#he was in his sixties or so and truly seemed to be living the dream. I would love to just putter around a workshop messing with violins

[dandelion-de-deus]

I’ve needed to get my violin bow rehaired for a while now and recently my mom, ever full of phone numbers, gave me the contact information of a guy who had done a good job fixing my little sister’s violin, and apparently is a lot closer to home than other reputable violin ateliers. She did tell me that he operates out of his own home and does these repairs in his own time but I was envisioning. I don’t know. More of a shop, or something, and I severely underestimated just how cool it would be to walk into literally Some Old Guy’s garage and see violins and saws and tools packed into every available space

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

If you're still taking requests, 26 & 29 With David, please ❤️

26. Where am i?

29. I'm going to regret inviting you in, aren't I?

I hope you like it!

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

I closed my eyes in annoyance as a loud motorcycle raced past my house, ignoring the fact that it was nearing one in the morning. I already had trouble sleeping, and ever since the summer weather really decided to set through, it was only becoming more difficult.

The motorcycle drove past again. I sighed, getting up to close my window when suddenly the noise stopped. I waited for a moment, then shrugged. Clearly the midnight drive was over. I turned around, ready to step into my bed, when I heard a knock on my window.

I froze.

My bedroom was on the third floor. No one knocked on my window. Ever. I wasn't sure what to do. Stay here like this, pretending I didn't hear it? Turn around and see what had caused it? Maybe, I thought to myself, maybe I was just scaring myself. Maybe it was a branch hitting the glass, or maybe a bird dropped a snail right into my window? Who knew.

I shook my head. I knew. There wasn't any tree growing anywhere near my window, and the chances of a bird flying this late at night? Surely, the local owls wouldn't feed on snails if they could catch a mouse or a ferret or something. No, the knock definitely came from my window.

Tick tick

It was there again, sharp and demanding this time. I took a deep breath, reaching for the metal candelabra standing on my bedside table as I turned around.

Outside my window was a young man. Clad in black, a mean boyish face - suddenly I realised I knew exactly who this was. I hadn't personally met him before, but everyone knew his face. David. The unofficial leader of the boardwalk at night.

I shivered. It was never a good thing if he singled you out.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice a bit more shaky than I would have liked.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

He shook his head. "Can you let me in?"

"Why?" I looked at him suspiciously.

"I want to come inside."

"With what purpose, David? What are you doing here?"

"You know me, then." He nodded to himself.

I frowned. That was odd, right? I sighed deeply, ignoring the uneasy feeling inside my stomach as I walked closer towards my window.

"I'm going to regret inviting you in, aren't I?"

David shrugged.

"Fine. You can come in."

As quick as lightning, the man moved, climbing - or rather flying, although I still don't necessarily believe what I'd seen - into my bedroom, sitting down upon my bed.

"Where am I?" He asked.

"You don't know?" I eyed him suspiciously, realising by the blank look on his face that he probably didn't. "Did you hit your head? Do you remember how you got here?"

"Driving."

"Well, you're in Santa Carla. I guess it was you on that motorcycle, although I have no idea if you crashed it or not. I think I would have heard that, you know? Anyways, ehm -" I looked at him, seeing a lack of any head wound, "I think it's best if we go out and find your friends. They know where you live and can help you better than I can."

"So you don't know me?"

"Not really. I mean, almost everybody in town knows who you are."

"I'm famous?"

"More like infamous," I decided as I put some shoes on, leading David down the stairs and into my car. This whole situation felt like a fever dream. The way he acted, more innocent than anyone had ever seen. As if he truly didn't know who he was or where he was.

"So, ehm, just so I can tell your friends what happened, do you know what day it is?"

David shrugged.

"The year?"

"Stopped counting in the sixties."

I frowned. He seemed twenty at most, so did this mean he just never knew or always forgot? It was weird, that's for certain.

"Anywhere I can find your friends?"

David shrugged again, not saying anything. Instead, he kept looking at my neck. I felt my blood rush to my face, felt his hand trace the artery in my neck. I shivered.

"You have sweet blood."

I pushed the brake, stopping the car as I looked at him. "I don't care. You are either keeping up a perfect act of amnesia, and you need some help," I said with a panicky undertone, "or you're messing with me for some reason. I don't care either way, I want you out of my car."

"Why, darlin', am I not good company?"

"Nope. Absolutely not."

David chuckled, and in that instance, I knew I was right. He had been playing me all night. But why? I looked at him as he stepped out of my car, a sly, satisfied grin on his face. I kept looking as he walked away, lighting a cigarette. When he was about seven feet away, he turned to face me, his eyes bright orange, his teeth sharp and deadly, his face morphed into a monstrous mask. I screamed.

I drove off as fast as I could. Once at home, I locked the car, ran inside and locked the doors, locked my windows - until a small voice in the back of my head told me I had invited him in. A sudden dread washed over me as i heard a howling laughter outside, as I heard him calling out. The dread spread inside me, growing larger and larger as I heard him come closer. As I heard his friends laugh. As I heard the click of the lock, and the door open.

[justanothersxf]

So... Spy x Family 98 right...

There's really not that much to say about this one. I keep seeing in other circles that it's supposed to be important for "lore" or "worldbuilding" but eh...I just don't agree with that when this flashback takes place before the majority of the adult cast was even alive, about a different war than the one they lived through. Things change, y'know? Power changes hands, policies and laws are updated, things that were true at one point may no longer be true in the future.

And knowing that Endo originally wanted Henry and Martha's past to be a single standalone side story chapter but he couldn't fucking help himself because he's such a war documentary nerd before he extended it just goes to show this is supposed to be more of a brief glimpse into Henry and Martha's past than substantially putting out exposition. In fact, he probably extended it to add extra details about irl military history like adjusted draft ages and deferment because he knows he can do that without it affecting the present story so much, since there is another war after that one which led to the cold war in the present.

I guess to connect that idea back to the main plot, the fact that this cycle of war between the two countries has existed long before Twilight was even born kind of makes his idealistic dream of fighting for world peace for kids seem even more futile and unrealistic, right? Even more reason for him to make peace with that once he starts unpacking his issues instead of throwing out the suitcases.

OH ALSO. Because it bugs me to see it around so much, why are people putting so much emphasis on this rumor that one of the (young!) kids is saying about human experimentation?

Like. This has been old news for over sixty chapters now.

And Anya existing already lets us know that there's some truth to it. Yes, human experimentation has been done in Ostania. It's not some big revelation nor some foreshadowing. And for the record, no, Anya's parents would likely not be involved in these hypothetical experiments either, as Henderson and Martha are in their sixties and Anya is five at most. At best, her mom would just be born at this time, so unless we're getting some Extra Dark™ material worthy of Tista, I think it's safe to say these might just be possible precursors to other experiments, if they truly were underway in Martha and Henry's time. So many people trying to connect the two is a bit odd to me...

...but if I had to guess why.

Those people are probably feeling a little blueballed by the fact that Endo has been teasing about learning more about Anya's backstory for a while now.

And yet...

So maybe people are trying to see a connection with that pointless line because, well. It kinda sucks when Endo just. Drops what he's been working on to expand on something completely different. Keyword "expand". Again, this was going to be a single chapter. But his military-history-loving-butt just could not contain that wartime era setting in a single chapter, he just has too much he loves to talk about.

And well, that's all whatever. I just feel this is just going to be one of those odd parts of the manga people will look back on without much thought or strong opinion because of it's strange timing, despite the weirdly adamant defense it's getting now. Maybe if it came before the dance and Anya's confession of her secret, it would have more impact? But I don't really see a lot of discussion around the flashback story for itself, probably because...there's not much new to learn unless it's about Henry or Martha themselves. It's always "crumbs of worldbuilding" or "the effects of war" both of which the manga was not short on before this. The most generous thing I can say about this flashback is that the one "new" concept it presents is the fact that Westalis and Ostania have a long-standing history of conflict, that is all.

If he reveals that one or both of them became a part of the underworld, then it could be an interesting twist because it actually gives us more information on the characters themselves that could be relevant to the present story, even though I can't see that reveal happening for Henderson. Or maybe he could reveal something new about Eden itself, which has some oddities even in its present incarnation that leaves me feeling kind of suspicious about it as an institution. (Also, what was up with that McMahon cameo in M97?)

But as of the past two chapters, this flashback is retreading too much old ground and it does feel like it's taking time away from seeing more insightful stories with the main characters. Especially when there's another vacation hiatus to push them back again... I just hope that the third part really delivers.

[villains4hire]

Always been you

"My name is Clarenci Von Polkawitz of the Bon'ta family and I deserve everything in this world and more."

A recording accidentally playing on a distant planet, playing alone in a room as smoke came from a leftover cigarette, the scrap planet was desolate these days, other than the chores and vermin piling up as it continued, "I deserve all my treasures, all my riches, the sixty-seven planets of my Empire I built in the name of the Bon'ta family as my father did, and his father did before him. I had it all in life, but I earned it all from scratch as they did, I earned all of it. My brilliance shined like a beacon in the universe, and I took everything I ever wanted and threw away anything that was useless to me. But I always recycled, at least, I'm not a monster."

The camera panning, it seems Clarence was getting ready to leave, "Yet from the families I've torn apart, seeing my enemies quiver at my intellectual might. It used to fill me with so much glee when they realized they've been outwitted, outmaneuvered and outgunned by me and me alone."

"How my weapons of destruction were prized among countless lives, how the Ventrexians and Tryvuulians fought like dogs for what I had to offer, much to my own amusement seeing how they wanted me so. And how even my advice to Lord Commander's engineers did not go unnoticed, the top dog himself inviting me for dinner once. He seemed pleased by my eagerness, but that dashing retch was only a tool as well." Clarence with a broken stare was taking his tablet, looking at the image of his children, saying nothing as this continued.

"Yes, how even he became just another asset to me, ALL to me. How I stood on top of the universe as the con-man to end all cons, beyond what any of my father and forefathers could ever dream of, that I, Clarenci had done the family name proud, that everything was in my grasp, but one thing, one thing still eluded me as every King needs still remained."

"An heir. A family."

"But not just any, no, nothing but the best would do, something I could mold. So I took in two, demented adult orphans on my travels, searching far and wide of whom might be the best candidates, one a war-torn child, a Tryvuulian that had grown old enough to earn retirement, decorated from his service and best of all? Broken, loyal, immature enough to where he called me his father as a grown man, but he would serve well in being more than just a pawn, I would shape him as well, a honed edge with direction, not wasted in the meat-grinders that poor boy found himself in, but a primate obeys, a Tryvuulian conquers and I would make him greater than he could ever imagine. He was such a loving son, far more than I could have wanted and great muscle to boot."

"Then the other? A Serepentian girl, an exotic find, but not just any, no. The powers she had? Oh yes, I could see the 'Dark Queen' angle she had going and said as much, perhaps one day even giving the Lord Commander a run for his money, but that might be a hopeful dream. I would relish the thought of him kneeling to me, however, though she was a bit silly and naive, she'd grow out of it one way or another. Yet her sweet eagerness for violence, torture and... to do whatever she wanted for me, gave me pause, the stories and certain topics she told me made my stomach churn. Yet, they still smiled through it all, if not outright unhinged or dreary from being easily bored at times, I'd teach her slowly of how a Bon'ta acts... and to maybe have a few she mentioned killed if they weren't dead already from her own hands. Oh, I was always so proud of my sweet little murderer."

"We were such a normal family, the best that money could buy. All I needed now? Was a wife to seal the deal and I'd truly have it made, maybe make a blood heir or two, as if something happened to me? My children would be around to look after each other."

"But they both adored me even at first when they had nothing, before I had even given them money or things, strange, but oh so such a great deal, and oh the things I taught them, all the ins and outs of the cons, every trick in the book I knew. I was going to even have my well-honed killer orphans learn the ways of my trade with a bit of schooling, and oh how we laughed and made memories together, but then... then... well."

"He came."

"His selfishness, every move he made was made to DESTROY ME. To turn my children against ME. Me. Me-me-me-ME, from ME. But I DESERVE IT, I DESERVE EVERYTHING AND MORE." A slam on the desk, some things were thrown around, his voice a rasp yet nothing could be seen.

"Look- LOOK AT WHAT HE DID TO ME."

"How I jump at every shadow now, blasting at whatever moves in the corner of my eye."

"How the sleepless nights with a pistol clutched at my side, the unsung apologies for the people he's wronged, never enough in the thousands of recordings I've made, the donations. That wherever I walk? I'm reminded by what were my greatest treasures, now of the Hell he created for me now that they're gone."

The voice drawing out, venom laced, "That I'm expected to be waiting here, waaaiting, for things to die down. While everything he did still ruins my life."

"His greed."

"The people he's destroyed for his own gain."

"And that every whisper? Is him trying to plot my end.... by people I don't even know."

"And worst of all? How he almost killed my only son."

"That of all the people he's wronged, that no matter how much I try, the guilt surrounds me, closing in. It was always him, it had always been you... always been me. Me... I created this nightmare, I've been eaten alive by that shame..." Sniffling could be heard on the recording somewhat, though it was clear with a straightening up, the recording Clarence found his resolve.

Meanwhile present Clarence was adjusting his goggles in a mirror, he'd leave to get into his ship before leaving to activate the gate. Knowing he'd maybe need his tools to fix the dodgy thing, checking his tablet for good luck.

"My name is Clarenci Von Polkawitz of the Bon'ta family and I deserve everything in this world and more... and that honestly? I'm surprised it hadn't caught up to me sooner, looking back. But I'm done running, that whatever comes to me, I'll meet with a smile just like they did. I'm going to wake up... and face the world with my own two eyes again."

"And now to my beloved children? I deserve your resentment, as everyone deserves redemption, but when you dip too deeply, taking far more than you should, consequences be damned of all that you bring down to ruin with you?"

"That what you've done, comes back to haunt you, take it from me, even if it's at the very end.... of well, everything? You can't escape it."

"I learned that?"

"The hard way."

Falling against the terminal behind him, Todd had pointed the gun in his face, the gun charging up as Clarence's panic began to build inside, thinking of Fox, of Ash, Todd smiling sadistically, "There's honor in failing." A KVN bot would suddenly impale him, declaring 'Clarence is ours' before being shot as he fell down, still pointing it at him, surprised but determined. "I didn't see that coming."

"You can't be free of your own pain, can you?"

"I don't have any pain!" The ragged man ripping the robotic arm out of himself.

Holding the gun to his face, making no attempts to fight it. "I lived a life hinged on stealing and dealing. In that kind of life, you learn to read people. What were their names? The love you lost?"

Shocked to silence for a moment, something in Todd opened up, "Holly... and Jet."

"They would probably be ashamed of what you've become. I lived in that shame, betrayed the only people that cared about me. You... don't want this. It destroys... every piece of you."

A grunt, slowly coming to terms as he saw Clarence's wounds, "I-I'm sorry, I've… I've killed us both!"

With a smile, 'Well, I probably had this coming in some way, let's… let's just call it even, as I have my son and daughter to save, so rest now.... alright?" Watching Clarence begin that persistent tread away, only to stumble, taking everything he had to crawl forward, Todd almost moved himself to help him, but found his legs unable to get up. Horror slowly dawning on him of what he's done as he began to shake, but with the last of what would carry him? Clarence had made it to the terminal, slamming his fist down upon the button.

"Turn... on!"

Relieved, Todd... would be finally going to his family, his regrets... now gone, muttering under his breath a 'Thank you... but I'm... going home' as life left his eyes.

The gate activating as it lit to a blue glow, the machine blasting a large beam as Clarence smiled to himself, looking at his tablet one last time of what he treasured the most.

....And yet, not soon after, a link was wishing to be established. It was Ash, after all this time? She had kept his frequency to what her and Fox got him and themselves all one for his birthday, what seemed like years ago. He hesitated, but rubbed his mouth clean before allowing the comms to connect, after all, he did just open the gate did he not?

Ash would be on the other end, smiling, "Hey!... I'm really... surprised honestly, thank you, thank you so much, Clarence. Maybe, after this is all over, we could meet-"

Clarence couldn't hold it in any longer, "Ash wait! I... I want to give it all up, I left you and your brother everything, all sixty-seven planets in your names. Every single riches and coin I've earned, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for what I did to you both when you needed a father, not some conman teaching you the trade." Grunting, he'd keep a strong face, "And that even if you don't want me in your life anymore? I want you both taken care of, so you never have to worry about anything again, that so long as both of you are okay, I'm fine with whatever happens now. I- I even left you recordings, thousands, and even used state of the art AI holograms of me or even other people so you could have what I could never give as a father... or, you could even burn all of it, that... that might be fun, maybe a bit cathartic even." Giving a small smile as he tried to keep the ruse up, she didn't need to know, him quietly disappearing was fine enough.

Gaze averting as she looked shocked he even cared that much, something had to be said, "...Clarence, Fox... Fox didn't make it."

At first nothing, but then a hitched, "O-oh.... I- s-see." Then finally, he could hold back no longer as he let out a wounded, pathetic noise as he sniffled, though it'd be interrupted with violent coughing, blood coming up as the camera violently shook.

Ash's eyes growing wider, she had seen enough, the glimpse of his injuries, "Cl-arence! Hold on, I'm coming, I'm going to get to you, just, just sit tight. I can be there in no time now."

Subtle panic starting to build, she'd be stopped by Clarence who pleaded in a sudden resolve, "Ash... stop, it's okay, it's okay dear, it's too late for me. But not you, you changed me, you all did even when I didn't realize it. That out of every riches I've stolen or conned, you two were the greatest thing to ever have happened to me, and I love you and the memories we had, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry it took so long for me to see that... you were my greatest treasure. And that, and that- it's always."

"Always been you."

"Always."

Choking up a little, so many conflicting feelings dwelling within, welled up, but this was probably the last time she'd see him, tears starting to flow, "I- I love you too, dad."

A small final smile given to her in response to hearing that, he began to fade rather quickly as Ash quietly let out a pained noise, clutching herself as she remained alone in the room.

->In a distant, far-away place, a tendril would press a button as a recording played in the background of what was hidden away<-

[nobodyaskdcourtney]

Daisy Jones & the Six: A Novel + ★★★★★

by Taylor Jenkins Reid

Book Blurb by Random House Publishing: Everyone knows Daisy Jones & The Six, but nobody knows the reason behind their split at the absolute height of their popularity . . . until now.

Daisy is a girl coming of age in L.A. in the late sixties, sneaking into clubs on the Sunset Strip, sleeping with rock stars, and dreaming of singing at the Whisky a Go Go. The sex and drugs are thrilling, but it’s the rock and roll she loves most. By the time she’s twenty, her voice is getting noticed, and she has the kind of heedless beauty that makes people do crazy things.

Also getting noticed is The Six, a band led by the brooding Billy Dunne. On the eve of their first tour, his girlfriend Camila finds out she’s pregnant, and with the pressure of impending fatherhood and fame, Billy goes a little wild on the road.

Daisy and Billy cross paths when a producer realizes that the key to supercharged success is to put the two together. What happens next will become the stuff of legend.

Rating: ★★★★★ Descriptors: Magnetic, raw, lively. Recommended by: TikTok, as usual. Recommended for: Those who chase - chase a drink, chase a lover, chase a dream. Literally everyone - read this book.

I was not entirely sure I was going to finish this one - but, man, am I glad I did.

It took me longer than I had hoped to complete it. For an ebook that is approximately 400 pages, I would usually knock that out in a few hours, maybe a day or two at most. No, this took me a week and a half to finish, and the ending was well worth it.

The writing style here is unique. Now, I know Reid is a popular author on TikTok, but this was my first time reading a book of hers. I'll be honest, I think the writing style is what truly threw me off and made it difficult for me to finish. The author writes as if it is an interview instead of a novel, with the occasional "author's note" from the journalist writing the story. It read almost like a screenplay to a documentary. Now, don't get me wrong, I love a good documentary. However, the transition to written word here did not strike me as it might have in, say, an audio book. As a matter of fact, I'm almost certain I would love the audio book. If this is how Reid writes all of her pieces, they may also take a bit of time for me to get through.

Now, onto the good part - Spoilers may be ahead!

I loved each of the characters individually. I think they were all portrayed so well and so differently from one another, they all simply clicked together perfectly. However, I will say Daisy and Billy equally frustrated me throughout. I had an inkling of where the story was going once the two, I'd say, protagonists finally met up with one another. The chemistry was palpable, and the same goes for Karen and Graham, who I was rooting for the entire time to no avail.

I was also wildly attached to Camila, and I hated every instance where Billy messed up. That said, I oddly understood her dynamic and relationship with Billy to a heartbreaking degree. I did not hate their relationship by any means. It was real. It was raw, and I loved every minute of it, even the hard parts.

I come from a musical family, and my father always chose his career over his family. I saw a lot of my father in Billy's demeanor, although from a different perspective. My dad never struggled with drug or alcohol abuse, but he was unfaithful to my mother and several other women in his life. But, as Camila seemed to grasp, I knew there was nothing my father could do or could have done to stop my mother from loving him, even when she hated him. Even when she hated his choices and his treatment of his children, my mother still had love for my dad. My parents ultimately separated, and I still think it was for the best. But reading Camila and Billy's story really set me back into the mindset I'm sure my mother understood.

As for Daisy, I hated her addiction and her seeming lack of self-awareness. I've been fortunate not to fall victim to an addiction like drugs and alcohol, so I have a hard time understanding why people can't say "no." Daisy started out as a selfish main character, but her growth throughout the series really warmed me. Once she started comprehending her feelings for Billy were more than just their shared love and passion for music, I enjoyed her opening up more.

I liked her friendship with Simone, and I will say - Daisy kept it more real than anyone else in that book. She never shied from what she was doing or saying, and there is something admirable in a woman who stands her ground. I also enjoyed her talking about her sobriety, and I especially loved the final confrontation ( if you want to call it that ) between her and Camila. It was the most authentic, heart-wrenching thing, and it set my heart on fire.

The story was, as I've said many times here, real. It was genuine, it was authentic, it was true. Not every love story has a happy ending. Some have bumps in the road all throughout. Some make you question whose side you're really on, and some you cannot help but love yourself. The odd writing style aside, this was an excellent book and worthy of every star here. I have highlighted and annotated so much of this book, I have no choice but to rate it as highly as I can and recommend it to anyone who will listen.

I loved this book.

[yeniasworld]

Alright, fam, gather ‘round, let’s spill the tea,

This is my journey, wild and free,

In a world painted with vibrant hues,

I’m here to share my truth, my views.

From the tender age of twelve, I bloomed,

A body molded, wrapped in the gloom,

Matured too fast, like a star in the dark,

Men older than me, lurking, leaving a mark.

At fifteen, I learned to navigate fear,

With my crew on speed dial, their voices near,

Walking through shadows, heart racing loud,

But anchored in love, I stood fierce and proud.

Let’s talk realness, let’s break this down,

Underage hearts ain’t toys to be tossed around,

Love’s a lesson, a dance, a song,

And youth is a fire that’s burning strong.

In cultures where girls are wed at age twelve,

Where dreams get buried, and voices shelved,

But I stood my ground, I claimed my space,

Navigating life at my own damn pace.

Then came a boy, bright eyes and a smile,

Seventeen and sweet, made my heart race a mile,

He slid into my DMs, with charm and flair,

But I knew my worth—love's more than a dare.

We vibed in the park, laughed 'til we cried,

Shared dreams and secrets, with nothing to hide,

But I held my ground, set my own rules,

No rush to the bedroom, just two hearts as fools.

He wanted my heart, but I needed my peace,

No crossing those lines, just love on a lease,

At eighteen, we’d talk, then we’d take it slow,

Building a connection, letting our love grow.

Then came Alexx, wise and refined,

Sixty-one years, with stories entwined,

A photographer’s eye, capturing life,

We traveled through Europe, free from the strife.

In his van, we journeyed, just living our dreams,

Creating magic together, or so it seems,

No need for the bedroom, just laughter and light,

In every shared moment, we soared like a kite.

I learned from his wisdom, his patience, his grace,

In this dance of our lives, we found our place,

He taught me to breathe, to just let it be,

In the glow of his presence, I felt truly free.

But let’s keep it real, I’m still on this quest,

To understand love, to know what is best,

Navigating spaces where hearts intertwine,

With queer love’s power, we all redefine.

So here’s to the lovers, the young and the wise,

In every connection, let’s rise and surprise,

With every heartbeat, let’s raise our voice,

In the glow of our truth, we all rejoice.

I’ve danced with the youth, tasted the thrill,

With Bradley, the boy who taught me to feel,

His youthful energy ignited my soul,

In a world of connection, we made each other whole.

Now I reflect, as I stand here today,

With lessons learned, in my own special way,

From the struggles and triumphs, the love that we share,

I’m grateful for all, for the moments laid bare.

Let’s talk about healing, the journey inside,

The battles we fight, the times we’ve cried,

In this tapestry woven with threads of our past,

We rise like the phoenix, our spirits steadfast.

So let’s keep it moving, let’s keep it bright,

In this tapestry of love, we take flight,

With open hearts and minds, let’s dance through the night,

In the glow of our truth, we’ll shine ever so bright.

[poetryfuckinsucks]

a short story about getting older

“stagnation is a funny thing, because typically when it occurs, it goes unnoticed.”

-nobody important

When I was six, I began to notice that everything around me was changing. Things got hotter, people got taller, but more importantly, people changed. It was subtle at first. A newfound disdain for certain people, or a need to fit in. 

But it seemed that no matter how hard I tried, nothing about me changed. I never seemed to get taller, or learn, or grow. I stagnated. How sad is that? I tried everything at that time. By sixteen, I remained the same.

 It was somewhat terrifying. I had to watch the people around me grow and change, and experience life, and I stayed the same. I lost hundreds of friends each year, until I stopped trying to make new ones.  As well, I never got to leave. My parents, terrified and confused, treated me the same every year. Of course they tried, but trying never did anything. 

 I had taken every pill, gone to every doctor. They all said the same thing, with the same empty smile. 

”Just wait it out. You’ll grow up soon.”

We paid thousands of dollars and countless hours, but it seemed that nothing worked. And then I turned seventeen. My parents had grown old as well, I could see the tiredness in their eyes. I knew nobody anymore. Was I supposed to go to college? Get a job? I had been repeating the third grade for the past ten years, not because I wanted to, or was too stupid to move on, because there was nowhere else for me. 

Birthdays were no fun anymore. On my eighth birthday, my parents started giving up. I sat there, in an itchy party hat, with a bright cake, waiting for someone to show up. They never did. I invited sixty people that year, just hoping for one. On my ninth birthday, two people showed up, thinking it was their little brother’s friend’s party. They stole cake and left. 

By seventeen though, I was desperately lonely. I looked too young to know or fit in with anyone truly my age, and couldn’t stand anyone who looked like me anymore. It was easier before. I lost everyone at thirteen, and after that, I had nobody. No boyfriend, no friends, barely even parents anymore. I could see it in their eyes, in the way they spoke behind doorways.

 I wasn’t stupid like I used to be. I used to believe that I had done something, that some God had punished me through this. I wandered for years, trying to be better as though that would make anything change. I read every moral philosophy book on the shelf, no matter how much it bored me, and yet, I still didn’t change. It started to become stupid to believe that I was at fault. I gave up too, I guess.

I started to smoke at twelve. That was when I stopped caring. Not truly, I think, but outwardly. My parents were furious. They grounded me, I slapped my mother, and ran out. Not once did I wonder why I blamed them. But I did. I ran away for a week that summer, living under a bridge and smoking. I never stopped smoking, but I missed the jam my mother bought, and came home. They welcomed me back, crying and saying they missed me. They didn’t seem to understand me anymore. 

At night, I left. I still do sometimes. I would wander the house first, staring in every mirror, examining my youth. My thin hair never seemed to help, and I could never wear anything new. I felt the same as I always did. I wasn’t allowed into bars, or clubs, or whatever I tried, but I was allowed into house parties. They didn’t notice me there. I was too short, or too dull, or something, but nobody seemed to see. So every night, I’d put on a sweatshirt to hide my age, and find a house party. I didn’t ever get truly messed up or anything, nobody would party with a kid, but I slept. Better than i did at home. 

I had the strangest dreams then. I had a recurring dream, often influenced by the hazy smoke: 

I was running. There was someone behind me, a boy. Sixteen, no my age, no sixteen. We were on the beach. He calls for me to come back, and as I spin into his arms, I notice that I am tall. My hair, which never seemed to grow either, had reached the small of my back, curling and cascading down. I feel free. But this boy, whom I have never seen before, pulls away. He asks who I am, and I can’t seem to answer. Who am I? In this dream, I try to give myself a name. I call myself Lidia. I never found out why. But that’s what he calls me. Lidia. Nobody called me anything anymore. 

Sometimes in this dream, I see myself as an old woman. Wrinkled with age, I want to grimace. I tell myself I want to be older, but not this old, right? Won’t I die? I hear myself say I don’t want to die. I take the hand of the man beside me, someone just as unrecognizable shriveled as I have become. I smile at him, he made a joke I didn’t hear. 

That’s when I always woke up. I’d wander outside, in some sort of trance, likely under some influence, and cry until I went home. 

Whenever I’d come home, my parents weren’t mad anymore. My mother used to be, but by thirteen, she told me how lucky I was that nothing affected my face. She was drunk sometimes. Not always, not often, but sometimes. That was when I really listened. I had learned enough at those parties: this was when she told me what she was thinking. She would tell me how happy she was that I was so young, that I’d never grow up. She never took me to doctors anymore.

 I would look into her eyes then, when she wasn’t looking anywhere, and see the misery. She seemed more lonely than I would ever be, and yet, I still saw myself. She was so young sometimes, crying when nobody saw, and getting angry over everything. My cigarettes, the new clothes, being out, or sometimes at nothing. But she was always there for me, and I promised never to grow up. There was little truth in that. I already had grown up, far much more than she had. 

Sometimes I thought back to when I was truly younger, around five, maybe four. I used to dance, though it was a distant memory. I danced with my mother, in kitchens, living rooms, and sometimes in crowded auditoriums. We were alive then. 

The night before my eighteenth birthday, I felt strangely hesitant to leave. I stopped into my parent’s room before I left, which I never did. I noticed then how my shadow seemed to leak into the room with the light of the house, and crept in. My father was working in another room, but my mother was asleep. Despite the makeup smudged down her face, she seemed peaceful. I leaned over carefully, and kissed her forehead. 

“I forgive you.”

The strange words escaped my mouth before I truly understood them. But I meant it. More than I had ever meant anything before. And then I left. I did not look in the mirror, and lit a cigarette as I left. 

I went to sleep that night feeling good. Not content, not placated or drunk, but good. It felt different. New. I wanted to think that when I woke up things would be different. I needed to. 

[sharkbait77]

The Sun Sets With You

Chapter Four: The Foundation of Growth

Summary: A simple yet despondent farm life suddenly sparks with new hope when an unusual traveler makes your town his latest stop and brings with him intriguing and promising viewpoints and no one to share them with. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Ezra Prospect x f!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Silas is officially his own warning! Death of a parent, depressive undertones, grief, food, pls lmk if I missed any!

W/C: 3.3k

A/N: This one is loaded with feelings guys, I didn't mean for it to be so heavy handed in the grief area, but I hope the conversation Ezra has with Reader offsets that. I definitely got into my own feelings about loss with this one, so I'm really sorry in advance if it's too much to handle. Read at your own risk, I've said it before, this story is not for everyone, always take care of yourself first & foremost lovelies. I've got some fluff coming up to make up for this one! I'm still building the plot you guys, I hope you're still with me!

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Chapter Three || Chapter Five

~MAY THIRD OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

Two weeks have since passed; Pa and Ezra had tediously worked the fields, sowed the seeds with care, and the fruition of all their work thus far has resulted in the small sprouts now growing from the Earth. ‘One of Mother Nature’s greatest gifts’, Ezra had said once while you gazed upon the rows of leaflets. Rebirth, growth, new beginnings. You find yourself envying the fresh buds, wishing to crawl into the dirt and begin again as well.

The shop is quiet today. Since you chased away the older women looking to learn more about Ezra Prospect, you haven’t heard a peep since. Quite surprising, though you count your blessings and hope the silence will hold, if only for a moment longer. The children play in the road with the stray town dog and you catch yourself giggling as you watch them. Such innocence in their youth. You only hope life treats them kinder than it had to you.

The shop bell dinging pulls you out of your thoughts and you stand straighter to greet the customer. Lucille Jones enters, without the overbearing presence of her mother – a shock in and of itself. She walks with her hands entwined in front of her, her head lowered some, and blonde ringlets of hair fall forward to frame her face, but she still carries a gentle smile on her face as she looks up at you.

As much as you pitied the outcome of your own life, you could not help but pity Lucille’s tenfold. Her father had fought and perished in the war, the only person to have shown her love and caring, and she was now left with her mother, who was ready to practically pawn her off to the next richest man to come through town.

Were it not for her mother’s meddling, you know the two of you would be great friends. She may be the only other person in this town who can empathize with your despondency; her dreams, likely, have been ripped from her as well. Though, it makes the curiosity spark within you as you wonder why exactly she has shown up in the shop so suddenly and without her mother.

“Hello, Lucille. It’s nice to see you,” you say politely. She nods in return. Timid girl. “May I interest you in anything? I’ve concocted a new healing agent to help with the pesky bug bites during the summer,” you offer gently.

“I-I’ve…” She squeaks. You cock your head slightly at her.

“Lucille, what has your nerves so rattled?”

“I’ve come as a favor to my mother. And Mrs. Foster and Mrs. McKenna.”

She faces you head on now, her soft voice filled with determination to complete her mission, yet her eyes, filled with regret, betray her. You raise your eyebrows in contempt and sigh deeply, and upon seeing your reaction, Lucille’s desire to help her mother gossip dissipates. She quickly steps forward, the heels of her white boots clacking against the wooden floors and the skirts of her pink dress flowing behind her.

“I’m so sorry, I did not wish to come and gossip. It is not my desire. My mother… She would not rest until I agreed to come here,” she laments, the quiver in her voice proving to you that she truly meant no harm. “I will pass on the news that you will speak to no one. Forgive me,” she says, her head hanging lower now than at the start of this conversation as she turns to walk away.

“Wait,” you call out. She stops in her tracks, but does not turn to face you again. You walk around the counter to her position. “Lucille… Why do you follow what your mother commands of you?” You ask softly.

“I…” She looks up in your eyes, tears forming in her own and you swear you feel a string in your heart snap at the sight. “I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do. You can choose to leave all this behind, leave this town and its capability to drain the life from you. You do have a choice for how you desire to live your life.”

You hold her by her shoulders as you speak and you realize you are sharing advice with her that could very well be said to your own face. You know it is not a possibility for you, but if you were able to help Lucille leave town and save her from feeling the same hopelessness as you, a part of you would be freed as well, knowing she will have been able to move on to better things.

She stares at you, the tears in her eyes now dried up and you see a small spark of hope in them, but before you can speak more to nurture that spark into a larger flame, the shop bell dings again. Based on the dark figure in your peripheral, the stomp of large, gaudy boots walking in, the heady scent of cheap cologne filling your nostrils, you know exactly who it is.

Lucille looks at the man first and you remove your hands from her shoulders, taking a step back and inhaling a deep breath, nearly choking on the fragrance now overpowering the shop.

“Hello, Mr. Taylor,” Lucille greets, bowing her head slightly.

“Hiya sweetheart,” he responds in a predatory voice and you snap your head in his direction.

“How can I help you, Silas?” You ask quickly before he can intimidate poor Lucille.

“I heard you’ve got some queer working on the farm now,” he chuckles.

“Do not call him that,” you bite and Silas immediately stops laughing.

“Darlin’,” he takes a step toward you and Lucille backs away against the shop wall. “Don’t tell me you have befriended him. You’re too good for the likes of a freak.”

“You don’t know him,” you reply, keeping your head held high with determination, but you instinctually flinch when Silas barks out a laugh.

“And you do?!” He says, grinning wickedly. “For your sake, honey, I truly hope not.”

“What is your meaning, Silas? He works on my farm, it is only natural that I will, and have, come to know him.”

“Perhaps,” he says, his voice dropping to a lower, more aggressive, octave. “Just be aware of the consequences if you come to know him as more than the simple farmhand he is.”

You wish to spit in his face, to continue defending Ezra, yet the instincts within you beg for you to stop. Though you’ve never been one to cower at Silas and his schemes, you’ve also never seen him as he is before you. Crazed, animalistic, frightening. You’re unsure of what he truly is capable of and you would hate for now to be the time to learn.

Despite the resolute expression you attempt to hold, your eyes must shine with the light fear he managed to instill in you with his threat because he flashes a satisfied smirk, a laugh escaping his flared nostrils as he backs away from you. He turns on his heels and faces Lucille again, huffing a goodbye to her and glancing over his shoulder at you before walking out.

“Are you all right?” Lucille asks softly. You only nod in return. “That man is…” She scoffs, understanding how loathsome he is.

“Not a man. A beast.”

~MAY FIFTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

As you exit the house, ready to meet Ezra at the place you now share together, you reach up to grab an apple from the tree for yourself and throw it in your bag along with your book. You take a step away then halt just as quickly. You consider Ezra, and smile to yourself as you reach up again to grab another apple from the branch, setting it gently inside your bag.

As you approach the oak, you see Ezra standing near the edge of the river, his hands clasped behind his back and head held high. He seems to be enjoying the scenery and you try to lighten your steps so as to not draw him from his serene moment, but the grass crunches under your boots as you walk, regardless of how careful you are, and Ezra turns his head in the direction of the noise, smiling brightly once he sees you.

“Dear Sunflower, I was afraid you would not show today,” he says as he turns his whole body to face you.

“My apologies,” you catch your lip in between your teeth, hiding the amused grin forming on your face, your heart skipping a beat at the knowledge that he had been waiting for your arrival. You dig in your bag in search of the apple you plucked specially for him. “A gift for keeping you waiting,” you say and hold the bright, red fruit out to him.

“Sunflower,” he gasps softly, as though you had just handed him a precious gem. “Thank you. A sweet and kind gesture from someone as equally generous; it will not be forgotten.”

You nod once while you bite the inside of your cheeks. What has gotten you so giddy? He merely gave his thanks for your offering, but the smile on his face, his eyes searching yours to clue him in on what has you so affected, makes a schoolgirl-ish giggle escaping your throat.

You reach for your own apple and drop your bag down in the grass, closer to the tree, and you step closer to the river, kneeling down and carefully dipping the apple into the cool stream to wash the skin. Ezra kneels down beside you and follows your lead.

“These are from the tree by the house. The last tree I was able to plant with my mother before she-”

You pause, immediately feeling your throat constrict and halting any further words from falling from your lips. You’ve not spoken so carefree of your mother to anyone, and the suddenness of your desire to do so catches you off guard. Though you have gotten to know Ezra as more than an acquaintance, the truth of the matter was he is still a stranger to you.

You sense the energy shift around you, and you bite your tongue in penance for turning such a peaceful time into an unpleasant one. Ezra stops washing his apple and leans up straight again while you keep your hands under the cold water, scared to look into his eyes and see judgement.

“Sunflower,” he calls and you startle slightly. After a moment of silence, he speaks again. “If you were to wash that fruit any longer, I’m afraid it may lose its red complexion and turn into a shade of white.”

You cannot help the awkward chuckle that falls from your mouth and you lean up straight as well, still avoiding his gaze as you dry the apple with your apron. Aside from the running water next to you, the air is silent, neither of you speaking a word.

You continue drying the apple, turning it over and over in the cloth around your waist, even though you’re sure there are no water droplets remaining. Suddenly, a loud chomp is heard and your eyes snap up to the offending noise to see Ezra bringing the apple away from his lips, and the two of you break out into gentle laughter.

“Sunflower,” he begins after swallowing the piece of fruit in his mouth. “This is truly the sweetest apple I’ve ever bitten into, and I wholeheartedly believe it is because you and your dear mother were the ones to nurture the tree that grew it.”

The smile that remained on your face from your laughter slowly falls as you remember the day your mother suggested you plant the tree from a seed she accidentally bit into. You can recall her giggles as she grabbed you by the hand and pulled you outside, instructing you to grab the small shovel that was laid by the house while she held the seed in her closed fist.

Pa had said it would not take, chuckling and shaking his head as your mother shooed him away, reprimanding him for cursing the seedling before it had a chance to grow. And, with much love and dedication that your mother insisted on carrying out together, the small tree grew, and soon after, sprouted the shiny, red globes.

“I… I apologize for the sudden change of atmosphere, Ezra,” you say quietly, glancing up at him sheepishly and, to your surprise, are met with a gentle smile of understanding across his face.

“Please do not apologize for reminiscing upon your loved one. It is a hobby I frequently partake in. The memories… They are what keep them alive. No longer with us in the physical sense, yet they live in the grass, in the rivers. In the trees.”

“Like the Green?” You ask shyly as you pick at the stem of your apple.

“Yes. They are born again, just in a different form, but always here to remind you of life. Much like the apple tree is a reminder of your mother.”

You wonder to yourself if Ezra has been a victim of loss as well. The way he speaks of it seems as though he talks from experience, but you do not dare ask. As uncomfortable as it can be for you to speak about your mother, you’d hate to bring that discomfort to him as well. Yet… He speaks so openly, so calmly, that you feel yourself longing to open up.

“Perhaps if I dream of the Green, I would see my mother again,” you say under your breath, feeling the tears that have so long desired to flow build in your eyes with an unbearable pressure.

“You do not need to wait until your dreams, dear Sunflower. You only need to look around at the life surrounding you to know she is here. Close your eyes and she will appear.”

You only have the strength to nod, the lump stuck in your throat as thick as Pa’s dreadful grits he so enjoys making during the winter. A small laugh bubbles over as you remember the way your mother put up the facade of enjoying his grits only to empty them in a bucket to be fed to the cows at a later time.

You look back up at Ezra and he smiles, his eyes shining with compassion, no hint of judgement or scrutiny to be found, and the lump in your throat vanishes, comfort radiating from his person onto you like a warm, wool blanket.

“Would…” You hesitate, but an overwhelming urge to share with Ezra commands you to continue. “Would you like to see her?”

“I would love to,” he nods gently.

You smile softly, leaving your apple to rest in your lap while you carefully pull at the chain around your neck until the small locket emerges from underneath your blouse. You scoot closer to Ezra and he mimics your movement, leaning closer to you as well and you recognize that this is the first time he has been in such close proximity to you.

You shove the tip of your fingernail between the crevice of the locket until it pops open, revealing the black and white photograph of your mother that you yourself have not taken the opportunity to look at in far too long. The length of the chain is still too short for Ezra to get a proper look, so he leans in closer, your heads mere inches apart.

You feel your pulse thumping against your chest, the vein in your neck throbbing as you feel the heat emanating from him. He smells of cedarwood and the hay bed he sleeps on, a light scent of sweat from working the fields, and something almost sweet, a unique aroma to be found only on his person and no one else.

“She is very beautiful, Sunflower. It is as plain as the nose on my face that you are her daughter,” he compliments, backing away from you slowly and you giggle softly as you place the locket back into your blouse. “What is her name?”

“Emma,” you smile genuinely, for once feeling not one ounce of sadness as you say her name aloud.

“Emma. She is now the sun, moon, and stars that shine down on you, Sunflower.”

You smile once again and nod as you place your hand on your chest, feeling the cool metal press against the warm skin covering your sternum. You close your eyes and let the sun’s rays warm your cheeks as you take a deep breath, heeding Ezra’s thoughtful words and imagining that your mother is, indeed, the sun kissing your face.

“Thank you for allowing me to share my thoughts, Ezra,” you say after a beat of prolonged silence. As you look over at him, you see his head lowering, too, as if he had mimicked your action and let the warmth of the sun fall on his face as well.

“You have no need to thank me, dear one. I am elated you deemed me worthy to share your thoughts with. If you ever desire to share again, please know I am here,” he says softly as he smiles.

“You are a very good friend, Ezra. I am happy to know you.”

“And I, you.”

You look down at your lap to your forgotten apple, raising it to your mouth to take a bite and Ezra resumes eating his as well. Once you’ve both bitten down to the core, you both toss them into the river and you stand up, allowing the blood to circulate through your legs again before heading over to the tree.

You bend over to collect your bag along the way and your book falls from the opening as you stand straight. Before you are able to bend down to grab it, Ezra is already there, lifting it in his hands while he reads the cover.

“‘Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland’?” He smiles quizzically.

“I understand it is for children, but I quite enjoy the adventure and wonder of it,” you say, smiling from embarrassment.

“I do not judge what a young lady chooses to read in her spare time, Sunflower,” he grins as he hands the book to you. “I have yet to read this one. Will you read it aloud for me?”

“Yes,” you nod. “If you’d like.”

You both sit down in the grass, leaning your backs against the trunk of the oak tree as you find the page you last left off. The scene of Alice’s trial has Ezra suddenly captivated as to what caused Alice to be put on trial, unfairly it seemed. You do your best to explain, which only produces more questions from Ezra.

You giggle at his frustration over the treatment of this poor girl and decide to start the book over for Ezra to follow along, a genuine happiness washing over you at the thought of reading this story to Ezra for the weeks to come. He leans in closer, as though the distance you had between you previously was too far for him to hear you and you stumble over your words slightly.

You still do not understand this feeling overcoming you; the only thing you do understand is that you do not feel the need to place a guard around yourself as you do with the others in town. You want to share with Ezra, you feel comfortable enough with him already, though he has only been here for two weeks.

Yet, you feel as though you know him better than most around you and you feel that he understands you better than even your Pa. It frightens you, yet you have no desire to run from it, but rather towards it. A new path you find yourself carving into your mind.

Chapter Three || Chapter Five

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Tags: @the-ginger-hedge-witch @asta-lily @honeymandos @pascalpanic @aliwritesfic @mandocrasis @hnt-escape @winter-fox-queen @barbossa2319 @sarahjkl82-blog @day-off-inkyoto @pedrocentric @astoryisaloveaffair @ezrasbirdie @danniburgh @foli-vora @lucrezia-thoughts @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamer @quica-quica-quica @meesterblack @amandalovess @hunterofartem1s @pedro4ever @mishasminion360 @wardenparker @librariantothejedi @fan-of-encouragement @javierpinme @writeforfandoms @ew-erin @you-got-me-starry-eyed @quietpainter @beskarboobs @andiesturgss @maryfanson @princessxkenobi

[darlingpetao3]

House of W (Multiple!Wells x Reader, Chapter 2)

Rating: T

Summary: After having to deal with the deaths of an infinite number of Harrison Wells in the Multiverse, you, a magic-wielding meta, have a breakdown and unwittingly create a happy, fictitious sitcom life with some of your favourite men. In a world of comedy and cameos, can Team Flash and an out-of-town magician break through your powers to save you? And what if you don’t want to be saved...?

Tag List: @fandomdancer @bluesclues-1234 @pinkdiamond1016 @crissymadlock @ensign-tilly @disneyoncerlover815 @marvel-lady10 @thecaptainsgingersnap @noctvrnalmoth @alexxlynn @dontbedumb3 @heyl0lwhatsup @ryou-cosmos​

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1

Birds tweeting, sun shining…

Big strong arms around you.

“Well, well, Wells,” you say with a scratchy morning voice and twist your body around in bed to see who’s got you in his grasp. Ah. “Good morning, Harry.”

“Good morning, (Y/L/N),” the scientist replies. You just love how strands of his hair stick up in place. Harry arguably has the best bedhead.

“You know dear, since we are married after all, don’t you think it would be more acceptable to call me by my first name?”

Harry chuckles and pulls you closer against him.

“You do raise a fair point. (Y/N).”

“That’s more like it.”

He kisses your nose. Shortly after he does, it starts to feel itchy. You feel like you’re about to sneeze. It wiggles and wiggles until—

“Achoo!”

Suddenly, Harry, who had been clad in his silky pyjamas is now- oh my.

“(Y/N), did you just sneeze my clothes away?”

You can hardly answer the Wells in your bed because you’re so enthralled by his lack of clothing under the sheets.

“Happy accident?” you offer innocently. Harry shakes his head and smiles as if to signify that you’re up to your old antics again.

“Come here, you,” he says and pulls the covers over you both.

* * * *

The scene is really quite comical.

Harry walks briskly with his long legs into work at S.T.A.R. Toys Manufacturing Inc. as you try to keep up with quick little steps and a clipboard… while H.R. trails behind you like a maniac with a tray of coffee.

“(Y/N), I believe you have some explaining to do,” Harry speaks to you over his shoulder. “Can you remind me why you’re at work with me? And why the numbskull, too?”

“Handsome numbskull!” H.R. jokingly clarifies. Harry rolls his eyes.

“I told you, honey,” you begin, “I decided it would be best for me to get a job instead of sitting around the house. Plus, an assistant here was the only position available. I thought that was terribly convenient. We can spend more time together now, isn’t that wonderful? As for H.R., I hired him as my assistant!”

“My assistant has an assistant?”

“Don’t question it, honey,” you tell him and pat him on the cheek. Just then, two young employees walk up to you. They look rather familiar, but you can’t place why at the moment.

“Good morning, Mr. Wells,” the pair greet Harry. “And Mrs. Wells. ...And Mr. Wells.”

“Ah, good morning Garcia. Runk,” Harry answers. “I trust your projects are coming along?”

“That they are, Sir,” the young man called Runk replies.

“We should have them finished and ready by end of day,” Garcia, the young woman, adds.

“I’m glad to hear it-”

“-Well done, chaps!” H.R. interrupts. ���You’re all doing such magnificent work. All for the children.”

“All for the children,” Garcia and Runk agree.

Harry clears his throat and whispers to you, “I think assistants to the assistants should be seen and not heard.”

“I’ll have a little chat with him,” you tell your handsome boss husband. “Now, let’s build some toys!”

* * * *

After a long day at the factory, you, Harry, and H.R. all return home. The delicious scent of dinner greets you as you walk in the door.

“Mmm, I wonder what Sherloque and Nash are cooking up!” you think out loud.

“I hope it’s nothing French,” Harry says semi-bitterly.

“H.R., can you go see what they’re up to in there, sweetie?”

“I most certainly can, dearest!” he responds then disappears into the kitchen. You are sure to take this opportunity to have some more one-on-one time with Harry on the couch. As you sit, he sets his briefcase down on the coffee table and removes from it a small rocket ship. After turning it around in his hands, Harry hands it to you.

“I’d been working on this today,” he says.

“Oh Harry, it is so groovy. You do such fine work.”

“The idea came to me in a dream.”

“You make dreams come true for children every day.”

Harry turns to you. “I think I’ve always wanted kids. But I guess it’s never happened for me.” He looks into your eyes. “I think I’d like to have one with you someday, (Y/N). How do you feel about that?”

“I feel… I feel…” Your nose starts to wiggle again. “Achoo!”

“(Y/N), are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Oh, yes, I’m completely and totally, whoaaaa!” You stand up to get a better look at yourself, finding that your tummy has a noticeable roundness to it.

“Are you…?” Harry asks. The rest of the Wells men come rushing into the living room.

“Qu’est-ce qui se passe?”

“I heard another sneeze!”

“Jumping juniper, (Y/N)’s pregnant!”

They all group around you in a half-circle to admire your belly and to declare their delight at the very abrupt surprise.

“Is this really happening?” you ask all of them, falling deeper and deeper into your happiness.

“I couldn’t imagine a better life with you,” Harry says and punctuates his final word with a kiss. Everything about this moment just seems… so much more colourful and vibrant.

And perfect.

~ ~ ~ ~

Barry had urgently messaged Cisco and Caitlin to meet him back at the Grand Central City Auditorium, where they had just seen Zatanna’s magic act. The plan—what very little of a plan he had—was to race to find Zatanna, the Mistress of Magic, and ask for her help.

Word on the street was that Miss Zatara’s act wasn’t mere illusions. People have said that she really does possess a special magical power. And if this was the case, she was their only hope to retrieve you from whatever world you’ve gotten yourself into.

They say sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.

Well, now Team Flash is going to fight magic with magic.

It took a bit of making a scene inside the venue with the security guards for Zatanna to finally come out of her dressing room to see who was causing the commotion.

“Hi, excuse me, what’s going on here?”

“Zatanna? My name is Barry Allen,” your brother introduces himself. “I was at your show tonight.”

“Flawless,” Cisco can’t help but add.

“Sure,” she says, probably very much wanting him to get to the point. “How can I help you, Barry Allen?”

“We have a bit of a magical issue. My sister has gotten herself into a situation. We need your help.”

Zatanna’s big round eyes squint slightly, but whatever she sees in these three strangers surely isn’t threatening.

“Your sister, you say?” The Mistress of Magic always did have a soft spot for family. “Where is she?”

“You better come with us and see for yourself.”

~ ~ ~ ~

“Wow, this is quite the setup,” Zatanna says, taking in the Cortex upon her arrival. “Now, you said that your sister is broadcasting her own sitcom?”

“That’s right,” Barry confirms. “I switched on the TV earlier, and there she was in black and white. But the weird thing is that her set looked almost identical to her home, except not because her real home exploded-”

“Yeah, that’s the weird bit,” Cisco pipes up sarcastically. “Definitely not that she’s married to four different versions of the same man.”

“What?” Zatanna looks entirely confused. “Okay, you guys are going to have to catch me up.”

“No problem. The episode is streaming online. On repeat.”

“Cisco, pull up the show on the monitors,” Barry orders. The engineer does so, and the crew proceeds to analyze the sitcom episode.

“This man... or these men, rather—you said they died?” Zatanna asks the room. The rundown the gang gave her on the way to S.T.A.R Labs was quite rushed, so naturally it would only generate more questions.

“That’s right. I saw them disappear before my eyes,” Barry confirms. “They sacrificed themselves for us.”

Zatanna hums in thought. “Whether they’re truly dead or not, she must be using an incredible amount of magic to create this world and broadcast this across the airwaves.”

“Guys!” Caitlin raises her voice. “We have an incoming broadcast!”

The monitors change after a bit of static. Now, instead of the episode Team Flash was watching, a brand new jingle comes through the speakers.

“Is this…?” Barry starts.

“She released Episode Two!” Cisco cheers. Everyone in the room shoots him a look. “What? I’m invested.” As they watch the new episode, they take frantic notes, searching for any kind of clues.

“Look!” Barry points at the screen to the familiar faces.

“How did Allegra and Chester get in there?” Caitlin wonders.

“They have a guest-starring role…” Cisco notes, possibly with a hint of jealousy.

“And who are they?” Zatanna inquires.

“They’re our friends,” Barry clarifies. “At least, I think they are. They can't be illusions, can they? Created by (Y/N)?”

“I’ll call them and see if we can hear their phones ringing in the show,” Caitlin suggests. As she attempts the call, the rest of the team stands and stares at the screens hoping for some form of ringing sound. This episode seemed to be styled more in the Sixties, so it was unlikely that they’d actually see Chester and Allegra pull out a cell phone.

Nothing. No sound.

They must not have their phones on them…

A little while longer passes, with even more analyses by Team Flash and Zatanna studying your power on screen. Once in a while, she’ll ask Barry for background information about you. Which brings her to ask the all important question:

“How did (Y/N) get her powers?”

Barry goes on to explain your origin story, which coincides with his own. It was that one fateful night where Barry was in his CSI lab at CCPD, and so were you. You had stopped by to see how he was doing after the whole debacle of Iris getting her laptop stolen and Eddie saving the day instead. (To Barry’s credit, he tried really hard to catch the criminal, he just wasn’t fast enough). But you were checking up on him when the Particle Accelerator exploded and sent a wave of extraordinary, uncontained power across the city. You saw the lightning in the sky and tried to get Barry away from holding that metal chain, but in doing so, you also got caught in the crosshairs of the accident. Your brother fell into the shelf of chemicals as the lightning struck at the same time you knocked over a box of evidence—stolen ancient crystals from the Central City Museum.

Zatanna takes in the story silently, nodding in the right places. She’s deep in thought when a voice comes from the entrance to the Cortex: “Hey guys, what’s going on in here?”

Barry rushes to the two younger members of Team Flash, Allegra and Chester. “How did you two get in there? How did you get out?”

“Get in where?” Allegra wonders.

“Come on! In (Y/N)’s sitcom,” Cisco says. “Did she send out a casting call or did she just tell you that you got the parts?”

Chester and Allegra glance at each other with identical furrowed brows.

“You really don’t know what happened, do you?” Caitlin asks them.

“What happened?” they reply in unison.

Cisco stands up immediately. “I’ll get the popcorn.”

As he replays the footage, both of the ‘guest stars’ shake their heads in disbelief.

“Wow, nope, don’t remember any of that,” Chester says.

“No,” Allegra agrees. “One minute I’ve got my feet up in the Lounge, and the next I’m here walking into the Cortex.”

“Interesting,” Caitlin muses. “Interesting, but beyond strange. It’s like they’ve been mind wiped of the experience. We need more answers.” The rest of the episode plays out to reveal the big cliffhanger at the end.

“(Y/N)’s going to have a baby?!” Cisco shouts. “Oh man, things just got real. I wonder who’s the father... You don’t think (Y/N) would turn her show into a Maury episode, do you?”

“Zatanna, is there anything you can do?” Barry asks desperately. “This is getting out of hand.”

“I can cast a locating spell. All I have to do is say the words of what I wish backward for it to take hold.” Zatanna readies herself. “(N/Y) etacol,” the magician utters with her eyes closed. Everyone in the room stands silent in case making any kind of noise would ruin whatever spell she has cast.

They hold their breaths.

“I’m getting something…” Zatanna says eventually. “It’s like a signal of sorts. I can see it in my mind. And it’s coming from… here.”

“What do you mean, ‘here’?” Barry presses.

“Here. As in S.T.A.R. Labs.”

[merryfortune]

kisses of the rain on her cheeks

Written for the 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt - #55 Cloud

Ship: Zinniashipping | Aoi/Miyu

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

Word Count: 2,074

Rating: G

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Post Canon, Fluff and Angst, Bittersweet, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

   It was starting to come over cloudy but it didn’t seem rainy yet. Just grey, just dim, just overcast but it wasn’t going to bother either Aoi nor Miyu as they wandered through the streets on their way back to the hospital.

   Miyu hadn’t been formally discharged yet but she was permitted to be taken out for about an hour by friends or family. So, Aoi was doing her best to make each of those sixty minutes count. Though, it wouldn’t be long now that Miyu would be sent on her way back home and she and Aoi could do as they pleased from there. Or close enough to, around the schedules of their school lives and their guardians, at the very least. It was tremendously exciting to be reunited as they were.

   Miyu looked forward to Aoi’s visits. She always brought gifts and stories, too. Revealing more and more of what had happened in the past ten years, mostly working back with the most imminent coming first. Miyu learned about Aqua, what Aqua was at all, and how the Knights of Hanoi figured in. 

   Never in a million years she would have guessed that her abduction and torture of a child was meant for such schemes and purposes - or that, in a sense, they had come to life at all. She really wishes that she could have met Aqua. Properly. Not just through their vague, psychic link of dreams and vagueness but in person. Face to face. Miyu suspected she had a lot to say to Aqua - mostly good things, of course. She just wanted to thank her, for being so kind and good-hearted despite her origins, truly the creature that Miyu would have designed for herself to crystallise all her childhood feelings.

   And then Aoi told her about the Knights of Hanoi. About how they had created the Ignis and how they… attempted to kill the Ignis. She spoke about the Tower of Hanoi and Miyu was just mystified. Again, she would never have guessed that weird situation from earlier this year, involving things she chose not to care about since duelling outside the Incident gave her too much agitation and anxiety and she just couldn’t take it. 

   But In the end, it wasn’t the Knights of Hanoi who landed that final blow despite being the ones to strike first. Aoi spoke about the other Ignis. Aqua’s friends and, unfortunately, her enemies too. it was almost self-destruction; Lightning got jealous of what he couldn’t have and tried to force his solution to this problem on the other Ignis, taking all but one of them out.

   After that, with the big things out of the way, the smaller things could come forward. They spoke about what they had done in the past ten years. The schools they had gone to, the mistakes they had made and the fun they had away from each other, too. Aoi felt guilty, though, hearing about how Miyu had never forgotten her, never passed a day without thinking about her little blue angel.

   Miyu hugged her, though. Kissed her forehead and snuggled her. She didn’t realise that made Aoi feel guiltier rather than absolving her of the sin of forgetting. It had been a long time, after all, and there had been a lot going on in both their lives so Miyu didn’t blame Aoi at all, unlike Aoi who blamed herself.

   Regardless, Aoi was happy that Miyu could take it all in stride like that. If the positions were reversed, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to absorb such a ludicrous-sounding story. But through it, they had managed to find each other again and for that, Aoi would be forever in debt to that little blue creature known as Aqua. 

   As such, with ten years lost to make up for, Aoi and Miyu had a lot of new memories to make with one another and they were cherishing every opportunity to do so. That finite hour the hospital was giving Miyu until she was out was their current one.

   Aoi had taken Miyu out on as much of a date as she could with such little time afforded. They went browsing the closest mall and got fruity boba tea together with little mochi snacks as well. They had quite enjoyed themselves window shopping and having refreshments along the way; for Miyu, it was certainly a lot better than just cloud watching from that overly sterile with hospital food but Aoi would have enjoyed either, truth be told.

   Besides, all good things had to come to an end and before they knew it, they were pressed for time. Miyu wanted to wander around some more so Aoi compromised: they would take the slightly longer route back to the hospital. One that happened to pass by the side of a small park. 

   Just passing it by was enough to spark so many memories for them both. Miyu stopped in her tracks and pounced on Aoi, her hands wrapping around Aoi’s wrists tightly. She bounced on her heel excitedly, with her steely blue eyes sparkling.

   “Please, please, please.” Miyu begged. “Can we visit the park first?”

   Aoi glanced over Miyu’s shoulders, into the depth of this area. It was both fenced and shrubbed, very square and symmetrical in design, too, from what she could see from the pathing, although it was dark stone arranged in a herringbone pattern. There were flower planters on the inside of the shrubs, flowering with white streaked pink and purple pansies. It certainly made Aoi nostalgic and a small smile tugged on her lips.

   “We really shouldn’t, we’re gonna be late to your curfew…” she murmured and then sighed.

   The way Aoi - them both saw it, actually - there were two scenarios ahead. One in which they get in trouble and one in which they do not get in trouble. However, the latter would be unencumbered with misery and boredom, the former would undoubtedly be where they would have a good time, giggling to themselves. The answer was obvious.

   “Alright.” Aoi relented.

   “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Miyu replied and she barraged Aoi with a huge hug.

   Aoi smiled as Miyu’s arms surged around her, one hooked over her shoulder and the other around her waist whilst she placed her head in the crook of Aoi’s head and shoulders. Miyu completely pressed her body up against Aoi who wasn’t much of a hugger, unlike Miyu. Even so, Aoi feebly hugged her back by placing both her hands on Miyu’s hips. Only for Miyu, who, a second before, had been nuzzling the other side of Aoi’s neck to reef back.

   “C’mon, let’s go explore.” Miyu said.

   She pulled back but also pulled Aoi along, taking her hand and tugging her down the pathing. They strolled down the stone, arms linked, Miyu cuddled in and Aoi had a soft smile on her face. The dimness of twilight was welcome, even if the sky that threatened to spill rain from clouds wasn’t quite so. It was peaceful here but not a fragile peace, rather a balmy one. It really did feel a lot like memory lane, though the park they had met and played in as children had a much less mature design in that it used dirt paths and had obvious and protruding play equipment.

   Thus the swingset in the middle of the park - more like a garden, really, with its trees and greenery - was a surprise. It stood opposite a pergola which had a pigeon pecking around atop its stone features and was the only sort of play equipment present. Just a tall, thin metal swing set with two units provided side by side that somehow didn’t look out of place amid the civic-minded decor. 

   Upon seeing it, Miyu let go of Aoi and she flung herself at it. Aoi watched and drew in closer, kicking a pebble whilst Miyu was kicking off. She squealed and laughed as she swung on the swingset. It was bolted to the ground but even so, Miyu was more than powerful enough to make it jump and groan, delighting her all the more. Though a worry did nag at the back of Aoi’s head, she didn’t want to see Miyu get hurt but it was more than apparent to her, at the same time, Miyu was resilience personified.

   “Woo!” Miyu yelped. She dissolved into giggles after that but then managed to ask, “Hey Aoi, d’you wanna swing with me?”

   “I thought you’d never ask.” Aoi replied.

   She was careful to avoid Miyu as she rocketed back and forth like a torpedo and got onto the other seat. She sat down and kicked off. She wasn’t bold enough, like Miyu, to try and swing so far that she could reach up and touch the sky with all its fluffy clouds but she could enjoy herself more slowly. After all, if they had forsaken time and curfew, why not savour it?

   They swung out of order from another, Miyu doing two in the time and space that Aoi did one but it was nice. Nostalgic. They couldn’t hold a conversation like this but the way their hearts were beating and the way their memories were already holding these moments so dear, they didn’t need to.

   Then one by one, on the tips of their noses and dotted on their cheeks, they felt the rain finally trying to make its escape from the clouds. Miyu slowed down, dragged her feet on the ground and she could feel the soles of her shoes reverberate on the friction and she looked up, blinking owlishly. The skies had darkened with encroaching rain rather than encroaching night. The difference was slight but still orangey and purple with dusk.

   Noting that Miyu had come to a halt on her vivacious swinging, Aoi quietly did the same. She stared at her friend who was looking up at the sky with a difficult to read expression. It was curious and peculiar, a little bit mournful but so, very, very loving all the same.

   “D’you think Aqua would have liked to do this too?” Miyu asked.

   Aoi hummed, mulling Miyu’s question over, “I think so.” she replied. She thought of how Aqua treasured Miyu despite their scant interactions and their tumultuous beginnings as experiment and the experimented upon. Aqua truly wanted nothing more but the best for her Miyu, proud of how strong she was, saddened by the distance of worlds between them.

   “That’s good.” Miyu chirped. “Because I would have liked to do this with her.”

   Miyu got up but not like Aoi should have expected. She stood up on the seat of the swing and thank goodness it wasn’t so flimsy nor was Miyu overly klutzy. She held the chain links that suspended the seat and grinned. The rain began to drip more dots of its drops from the sky, patterning them more apparently with wetness now.

   Miyu hefted herself and gave a swing. Aoi smiled and she did the same. Standing up against the world and gravity, it was exhilarating. They could see more from just this slightly higher angle, over the fences and the shrubs, even so far as glimpsing the hospital they were really supposed to be getting back to. The sight of its creamy facade reminded them of the trouble they would get into later for missing curfew but already, they both knew it was more than worth it to have such time returned between them. It was just like when they were kids.

  Aoi turned her head slightly, to see Miyu as she swung and she looked gorgeous in her rapture and delight. It made Aoi happy to see. Miyu’s grin was big and wide; her hair was flouncing around and the sound of her voice was impish and mischievous yet such strange comfort to Aoi who was scared to look down lest she face-plant. 

   Miyu’s head was still tilted up to the sky, raindrops on her eyelashes but not like tears, “I want to believe that Aqua will come back one day.” she proclaimed as she swung and like all good children knew, anything spoken at the crescendo of a swing was a wish the universe had no choice but to deliver due to the courage it takes to make at such a height.

   “Me too.” Aoi agreed, feeling more kisses of the rain on her cheeks and in her hair.

[glimmerglanger]

naming colors (codywan soulmate au)

Sometimes you see a picture and it strikes you with inspiration and you spend the rest of the day writing a you-only-see-grey-before-your-find-your-soul-mate au and then you end up here, where I have, with an au where nothing hurts and everyone is happy. (background pairings)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cody was told he’d never see colors.

It wasn’t anything personal, not a flaw with his genetic structure. None of his brothers would ever see colors, according to the Kaminoans. Their progenitor, the man they’d all been based on, had found his fated one, had been able to see colors, but she was years dead by the time they were created.

So, none of them were ever going to see colors. The Kaminoans hadn’t even bothered trying to explain the concept of color. None of them were ever going to see the world in anything other than shades of grey, so what would have been the point?

Cody didn’t think much about it. It was just how things were, and, as far as they were taught, plenty of other people went their whole lives without seeing color, either. Finding your fated one was a rare thing, a precious thing, and Cody’s had died before his genetic material was first introduced into a growth matrix.

Or so he thought, without question, until the day his shuttle landed in the hangar of the Negotiator.

He’d waited his entire life for that moment, and felt… not nervy. But full of anticipation. Unsure what to expect, really, despite all the years of training. He’d heard a little about the General he’d be serving. He’d heard plenty about the front where they were to be sent. His mind was full of discussions that needed to be had, busy with plans for battle, as he walked down the ramp, helmet under one arm, his brothers forming up behind him.

He took a breath of the recycled air as he stepped down into the hangar and hesitated in midstep, not even sure why. His skin tingled all over, all at once. He felt warmer.

“Well, hello there,” a voice said - a perfect voice, one that sounded sweeter than anything he’d ever heard before - and he turned, feeling as though the air around him had suddenly grown thick, catching at his skin. And a - a man was approaching the shuttle, and--

Cody froze into place, because he’d been told he’d never see colors. None of his brothers were ever going to see colors. He didn’t even have words for colors, but-- but the world was changing, in front of him, starting with the eyes of the man who had jerked to a stop as well, staring at Cody with eyes that were sharp and clear and Cody needed to know what color they were immediately.

He watched the colors spread, staining the man’s skin, his beard, his hair, his armor, the world beyond him.

Cody was afraid to blink, afraid if he closed his eyes for even a second, the color would wash out again. That whatever was happening was only his… imagination, perhaps. A hallucination. He took in a breath and an itch raced down his spine, warmth flooded his chest and gut.

He heard his helmet clatter to the ground, but it sounded like it came from far away. He moved without thought, crossing the distance to the man - to General Kenobi, some distant part of his mind was yelling - not sure what he planned to do once he got there.

He was moving on some kind of strange auto-pilot, as though his legs and arms had decided they knew what to do and that they weren’t going to wait for his mind to catch up. General Kenobi was staring at him, equally unblinking, expression pole-axed as Cody reached him and--

And curled an arm around him, because it seemed very important that he not go anywhere. They were of a height with one another, he noted, head bowing without thought, so he could--nuzzle against the General’s neck, breathing in deep as Kenobi tilted his head to the side, making a little choking sound in his throat.

He smelled so good, perfect. Cody made a sound, pleased, when Kenobi put a hand on his shoulder, sliding his palm up, skin brushing the back of Cody’s neck, and he didn’t know what was going on, but he cared less and less with each passing heartbeat.

Someone was making noise, close by, but it was very hard to care. Not when he could rub his cheek against the side of Kenobi’s throat - scent marking, a distant little part of his mind, one that had been paying attention back on Kamino, informed him - and then press his mouth to skin.

It felt natural to open his mouth, feeling Kenobi gasp at the drag of teeth over skin, and there was no thought to anchoring a hand in Kenobi’s hair to hold him still, and--

“--Commander!” someone yelled, almost right in his ear, and there were hands, pulling at him. He snarled, the expression feeling strange and utterly natural, all at the same time, right into the face of one of his brothers. He could hear the sound coming out of his chest and it was totally unfamiliar, low and deep.

His brother tripped back a step, hands up, but there were more of them, including one speaking into a radio, saying, “--don’t know, but he’s attacking General Kenobi, sir--”

Which was ridiculous, he’d never let anyone hurt Kenobi, and-- and two of his brothers were trying to pull Kenobi away. Cody didn’t truly recall throwing the first punch, later. He didn’t remember much of anything that happened over the next sixty seconds, until one of his brothers apparently decided to de-escalate matters by hitting him in the back with a stunner.

#

Cody woke up in the medical bay, with restraints around his wrists. He tugged against them, scowling and attempting to put his memories into some kind of order. It was difficult to focus on that when he opened his eyes and found the world all in color.

He really had stepped onto the Negotiator and had the impossible happen, then. He twisted his arms against the restraints, and said, “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Ah, you’re awake,” a medic said, wandering over to him, looking a bit awkward. “Do you… mm. Do you not remember?”

“I remember.” Cody remembered the way Kenobi had smelled, the way his skin had tasted. 

The medic nodded, making a note on the pad he held. “Do you know why you attacked General Kenobi?”

Cody blinked at him, taking in the color of his hair, his eyes, his skin. He craned his head to look down at himself, wishing there was a mirror around. “I didn’t attack him,” he said, offended that they’d even suggest it. He tugged on the restraints again.

The medic made a little noise. “According to reports--”

“That wasn’t an attack,” someone said from the doorway. Cody looked up, frowning at the tall man leaning there. He had dark eyes, hair in yet another color Cody didn’t know. Something about his scent bothered Cody, which was… odd. He couldn’t recall caring much how people smelled, before.

“General Skywalker,” the medic said. “I heard that he tried to bite General Kenobi. That’s--”

“Not an attack,” Skywalker said, frowning at Cody. “Was it, Commander?”

“I’d never hurt him,” Cody said, indignant and irritated. “And if anyone else did, I’ll…” He trailed off, uncomfortable with the anger in his chest. He’d not really experienced anger before, either. It was an unpleasant feeling, all hot and sharp inside his skin.

The medic shifted, looking uncomfortable. “General, I don’t think you heard me. He tried to bite--”

“Master Obi-Wan, yes, I heard. And Obi-Wan wasn’t really trying to fight him off, was he?” Skywalker seemed… frustratingly calm about this enter thing. And Cody still didn’t like the way he smelled. He scowled. “Force,” Skywalker said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Force, did they tell you anything about fated ones on Kamino?”

Cody glanced at his brother, who shrugged back at him. “Not really, sir. We don’t have one.”

Skywalker heaved a sigh and looked at him. “Surprise,” he said. “You do.”

#

Cody listened to General Skywalker’s explanation, half-sure he was dreaming. When he finished, the medic said, “I don’t see how this could be possible. We were told our progenitor’s fated one died long ago.”

Skywalker shrugged. “You’re not your progenitor,” he said, like an explanation for how Cody had taken one look at Obi-Wan and known that Obi-Wan was his. “And you can see colors now, can’t you, Commander?”

Cody nodded. They’d released the restraints around his arms while talking, and, while it was taking effort, he was resisting the urge to stalk off and find Kenobi. He got the feeling it wouldn’t be difficult. There was a tugging inside him, urging him to get up and go. He ignored it.

“Obi-Wan, too,” Skywalker said, shaking his head. “Since he saw you. So…” he gestured out to the side. “That’s pretty conclusive.”

“Why isn’t he telling me all this?” Cody asked. He wanted to be where - where Obi-Wan was, but he’d woken up in the infirmary, alone. And hadn’t they been taught that the Jedi didn’t have attachments? Perhaps Obi-Wan wouldn’t want him, even if they were fated, perhaps--

“He’s trying to give you some space,” Skywalker said. “He said this would probably be a lot for you to take in. Also, Commander, with the way you reacted, I’m…. not sure he’d have the chance to explain anything.”

Cody remembered the warmth of Obi-Wan’s skin, the taste of him, the ache in his jaw. He said, stiffly, “I wouldn’t--if he didn’t want--”

“I know,” Skywalker said, looking to the side. “Believe me, I know you wouldn’t do anything to him. He’s your fated one. You couldn’t. But he wasn’t protesting, was he? Honestly, we’re probably lucky you got stunned. If you hadn’t, you two would probably still be in the hangar, making everyone uncomfortable.”

Cody thought about that. He’d gotten a crash course in, what, exactly they’d been gearing up to do. He felt heat prickle across his skin and a fresh wave of bitterness that he’d been interrupted. Some of it must have shown on his face, because Skywalker cleared his throat and said, “Anyway, he wants to give you a chance to think about what you want, without him… confusing the issue. It’s considered polite to let both people think about it, if possible, before...”

Cody frowned at him. “Did you… think about it, sir?”

Skywalker blinked, looking taken about for a moment, and then flashed him a grin. “I thought about it for years. I found my fated one when I was nine.”

Cody blinked. “I’m not much older, sir.”

“Yeah. I was about half your size, though. I didn’t have… uh. Urges. It was almost six years before I even thought about wanting to bite her.” Skywalker leaned back on his chair. “Obi-Wan’s worried about it, though. It’s why he wants you to have plenty of time to…” He waved a hand. “Decide if you want to go somewhere else for a few years. Or whatever.”

Cody didn’t know how to tell him that the distance didn’t really help. Or that he didn’t want to go anywhere, except to wherever Obi-Wan had hidden himself away. He only nodded and tried to think clearly. “It’s up to me? They won’t… send me away?”

Skywalker blinked and shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said. “Not unless you want to go. Separating fated pairs is bad business.” 

Cody took some comfort in that, but had to press onward, had to ask, “But the Jedi…?”

“Not even the Jedi argue with that,” Skywalker said, with a fast little smile. “I should know. So, just… think about all of this. Obi-Wan’ll give you time.”

He made to step back, and Cody straightened. “Wait,” he said, swallowing hard, “wait, I don’t - I don’t know the names for any of the colors I can see.”

“Ah,” Skywalker said, something soft crossing his expression, his smile turning into something gentle. “Well, I can help you with that.”

#

Obi-Wan had blue eyes. He had reddish hair. Copper, Skywalker said. He wore cream robes. He had a blue lightsaber. Cody hoarded all the names for these parts of his fated one, held them tight and repeated them, over and over.

He read all the information that could be found regarding fated pairs, regarding what they’d be to one another. He’d been trained to be nothing if not thorough. To be in control, to assess a situation before charging into the fray.

He could leave. Board a transport, watch the Negotiator fade into the distance. They’d send him to another General, if that was what he wanted. Some pairs did, he read. Some people couldn’t bear the thought of the intimacy of a fated bond. They didn’t want the risks that came with it.

A surprising number of people left their fated one and never looked back, if they didn’t spontaneously bond the instant they met, the way Cody and Obi-Wan nearly had. Perhaps it was a way to protect their hearts or their freedom or…

Cody wasn’t sure.

He had no intention of going anywhere.

#

“You’re not alone,” Skywalker said, the day Cody finished reading absolutely everything he could get his hands on regarding fated ones, the expectations on him, what it would mean for them both. He glanced up.

“What?”

Skywalker fell into step beside him, grinning, “To see colors. Word is General Secura’s Commander took one look at her and threw her over a shoulder. They haven’t been out of her quarters in two days.” Cody hesitated in midstep, and Skywalker continued, “I wouldn’t think about trying it with Master Obi-Wan.”

Cody was already thinking about trying it with Obi-Wan. Throwing him over a shoulder had a certain deep appeal. He said, “Thank you for letting me know, General.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Skywalker called after him, when Cody turned, heading for the lift that would take him further into the ship, falling the call in his blood.

#

Cody found Obi-Wan in one of the Negotiator’s cargo bays, frowning over a ship that appeared to be mostly in pieces. He looked up as soon as Cody entered the large space, blue eyes catching the light and widening, copper hair falling forward over his forehead.

“Commander,” he said, the other troopers around him glancing between them, expressions openly curious. He turned back to the troopers, keeping his gaze on Cody, and continued, “I think that’s enough for the day. We’ll discuss the finer points of fighter repair in greater detail tomorrow.”

The troopers filed out, and Cody exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing, just a bit. He hadn’t liked the way they stood around Obi-Wan, an issue that - according to the literature - would only get worse, at least for a time, before their connection settled.

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asked, shifting to straighten up the area. Cody took a step closer, breathing in deeply and feeling his pulse speed up.

“Good,” Cody said, and his voice came out hoarse. It was, he realized, a little startled, the first thing he’d actually said to his fated one. There’d been no words between them, before. Nothing but their connection. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Obi-Wan said, clearing his throat. His accent was smooth and perfect and Cody hoped, vaguely, that he got to listen to it everyday for the rest of his life. “I trust Anakin spoke with you about…” He gestured, vaguely, out to one side.

“Being fated,” Cody supplied, and watched a flush climb up Obi-Wan’s throat just from his voice. It hit him, low in the gut. “He did.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, heavily. “Good, that's… Well.” He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to make a decision now, obviously, you may take--”

“You get to make a decision here, too,” he cut in, taking another step closer. Obi-Wan shifted to face him, breathing coming a little faster. The appeal of him wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been that day in the hangar, when Cody had been in no way prepared for it, but it was still there, a powerful pull on each cell of his body. “What do you want?”

“I…” Obi-Wan wetted his bottom lip, his gaze dipping and then jerking back up. “Don’t want to influence you, Comman--”

“Cody,” he interrupted, and another step brought him close enough that he could reach out and touch. He didn’t, but his fingers twitched with wanting to. “Call me Cody, please.”

“Cody,” Obi-Wan said, and his name had never sounded right until that moment, never before been spoken the right away. His resolve, what remained of it, crumbled to dust, and he moved forward, hand curled against Obi-Wan’s neck, dragging himself to a stop with his mouth a breath away from taking the kiss he wanted so badly.

Obi-Wan panted against his mouth, blue eyes wide, hands clenched around Cody’s arms. Cody blinked, wrestling to regain some meagre measure of control, enough to rasp, “I know what I want. What do you want?”

“The Jedi are taught to believe that a fated bond is a blessing of the Force,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, which wasn’t an answer.

“So I’ve heard,” Cody said, drowning in the temptation of him. “I need to know what you believe.”

“I believe,” Obi-Wan said, quietly, “that I have been waiting for you to kiss me for days.”

Cody shivered, closing the last of the distance between them. He’d never kissed anyone before, never wanted to kiss anyone before. He felt half-starved, groaning when Obi-Wan shifted, changing the angle to something slick and good and--

Cody needed him closer. Everything else fell away, dropping to some sub-level of importance that could not even be measured, it was so minuscule. He curled an arm around Obi-Wan, wondering, absently, why the kriff he’d thought putting on his armor was a good idea, exactly, when all he wanted was to get as close as it was possible to be.

He pushed, just a little, and Obi-Wan gave ground, walking backwards until there was nowhere else to go, until they found a wall. He thought maybe they should speak more, discuss-- but it was so kriffing hard to care.

He didn’t know about the will of the Force, not in any way, shape, or form. But he knew it felt right to shift his attentions down the line of Obi-Wan’s throat, Obi-Wan tilting his head to the side in accommodation, his pulse beating against his skin as Cody tasted skin and sweat and--

And he could feel Obi-Wan’s arm around his shoulders, cradling him closer, even as Obi-Wan rasped, into the overheated air between them, “Wait.”

Cody froze, teeth brushing skin, aching all over. He wanted to just… bite down. His jaw burned with the urge. But he’d been taught control if he’d been taught anything. He swallowed convulsively, hands gripping at Obi-Wan’s tunic, at his thigh; somehow, he’d hitched Obi-Wan’s leg up against his hip, pressing between his legs and it was a kriffing pity he couldn’t feel anything with the armor in the way.

“Not--” Obi-Wan cleared his throat; his voice still sounded ragged when he spoke. “Not in the cargo bay, we may be… engaged for two days, that’s--”

Cody snorted, shifting enough to kiss his perfect mouth. He’d thought, for a beat, that he was to be sent away. And while he wanted to seal their connection, to take what fate had set forth and confirm it, he could wait until they were somewhere besides the cargo bay.

Perhaps.

If they hurried.

“Alright,” he said, drawing back after a kiss that left him feeling half-drugged. Obi-Wan’s blue eyes were so wide and warm. He looked pleasantly stunned, as well, when Cody bent, pulled him forward, and straightened, Obi-Wan’s weight across his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan demanded, when Cody curled an arm up to keep him steady, hand closing around his thigh again.

“Going somewhere not the cargo bay,” he said, turning, the layout of the Negotiator etched into his memory. He’d, maybe, been obsessively thinking about the fastest way to get to Obi-Wan’s quarters from anywhere on the ship.

He put the knowledge to very good use.

[ihearthes]

Farmers’ Market

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Fluff Word Count: 2.8k

Summer Feeling Challenge sponsored by @helladirections

Vibrant yellows, pinks, greens, and red catch my eye as I take in the variety of fruits and veg in front of me. Wow. How is it possible to have this much beautiful fresh produce in one spot? Placing the essential ingredients for my favorite salad in a basket, I approach the counter. Having ridden a bicycle to the market, I’m fairly confident it will all fit in my knapsack for the return to my flat. 

Hearing his voice causes my entire body to freeze. Well, not completely because my heart is like a wild animal trying to break free from captivity. Regular beats, steady, but louder than my friend Steph had been at his concert in Philly. 

“Hi, I’m looking for some kale, and you don’t seem to have any,” His voice is as deep as the grooves in one of the gravel roads back home in Springfield, and the shiver that travels up my spine is a violent and silent storm. 

Shit. Had I taken the last of the kale? Maybe I can surreptitiously put it back so he doesn’t notice? Wait just a doggone minute! Why the fuck should I give up my kale? Just because he’s my favorite musician in the whole world and he’s somehow standing at the very same green-grocer’s as I am? That makes zero sense. 

A statue, I debate my options. 

Buy my produce and leave before he notices me. But then he might realize that I’ve taken the last of the kale. 

Put the kale back and choose spinach instead? My strawberry salad will taste lovely with spinach. But it truly is best with kale. 

Wait until he leaves and hope he doesn’t spy the kale in my basket? Suddenly, I’ve got the urge to pee. What if he’s here for a long time? 

Put on my sexy voice and offer to share my kale salad with him? This option causes me to smirk while my tummy resembles a popcorn popper with kernels scattering in every direction. Stepping to the counter, I quickly throw my items at the woman while he’s engaged in conversation with a different clerk. 

“That’ll be £14.35,” the woman says, and I withdraw a £20 note, quickly passing it to her, holding my breath that I can escape before he approaches. Not daring to look backwards, I squeeze my change in my fist as I rush to fit in with the crowd strolling the Parliament Hill Farmers’ Market. It’s not until I’m at the end of the stalls and near my chained bicycle that I slow down, breathe, and risk a glance behind me. 

“What did you think? He was going to chase you down and tackle you for the kale?” Steph screams at me through the phone. Naturally she had been my first call as soon as I arrived back at the flat my company had rented for the duration of this London business trip. 

“I didn’t know, Steph! It’s like sixty degrees out there, and I’m sweating like I’ve just run a marathon in ninety-degree heat.” Removing the items from my knapsack, I wash them, laying them out to dry on a towel. Using my fingers, I pull my shirt away from my chest and shake it to allow air to flow better. 

“You’re the only person I know who can meet Harry fucking Styles on her first trip to the farmers’ market! And you’re deffo the only one who would turn and run away! How did he look? What was he wearing?” Her words are BB pellets like my brothers used to shoot at cans back home. 

My words are quiet and stutter as they emerge like a new butterfly from a cocoon. “I didn’t look.”

“WAIT JUST ONE GODDAMNED MINUTE! What do you mean? How could you not look?” Her volume has increased to the level that I might need to remove my Airpods so as to not damage my ears. Then her voice lowers. “What if it wasn’t him?”

Shit. I hadn’t considered that. “No. It was definitely him. Come on. How many times have I listened to his voice?”

“Maybe it was just the British accent.”

“Steph, I’m in London. Everyone has a British accent. I’m telling you. It was him.”

My best friend sighs. “Okay. I believe you. The fact that he was right there, though, and you didn’t say or do anything…” 

“I got the hell out of there. What do you mean I didn’t do anything?”

“Maybe you’ll see him next week. Will you talk to him?”

A soft smile crosses my lips. “Nope. Come on, Steph. You and I have always had a pact that we wouldn’t bother him if we saw him in the wild, and I’m sticking with that.”

----------

“My boss and his wife are coming by tonight, so I want to put together a fruit and cheese plate.” I tell the vendor at Bath Soft Cheese. “Can you give me some suggestions?”

“Oh. I can!” A voice next to me says, and I’m a rigid piece of lumber. What are the fucking odds? Shit. 

“Thanks, Harry,” the gentleman at the table says. “I’m going to help this couple.” With that, I’m left alone. 

Carefully, I swivel my neck to make sure I’ve not lost my mind -- or the plot as my colleagues might say. But no. It’s him. Definitely him. 

I drink him in. Wearing a hoodie with his own name over the heart and a pair of shorts that are more for walking than jogging, Harry (fucking Styles!) points towards one of the cheeses sitting on the bed of ice. 

“This one is a vegetarian cheese, and it’s my sister’s favorite. Best paired with thin apple slices because they make the cheese with apple cider. So delicious.” He glances at me, and I feel faint from the deep green of his eyes. Fuck. Up close and in person, they’re brilliant. They shine (Shine! Step into the light! Shine! So bright sometimes!), and I have to blink so that I can nod. 

“Awesome. Thanks,” I move to take the cheese. 

“Oh, but this one,” he points to the next one over, “is their Bath Soft, and it’s best served with grapes.” Harry Styles, explaining cheeses like he’s an expert cheesemonger, makes me smile. “Personally, I wouldn’t serve a blue cheese to guests unless you know they like it. So many people take offense to blue cheese.”

“Right? I love blue cheese. Especially in a salad. It’s got that bite to it,” I blurt out, and then clamp my mouth shut as I realize I’ve started to relax in his presence. Which is downright stupid as I might inadvertantly disclose something incriminating. Like how many of his concerts I’ve witnessed live.

“Yes! I’ve got this great kale salad recipe with blue cheese and walnuts!” His excitement is the same as that of a puppy spotting a treat; tail practically wagging the whole backside. 

From deep in my belly I feel the giggle build up, and I fasten both hands solidly over my mouth in a pathetic (and useless) attempt to contain it. 

His joy is contagious, though, and I can’t help myself. “Does it have a balsamic vinegarette? Because I have one that’s so good I can eat it every night for a week. Oh. Never mind. That’s the recipe I have with candied pecans. Not walnuts.”

Holy shit. I’m actually standing in a farmers’ market in London discussing recipes with Harry Styles. Perhaps I’m going to pass out? Or maybe I’m hallucinating? Or dreaming? 

“Candied pecans? Sounds yummy. There’s my friend. Gotta go! You can’t go wrong with those two cheeses I mentioned! And maybe treat yourself to some blue cheese too. Just for you.” He winks with his right eye and flashes the dimple my way before he disappears.

----------

My third week in London, and I climb onto my bicycle a full two hours before the usual time I had traveled to the farmers’ market the last two weeks. My license plate should read “Determined to Dodge” because it’s freaking me out a bit that I’ve seen Harry twice in the same place. And they say lightning doesn’t strike twice. Ha! I’m making sure it doesn’t strike thrice. 

“I’ll take the plain goat’s cheese,” I instruct the vendor, and after money is exchanged, she hands it to me and I move to place it directly into my backpack. After nearly a month, I’ve got the hang of this farmers’ market shopping, it seems, and I’m pleased to have arrived with a set shopping list for the first time. 

“Yum.” Harry’s voice comes over my shoulder, and I’m startled enough to nearly drop the damn cheese. HOW IS HE HERE? “What’s your plan for that?”

“Um,” I bite my lip. “Goat cheese, honey, and fruit crostini.” Feeling emboldened, my lips continue speaking as though this superstar and I are friends, “I’ve been debating the two beekeepers, but I don’t know which has the better honey.”

Today he’s wearing a pair of blue jeans that fit wide on his hips along with a peach button-down shirt and a newsboy cap. “Oh, then I think we should definitely go have a taste at each. My lady?” He holds out his crooked arm, ready for me to take it like we’re in a 1940’s movie. 

What’s even crazier is that I follow his lead and add, “Lead the way, sir.” It’s ridiculously silly. And so much fun. His playful side makes me feel charmed, less like a fan and more like an acquaintance. At the first beekeeper, we each taste the regular blossom honey. 

“Oh, that’s fantastic,” I whisper as I slide the wooden stick across my tongue. 

“Hey, you can’t give in yet. We’ve not tried the other one. We’ll be back,” he says over his shoulder to the vendor as he escorts me away. “Maybe,” he adds once we’re out of hearing, drawing a giggle from me. 

Holy shit. I’m relaxed around Harry Styles. What is happening to me? Boundaries! I need boundaries. 

“Oh, my!” I breathe as we arrive at the Local Honey Man’s booth. “There’s too many options.”

Knowingly, Harry nods. “Indeed there are. So maybe we need to back up. You’re doing plain goat cheese on what kind of crostini?”

“You mean what bread am I using? Oh, I was thinking either a thinly sliced sourdough or a baguette.”

“Mmmm...excellent choice. I can recommend some bread next. What fruit are you planning to use?”

His question makes me laugh involuntarily. The great performer and entertainer Harry Styles is asking me what fruit I want on my crostini? Why?

“Well, I’m thinking it’s that time of year for peaches or nectarines. Either of which would be amazing.” Placing a finger to my chin, I survey him. Fuck. He looks so wonderful. Fresh. Friendly. Not at all like a celebrity. Just a normal Joe -- or Harry -- that one might meet at a farmers’ market on a Saturday morning. As I observe him, I feel myself starting to shed some of the barriers between us. He’s just like me, I think. A food connoisseur. Someone who enjoys the local atmosphere. 

“Oh yes,” he pauses, smacking his lips. “I can taste that now. Okay, so with that combination, I would recommend either the lemon zest infused honey or the British Borage Honey. Personally, I think the cinnamon honey might overpower the flavor of the goat cheese.”

“You know what? I think you’re right. My goal is for all of the local flavors to come through, so perhaps going with a non-flavored honey is the best decision. Thanks, Harry.” And then I freeze again because I know I’ve let my tongue get away with a horrible slip by saying his name. Wanting to cry, I bite my lip and turn to the vendor. With tears in my throat, I ask, “I’ll take a jar of the British Borage please.” 

The merchant wraps it quickly, handing it over in exchange for my money, and I nervously twist towards Harry, expecting his glare over my rudeness. It’s almost like he’s oblivious. As I place the jar of honey in my bag, he grabs my hand. 

“Let’s check out breads!” 

Running behind him, I’m puzzled by what had just occurred. Shouldn’t he be upset? Freaking out? Wondering if I’m a stalker?

“Here’s my recommendation,” he says as we stop at a stall with a sign reading ‘The Flour Station’. They’ve got a wonderfully tangy sourdough baguette. If you slice it thin, then layer on the goat cheese, honey, and finally the peaches, it will be a perfect meal.”

When I request the baguette, the owner nods and wraps it for me. As he hands it over, I turn to Harry and extend my hand. “Thank you for your help, kind sir. I’m confident this will be the most amazing meal.”

Staring at my hand suspiciously, he ignores it. “Nearly lunchtime,” he announces. “Any chance you’ll join me for some Indian food?” With his head, Harry gestures towards the Mumbai Mix stand. 

As I consider the implications, my head starts to move from side to side. Never meet your idols. That’s what the voice in my head whispers. 

“Please?” His eyes take on a look that is as close to begging as I’ve ever seen in any human. “Look. I’ll be honest. These days I don’t meet many fans who would go out of their way to avoid me like you do. Most want to move into my house immediately. It would be nice to extend our time a bit. After all, it’s just a meal in the middle of a crowded London farmers’ market. How scary can it be?”

Blinking, I carefully think about my response, but instead the words that escape are “You knew I was a fan? For how long? And how did you know I was avoiding you?”

“Fair questions. Place your order, and we can talk about the answers over lunch.”

Now my curiosity has been peaked. At the vendor, Harry requests the Dosa Wrap while I order the samosas, and we step to the side while they’re being prepared. 

“That first time.”

“Last week you mean?”

“No, the first time. You remember. At the green-grocer’s.”

My face likely flames red. “You saw me? You noticed me? I didn’t even so much as look at you.”

His hearty laugh makes me tingle. “Noticed you? Of course. You’re gorgeous and golden and stunning. And your American accent grabbed my attention. Why did you run?”

The giggle starts at my toes and bursts forth like a bird flying from a cage. “Um...because I’d taken the last of the kale.”

Resting his hands on his knees, Harry chuckles loudly, drawing the attention of other patrons. As the restauranteur hands over our plates, Harry carries both to a nearby table. 

“And last time? You jumped a mile when I suggested helping you with the cheeses.”

Burying my face in my hands, I groan. “Harrrrrrrryyyyy. Before I came to London for work, I made a promise to my best friend that if I saw you in the wild, I’d leave you alone. So it was quite awkward that you were the one who approached me. And holy hell! How did you know I would be here today at this time? I came early so I could shop before you arrived!”

He picks up his wrap and takes a bite, chewing carefully. Taking guidance from him, I gingerly grasp a samosa and tear into the dough, immediately savoring the potatoes and spices inside. 

“Mmmmm,” I murmur, and my tongue flicks out to rescue a bit of flavor still on my lips. 

“‘In the wild’?” he inquires, and I’m confident the blush now covers my entire body. 

“You know. Like if I saw you at a show or a public event, it would be different. Then I could fangirl and ask for an autograph or a photo or whatever. But at the market, you’re not working. You’re just like everyone else -- shopping.” 

Knowingly, he nods. “I appreciate that. Truly. Not everyone respects my private time. So thank you. But the truth is…” There’s a pause, and I nervously nibble at the samosa in my hand, worried about what he will say next. “...once I noticed you, I couldn’t ignore you.” Clearing his throat, he smiles in a friendly manner. “How did your boss enjoy the cheese and fruit plate?”

“Wonderfully,” I respond, “But not as much as I enjoyed my kale salad with blue cheese, blueberries, strawberries, and candied pecans.” A smile tilts my lips upwards, possibly exposing my own dimple. 

“I’m sure,” he murmurs, “I’d love to taste it sometime. Care to make it for me?”

“Hmmm,” I playfully consider his request. “Are you confident you’d prefer that to goat cheese, honey, and fruit crostini on sourdough baguette? It’s all local.”

A/N:  Thanks for reading. Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this. 

[lovelyirony]

76 for winteriron or 94 for rhodeytony?? ily and your work ma’am your vibes are immaculate -ambivalentmarvel

thank you! and reminder: please send in the full prompt! 

76.) “If you lay a finger on him, I’ll kill everyone in this room.” 

Tony Stark was not supposed to be a detective. He was not supposed to be a lot of things. But when his father had told him at age seven that all he’d ever be was a disappointment, he decided he might as well do whatever the hell he wanted with his life. 

So. A detective. That had gone over well with his college advisor. 

“Aren’t you...aren’t you Howard’s son?” He had said nervously, readjusting his glasses for about the eighth time in seven minutes. 

“Yes, but I also have a mother. And my mother is very keen on my having some skills of my own. Between you and I, we all know my father is going to hand it over to his business partner.” 

(This all is a very direct lie. His mother could not honestly care less what he does with his life as long as he never looks her in the eye and tells her that boxed wine is good. He’s not going to look her in the eye for quite some time.) 

Being a detective isn’t all film noir and extravagant lifestyle. Sure he gets paid the big bucks. He blends into high society well but is just unknowable enough to put on an old pair of jeans and slink into a coffee shop under the guise of being another guy on his laptop. That’s a skill few possess. 

There’s also the tiny, teensy little detail that he’s one of the only detectives to risk secret-agency-detection because in all honesty the security systems were built by Stark Industries and Howard wasn’t exactly what anyone would call “stellar” at security measures. 

Tony, however, was. 

(Did some side work for SI, you know the drill. Sure his father wasn’t exactly thrilled, but it’s not like there was the PR nightmare of Stark Sr. not being as smart in his old age as people always expected.) 

So when he gets an offer for finding and capturing the Winter Soldier from someone named Natalie? 

Well, he asks if he gets to use his frequent flier miles and packs a bag for DC. 

The Winter Soldier is regarded as a conspiracy theory. A man who is all machine, does the dirty work for an undercover organization, and has a shiny arm that can do a lot of things that Tony dreams about at night. 

He likes conspiracy theories. Enjoys the hell out of solving them. (Roswell was a particularly fun one to crack.) 

So he starts with research. 

There is one thing to be said about the Winter Soldier: 

He’s notoriously bad at hiding his tracks beyond the usual security measures. Restricting camera access, destroying tapes, passing off a flimsy excuse as to why a politician, peacemaker, or civilian that was causing a little too much trouble was suddenly found dead, the coronary reports restricted on a need-to-know basis. 

Don’t make him laugh. 

People talk. They always do, doesn’t matter if it’s been a year or thirty. 

The coroners, the police, the people that surrounded the target. They all nervously whisper about suspecting someone else. 

He gets closer to the location. He can tell by the thrum he holds in himself now, the way sleep doesn’t come as easily. (Although he still gets it. You don’t buy 400 thread count for nothing.) 

Hydra is still in business. Of course it is. 

He pays SHIELD a little visit. 

That organization is about the worst-kept secret in the world. He dresses up in a smart suit, ridiculous glasses, and pastes a cheesy grin on his face. 

He’s in an interview for tech. Gets lost on his way there. The person conducting the interviews has them booked back to back. When a “Mr. Edward Jarvis” does not show up for the interview, the next candidate will come in. 

Of course, he looks like any other employee scurrying around with stacks in his arms. Face is obscured by cameras. He’s bypassed Stark Industries’ security features, and he gets to the file room. 

Holy shit. It’s bad. 

After spending at least two minutes thinking he would die from coughing from all the dust. 

They don’t organize anything. All of the paper files, it seems, have been abandoned as soon as the digitized platform came out. (Which makes sense.) 

He finds the file box on Winter Soldier. Everything, suspiciously, is blacked out. But he finds one name: Alexander Pierce. 

For a man who is about to overtake SHIELD and ruin the entire world, you think he’d have a less consistent schedule. Or that his house would be harder to get into. 

Moral of the story: you can break into the window in an attic. 

Tony is making coffee. 

Pierce stops in his tracks. 

“Who the hell are you?” 

“Why do you have Folgers? You live in a nice neighborhood. You live like this?” Tony asks. He takes a swig of coffee, winces. “God I haven’t had stuff this bad since I was in college. Ew.” 

“If you’re here to kill me, you’ve got yourself in a bigger mess than you know.” 

“No, I don’t think I am,” Tony answers. “Because you? You’re stuck here. With me. You can try to run but to be completely frank, your joint medication by the paper towels speak to your ability to outrun me. There’s also the little fact that I’m not here for the typical reason.” 

“So what, you’re not an enemy of SHIELD?” Pierce asks. 

“Of course I’m not,” Tony says, smiling. “Even like a couple of their agents. But you’re not exactly SHIELD, are you? Some PR talked about one head cut off, two more grow back. I’m not exactly sure if you know how human anatomy works, but...” 

Pierce grins. 

“Oh, then you know about our little project.” 

“Of course I do,” Tony says. “Not so little, though. Didn’t get him operational until 1954? What was that, your birth year? Can’t imagine he’s perfect.” 

His smile thins. 

“It’s taken trial and test runs. But he’s perfect now.” 

“Ah, there’s the problem,” Tony says. “Because he probably broke a lot of people, didn’t he Pierce? Probably threw at least one person. I saw the specs for the arm. A lot of power behind that.” 

“And how would you know about the arm?” Pierce asked. “We don’t keep blueprints.” 

“You don’t,” Tony says slowly. “But the creator does. And you should’ve looked a lot carefully at who was behind your little experimental arm, Pierce. You shouldn’t trust a Stark to stay in a lane.” 

His eyes widen. 

Tony loves theatrics. He also likes that he was the one who technically found out about the little quirk. 

“So here’s what you didn’t know,” Tony continues. “Our hypothetical technological inventions have a tracking component on them, just in case we cannot find them in our inventory or database. And even though your scientists did an excellent job at hiding the box and filling it with a truly terrible amount of cookbooks, they did not know about that little feature.” 

Tony pulls out his phone. 

“Your Soldier is in...wow, you’re keeping him local? Pierce, I expected more from you.” 

“What do you want.” 

“I want him,” Tony says. “And I’ll leave you alone.” 

“Absolutely not,” Pierce seethes. “Why would we give you the star of the show?” 

“Because,” Tony says. “Your show sucks, if I’m being completely honest. One branch of Hydra is completely dedicated to the idea of Inhumans and is batshit insane. Another branch is literally only focused on weapons, and another is about this. It’s a shit-show. If there was a show about this I would not give it anything past three seasons.” 

Alexander Pierce looks like he’s going to burst a vein. 

Tony moves on. 

“Along with that if I cannot get him from you, I will be getting him. And if you touch a hair on his head, I will kill you.” 

Alexander Pierce looks mad. Which of course he does. Tony tends to have that effect on people, Rhodey says so. 

“Do you think you can even get out of my house? You think I won’t know your face, know that Tony Stark threatened me? Will anyone even believe you?” 

“Aw Andy, you say the sweetest things,” Tony says smiling. “I told you I was a Stark for two reasons. I’ve already told you the first one, let’s see when you wake up if you can guess the second.” 

“What--” 

And...man down. 

And Pepper told him a taser-pen was “hopefully frivolous” and “why the fuck would you ever make that for a pen you barely you know which coffee cup is yours and you just drink from both.” 

Pierce is left tied up in his kitchen on the floor, Tony admires the window seat for a brief moment, and leaves the files incriminating Pierce along with about sixty to a hundred other people. 

He has a taxi to catch. 

- 

“You know he will probably kill you,” Rhodey says on the phone. “And then I get to give my eulogy and I’m going to tell everyone you secretly liked cheese pizza only.” 

“I will literally commit a war crime against you,” Tony says. “Not even joking. I’ll face Congress if I have to.” 

Rhodey rolls his eyes. 

“You can’t, they’d kick you out.” 

“Oh, just for wearing a ripped up crop top and jean shorts? What, would I be a menace to society?” 

“You’re always a menace,” Rhodey mutters. “Listen, I gotta go. Pepper’s freaking out about your advertisements in the newspaper and the correct grammar.” 

“Bye!” Tony says. 

DC is definitely not Tony’s style. At least, for now. He can’t even enjoy coffee, he has to foil an assassination plot. 

Winter Soldier is not subtle, as he’s said. Neither are the Hydra agents who are just painfully obvious. 

At least this might be done by dinner.

He also faces the Winter Soldier. That’s fun. It’s too early to really be anything but fun. 

He walks right up to him. 

“Do you know someone named Natalie?” Tony asks. 

“What?” Winter Soldier asks. “No. Move or I’ll move you.” 

“Very robotic, ugh,” Tony says, smiling. “No, I have a job to do. You’re not moving me.” 

Winter Soldier lunges. 

Tony sidesteps and throws him off his balance with a cafe chair. 

Their fight takes them to a bridge. 

“You’ve compromised the mission,” Winter Soldier hisses. “Why?” 

“Because I got hired to bring you back,” Tony says. 

“To Hydra?” 

“No,” Tony says. “God no, they’re terrible. No, someone named Natalie wants you rescued.” 

“Natalia,” Winter Soldier murmurs. “How do you know her?” 

“I don’t,” Tony says. “At least, far as I know. I was asked to find you and bring you to her and whoever else is there. So, are you in?” 

He pauses, looks out at the city. 

“How are you gonna get me out of here?” 

“You underestimate the power of tourism,” Tony says. “Let’s go.” 

One “I Visited the Washington” sweatshirt and long hair wrapped into a bun later, Tony is walking out with who appears to be Bucky Barnes. 

“Of course you are,” Tony mutters. “Okay, let’s get to the meeting point.” 

“Are you staying?” Barnes asks. 

Tony cocks his head. “What do you want me for?”

“You just helped me escape from Hydra. You’re most likely near-suicidal. I think you need to stay close.” 

Tony rolls his eyes good-naturedly. 

“I’m not near-suicidal. Of course I’m not. I stick around for a really nice pizza joint. But Natalie--or Natalia, you called her that right?” 

“Natalie’s a fake name.” 

“Of course it is, who names their kid Natalie anymore?” Tony quips. “But besides the point. She probably can do you more good than I can. After all, I don’t ever drink out of the right coffee cup. I am very, insanely doubtful that I am of any help whatsoever.” 

“Fine then,” Barnes says. “I’ll keep an eye on you.” 

“I’m sure you will.” 

Tony doubts this. 

But he drives him to where whoever the hell hired him lives. It’s a nice, upscale apartment. Probably costs about as much as his whole apartment building’s rent in total. 

Of course, the woman who greets them looks gorgeous. Barnes knows her easily enough. 

“Thank you, Stark,” the woman says. 

“What do I actually call you?” Tony asks. “You know my name, I know two of yours.” 

“Call me Natasha,” she says. “And anything else isn’t your business.” 

“Of course not, I would expect a check in the mail otherwise,’ Tony remarks. “So. Barnes is delivered back to you. Expect payment tonight or tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow at twelve,” she answers. “Afternoon.” 

“See you around,” Tony says, waving. “Barnes, try not to kill anyone right now. Seriously gonna ruin the springtime mood, you know?” 

Bucky Barnes stares after him. 

Natasha smiles. 

“Welcome back, James.” 

He nods. Goes and sits in a chair. 

“You gonna turn my brain back to mush or let me stay?” 

“Stay,” Natasha answers. “I escaped Red Room. I knew I needed to get you.” 

“And why not do it yourself? It’s not like you can’t,” he answers. 

“Because I was confident that Tony could leave more of a...dramatic element to it,” Natasha answers. “And he did. SHIELD is currently reforming all of its employees. One of the ladies who always let me eat strawberry yogurt from the fridge worked for them. He also helped dismantle any chance at regrouping to get you.” 

“Smart,” James answers. “Who is he? Stark?” 

“He’s an asshole, but a skilled detective,” Natasha adds. “Son of Howard Stark. You remember him?” 

“He was supposed to be my next mission,” James says, feeling a bit of the Winter Soldier seep back in. “Guess I won’t have a perfect record.” 

“You don’t have a perfect record, trust me,” Natasha adds. “And I didn’t get you for anything other than a rescue mission. You’re free.” 

-

Being free, James finds, is terrifying. 

Natasha has set him up with his own apartment. He has therapy appointments every Wednesday and Saturday. Grocery shopping is...interesting. 

And he keeps using his past skills to check in on Tony, who is doing well in life, if not a bit...wary. 

He’s assuming you don’t expose the underbelly of at least two secret organizations without gaining some traction. 

He’s gotten takeout four times this week. It’s Thursday. This is sad. 

His therapist also recommends that he gets “friends.” James is not exactly sure how to do that. 

So instead he breaks into Tony’s office. 

“We’re friends now,” he announces as Tony yelps and drops his plate. 

“Oh my god you could’ve just not snuck in!” Tony screeches. “I dropped my rolls!” 

They do become friends after that. Tony decides that James needs to try every single coffee shop that’s ever open. 

(He’s a sucker for iced caramel lattes. They’re good.) 

They both learn how to cook different foods, and try to make noodles. 

“Oh my god we’re both disasters,” Tony says, laughing. He takes a picture of James poking at the disastrous attempt. 

“Take me to pizza?” he asks. 

“Like you have to ask,” Tony says. “Come on.” He smiles at him, amazed by how much he’s changed. He grabs his jacket. 

-

 It is Rhodey who clocks it first. 

“You like him,” he crows. “You like him. You like the assassin!” 

“Ex-assassin,” Tony corrects. “And no. Of course I don’t.” 

“You call him ‘babe’, Tony.” 

“And I call you all sorts of pet names,” Tony argues. 

“Calling me literally the weirdest pet names like ‘honeybear sweetums’ or ‘platypus’ does not count,” Rhodey says. “You do don’t call me babe. Besides, you like hugging him all the time and I guarantee that you like him. Even if he is an ex-assassin and still thinks completing a thousand piece puzzle gives you the same rush of serotonin as jumping out of a car.” 

“He’s fun like that!” Tony protests. “Besides, he doesn’t have a lot of people in his life.” 

“That’s a lie,” Rhodey says. “He regrettably met Steve. Again. And he has Sam. Which I think they are friends. Natasha makes him do things.” 

“Wow your description of friends are so amazing,” Tony deadpans. “It’s like you have some of your one. You sound like a robot.” 

“I’m still right, it’s not like I’m not,” Rhodey says. “You know this. Pepper probably also knows that you like James.” 

- 

He consults Pepper. Clearly she will have some sense. 

“I demand a raise,” she says. “Because I can detect this shit better than you can.” 

“You’re getting a raise but not because of this.” 

“Good,” Pepper says. “Now go organize a nice dinner out or something. Get out of here. I’m rearranging your office desk.” 

Tony groans. He hates it when she does that. 

- 

He supposes they are both right. 

So he also supposes that he might have to take James to a coffee shop and tell him. 

- 

What Tony doesn’t know is that James is gearing up to tell him that he likes him. 

It was brought to his attention by Sam and Natasha. 

“You like him,” Sam says. 

“We’re friends!” 

“Friends don’t write their wedding vows on a napkin,” Natasha remarks. “Go organize a coffee date and tell him. I swear if you don’t tell him I’m going to make you confess at three a.m.” 

“If you get me up at three a.m. I’m violating so many rules,” James says. “Like at least four.” 

“Do five!” Steve yells from the couch. “And tell Rhodey hi for me!” 

“No, he hates you,” James says. 

“Exactly!” 

He sighs, texting Tony. 

hey can u meet me @ clocktower, 7? 

sounds gr8 :)��

Tony doesn’t know why James wants coffee. But he’s happy and definitely only that, ignore his shaking fingers. It’s the caffeine clearly. 

(The caffeine isn’t helping. He knows that.) 

“Hi,” James says. “Thank you for coming to the coffee shop. Tonight.” 

“You’re awkward,” Tony blurts out. “Why are you speaking in fragmentary sentences?” 

“That was at most only one fragmentary sentence.” 

“Oh.” 

They sit for a moment, James goes to get coffee. 

Tony steels himself. 

“You remember how I told you that you probably weren’t going to see a lot of me?” Tony asks. 

“Are you leaving?” James asks, eyes wide. “I’m going with you. Obviously.” 

“No you dumbass, I’m not leaving,” Tony says, taking another sip. “But do you remember?” 

“Clearly,” James says with a snort. 

“Well I was wrong. And we’re friends. And...well. Fuck it. I love you, and not in a like a friendship way. I really, really have been wondering what it’s like to kiss you. And if you don’t feel the same way then just tell me and we’ll be cool just give me like a month.” 

James grins. 

“You mean to tell me we can finally actually go on a date at that fancy seafood restaurant you’ve been dying to go to?” 

“We could’ve always done that, but yes it will be nice to look at you across,” Tony says. 

James takes his hand, smiling. 

“Can I take you out on Friday then?” 

“I’ll wear my best suit,” Tony says, grinning. 

- 

When they’re asked about how they meet, it’s not exactly like you can say “oh I got assigned to find and capture the love of my life and we also managed to wreck a secret organization” for the origin story. 

So they usually keep telling people they met while on a business call. 

Technically true. 

[ashleysitalianlitblog]

My Brilliant Friend (HBO Tie-in Edition): Book 1: Childhood and Adolescence

From the famous Italian author Elena Ferrante, the story is about a poor but vibrant neighborhood on the outskirts of Naples, Elena Ferrante’s four-volume story spans almost sixty years, as its main characters, the fiery and unforgettable Lila and the bookish narrator, Elena, become women, wives, mothers, and leaders, all the while maintaining a complex and at times conflicted friendship. This first novel in the series follows Lila and Elena from their fateful meeting as ten-year-olds through their school years and adolescence. This book is now turning into an HBO MAX show and it’s a young adult classic in modern-day Italy

The Story of a New Name (HBO Tie-in Edition): Book 2: Youth

The follow-up to My Brilliant Friend, The Story of a New Name continues the epic New York Times–bestselling literary quartet that has inspired an HBO series and returns us to the world of Lila and Elena, who grew up together in post-WWII Naples, Italy. 

In The Story of a New Name, Lila has recently married and made her entrée into the family business; Elena, meanwhile, continues her studies and her exploration of the world beyond the neighborhood that she so often finds stifling. Marriage appears to have imprisoned Lila, and the pressure to excel is at times too much for Elena. Yet the two young women share a complex and evolving bond that is central to their emotional lives and a source of strength in the face of life’s challenges. In these Neapolitan Novels, Elena Ferrante, “one of the great novelists of our time” (The New York Times), gives us a poignant and universal story about friendship and belonging, a meditation on love and jealousy, freedom and commitment—at once a masterfully plotted page-turner and an intense, generous-hearted family saga. 

Adua

The book Adua is by lgiaba Scego has historical references and looks into the life of an immigrant. The story is about Adua, an immigrant from Somalia to Italy who has lived in Rome for nearly forty years. She came seeking freedom from a strict father and an oppressive regime, but her dreams of becoming a film star ended in shame. Now that the civil war in Somalia is over, her homeland beckons. Yet Adua has a husband who needs her, a young man, also an immigrant, who braved a dangerous crossing of the Mediterranean Sea. When her father, who worked as an interpreter for Mussolini's fascist regime,  dies, Adua inherits the family home. She must decide whether to make the journey back to reclaim her material inheritance, but also how to take charge of her own story and build a future. From the choices of being an adult to a wife, the book gives us a look of the hard choices life gives us in a heartbreaking story. 

100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed

An instant blockbuster in Italy that went on to become an international literary phenomenon, 100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed is the fictionalized memoir of Melissa P., a Sicilian teenager whose quest for love rapidly devolves into a shocking journey of sexual discovery.

Melissa begins her diary a virgin, but a stormy affair at the age of fourteen leads her to regard sex as a means of self-discovery, and for the next two years she plunges into a succession of encounters with various partners, male and female, her age and much older, some met through schoolmates, others through newspaper ads and Internet chat rooms. In graphic detail, she describes her journey through a Dante-Esque underworld of eroticism, where she willingly participates in group sex and sadomasochism, as well as casual pickup

The Scent of Your Breath

Melissa P.’s fictionalized memoir, 100 Strokes of the Brush Before Bed, became an international literary phenomenon, selling over two million copies worldwide and provoking a warning from the pope. The Scent of Your Breath, the second installment in her series of confessions, is a tale of obsessive love and destructive passion.

Melissa is now a successful writer in Rome, living with her new lover, Thomas. With his soft body and feminine eyelashes, he is sensual, patient, and comforting—the antithesis of all the men who came before. But as soon as she meets Viola, a young woman from Thomas’s past, Melissa is consumed with jealousy. Written as a confessional letter to her mother, the story that follows is one of dark obsession, violent lust, and soul-destroying talent, teeming with the ghosts and dragonfly-women Melissa is convinced are trying to steal her man and bring about her ruin. The Scent of Your Breath blurs the boundaries between reality and fantasy and delves deep into the disturbing yet strangely familiar mind of a teenage girl terrorized by love.

Three O'Clock in the Morning Is by Italian author Gianrico Carofiglio the contemporary heart-waring piece is about Antonio is eighteen years old and on the cusp of adulthood. His father, a brilliant mathematician, hasn’t played a large part in his life since divorcing Antonio’s mother but when Antonio is diagnosed with epilepsy, they travel to Marseille to visit a doctor who may hold the hope for an effective treatment. It is there, in a foreign city, under strained circumstances, that they will get to know each other and connect for the first time. A beautiful, gritty, and charming port city where French old-world charm meets modern bohemia, father and son stroll the streets sharing strained small talk. But as the hours pass and day give way tonight, the two find themselves caught in a series of caffeine-imbued adventures involving unexpected people (and unforeseen trysts) that connect father and son for the first time. As the two discuss poetry, family, sex, math, death, and dreams, their experience becomes a mesmerizing 48-hour microcosm of a lifetime relationship. Both learn much about illusions and regret, about talent and redemption, and, most of all, about love. This heartwarming story has captured the modern Italian audience. 

Lost Words

Winner of the Viareggio Prize, a vivid portrait of Italy on the brink of social upheaval in the 1970s.The author Nicola Gardini, writes about the Inside an apartment building on the outskirts of Milan, the working-class residents gossip, quarrel, and conspire against each other. Viewed through the eyes of Chino, an impressionable thirteen-year-old boy whose mother is the doorwoman of the building, the world contained within these walls is tiny, hypocritical, and mean-spirited: a constant struggle. Chino finds escape in reading. One day, a new resident, Amelia Lynd, moves in and quickly becomes an unlikely companion and a formative influence on Chino. Ms. Lynd—an elderly, erudite British woman—comes to nurture his taste in literature, introduces him to the life of the mind, and offers a counterpoint to the only version of reality that he’s known. On one level, Lost Words is an engrossing coming-of-age tale set in the seventies, when Italy was going through tumultuous social changes, and on another, it is a powerful meditation on language, literature, and culture.

Things That Happened Before the Earthquake

The book by Chiara Barzini describes a story about Mere weeks after the 1992 riots that laid waste to Los Angeles, Eugenia, a typical Italian teenager, is rudely yanked from her privileged Roman milieu by her hippie-ish filmmaker parents and transplanted to the strange suburban world of the San Fernando Valley. With only the Virgin Mary to call on for guidance as her parents struggle to make it big, Hollywood fashion, she must navigate her huge new public high school, complete with Crips and Bloods and Persian gang members, and a car-based environment of 99-cent stores and obscure fast-food franchises and all-night raves. She forges friendships with Henry, who runs his mother's movie memorabilia store, and the bewitching Deva, who introduces her to the alternate cultural universe that is Topanga Canyon. And then the 1994 earthquake rocks the foundations not only of Eugenia's home but of the future she'd been imagining for herself.

I'll Steal You Away

Italian literary superstar Niccolò Ammaniti’s novel, I’m Not Scared, prompted gushing praise, hit international bestseller lists, and was made into a smash indie film. In I’ll Steal You Away, Ammaniti takes his unparalleled empathy for children, his scythe-sharp observations, and his knack for building tension to a whole new level. In a tiny Italian village, a young boy named Pietro is growing up tormented by bullies and ignored by his parents. When an aging playboy, Graziano Biglia, returns to town, a change is in the air: Pietro decides to take on the bullies, his lonely teacher Flora finds romance with the town’s prodigal son, and the inept janitor at the school proclaims his love for his favorite prostitute. But the village isn’t ready for such change, and when Graziano seduces and forgets Flora, both she and Pietro’s tentative hopes seem crushed forever. With great tenderness, Ammaniti shines light on the heart-wrenching failures and quiet redemptions of ordinary people trying to live extraordinary lives.

Heaven and Earth: A Novel Every summer Teresa follows her father to his childhood home in Puglia, down in the heel of Italy, a land of relentless, shimmering heat, centuries-old olive groves and families who have lived there for generations. She spends long afternoons enveloped in a sunstruck stupor, reading her grandmother's paperbacks.

Everything changes the summer she meets the three boys who live on the farm next door: Nicola, Tommaso and Bern—the man Teresa will love for the rest of her life. Raised like brothers on a farm that feels to Teresa almost suspended in time, the three boys share a complex, intimate, and seemingly unassailable bond.But no bond is unbreakable and no summer truly endless, as Teresa soon discovers.Because there is resentment underneath the surface of that strange brotherhood, a twisted kind of love that protects a dark secret. And when Bern—the enigmatic, restless gravitational center of the group—commits a brutal act of revenge, not even a final pilgrimage to the edge of the world will be enough to bring back those perfect, golden hours in the shadow of the olive trees.

An unforgettable story of enduring love, the bonds between men, and the all-too-human search for meaning, Heaven and Earth is Paolo Giordano at his best: an author capable of unveiling the depths of the human soul, who has now given us the old-fashioned pleasure of a big, sprawling novel in which to lose ourselves

[amethystpath-writes]

Haha! It finally worked!!

A drabble about ✨magic✨

"Only juveniles go to the Carnival," an old man explained to the little girl who lived next door. "Damned kids," he grunted before taking a sip of the coffee he had just ordered.

The girl was curious. She had never seen someone drink without first pouring at least two tablespoons of sugar into the mug.

The old man sat the cup down after a few sips and continued, "Do you know the game...the one with the stacks of milk bottles and a baseball?"

She nodded, twirling a spoon in her own drink; warm tea. Usually she mixed in sugar like the coffee drinkers, but this place, her favorite tavern-inn, stuck mint leaves in the tea! Tea with mint was a wealthy person's drink, but here she was sipping it up.

"-don't even use play-balls! They use apples, perfectly unbruised apples! Can you believe it?"

"No, sir, I can't!" But she could believe it and she wanted to see it. She'd never been to the Carnival, which meant she didn't particularly care what they used as balls, even if it was perfectly unbruised apples. The girl wondered aloud, "Do they use red or green apples?" She paused with consideration and the old man waited. "I hope they throw the green ones. The green apples tickle my tongue all weird." At the icky thought, the young girl shifted awkwardly as the old man chuckled at her.

"Yes, the green ones are certainly sour. But you might just like this one."

She squinted at her neighbour's open palm. "But there's no-" An apple appeared in his hand. She blinked with her jaw wide open. "How'd you do that!" she squealed.

The old man held a finger to his lips and whispered, "Magic." A corner of his mouth twitched. "Have you ever tasted magic before?"

"N-no, sir. But that just looks like a regular apple to me." She didn't quite believe in magic. Imagination, illusion, sure, but not magic. It was too far out from her world.

He smiled. "Well if you're not going to eat it-" His teeth were so near to sinking into the green skin.

"No!" She glanced nervously around. She hadn't meant to be so loud. "I want to eat it. I do." It was only the curiosity that got the best of her.

His smile widened and he held his palm out at a slant, letting the apple topple over and over before it fell from the tips of his fingers. The girl barely caught it before it could thump on the table.

The girl examined the apple. It truly did look...ordinary. Completely ordinary. "What's so special about it again?"

"I told you, girl. Magic."

"Well yeah," She shrugged. "But what's so special about it? It is still a green apple. Am I going to bit into it and have caramel fill my mouth?"

"If that is what you wish." He breathed in, sighed. His patience was wearing thin.

"Could I wish for something else?"

He answered, "If you wanted. Take a bite and see."

"I mean, could I make a wish with the apple." At this point, she thought the two of them were playing a game. "Not make a wish of what the apple would be, but if I wanted to make a wish as I bit into the apple, would it come true? Say I wished for my family to have more money." All a game. The girl still didn't believe in magic, and she doubted that her old neighbour did either. They were playing play-pretend. A small part of her said she was too old for these games, but who else her age or older would ever act like true magic existed? It was best to take advantage of this childish moment.

"That's a bit more complicated."

"How?" She twirled the apple in the air with a lazy wrist.

"That apple has already been created-"

Grown, he means, the girl thought to herself. Better not to get too involved with this fantasy, otherwise she might go mad.

"-to do as I said. Whatever taste you wish to have, whatever filling, it will change to your command. If you want a real wish, one beyond the boundaries of an apple, I'd have to craft another."

How old is he again? The girl knew he wasn't old old, but he was- what- in his sixties maybe? Seemed about right. Like a grandpa. Not a great-grandpa, but a grandpa. And the girl was twenty. Forty years seemed like the right age gap.

The girl stared at the apple. I bet it's fully regular. She squinted, eyed the knife set next to her plate. Nodding, she grabbed the knife and slid it into the apple...only to slice through a crisp white inside. "It is normal!"

He smiled. "You were wishing for your doubt to be true, and so it was. Now think of its center being caramel- without any seeds," he added, "and watch what happens. Maybe split it in half, too. Get creative."

She squinted even further, but put the apple on the plate and halved it with the sharp edge. The girl focused on the apple and imagined a hollow- like a bowl- in the fruit. And then she imagined a stream of caramel being poured into the bowl as if it came from a milk carton.

Her eyes widened, widened, widened. Her lips split until her tongue began to feel dry. She licked her lips and laughed.

There it was, the apple half, carved into a miniature bowl with a creamy caramel making up the once empty contents.

"How- But it was- and the caramel-" She laughed again. "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

The man reached over, pinched the flesh of her arm. She recoiled. "Not dreaming," he said and beamed at her.

"But then how did this- I don't understand."

"The magicians at that Carnival you want to go to so badly are phonies. I can show you the real stuff. I can teach you the real stuff, if that's something you would like." He shrugged, looked suddenly disinterested. "But if you still don't believe it, then maybe I'll talk to the other neighbour kid, the one right across from your house."

Still not fully believing it, but feeling a large shred of greediness, the girl bit her tongue and said, "No. No, I want to learn. I want to make an apple like you did."

The old man smiled. "Very well. Tomorrow, come to my home at 2pm. I will be on the back patio. You can find me there." He slid out of the booth. The girl scrambled to follow. Her leg was busted, and it was difficult to get out of the booth on her own.

"Wait! My crutch!" The old man had her leave it with his coat when they arrived, and after she did, he'd helped her hobble over to where they sat. Now it seemed like he was just going to leave her.

"First lesson," he said just several steps away. "Magic takes a strong will and determination. Get the crutch yourself." And he continued walking. "If you can't do that, don't come to my home tomorrow." He walked to the entrance, picked his coat off of the rack, shrugged it on, and walked out of the door.

Before the girl even thought about hopping on a single foot, or crawling, or asking someone else to get the crutch for her, she looked at her plate, at the still caramel filled half-apple. The other half still sat wholly normal. She stared at it, thought for a moment.

Maybe it was just a wild imagination that made it work, but she pictured the crunchy inside being replaced with wood, and then she thought of it stretch, stretch, stretching until it was the same size, same shape, as her crutch, which was left by the door. The girl stared in glory of what had once been the half apple.

She grabbed the crutch from off the table, blowing a quick bursted breath out of her nose in almost disbelief. The skin of the apple remained attached to the very end of the wooden crutch and the girl grasped it before pulling it off.

Looking back at the door, her crutch was still there. What she held in her hand was just as real, though. And it'd come from an apple. From magic.

[renee-writer]

An Invisible Thread Chapter 14 Two Graduates

“You were just this big,” Julia holds her hands a couple feet apart, “and now you are getting ready to graduate.” She wipes a tear from her eyes as she helps her daughter with her gown.

 

“It does seem only yesterday that I saw Fire Jamie for the first time.” Her eyes get far away like they always do when she is thinking about her love.

 

“Two. You were two. You two have known each other for 16 years.”

 

“Yes!” she smiles brilliantly, “and will the rest of our lives.”

 

Julia sighs as she straightens the gown. Claire doesn’t see. She is lost in thoughts of her man. Of what she believes him to be talking to his own parents about right now.  “Claire, you know we love Jamie and his family?”

 

“Yes mam.”

 

“It is just, your dad and I are concerned you haven’t dated anyone else.”

 

“Why should I?” She turns her head to look at her. “Dating is for meeting the person you will marry, build a future with. I have done that.”

 

“Yes, I know that you think that..”

 

“Mam, I know that. “ she turns fully around, sending the black gown twirling. “I have known it since I was ten, probably earlier but.. Look I get what you are saying. What you and dad’s concerns are. I do but, Jamie and I are right for each other. We will never see anyone else. Never want anyone else. We are young but truly know our hearts. You needn’t worry.”

 

Her mam touches her cheek. “I will always worry. It is the nature of parenthood. May I ask you something?” she nods. “Are you and Jamie intimate?”

 

“No mam. He has strong feelings about that. It is for marriage. Only.”

 

“Good. Waiting is the right thing.”

 

“Yes but bloody hard.” They laugh together.

 

“Da, I need to talk with you about something important.”

 

“Aye.” He looks at his son, this man that stands where a little boy once stood, and not long ago either. Time has a way of rushing when it comes to the bairns.  Willy grown, married, with a son of his own, Jenny, newly married to Ian, now his youngest about to graduate.

 

“You know that Claire is the one for me. That I will never love another the way I love her?”

 

“Aye son. We ken this.”

 

He starts to pace, running his hands through his short curls. Brian looks at him with concern. What is this? He stops in front of the fireplace, unlit on this spring day. His hands travel over the Fraser name and crest carved into the front of the mantle. He stands there a moment before squaring his shoulders and turning back to his da. “I seek your permission to ask her dad for her hand.”

 

“Hard yes. But worth it.”

 

“I agree.”

 

“A long wait though. With university and medical school.”

 

“Mam, we aren’t waiting that long to get married.”

 

“Are you serious son?”

 

“I am. Very. Da, she holds my heart and has for 16 years. Why wait to wed. We are both adults.”

 

“Why, medical school, that’s why. Her dream, eh?”

 

“Yes, her dream that I fully support. I will help her anyway I can. As her boyfriend or husband. That won’t change anything.”

 

“Is this about sex?”

 

“Is this about sex Claire?” Julia stands, hands on her hips and looks at her daughter. Claire removes the gown and hangs it back up on her closet door. She takes a seat on her bed.

 

“No mam. Waiting is hard but.. no. It is about wanting to share a full life with the man I love. Wanting him by my side as I study. A hand to hold when life is overwhelming. My future has been his as long as I can recall. I want to start it.”

 

“Da, no! We have waited but.. Look, she is all I will ever want. I long to share the burden of medical school with her. Have a meal and a bath ready after a long day. Be the person she vents to, have the shoulder she cries on. Celebrate with her when she gets good marks. Our past and future belong to each other. It feels right to start it.”

 

“You are just so young.” Julia frets as she joins her daughter on her bed.

 

“Yes but we want sixty, seventy, years together. Mam, I love him beyond the ability to say. Do you understand?” She looks into her daughter’s eyes and sees pure joy.

 

“Yes, baby girl, I do. Maybe it is just not ready to give you up.”

 

They lean against each other. “You won’t be mam. Just officially gaining the Fraser’s as family.”

 

“Well, you know how much I adore little Ewan William.”

 

“He really is a doll.”

 

“You are a man Jamie. I still think you are to young but,” he sees his son about to argue, “old enough to decide your future. Yes, ask him. I am proud of you son.”

 

They marched the next day, insisting on sitting together, despite the school’s rule about alphabetical order.

 

“What shall they do? Suspend us?” Jamie tells her and their families. Claire graduates with high honors in math and science. Jamie with the same in literature and history. Their families are justifiably proud. Ewan William, Willy and Mary’s three year old, yells out, Uncle Jamie!’ when he sees him walk across the stage. The ham then stops in the middle and deeply bows to him and the rest of his family. The little boy laughs and laughs.

 

Julia and Brian cry when they see Claire. Their long awaited daughter, a woman.  After, Jamie walks up to Brian.

 

“May I talk with you? Alone sir.”

 

“Sir? Must be serious.” Jamie nods and he wheels himself after him.