition of getting the boys Tommy Bahama shirts, and I got my first Tommy!!

AND my mom managed to find the style of tank tops I’ve been searching for!!

They’ve been so damn good with my pronouns too, I’m so happy. 🥹

(Also I got a haircut between when my mom made me try on the bowling shirt to make sure it fit and when I got the rest of my presents)

It’s been a really good Christmas so far 💙💙💙

you look great, dude! i’m so, so happy that there are trans people out there who have good families amidst the sea of trans people in horrible families. it just gives me some hope, you get me?

[tavolgisvist]

When he [Bob Eubanks] hired me he was the man who promoted the Beatles in LA. I was never really sure he liked them, but the hell, he was getting rich at the Hollywood Bowl. There were many other deals going. One of the drivers, after the first Bowl show, handed the Beatles towels to dry their sweat. He later cut up the towels, encased half-inch squares of towel in plastic, and sold them for five bucks each. The driver was really a radio station newsman. I guess he’s got turned on by now, but in those days he wasn’t very cool. It was all deals then. Anyway, I got to know Eubanks during our first American visit, with the Beatles in 1964, and he said whydoncher work for me buddy, we’ll get rich? So our family of six emigrated.

...

Paul Revere and the Raiders, the Beau Brummels, Joe and Eddie and Jerry Naylor. Plus the Beatles, for though I wasn’t working for them any more they were the love of my life and Bob Eubanks figured that with a love like that you know it can’t be bad. ‘I’m going to have you fly to the Bahamas,’ he said, the night we arrived in Los Angeles, 70,000 miles from England and intending to set up home. ‘Tonight?’ ‘No. Next week.’ Gee, thanks. Maybe we can get a house, find schools, buy some furniture, get used to the heat and, all in one week, fly to the Bahamas. And, also, he said, why didn’t I fly to Sacramento, see Paul Revere and the Raiders, make friends, sign them up and go on stage to say: ‘Hi. I’m Derek Taylor, used to work for the Beatles. I’m now working for Paul Revere and I’m flying to the Bahamas next week to see the Beatles make their new movie and I’m going to take them your love and also the good wishes of Paul Revere and the Raiders.’ I guessed this must be how things work in America, so I did it. I made friends with Paul Revere, signed them up and went on stage and made my speech. Later that night, I went to the motel where Revere and company were staying and he showed me how you could put a match to a fart and there would be green flame. I quite liked the guy. I liked the group too. They were good and they did well. They were all young then (all but Revere and Mark Lindsay who had seen a lot of hard service here and there), and full of hope of taking over from the Beatles. ‘Are we good enough?’ they asked and it was tough to answer ‘No’, so one just hedged and mumbled and begged the question. The next week I flew to the Bahamas with Dave Hull, squarest disc jockey at KRLA, an amiable short-hair who believed that Medicare had to be the worst thing to happen to America since the New Deal. We arrived in Nassau to find the Beatles just leaving for dinner in the town. They were less than glad to see me, old pal in radio drag with a tape-recorder over my shoulders. ‘This is Derek Taylor, reporting from the Bahamas. I have with me Ringo Starr of the Beatles. Hi Ringo. Nice to see you again.’ ‘Hi Derek. Nice to see you again. What are you doing with a microphone under my famed nose?’ What indeed? Bob’s idea was that I would use my relationship with them, my friendship even, and get interviews which would be unique: ‘Not merely interviews, but rather … conversation between friends’ was the slogan we would use to sell the tapes, once they had been cut up, packaged and prepared for use on radio stations. A scale of charges was drawn up – $50, $100, $200, depending on the wattage of the station. None of this was to be communicated to the Beatles. All they were to know was that Derek was doing a little gig for KRLA to get Prestige Publicity some working capital. Before the family and I had arrived in Los Angeles, there had been dozens of commercials on KRLA: ‘Derek Taylor is jetting to town. Derek Taylor? Wow. Yes, folks, Derek Taylor is coming to KRLA.’ Also, above my glamorous name, letters had gone to every showbiz celebrity in town, announcing my coming. Oh, yes, it’s all true. * Paul was very mean in the Bahamas. I mean, mean. Who is to blame him? Not I. Not me.

‘Bloody hell,’ he said when he saw me. ‘Bloody hell, Derek. You with a tape-recorder asking us questions?’

Oh yes, me with a tape-recorder. The thing was what was the thing I was? Their friend or a journalist or their ex-publicist Brian Epstein’s ex-personal assistant or a puppet of Bob Eubanks or a man in search of a career in American radio or what? The answer is I didn’t think there was any choice. I didn’t know about things like that. I mean I wouldn’t rob an old woman with one leg and a blind dog, and I wouldn’t take a bribe and I wouldn’t rape my sister but I would do many, many things if I was told to because that was the way it had always been. I would write a list of Forty Fab Facts you didn’t know about the Beatles and sell them. I would allow myself to be offered to Lloyd Thaxton of Hollywood as a television link man, I would do so many things which now would be quite ridiculous. I would, even, have the extraordinary cheek to turn up in the Bahamas with a tape recorder to interview the Beatles. It was as well I did it then; I couldn’t do it now. God, I must have been brave or daft or something I’m not sure any more. Brian had slipped out of the Bahamas before I arrived. A good idea. We hadn’t been very close since the previous year, 1964, when I had resigned in the Riviera Motel near Kennedy Airport. It was a shame because we lost valuable talking-time and he hadn’t very long to live and many, many people with whom Brian had trouble have their own regrets that their patience was not more extensive and, of course, patience was what you needed with Brian because he could be, if not impossible, then unbearable, and sometimes impossibly unbearable, but many of the people I like most are absolutely terrible. You too? Good.

We were down on the beach at Paradise Island (you reached it by ferry from Nassau; in those days it was owned by Huntington Hartford, later Howard Hughes) and it was a fantastic rich man’s folly with a casing like a palace out of Ben Hur, quite empty, safe doors swinging open, phones out of order – open to wind and water. The beaches that were Paradise, empty but for Beatles paying gold for the privilege, and an army of savage extras, one of whom was Murray the K, disc jockey lately become fifth Beatle and anxious to appear in a movie with them. (‘For the image, man.’) Down on the beach at Paradise Island, Dave Hull had one recorder and mike, I had another. He had given me his mike: ‘This will put more oomph’ (oomph, for Chrissake?) ‘in your voice,’ he said, showing me. ‘Moooore ba aaaaasssss sound, like, deeeeeep.’ OK Dave, I can dig it. The mike was faulty and I popped p’s in the breeze.

We split up between the Beatles. I took John first; caustic John who was really nothing of the sort. He pulled a couple of desultory put downs and then gave me as good a tape as you’ll get if you are asking questions like: ‘Whereja buy your boots?’ and ‘Do you enjoy filming?’ and ‘How old are you?’ of someone you know at least as well as your brother, and maybe better. George told me about going to a family wedding in Liverpool.

Paul decided not to be mean any longer – guessing, correctly, that life was bad enough without rubbing my nose in it – and talked about song-writing (‘we can carve Paul’s up into twenty pieces,’ said Dave. Let’s see, twenty by $100, that’s 2,000 bucks) and Ringo said it was great to be married, a quote you can read even today. It comes up as fresh as ever. That evening we had dinner in the open air, along a fine table laid with white linen and silver from a graceful pantry. I was invited with one of those, ‘Don’t tell a soul, man, just give Dave and Murray the slip, like come alone,’ and it was a nice time. Dave and I flew back to LA next day. Bob Eubanks met us at the airport with press photographers, a frown creasing his handsome, suntanned mask. ‘Hi buddy. Get the tapes?’ ‘Yeah man; got the fucking tapes. Lost me soul, tho’, lost me soul.’ He seemed very glad to hear it. Gayle and Cecil were waiting back at 6290 Sunset, Joan and the kids were at the airport with Bob and by the time we arrived home in Nichols Canyon, where we had just scored a house before I flew to the Bahamas, I was needed in the office to write about my thrilling experiences with the fab Beatles in the sun-drenched Bahamas. I thought maybe I was really earning the stinking $215 a week and Joan wondered if any money could make up for the changes she was having to go through. A few days later, Bob Eubanks and his team of mailers, tape-editors and salesmen were ready to market the tapes, segmented, trailered, packaged. Beatlemania would do the rest. An ad was placed in Billboard. Disaster … No one wanted the tapes, at all. But these, we said, were conversations between friends, we said. No deal, said the thundering silence. And Brian Epstein, through his lawyers in New York, threatened vengeance in the worst way. ‘I back down,’ I told Bob. ‘You stay where you are,’ said Bob. ‘We won’t have hands to count the money.’ Forget it. I backed down and out of Beatle tapes. Also, I never had the lust for gold again. Money doesn’t talk, it swears* and Hollywood is a town of many temptations. I left Bob Eubanks a few weeks later, taking with me 2½ per cent of the Byrds who were then grossing a few hundred a month and Paul Revere and the Raiders who had been paying Eubanks $750 a month but who asked me would I take $350 a month on account of they weren’t all that well heeled (they were in fact very well heeled), and I may not be able to do the job as well without Bob behind me. OK, OK, I’ll take it. This was the middle of 1965. The Byrds’ epoch-making Tambourine Man had been released and it had made Number 1 in the US and was about to do the same in Britain. Revere had yet to have a hit, but they were good on stage. The Byrds and Revere were both Columbia Records and they didn’t really enjoy each other’s music though they shared the same producer, Terry Melcher. Serving them was therefore like walking on a tightrope. It was like pedalling backwards on a one-wheeled cycle with a puncture, body all aching and racked with bennies, between ‘Revere: the finest performing group in North America, Oregon’s answer to Liverpool’, and ‘America’s best group’ which is what I thought about the Byrds then and still do, mostly. When, later, I picked up the Beach Boys, who also wanted their publicist to write ‘best’ and ‘greatest’, it became more a matter for a clever thesaurus than a tired, tired biped with twenty clients and five children.

...

In those days, and the more I write, the further off and the further out they become (remember the McGuinn glasses and David Crosby’s cape?) – in those days there was the Beatles and everyone else and as we flew to Britain, Michael Clarke, Byrd drummer, was asking, did I figure they would get to meet the Beatles? Since ‘These Are Not Merely Interviews, These Are Conversations Between Friends’, the last thing I wanted to do was run into the Beatles! Yet, all the pre publicity to the tour suggested that the Beatles would be intrigued to see what the Byrds were like. So a meeting was unavoidable. On our first night in London, I stayed in the hotel, the Europa in Grosvenor Square. Mike went out with Gene and David (I think they all went out) and at about 4 a.m. Mike woke me and said, ‘We met them, we actually got to meet the Beatles. Paul said “hi” and George wants to see you.’ Oh yeah? Next night it happened that George and John came to Blaises where the Byrds performed to a room no bigger than the one you’re sitting in now, on a stage insufficient to carry all the drum kit. They played louder than anyone else had been known to play, even in Madison Square Garden they were bloody loud, and Blaises or blazes, they were going to tune up and belt the music out. I thought they were marvellous and I think John and George did, but some of the English smirkers smirked and you only need a few English smirkers in a half lit room to feel pleased you’re not proud to be English. Upstairs in Blaises, after the set, John and George sat at a long table and invited us in. Boy, were they big-time then – I’d forgotten. It wasn’t them at all, it was the situation. They were absolutely IT. John sat at the centre of the table, George at the head and they sent for wine for free. It came and we arrived with it. ‘Thanks for the tapes,’ said John, very loud. ‘Which tapes?’ I said, very soft. ‘You know which tapes,’ said John, still very loud. ‘True,’ I said, a little louder, knowing that was the end of that. So it was. We all left, again in that under-the-breath ‘come alone’ way, John grabbing bottles of wine to wave goodbye by way of goodbye to Jim Carter-Fea, then owner of Blaises, By Appointment, Host to the Beatles. We went round to Brian Jones’s apartment where we smoked some hash and some grass and as there was no food in the place and, after the wine had finished, no liquid excepting a half-bottle of milk, solid as chalk, we went out for hamburgers and then went home.

*Bob Dylan

(As Time Goes by Derek Taylor)

(Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI)

[shefanispeculator]

Shefani from August 2021 - March 2024

1. Bought another plane (3 since 2016) and sold another plane (2 since 2016)

2. Updated Lodge again by adding/painting cabinets, a window in kitchen and a bar.

3. GB received a Hollywood Star of Fame

5. G launches GXVE Makeup

6. B releases 2 Seasons of Barmagedon with Carson. G appeared on both seasons.

7. GB do one more Season of the Voice together. Blake does last season of Voice, G does one season without B

7. B Fall Tour (21) and Winter/Spring 23 and 24

8. G Julie Andrews Tribute, Matrix Award, Hollywood Bowl

9. GB do numerous SB Events 22, 23,24

10. B opens Ole Red LV, total now 6

11. B at Numerous events, i.e. Scott H HOF

12. Family vacations Bahamas, Montana, and family outings so Nascar, Baseball and Football

13. GB at Opry

14. G does last LV residency leg

15 GB Release music and another duet Purple Irises.

16: GB add a greenhouse in OK

[ask-good-cop-bad-cop]

Heya cops! Heard it’s your day off :D! How was your day to the both of you guys? Uhh oo what’s your favourite smoothie flavour? Maybe the rest of the day can be not boring for y’all haha. I am bored myself lol

- @goofballalex

▫️ Not too bad! We went out early this morning to get some stuff for our new dog- some food and water bowls, a leash and collar, some toys, stuff like that. Didn't have much to do for the rest of the day though. Hmm, favorite smoothie flavor... I actually have two favorites, from our local smoothie shop. One called Bahama Mama, which has strawberries, banana, coconut, and white chocolate, and Mocha Madness, which is lots of coffee and chocolate!

▪️ Mine is their Island Green- it has spinach, kale, mango, pineapple, banana, and fresh ginger.

[seeminglyranch87]

Taylor & Travis Timeline

April 2024 - Part 1

April 1 - iHeart Radio Music Awards (x)

Taylor won the following iHeart Awards for 2024

Artist of the Year

Pop Artist of the Year

Tour of the Year

Best Lyrics - Is It Over Now

TikTok Bop of the Year - Cruel Summer

Favorite Tour Style

Taylor accepted these awards remotely

April 2 - Travis speaks to People promoting Kelce Jam music festival (x)

Kelce, 34, tells PEOPLE, "I'm the happiest I've ever been. I'm a guy that some people say is glass half full, half empty, and my glass is all the way full. It's all the way full." "I'm oozing life right now,"

"It's just so much fun getting into when you win the Super Bowl, all these doors open, and so I've just been going through all these open doors, experiencing life and just appreciating the people that have got me here and also staying high and meeting new faces."

"It doesn't feel like there's much chill in my life. Everything seems to be full throttle and just moving at the speed of light, and that's how I kind of like it. I like it to be up pace. I like to have just exciting things going on. And sure enough, I'm out here in the entertainment world trying to dabble into that before I get back locked in on football and knowing that that's going to be my focus until I'm done playing."

"But to dabble around in the entertainment space is something that I'm really interested in, it's just going to be an amazing opportunity to get out in front of Kansas City and just celebrate the Super Bowl win one more time." Travis says referring to Kelce Jam.

ETonline release 8 minute interview with Travis (x)

Speaking of his trip to the Bahamas with Taylor Travis says "t's just a lovely place down there isn't it you can get it all down there, all the love in the world 

"you make it all work is it just you prioritize what's important yeah I mean I think we're both very career driven, I think we both love what we do and you know any chance that I can you know show my support to her and knowing that she's shown me all the support in the world throughout the season it's just been an amazing experience you know getting to know Tay"

Travis spoke to Associated Press (x)

"The only thing I can learn from [Taylor] that translates into how I can perform is just how relatable she is on stage. She’s very comfortable. She brings everybody into the room with her. She makes it an intimate setting even though there’s 70,000 people at every show. It’s pretty impressive.”

Travis speaks with The Hollywood Reporter (x)

You’re producing your second festival and taking part in the live music space, while Taylor Swift put on one of the biggest live music events of all time last year with her Eras Tour. Did you learn anything from watching her do that? (Laughs.) I did: Don’t try and be Taylor, that’s what I learned. Yeah, she’s on a whole other stratosphere. She’s the best at what she does for a reason. It’s because she’s so articulate and just very dialed into every single thing that she does. And that’s the beauty of it. I’d be silly if I ever tried to take anything from what she does, other than just enjoy the people that show up. I think that’s one thing I could probably take away: She really relates to the people she’s performing in front of, and so I’ll take that. Her four-hour concert is not easy to do … It’s impressive.

April 3 - New Heights Ep. 84 airs with special guest Arnold Schwarzenegger. Jason & Travis Kelce film episode in LA after flying in from Philadelphia together with Taylor.

April 4 - Are You Smarter Than A Celebrity filmed in LA - Travis confirmed to host

TikTok - waitress who served Travis over the weekend in Ohio shares that Travis knows all 300 Taylor Swift songs in sweet interaction (x)

April 5 - Are You Smarter Than A Celebrity day 2 filming in LA - Travis to host.

Taylor promotes her up coming album The Tortured Poets Department according to Billboard (x)

The two week countdown to 'The Tortured Poets Department' is on — and to celebrate, Taylor Swift unveiled five new playlists featuring songs from her first 10 albums representing a distinct phase of heartbreak. ⁠ ⁠ Four of the playlists are named after the taglines of previously announced deluxe editions: “I Love You, It’s Ruining My Life," “You Don’t Get to Tell Me About Sad,” “Am I Allowed to Cry?” and “Old Habits Die Screaming." The fifth one is dubbed “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” after one of the song titles on 'Tortured Poets.' ⁠ ⁠ Each playlist also features a voice note in which Swift speaks about her personal experiences with each phase, inspired by the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.⁠

Just checking in, how is everyone?

Are You Smarter Than A Celebrity filmed in LA - Travis is host

April 8 - Taylor reveals lyrics to TTPD (x)

Perfectly timed with the solar eclipse - personal photo taken on iPhone today - USA

Are You Smarter Than A Celebrity filmed in LA - Travis is hosting

April 9 - Are You Smarter Than A Celebrity filmed in LA - Travis is host

Travis & Taylor papped driving in LA (x)

April 10 - New Heights Ep. 85 airs with guest Dave "Lil Dicky" talking about Travis dating Taylor (x)

1:16:50 (x)

LD: how you guys doing with all this? Travis beams; "I'm having a blast in life baby, just flying high, enjoying it all!" Lil Dicky says "your most popular Popstar and beloved musician somehow met your most popular beloved athlete and they actually fell in love..." Travis replies "I don't know how I did it because she does not, she wasn't into sports so I don't know how the f**k I did it? Lil Dicky responds "well you did it because you said you called her out on..." Travis answers "I know exactly how I did it!"

Are You Smarter Than A Celebrity filmed in LA - Travis is host.

April 11 - New Heights podcast recorded live with Jason & Travis Kelce at Nippert Stadium, Cincinnati, Ohio

Travis dances to Shake It Off and tells the audience this is one of his favourite songs, Jason says it's Wyatt's favourite too (x)

April 12 - Are You Smarter Than A Celebrity filmed in LA - Travis confirmed to host

Taylor & Travis seen leaving Sushi Park restaurant - LA

April 13 - Taylor posts (x) with lyrics “I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all.”

The photo reveals that Aaron Dessner is a collaborator.

Travis & Taylor attend Day 2 of Coachella. They are first seen side stage for Bleachers with Jack Antonoff then escorted to the pit for Ice Spice and others through out the night. (x x x x x) Taylor is wearing a New Heights cap

April 14 - Taylor releases another clue in the lyrics of Peace - CONDUCT on Apple Music.

April 17 - New Heights Ep. 86 airs. Jason & Travis Kelce talk about experiencing Coachella (01:07:50) (x)

Jason "we know who you went with, we saw the pictures. All right we know who you went with"

Travis "She's [Taylor] supporting the New Heights"

Jason "Big New Heights supporter - yeah sold out of the green hat real quick"

Travis "It's a good color green"

Jason "How was Coachella different? I expected you guys to be backstage like mostly with the musicians right but it seemed like you guys are in the crowd?"

Travis "I'd like to see it front from the fans perspective like the people that actually cuz I am a fan of music I'm a fan of live shows. I want to see it from the front of the stage. We probably could have finessed it that way but I think it's just that much more of an experience if you're in the uh if you're in the pit man if you're in the the madness with all the uh all the fans. It was awesome though."

Go to previous update -> March 2024 part 3

Go to next update -> April 2024 part 2

Return to the timeline

[rubiana]

went to paris and found the same bowl from my childhood home, my mom went to bahamas and found the same one too

this is so important to me

feels like a symbol, i don’t know good or not, but it’s all i can think about

[y0itsbri]

tagged by @heymacy and @sxltburn the cutest cuties ilysm

name: bri

age: twentysomething who knows

location: snuggled up in bed w my cat<3

latest music discovery: good luck, babe! by chappell roan is on repeat in this household babyyyy 🍀

latest movie: death note⚰️

last tv show you finished: death note aaaand dungeon meshi 🍲🐉

most recently started book: the 'fucking trans women' zine by mira bellwether

most recent trip out of town: my gf's birthday trip to our first concert together 🎂

most recent trip out of the country: oh lawddd. probably to the bahamas with my dad about a decade ago

most recent gift you made yourself: a little crochet bumblebee and a couple crystal carvings of a fluorite cat and a selenite heart ❤️

most recent gift you made to someone else: idk if it was the most recent but i picked out a megalodon shark tooth for my gf and it's so fucking cool

most recent text message you received: 'hi honey. u up?' from my mom

most recent text message you sent: 'yeah i'm up' to my mom

last fic you read: girllll it's been a hot minute

last drink you had: ginger ale

last thing you ate: a bowl of cheerios

latest piece of clothing you bought: a vintage button up from the 80s, equipped with shoulder pads and all

latest piece of advice you received: everything happens for a reason

latest piece of advice you gave: don't overpluck your eyebrows right away (unless you're going for a 90s goth look but they may or may not grow back)!

latest thing you promised yourself: hold less room for anger at the table

tagging @heymrspatel @gallawitchxx @vintagelacerosette @creepkinginc @7x10mickey @sickness-health-all-that-shit @arrowflier @energievie here's a mini garden happy spring lovies🌺🌻🐝🌷🐞🦋🌼🌱🫛🐇🦔🪷🌈🍅🧺☀️

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

moonfire mayham: crab

"Is this good enough?" Estinien hammered one final nail into place. The first supply run had wood--planks and lattice panels--listed as a priority. Sebastian needed a crab pen built from scratch.

"Good enough, my thanks." Sebastian handed the dragoon a glass of fruit juice. Estinien downed it, watching as the hyur started to cover the pen's interior with leaves.

"Why are we keeping crabs?"

"So I can cook them later on in the week." Wisely Sebastian added an anti-climb charm to the pen's walls.

"Something I learned from one of the local fishermen. Crabs will eat anything, and I mean anything. And that'll show up when you cook them. Told me that it's best to clean out the crabs--feed them bread, bits of fresh fish, meat. Rinse out the pen every day, and in a week you don't have to worry about your crab tasting like quite literal shite." He explained.

"Huh." Estinien said. "Does that go for all of their fellows?"

"Not lobsters. Crayfish, I heard you flush out the tail and it's all good. Shrimp, yes." Satisfied with the pen's floor, Sebastian placed in several bowls of water.

"So now we just need--" Estinien trailed off as a spear thrust itself in front of him from the side. A particularly large example of crabkind was clinging for dear life by a claw where spear head met shaft.

"This fucker is mine when you cook him." Reinhardt growled. He shook the spear, but the crab hung on. "He actually attacked me!"

"I admit I'm impressed with the grip." Estinien remarked.

"I'm impressed with the size!" Sebastian bent to examine the maliciously glowering crab. "You ser, are going to be lunch and dinner!"

"Get him off my spear." Reinhardt growled.

"Where's his friends?" Estinien asked, watching as the other dragoon angled the spear over the pen and started to gently shake it.

"How the hells am I supposed to know? I was putting the beach stuff on the porch and motherfucker decided to come for me with murder in its beady-ass eyes! He'll have friends soon, don't worry."

-----

Note: Cleaning crab is a reference to an actual practice done in my birth country, the Bahamas. On many islands crab can be caught in the wild--and then like the old folks used to advise, 'clean your crab!'

[hargrove-mayfields]

Maybe three weeks before the beginning of the holidays is a little early to start, but if he doesn’t do it now, it’s not getting done.

See, the Harrington’s are kind of known for the food they bring to Holiday parties, be that the Christmas celebrations with his fathers side, or Chanukah with his mother and her sisters family, but Steve’s been the only Harrington around for the past few years to do the preparation baking. His folks show up for the first day of Chanukah, stay for the week until Christmas Day, and then it’s back to work, whether or not the week is even over.

It’s lonely, lighting the shammash and menorah on his own. They used to have one for each of them, even though it was always a stressful event to get his father to light his candles at the right time, but now it’s just one lonely symbol of how far apart he’s grown from his home.

Especially now that he’s in his own place, just the tiny first floor of a run-down duplex apartment, he’s got to pick up the slack and do what his parents are too busy cruising in the Bahamas to do if he wants to be allowed into the Christmas Eve party at his aunt Shelley’s, or at tante Reyna’s party on Shabbat during Chanukah, just like every year.

Regardless, and of course this would be the case, he has to be the only one to make six different types of cookies, two pies, and sufganiyot, which he thinks taste horrible frozen anyways, but he’s got to do everything in advance if he doesn’t want to get off schedule. Not that his baking is ever going to get finished on time anyways at this rate.

He’s just not patient enough. He doesn’t take the time to make sure no pieces of egg shell fall in the dough, or to remember the difference between teaspoons and tablespoons, or to let things rest when they’re supposed to rest, or to not just beat things that are supposed to be folded, or to not just preheat the oven too high and pull the cookies sooner.

Somehow, his treats always turn out fine enough that nobody throws them out, and he hasn’t set the house on fire yet, so he doesn’t see a reason to change. Except for the fact that, as he had attempted to convince himself so many times to beat this apathy he’d developed for it, if they’re good when he messes them up, they’d be perfect when he actually tried.

That isn’t the point though, the point is that currently, in his little kitchen barely big enough for more than one person, there’s a mess that would have been enough to make the housekeeper, when he still had one living back at his parents house, quit on the spot.

His stove top is covered in a pile of old bent up baking sheets he’d stolen from his mom, the marble counters covered with rows of cooling cookies. There’s a card table against the wall with a mixer full of dough and even more baking sheets lined with still raw cookies, while the sink is full to the top in both sides with dirty pans, mixing bowls and beaters. Thanks to all this mess, the entire front of his torso, protected by an apron with silver snowflakes and golden coins printed on dark blue material that his grandma gave him years and years ago, is covered in powdered sugar from an unfortunate incident with the mixing bowl.

Steve’s a little.. disheveled, to say the least.

Before, he never could say he was very organized, but lately, he’s been struggling with some other things that make it all worse. It’s like, there’s a constant swarming fog in his brain, that only sometimes gets clearer, or more cloudy, depending on the day. Today is a cloudy day.

It’s while he’s trying to sweep up a baking soda accident off the floor, watching the little kitchen timer to make sure it doesn't ring while he isn’t paying attention, that he’s pulled, rather abruptly, from his mangled up, tangled up whirlwind of thought.

Someone bangs on the front door, from the sound of it, with their whole fist, and quite urgently too. He drops his broom and it knocks over a bottle of vanilla, thankfully with the cap still on, onto the floor.

But Steve is too frozen in place to pay any of that a piece of his mind.

For just a split second, he filters through other options. It could be the neighbor asking him to move his car off the street again. It could be Russians tracking him down to finish the job. It could be his dad coming home early to drop off twenty-two years of forgotten Christmas presents.

He creeps to the door, cautious about creaking floorboards as if the Christmas tree he wrapped in silver and blue tinsel isn’t bearing enough white light to reveal in its glow that he's home, or that the radio isn’t blaring old holiday songs he’s heard a thousand times loud enough to be heard from the door.

Maybe he should shut that off. He flips a switch to cut the power to the radio, just in time to hear the doorbell ringing now, its chime cut short by itself as it starts over, again and again. Whoever is out there is smashing the button in.

Steve’s tension-wrought shoulders sag with relief, without even having to peek through the window, he knows who it is now. That annoying energy, the roughness and the impatience.

Yeah. It’s Billy.

The same that, after spending far too long in the hospital, had moved in just a few months ago in place of Robin, who herself had left behind being Steve’s roommate for a better break living with her girlfriend a street over. Billy, who uses a custom wheelchair to get around now, while breathing in artificial oxygen stored in a tank underneath his chair, and taking a thousand pills a day to keep the holes in his lungs from opening again.

That damn Billy, who Steve loves dearly and with all of his too-big-for-his-own/good heart, though that part is just for him to know.

Steve, confident that he’s not in danger now, opens the door and steps aside, holding it wide open so Billy has room to get his chair and himself in. It’s a tight squeeze, but after many times skinning his knuckles off the door frame, he has it down and practiced to get into the living space. There’s a path just for him, crafted by shifting all of the furniture into tight spots to give him plenty of space to move freely.

Steve locks up behind him, “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I live here too, you know. Not my fault I need a hand with the door.” Billy snickers at himself, takes humor in playing up the whole, ‘almost died and did become paralyzed from the chest down by saving Steve and everyone else’s lives’ thing.

He stops moving forward and Steve bumps into the back of his chair, his reaction times to sudden changes much slower now. They both mumble a sorry, before Billy explains, through a sort of snide comment anyways, what made him stop so suddenly, “Woah. And it was my kitchen too, if you could even call it that anymore.”

Oh yeah. It’s still a pretty big disaster in there, visible even just a few rolling steps into the adjoining living room. Steve forgot already. Blame that on the brain-fog.

“Well if it bothers you that much, you could help me.” Steve tried to play Billy’s game, but he immediately regrets it. Somehow demanding your wheel-chair bound, barely held together by always-never healing pins and stitches best friend help out with chores crosses the line into plain asshole territory, “I-If you’re alright to, I mean-“

Billy shakes his head, playing it off as no sweat. He likes to do that, make Steve feel like he’s doing everything right, so they can keep the peace after their first month living together was spent viciously arguing over their admittedly shrinking differences. So Billy bucks up now, and volunteers himself to Steve’s original request, even if it hadn’t been serious, “What do you want me to do?”

Steve himself had learned through many tears and screaming matches never to tell Billy he can’t do something. He gives him a manageable task to start with instead, while he tries to figure all this out in his head, “Wash your hands.”

“I literally just got back from the hospital.” Billy argues, clearly sarcastically, because he’s already taking himself over to the sink, waiting for Steve to reach the faucets for him. They really need a more accessible place, but they’re already damn lucky that this is the only apartment for miles that doesn’t have steps up to the porch. Fuck Indiana and it’s never updated infrastructure or building regulations.

For now, Steve will have to do just fine to turn the water on and put two pumps of soap on Billy’s hands for him. They know how to make it work.

Even if they still act snarky, like Steve isn’t carefully adjusting the water temperature to be comfortable for Billy as he speaks, “That’s worse then. Wash them twice.”

Instead of waiting for a hand towel though, Billy just flicks the warm water off of his hands onto Steve, who’s so thoroughly covered in baking ingredients even while wearing his special Chanukah apron, or he might’ve complained otherwise.

He doesn’t have time to though, before Billy is demanding, “Now what, Stevie?”

Immediately after he asks, and before Steve even needs to, Billy folds his hands in his lap, the agreed upon silent signal for, ‘Hey, you have full permission to push my wheelchair.’ Steve touches the handles and waits once more for Billy to nod, the second clarification before he moves Billy’s chair over to one of the card tables he had set out, at chest level so Billy can reach his work.

Leaving room behind his chair as he flutters around the kitchen, always a mass of nervous energy, Steve rearranged little pieces of his earlier baking disaster until he has a bowl of dough, an empty, but lined cookie sheet, and a set of measuring spoons laid out in front of Billy, to demonstrate the answer to his question.

“I need you to make tablespoons of this dough, and put them onto this- baking sheet.”

Billy reaches to start doing his part, but Steve interrupts him again, “Not before you get in uniform, though.”

He produces a second apron, this one Christmas themed, as it’s patterned with little felt gingerbread men and gumdrop beads. Usually, it gets left in storage, since it’s not really the one that suits Steve, but for this, for Billy, of course he’ll make an exception.

With a hand on each of the aprons' shoulders adorned with jingle bells, Steve holds it up in front of Billy’s work space.

Billy turns his head, deadpan, despite a glint of humor in his eyes, “The hell am I supposed to do with that?”

“Put your arms up so I can put it on you.” Steve directs simply, when met with Billy’s stubborn defiance, putting one of his hands on his hip instead of holding out the stiff fabric, “Please? It’ll save us time when we clean up later.”

Billy laughs like the suggestion is funny somehow, and honestly, yeah. It is. But that’s not the point. He’s trying to share the festivity with his friend who spent last year sleeping through Christmas, barely remembering a thing about himself, let alone the holidays.

Steve tries to make a convincing pleasing face, but again he’s met with a traditional stubborn Billy response, “I’m not wearing your grandmother's dish rag, Stevie.”

It’s with light humor, or at least, Steves pretty sure it is since Billy called him by his nickname, so he argues back, “C’mon. My kitchen, my rules.”

“Not yours. I still pay for half of it too.” Billy reminds him, apparently very insistent about his stake in the apartment, but his body language doesn’t add up to his words. He puts his arms on the braces and pulls himself away from his wheelchair back support as far forward as he can, so Steve can reach to tie a bow on the apron around his back.

He fumbles as he wraps it around, just because his hands aren’t as accurate as they used to be before he hit his head another dozen times and got drugged with whatever, but eventually he gets it tied securely behind Billy’s back.

Then, and only then, he realizes it’s tied over top of Billy’s oxygen tube. Not very convenient if they want him to have any mobility at all.

Steve mutters an apology and starts over, carefully placing the apron against Billy’s chest while he moves the thin tube out of the way, realizing that he’s closer to the other than is maybe necessary when he looks up to do the second tie around Billy’s neck, and his nose almost bumps Billy’s.

While he’s there, to avoid doing something he regrets,

“You should let me put your hair up too.”

Billy pushes away suddenly, swiping his hair, grown out long since he’s been out of the hospital, over his shoulder so Steve can’t touch it, “No way! M’not your dress up doll.”

Even Billy, in all his defensive glory, is smiling about it. Maybe they have to do everything in this roundabout way, but at least they can have fun with it now, instead of the painful tension that used to settle over them. That’s gotta mean more than just the holiday spirit.

Steve laughs, “Would you rather wear a hairnet?

Not even giving a second to really consider it, too proud of his hair and all the growing he’s done, literally and metaphorically, Billy shuts down that idea faster, “No fuckin’ way! Go ahead and do your shit, Harrington!”

Using just a movement of his neck, he flicks his hair back over to the middle. The long, ringlet-like curls from the new care routine he’s gotten into, hang down to his mid back. It’s going to take a minute for Steve to get it put up nicely, so they’ve learned from many failed attempts at doing ponytails and buns and what have you. Steve’s most successful is a braid, so that’s what he goes with.

He’s delicate with Billy’s hair, as he sections it into three slightly tangled sections of gold. It’s probably been a few too many days since Billy detangled his mane. Steve wishes he’d tell him when he needed a hand, but that’s why he’s doing this right now instead of letting Billy try to do it on his own later when he’s exhausted and sore.

His silent acceptance is all the confirmation Steve needs to keep going, because Billy wouldn’t let him hear the end of it otherwise.

So they have a moment of peace, while Steve carefully uses his fingers to pull apart knots, or brushes them against the soft hairs at the base Billy’s neck gently as a tender apology for pulling too hard. Billy sniffs his nose while Steve goes slow braiding each piece over the other, one at a time, his tell-all sign that he’s starting to doze off in his wheelchair just from Steve playing with his hair a little.

So he’s pushing himself too hard again. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to help with these cookies though. And that’s what’s so worrying.

Steve wishes he had the spine to tell Billy not to do that. Not to worry. He’ll take care of him just fine.

To tell Billy that he loves him.

Reaching the end of functional pieces of hair, the length of Billy’s hair choppy and uneven enough that the braid only holds just over half of his hair, the rest trapped in a horses tail at the bottom, Steve ties it off with a hair tie he keeps in his apron pocket just for this.

This happens a lot, needing to get Billy’s mane of hair out of the way while he tries to participate. It gives him time at the start to prepare and assert his promise to himself to complete whatever task is laid out in front of him, while it gives Steve time to try to subliminally talk him out of it.

Maybe they need to use their words more often. Only then, would Steve have the guts to say just how much he wants to tuck the curly pieces of hair at Billy’s temples, the ones that always fly away and don’t stay tied back, away behind his ears, and just hold his face for a while. How much he wants to kiss him, after they sit and look into each other’s eyes, and feel that warm feeling that isn’t coming from the oven.

Oh shit, the oven-

Steve, more suddenly than he’d ever want to, breaks his connection with Billy. Right now, he’s grabbing one of the oven mitts that hang from the cabinets on little magnets, and setting to taking the cookies out of the oven, which at first only produces a cloud of white smoke.

Steve burnt the damn cookies. He completely forgot he’d just put a batch in before Billy got home.

It’s a moment of chaos with Steve swatting at smoke with the tray of blackened cookies balanced on the other hand until it’s too hot, and he drops it down too hard on the counter. Cookies burnt into stones scatter between piles of ingredients and a few onto the floor. Billy’s laughing so hard at the slapstick scene he breaks into a coughing fit, while Steve scampers to collect the fallen remains of his treats, falling on his ass when he gets dizzy from looking up too quickly to check on Billy’s deep, rattling cough.

It’s another disaster, to say the least.

Once Billy catches his breath again with the help of switching out his cannulae for a concentrated mask for a few minutes, and Steve has most of the smoke from the disaster cookies, which are now in the trash, funneled outside through the barely open window to avoid too much cold getting in, Billy reignites the conversation, “So what are those anyways?”

Steve stares blankly for a second. He realizes Billy’s referring to the cookies only once he actually points at the burnt pan in the sink.

“Oh. They were snickerdoodles.. I think.” His doubt isn’t a quip. He can’t really remember. Billy smiles patiently while he tries to bring the knowledge back, but it doesn’t come to him yet. Too many other distracting things in his head.

Moving on, Steve wipes his hands on his apron roughly, though nothing was even on them, and comes back to the prep station where Billy is still awaiting instruction, “This should yield like, two dozen or so more, and then we have to start the kichel.”

Steve demonstrates, using two spoons to scoop out just the right portion, so Billy, with the plastic ones instead of metal, copies him, and they both plop little balls of dough onto the cookie sheet, industrial sized because this one was taken from Steve’s parents, and could hold a whole dozen to bake at once.

It’s exactly what Steve described, but Billy still looks at the slowly filling tray in front of them with doubt, “Damn. How many cookies d’you think we’ll need?”

“Enough for the Christmas party where literally every last one of my dad’s relatives will be- And which you are going to by the way.” Steve reminds him, expecting Billy to argue and call his multi-faith celebrations lame or something.

But they’re thankfully beyond that now; way, way beyond it. Billy knows the limits of his teasing. He’d only like to point out, “Sure, whatever. M’pretty sure we won’t have enough room in the freezer for these though.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to laugh, because he’s right, and they’re going to have to deal with finding places to pack away all these treats later. That’s exactly it though. A later problem.

“Quit your complaining and just roll me some more cookies.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Billy rolls his eyes, and keeps tossing sticky dough between two spoons, just going at his own pace.

They work as a team to get through a few more batches, and when Billy gets too exhausted to keep going, Steve lets him be the taste tester for his jam fillings instead.

It’s getting pretty late by the time they’re finishing up. They locked the windows after the sun went down, for Steve’s own peace of mind, and it’s been at least a few hours since then. Lately, that’s become the norm. When Steve’s been with Billy, he’s been losing track of the time. Just enjoying what they have together now that they’re a part of one another’s adapted rhythm.

The kitchen is mostly dark except for the soft glow of the tree from the next room, and the light inside of the oven. Billy looks like he’s about to doze off in his chair while watching Steve pull the very last tray of cookies from the oven and start the clean up. Right now, that’s just getting all the dozens and dozens of piles of cookies on his counter into plastic containers and small baggies to freeze. They’ll deal with all the dishes and powdered sugar messes tomorrow.

Right now, once everything they need done is put away, Steve takes the reins of Billy’s chair, after another moment of silent communication about if that’s okay, and brings them both into the equally dimly-lit, but just as warm and fuzzy and safe living room. In just a few weeks, the room will glow brighter with the light from his menorah, and maybe one for Billy too, depending. He still has the abandoned extras of his other family members. Maybe this will be they’re thing.

Billy interrupts his spiraling daydreams, “Hey. Thanks for including me.”

“You do pay for half.” Steve answers light-heartedly, remembering their earlier banter. He suspects that’s what this is too.

But Billy’s expression stays serious, and while he’s smiling, this one is gentle, a lot different from the shark-toothed snicker he wears when he’s playful.

“No, I mean like, making me feel normal.”

Steve, knowing the sting of being othered, called an idiot and a dim bulb and a thousand other things by his used to be friends since his brain started working a little different, rushes to assure him, “You ar-“

But Billy isn’t interested in listening.

“Don’t. It’s not normal to be like this.” Billy’s eyebrows knit together, deep in thought about something, and he starts again, choosing his words more carefully. It reminds Steve of the frustration of trying to explain his own experience to Billy, when he accidentally forgot to refill his medicine. The balance of guilt and pain, and self-acceptance and daring, “Hell, maybe it is, but it’s not my normal. I’m still not used to it anyway.”

Steve tries to help Billy, since he thinks he relates, “Tell me what I need to do to make it feel normal again.”

And, well, an interfaith, autistic guy with short term memory problems and a whole array of physiological stuff going on, maybe isn’t the one who should be offering up anything about lessons in normal, but he’d still like to be there for Billy.

“Ain’t your damn problem.” Yeah, even the Billy who shut him down almost instantly, out of the same fear that Steve understands far too well.

“Sure it is. I told you when I asked you to move in that I’d do anything I could. So.. you could at least stop asking your step-mom to take you to appointments..” Steve even gives examples, because he wants Billy to know how much he means it.

Maybe this is about how in love he is with Billy.

If only Billy understood that, instead of making excuses against Steve’s offer, “You were busy. It’s fine.”

“I could restructure though.” Steve’s upping the deal, choosing every word like a promise right from the heart, “You can be a part of my busy.”

Billy stares at him, processing, but then his expression crumbles like one of Steve’s burnt cookies. He hangs his head, “Damn it, Steve.”

Instant panic. Steve is back to searching his brain for whatever he said last, worried his stupid broken brain let something bad slip- “What? What’d I do?”

“I wish I could stand up and grab you by your adorable face and kiss you, right now.” Billy answers instead of explaining whatever cruel thing Steve might’ve done, and suddenly it’s all clicking into place. It wasn’t a mess up.

This is a really, really good thing.

A kiss. Steve wants that too.

He leans over the arm of the couch, and closer to Billy’s wheelchair. That’ll do a number on his neck, but he just wants- “Is it okay if I..?”

He’s never done this before. Not like this. Anxiety makes bubbles in his chest, that he has to shake his arms to work all that bad energy out. Except the movement makes him lose his balance, and he almost faceplants right into Billy’s lap. He scrambles to sit back up, but somethings still not perfect.

Billy chuckles warmly, and explains what he wants Steve to do, their role as the one with confidence switched, as it does in many situations thanks to their respective navigations of life in this new this way, “Just sit facing me. You’re tall enough. We can meet part way.”

“Okay.” Steve feels like he has to answer before he pulls away, and sits back, crossing his legs one over the other. He watches Billy reposition his wheelchair at an angle, and they’re actually face to face this time. It takes more than he's used to to get here, but so did remembering all the recipes and baking cookies.

He finds he doesn’t really mind taking the extra steps, “Like this?”

In the face of all that nervousness, Billy just looks at him all soft, like the gooey caramels before they burnt to the stove top, “It’s just a kiss Steve. We don’t have to get it right on the first try.”

“Right. So- Here goes-“ He nods, but he doesn’t lean in and kiss Billy it even move at all. He’s frozen with the distance of just a few inches apart, while he’s there, at least taking in every detail of Billy’s features.

The pale freckles on his nose, perpetually a little pink from the tubes going past, and the dryness it causes. Permanent oxygen therapy is rough on him sometimes, but it’s better than the suffering his coughing fits earlier gave just a glimpse into. Steve observes the old scar on Billy’s cheek and how it healed a dark, red-ish color. Just like Billy’s lips. Steve’s searching eyes meet Billy’s, and finally the stretching silence is broken.

“You’re still worrying.”

“Sorry, I-“ Steve automatically starts to apologize, but Billy interrupts it, with the press of his lips against Steve’s.

They’re both tense. It's painfully awkward for a first kiss. But it’s nice.

It’s like.. the cinnamon and the vanilla. Warm and sweet and subtle. It’s a craving he wants more of.

As gently as he can, he shifts places, and draws one hand up to hold the side of Billy’s face. Billy’s own hand comes up to reposition Steve’s where he won’t press down on his oxygen tube, but he doesn’t push him away. He holds him there.

Slowly, they ease into each other enough to shift, and start the kiss all over again. Still gentle, still new, but this time filled to overflowing with all the things they’re feeling along with it.

They’re going strong for a few minutes, and Steve just wants to keep pressing closer more and more, and channeling all the feelings about love too big for shaking out into this new outlet. He wants to taste all of Billy and see if he’s sweet enough to soothe his craving.

But Billy pulls away too soon. Tipping his head forward so his forehead, and his messy bangs, press against Steve’s. His breath comes out in short puffs, “Needed to breathe.”

Steve rushes to apologize again, flushed for two reasons now, “Sorry.”

He only chuckles softly, sounding almost tired in comparison to the howling laughter that filled the air just earlier. Like he’s relaxed now. Finally safe after sharing a kiss with Steve.

As if to demonstrate his gentle sweetness, Billy assures him, “It’s good. You're probably the best way to suffocate.”

Now Steve’s the one who laughs, unsure what that even means, but finding it makes his heart beat a little faster anyways, “Um.. Thank you?”

“No problem.”

It’s such a casual exchange, Steve would hate to interrupt it, but-

“Oh- I just remembered something!”

It was probably too sudden. Probably rude. Steve doesn’t even have the time to filter through every degrading comment he’d received in the past before Billy is distracting him with an inquiry into what was so important to ruin their moment. Genuine curiosity too.

“What’s up?”

“The whole house isn’t decorated yet.” Steve really had noticed out of the corner of his eye, that the tree is decorated with handmade Chanukah ornaments and, conversely, store bought candy canes, but beyond that, nothing else is ready. He won’t have time if he doesn’t do it now, even though it’s late and Billy’s getting tired, and oh!

Billy’s talking!

Steve’s panicking in his head long enough to tune back into the ending Billy’s denial, “-I just don’t do this Christmassy shit well.”

Like Steve’s doing much better with silver and blue baubles and miniature dreidels hanging on the damn Christmas tree. “I don’t either, that’s why I need your opinion. Please?”

“Alright, sure. What is it you need help with?” Well. That was easy. Billy’s got a soft spot.

Only, Steve has no idea what he needs. He just wanted to get his decorating done, and talk to Billy some more. He’s so in love with Billy, just thinking about him derails all the thoughts he has of tinsel and festive table runners and snowflake wreaths.

He forgot again.

Billy’s patience, in his round eyes and his dimple-showing smile, never falters, but Steve feels more panic, for just a second, until he finally remembers at least something.

“Oh, oh, I got it!”

There’s a sprig of mistletoe inside the candy dish out in the kitchen. He wanted to hang it up before Billy got home earlier, and he’d forgotten it when it got lost in the mess of all his baking tasks.

He’d wanted it to be for their first kiss, but, that already happened, the memory of those few seconds with his lips pressed against Billy’s making each step Steve takes, as he goes to fetch the mistletoe, bouncier, and squeaking a small noise of delight past his lips.

He’s just got to come up with an idea for it now.

A roll of tape and the small branch in hand, he goes to the small hallway, which leads to every room in the apartment, and picks the primary doorway into the living space where Billy is, holding it up,

“Is this a good place for this?”

It takes Billy a moment, after being turned to face the furniture Steve was sitting on for their kiss, to turn back round in the small space between the sofa and the coffee table. Steve understands how patient Billy is being with him and his foggy thoughts, so he honors the same temper for his love.

Billy finally observes, his half-tired smile growing across his flush-warmed face, “You do realize we’re gonna cross through there like, at least ten times a day.”

Steve just shrugs. That was kinda the point. He liked kissing Billy so much, he’d like to do it all the time. “So I’ll get some practice in.”

“You need it.” Billy snarks, only playful, which Steve can detect because Billy told him what to look out for after a misunderstanding about the other boy calling him silly. He sees the raise of Billy’s eyebrows and the curl of his lips over a suppressed smile, so he plays along too.

Taping the mistletoe up against the molding anyways, Steve juts out his lower lip in an equally as unserious pout, “Hey! Now you owe me two kisses!”

“Fine. Come redeem ‘em.” Billy doesn’t waste his energy moving himself all the way over to Steve and his two working legs; he just opens his arms, and that’s all he needs to.

Because now that he can, Steve is always going to go running for that warmth, and, just like before, he crashes their lips together in a kiss slightly less delicate than the first, but all the more reflective of the light of their mutual feelings, an even better motivation than the cheap plastic version of the iconic berry to kiss Billy.

Or to love Billy. To celebrate his holidays with Billy, and bring some light back into both of their lives.

[wherewhereare]

On Friday, May 10, Shelton, 47, attended the Keep Memory Alive’s 27th Annual Power of Love Gala in Las Vegas and when asked how he planned to spoil Stefani, 54, on the special holiday, he revealed that her sons Kingston, 17, Zuma, 15, and Apollo, 10 — whom Stefani shares with ex Gavin Rossdale — have Mother's Day covered.

"You know what? I don't have to, because her sons have been incredible," he said, adding that he’s often reminded the three boys of the significance of the day in the past, but they always have plans already.

"They're like, no, no, no. We've already thought about it. We're going to make breakfast for her," Shelton explained.

“I always can kind of just take a back seat and watch these boys. They do an incredible job spoiling her," he added.

While Stefani will be spoiled on Sunday, it was Shelton’s night on Friday, as he was honored at the event for his contributions to brain health over the years. Still, he couldn’t help gush about his wife for being there to support him after performing in the Bahamas the night prior.   

"She's amazing. She's super woman. We're just now calming down and settling in and taking this thing in. So I'm excited. I really am excited,” he said before entering the gala, where items were being auctioned off for hundreds of thousand of dollars.

“This is the fanciest thing I've ever been to in my life, period," Shelton added.

Joined by his wife at the event, the couple made a stylish appearance on the red carpet together, with Stefani in a long-sleeved silver mini-dress and her husband looking dapper in a black collared, button-down shirt with a black jacket, denim jeans and brown shoes.

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Shelton watched as others such as Cassadee Pope and Gary LeVox sang his songs. He then took to the stage to sing “Sweet Caroline,” “Ole Red” and “Sangria.” Before the night ended, he invited Stefani on stage to perform “Nobody But You.”

For her part, the No Doubt front woman posted some behind-the-scenes moments from the night on her Instagram Stories, including a sweet couple shot of her and Shelton and fun clips of the impressive desserts, Shelton enjoying a bowl of chocolate candies and Kristin Chenoweth performing.

The couple is no stranger to collaboration, having recorded several songs together. In February, they released their latest duet, "Purple Irises.”

Of working with his wife, Shelton told PEOPLE at the May 10 event, “We’re patient with each other in the studio because look, we've been doing this a long time and when you’re in your twenties you can get in there and just knock stuff out and you never get tired. You can go until daylight. Now, we’re to the point where it's like, ‘Oh my God, I've sung this thing five times. You got it yet? Are we done?’”

Shelton also noted that both he and Stefani have false starts while they’re in the studio, but when asked if he notes when his wife messes up, the singer explained he is just happy to have her there.

“I don't say much. All I do is encourage. I don't want to lose her now,” he said. "If I finally get her talked into coming into the studio and singing on my track I'm never going to give her s--- about anything. I'm just going to let her take her time and do it her way. God bless her for showing up.”