#last summer when mom was growing them in the garden and i had to taste them fresh then it became ok

[soapstore]

look at me eating tomatoes like its nothig. used to be so yucky

[tiantianxue]

First Summer's Strawberries

AO3 Link Fandom: Blue Lock Character: Chigiri Hyoma Word Count: 1031

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The strawberries you grew—using coffee grounds from his mom's morning coffee—were surprisingly big considering it was your first attempt. But you were the type of student to do your homework sooner and play later, so Chigiri wasn't that surprised to see that your strawberries grew well.

A neat row of repurposed milk cartons lined the balcony rails, sitting on top of wire racks from somewhere—also, probably, repurposed—and bright red strawberries spilled out of the cartons with some laying on the rack, waiting to be picked. You grew quite a few plants. Not nearly enough to use all the coffee grounds you collected from his mother since she brewed coffee daily, but there were plenty of strawberries for both of you to enjoy since they started ripening.

It would have been easier to buy strawberries from any store. Or buy them already in sweets to be eaten like daifuku or a fruit sandwich.

“Hmmm… I could have, but I think it's more fun to do it myself!” You grinned at him when you answered his question after a week of collecting coffee grounds and showing him your small balcony garden.

Chigiri was glad you did, because he might not have met you if you hadn't knocked to ask for coffee grounds.

You were right next door; it wasn’t difficult for him to visit and sit on your balcony for a bit even while he was going through his physical therapy. Coffee grounds were light, easy to carry even if they were still wet. You would pour it out of the bag to dry in your room. It always smelled like coffee because of that and the scent wafted onto the balcony where he liked to sit as you diligently scribbled away whatever assignment you had decided to finish early, or whatever topic had captured your interest. The summer sun was usually warm—sometimes unbearably hot and he would sit in your room instead—and there was usually a nice breeze on your balcony.

He hadn't known strawberries were tiny white flowers first, then red fruit. He didn't know anything about strawberries except what they looked and tasted like until you started growing them on a balcony near him.

“Will you grow them again next summer?” He asked, watching you pick tiny seeds from the strawberries you were going to eat.

You blinked at his question, red strawberry juice clinging to your bottom lip, before smiling. “Will you bring me coffee grounds again?”

“Obviously.” Chigiri huffed a laugh at your question.

“Then yeah, I'll grow them again. How many should I grow? As many as possible to feed you?” You gestured with your hand to the pile of stems he had. Easily twice your pile. He felt his cheeks get warmer despite the fan spinning nearby. You were just slow as you got the seeds before eating.

“Let's see if you can then.”

But he didn't want to wait until next summer to do this again—sitting on your balcony and spending time with you. Red juices staining both fingertips and lips. The scent of strawberries and coffee hanging in the air.

It didn't have to be strawberries.

“Oh, there's only one left.” You pushed the bowl closer to him. “Since you like them so much.”

There were still a few strawberries that hadn't turned red yet on the balcony so it wasn't the last one. Just the last one for the day.

Chigiri ate most of your harvest, but here you were letting him have another like he contributed beyond bringing coffee grounds over.

Quickly, he judged the distance between you and him across the small table and he pushed himself onto his knees and leaned over to press a kiss to your lips.

He grinned at the surprise on your face when he pulled back.

“Let's grow more stuff together.”

It was easy to grab the toothpick you were using while you processed his kiss and start picking off the seeds from the strawberry. He worked quietly as he waited for your response.

The fan kept whirring, providing a nice breeze in the room. Chigiri could hear the sound of insects buzzing outside. His fingertips were already red from the strawberries he ate, but now there was juice running down his hand as he picked at the seeds. He didn't know how much juice strawberries let out on their own nor did he realize how many seeds a strawberry had before.

Another thing he learned about the fruit thanks to you growing them. Chigiri didn't know anything about growing them except coffee grounds were great for the soil, but that was just the first thing you taught him about strawberries.

He licked his bottom lip. Strawberries. The taste on your lips too. If his sister found out, she would tell him how romantic and cute it was that his first kiss tasted of strawberries.

“I only picked strawberries because your hair color reminded me of them.”

Chigiri choked on the almost seedless strawberry in his mouth. You laughed as he coughed and tried to swallow the chunk in his mouth.

“I didn't know how else to talk to you since we go to different schools.”

You moved in next door right before the new school year started and he barely saw you until that day you knocked to ask for coffee grounds. He barely noticed you honestly, but that meant you had noticed him for a few weeks at least before summer started. A lot of planning went into growing something from what he saw, especially with how easy you made it look.

“... that's cute.” There wasn't anything else he could say to that. He could feel his face heating up. Knowing that you had your eyes on him for so long.

“I just wanted a friend close by, but I think I like you too.” You were right in front of him. He could smell strawberries again from how close your face was, just a centimeter or two from his. You looked unfairly calm with how close you were and how fast his heart was racing. “Your face is so red for someone who kissed first.”

[trans-yllz]

sage! also orchid and mahonia. btw do you have a chenqing keychain charm or am I thinking of someone else?

sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?:

I think that music is the kind of art that touches my soul the most, tho visual art is probably what inspires my Own visual art the most and writing like poetry and stories in any form can have profound lasting affects myself as a person (like there's characters that I will just always take with me forever and who helped me through times in my life as silly as that sounds) and writing is one of the ways I am most easily able to get things out of me and express specific emotions and experiences but there's nothing that makes me feel quite like music does and there's nothing that connects me to other ppl like music does. music is one of the things that connects me most to one of my best friends and is such a special cornerstone of our relationship. there is nothing in the world like creating music w other ppl even if you are just singing in the kitchen with your best friend. there's that one quote abt humans always making music and how in the bad times we will be singing about the bad times and like yeah. Yeah. my mom always played a lot of music growing up and my dad used to play the guitar w me and my sister sang me to sleep when I was little so I just think it's always been a big part of my life and I think choir is one of the only reasons I got through middle school lmao. anyway there's just nothing like hearing a song and it filling your whole body hope this helps

orchid ⇢ what’s a song you consider to be perfect?:

CANDY BY THE BLASTING COMPANY it is such a beautiful song both lyrically, instrumentally, and melody wise. I still get chills every time I listen to it and everyone I've ever shown it to regardless of their usual music taste has thought it was beautiful. the ending especially makes me akshmcuakshyaijsj. its also really fun and lovely to sing! their other song old summer reckoning is very beautiful as well (it reminds me of wei wuxian and wen qing lmao). they're the band that did the music for over the garden wall if you ever watched it!

mahonia ⇢ what place, thing, activity inspires you most and how do you express yourself when it does?:

well obviously stories inspire me to make things.. I make my little drawings and I write my little posts about my favorite little guys. but one of the driving forces for me to make art Not related to media is just experiencing a strong emotion esp about a specific experience or person and I like to express it w poetry and visual art and combining those two things when I can. I made this piece after one of my rats died (I was having an already terrible week but I don't remember why lmao) and after coming to the vet with me my best friend came back to my apartment and helped me clean my disgusting room and washed all of my dishes for me and it was just such a profound act of love I had to get it out of my body. I have another poem I wrote that I haven't made art for yet after my dad took care of me after top surgery. I guess rlly what inspires me most is love for other ppl and things as cheesy as that sounds

also yes I do have a chenqing keychain!! it's a tiny replica of the flute and then I got a Different keychain that was the little charm on it and put them together hehe

[cedarbythesea]

My parents are gardeners in their spare time. My mom is a teacher and my dad works from home so every summer the garden was full of food. It’s a hobby they do for love but as a kid I didn’t realize how it was also tied up with food security. My mom grew up poor and to this day cannot eat certain canned vegetables because that’s all they had.

Growing food is exhausting. But the taste is magnificent. Every year we made jam, picked lettuce fresh for salads that day, made soup and froze it. The house has a two car garage and we only parked on vehicle in it because the other side had two giant deep freezers.

As an adult who lives far away now, I mourn the lack of fresh food in my community. Not just fresh food, but heritage flavours grown for taste, not transportability. I cannot find spinach that isn’t wilting at the store and do not have the time or money to shop exclusively at the farmer’s market.

The raspberries from the grocery store cannot compare to the ones my parents grow and that I picked every second morning in the summer before the sun was too hot. A little garden stand opened up one block away and I wept while eating their blackberries last summer.

Even the food you think is bad tastes good when grown locally. No one seems to love Red Delicious apples. But they transport well and fill the bins at grocery stores. When my parents bought the house, there was a mature apple tree in the backyard. A Red Delicious apple tree. Now it would be stupid to rip out a mature fruit tree because it produced a less desirable type of apples. My parents figured it’d just be good for juice and applesauce. Every fall that tree produces the best tasting apples. People do not believe me when I tell them they’re Red Delicious apples. I eat them raw, make stews, sauce, juice and jelly. 

Every time I visit home, I leave ladened with produce and preserves. Just about every meal I make is touched some way or another by an ingredient from my parents’ garden, dried herbs in soups and stews, garlic in pasta, jam spread across bread. And although I’m in a city 500+ km away from that garden, it fills my dreams each and every meal.

Learning about edible plants (and eating them) has given me a lot of insight into the problems with the USAmerican food system

It's incredible how a supermarket gives you the sense of being surrounded by immense variety, but it's just the visual noise of advertising. In reality almost everything around you is just corn, wheat, soy, and milk, repackaged and recombined and concealed and re-flavored using additives, over and over and over again.

[alexjcrowley]

Hi! Christmas is near and, while it's supposed to be the happiest of the holidays, it is not so for everybody. A couple of years ago, my favourite journalist published a piece about what it means to come home, as an adult, for the holidays, especially when you have a complicated relationship with your parents. It's an article that touched me very deeply and I reread it every Christmas. This year I thought of sharing it with you, maybe some people will find it weird, but when I read it for this first time it just made perfect sense, I think there might be other people like me out there who would be comforted by this piece.

IMPORTANT The article is from Enrico Dal Buono, he is an italian journalist, so I had to translate this piece and I apologise in advance because my translation won't make him justice. Also, the translation is not authorised by him, but he reposted the entire article on his insta stories, I guess that makes it public material. His pieces don't get officially translated in English, all I wanted to do to get more people to know him because I love what he writes and the way he writes. I translated this purely out of love, I am not gaining anything by it. The part between [ ] are words I added because I thought they made sentences more understandable in English. There are asterisks for longer notes.

Coming back from the little town to the big city after Christmas holidays, or after summer holidays, means becoming adults again. As much as you may be decrepit by now, as much as you may live far by the house you grew in, for how many years may have gone by since you left it to look for fortune elsewhere, when you stay there for a period longer than a day or two you ask yourself if you have ever stopped being a teenager who rubs his hands with alcohol after a cigarette [smoked] at the window.

All your little certainties as an angraphic adult, as an hypothesis of an adult, the certainties settled in years of dishes washed with bare hands and fights with construction workers and bills payed last minute, all your strategies to adapt to strangers ever so different, to learn to be on first name basis with loneliness and make the world address you by your surname*, all of that, in the span of a few days at home with your parents, disappears.

You go back to sleep, again, in that room that- even if it's double [the size of] the apartment in which you live alone- has the nature of the "little bedroom". It's not the center of the house, nor the master bedroom: it's decentralised, subordinate.

Still the picture of you as child on the dresser, the posters of some team or some band on the wall, the shelves looted where the few books remained lean on one another, in the pencil case butts of pencils nobody has sharpened since [Lord knows] how long, and, in the worst case, [scattered] here and there, dusty and humiliating stuffed toys. Everything has stopped, calcified, victim of the spell of children who go away.

You parents want to look at you, touch you, talk. They follow you in the kitchen, in the garden, upstairs, until the edge of the shower. And now what are you going to do, do you drop your underwear in front of them ot not? Those two people made you, after all, and they've seen your penis grow inch after inch. But, Christ, people out there call me "doctor": how can you show mommy your dick? Whatever decision you take- ask them gracefully to leave you alone, slam the door in their faces, undressing shamelessly- then you'll overthink it, you'll feel something went wrong anyway.

However short, it is a cohabitation with individuals with solid habits: one must respect meal times, you can't arrive when you want and make yourself some pasta** , you got be perfectly on time (1:00 p.m. and 8:30 p.m.) and thank mom and say that everything tastes very, very good.

And in the evening one must come home at a decent time. Almost always, to go into your room you have to walk past your parents'.

They were just waiting to dive back into the past, in their ancient vigilant sleep, cat-like, as you were still a fourteen-year-old who takes part in scooter races and, if he's late, perhaps is because they had to take him to ER for multiple fractures. What a beautiful reunion: mom, dad and hypothesis of death. Therefore, even today when you are 30 or 40, you take off your shoes, and you try to gain your free zone [made] of posters and stuffed toys tiptoeing. All of a sudden you remember the steps have the ability of creaking. Opening the door, you feel pressed to the back of your head a judgement that weighs like it should be weighing the one of your CEO, of your manager, of the partner of your firm, not of the those who at this point, theoretically, are nothing more than your colleagues in the job of adult life.

And therefore, like every teenager worth a damn***, you get mad. You'd do anything not to put up that dark face of the misunderstood all jerking off and murmured swearings, not to keep your eyes staring at the soup for the entire dinner, not to answer with bitter half sentences, but it's stronger than you.

You are victim of the same spell too. The house is hexed. And the parents, just like back then- just more tired, more slow, more dead- look at each other, and shake their heads. Ah, what have we done wrong, with this one.

Perhaps you're not a problematic person, on the contrary, everybody considers you reasonable, at times even pleasant, but yet, [when you're] there, you are not so sure you know who you are anymore. Maybe you're a reckless and insicure kid and [God] knows where will you end up. Sure, now in the mirror you see wrinkle here and a receding hairline there, but maturity isn't to be measured with a sphygmomanometer. Maybe you never went away from here, from this house, from you fifteen years. You choke and believe that when the holidays are over you'll take a sigh of relief. And instead, seeing your parents who, ever so bent and shaky, help you load your luggage with wet eyes and one last caress always in the barrel, you feel you wasted once more time that won't come back, an unrecovable occasion of love.

*I had to modify this part because in Italian if reffered to a formal and an informal use of the English pronoun "you", that in English do not exist, to my knowledge. In Italian we have two (technically three) different words for the formal and informal use of you, so I had to modify the sentence a bit in order to restore the sense of the text in English.

**the original piece said pasta with tuna, which is a fairly common dish in Italy, but I thought it could uselessly confuse people who weren't familiar with it.

***I don't think the Italian expression can be translated literally, this is the closest I could get

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Best Friend’s Brother - Chris Evans x Reader (Part 7)

Summary: You and Scott have been best friends ever since you were 10, meeting at summer camp. Being best friends with Scott means you know his family very well. Especially his older brother. After a failed attempt at dating Chris when you were 18, when you move to LA for a job will you and Chris grow close again? What would the world think? and most importantly what would Scott think?

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Angst, swearing, slowburn

You were walking through the grocery store trying to find everything on the list Scott had given you.

“Scott on the list you just wrote alcohol, could you possibly be more specific?” You ask him balancing your phone on you shoulder as you looked at the list.

“Um well I don’t know what people want exactly but it’s a BBQ so mostly beer I guess, I’ve already got spirits and mixers if people want them so maybe some wine too” Scott answers as you start grabbing a couple cases of beer.

“Any brands in particular?” You ask.

“Uh no the usual should be fine, unless your boyfriend has any specific tastes” Scott says.

“Ah yeah about that, Jake can’t make it” you mutter.

“What! How come?” Scott asks.

“Space in the labs is tight at the moment so when space opened up last minute he had to take it” you explain.

“Aw that’s such a shame! Everyone was looking forward to meeting him” Scott sighs in disappointment.

“I haven’t told anyone about him, the only people that know are you, Steve and potentially Chris” you point out.

“I may have mentioned it to mom and Carly and Shanna, I got excited alright” Scott says sheepishly.

“Well it’s your fault they’re gonna be disappointed then, if you hadn’t of mentioned it they would be living in ignorant bliss” you laughs heading over to the check out.

“Whatever just hurry up with all the stuff” Scott says making you chuckle as you pass the cashier Scott’s credit card he’d given you.

When you pulled up outside Scott’s house you beeped your horn a couple times to signal you were here and they could come help you bring everything in.

Soon after the door opens, and all the Evans clan comes out to greet you. The boys heading straight to the car to help unload it. While Lisa pulled you straight into a tight hug.

“Oh goodness it’s so good to see you! How are you? My boys looking after you?” She asks making you chuckle.

“They’ve been great made the transition much easier, I better help them unload” you say turning to go help.

Carly stops you linking her arms in yours taking your car keys from you.

“No leave it to the boys, we’ve not seen you in months. Chris catch” she says tossing your car keys over to Chris who caught them easily, looking over at all of you slightly confused.

“Finish unloading the car, we’re gonna catch up” Shanna tells him linking her arm in your free one before leading you inside.

“So where’s this boyfriend we’ve heard so much about” Carly asks as you all sat down in the garden.

“He couldn’t make it last minute got caught up in the labs, he sends his apologies though” you tell them making them all groan in disappointment.

“So how did you meet?” Lisa asks.

“Um well we’d seen each other on campus briefly but we met I guess on Santa Monica beach” you tell them.

They continue to question you about Jake but then another voice and the sound of high heels interrupted you.

“Chris? Chris you out here?”

You turn around to see Circe walking out. You couldn’t help but raise your brows at her choice of outfit. Everyone had decide on a casual look of jeans and T-Shirts, but she had decided on an outfit fit for the club. A tight skirt that barely covered her ass, and a skin tight top with a v shaped neckline so low it practically came down to her naval. The entire ensemble was topped off with stilettos so tall they could be considered a crime against feet.

“He’s helping unloading the car, so try the kitchen” Lisa says with a slightly forced smile.

“Oh (Y/N) I didn’t see you there, I didn’t realise you were coming today” she says ignoring Lisa and turning to you.

“Well I am Scott’s best friend so” you tell her having to bite your tongue slightly.

“Yeah but this is a family thing” she says smiling innocently at you as if she hadn’t just told you that you shouldn’t be here.

“(Y/N) is family dear” Lisa points out putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah and we’d rather have her than you” Shanna mutter under her breath, making Carly snort and Lisa give her youngest daughter a warning slap on the knee.

“Chris is probably looking for you in the kitchen” Lisa repeats.

“Sure” Circe says turning away quickly.

“So you’ve already met Circe” Carly says once Circe was out of earshot.

“Yup” you say popping the P “she’s an interesting one to say the least”

“You could say that again” Shanna snorts.

“Alright let’s play nice, she is still a guest, Chris’ one at that, so behave” Lisa says giving all of you a look of warning.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink, anyone want one?” You say standing up heading inside when they all said they were fine.

As you stepped into the kitchen you could see Steve and Scott preparing the meat for the BBQ. Chris was stood against the counter beer in hand, Circe pressed against his side, her hand running up and down his chest.

“Oh (Y/N) here’s your keys” Chris says when he sees you, grabbing your keys from his pockets and tossing them over to you.

“Cheers, thanks for unloading the car for me” you smile ignoring the subtle but dirty look Circe gave you.

“Need any help with anything?” You ask Scott when you grab yourself a beer.

“We’re fine thanks” Circe says before Scott even managed to get a word out.

You glance over your shoulder at her, ignoring her and turning back to Scott.

“You can make the slaw if you want” Scott says nodding over to the cabbage and carrots.

“No problem” you smile grabbing a chopping board.

“Sorry I just need to grab a knife” you say turning to Chris and Circe who were stood in front of the knife block.

Chris steps out the way but Circe barely moves meaning you bump shoulders as you lean around her to grab a knife. You hear her scoff slightly but ignore it, turning back to the task at hand.

Once the food was all ready you went outside sitting with Carly and Shanna while Scott and Steve cooked. You all caught up, them telling you all about the gossip back in Boston. While you told them about what you’d been up to in LA.

Once to food was ready you all gathered around to pile your plates full of food.

“So have you seen a mountain lion with you own eyes yet?” Lisa asks you.

You go to answer her but Circe interrupts before you get the chance.

“It’s so cool how we have mountain lions isn’t it? Don’t have to go all the way to Africa to see a lion” she says.

You see Scott eye you knowing what Circe had just said was completely wrong.

“Well actually they aren’t actually lions, or even related to lions” you tell her “it’s a pretty common misconception though” you say giving her the benefit of the doubt.

“Yeah they are lions, it’s in the name” she retorts, you shake your head and go to explain again.

“They’re actually different species a mountain lion is actually a Puma, Puma concolor, and an African Lion is a lion, Panthera leo” you explain.

She furrows her brows at you clearly not pleased that you were correcting her, no matter how politely you did so.

“What made you the lion expert” she scoffs under her breath.

“My PhD in Zoology probably does” you tell her trying to keep your face neutral.

You see her face fall slightly before she huffs moving off to go sit down with Chris who had missed the entire exchange. Scott moves over to you and holds his hand up for a sly high five, which you gladly provide.

Once you all sat down you all chatted amongst yourselves as you ate. You’d notice how Circe was keeping Chris to herself not allowing him to socialise with his family. You tried to ignore it, but you couldn’t help but feel distain towards her. You barely knew her, but you had a gut feeling she was bad news.

You excuses yourself to go to the bathroom, pulling out your phone once the door was locked. When you searched up her name you quickly found an interview she did where she said she wanted to break into acting as well as a bunch of pap photos of her with Chris. You pull up her Instagram to find it littered with posts about Chris. While none of the posts explicitly featured a picture of Chris, they all referenced him in some way. By her either wearing an item of clothing that was clearly his like his NASA cap or his knives out jumper. Or is was a photo of herself with the caption ‘date outfit ❤️’ where she’s wearing the same outfit she was wearing when she was papped with Chris. You could see Chris wasn’t actually following her on Instagram, meaning he didn’t know about all this. He didn’t see how she was using him to get media attention.

You could feel anger rising within you, and a sick feeling in your stomach. She didn’t deserve him, he was too good for her. He deserved better. You knew you’d never treat him like the celebrity he was because he was always just Chris to you. You’d respect his privacy and not flout him on social media for attention. You caught yourself. You weren’t jealous. You couldn’t be. Because it was made painfully clear to you that he wasn’t yours. You made it clear to yourself that him and you would never work.

You take a deep breath composing yourself. Chris wasn’t yours. He was happy. You were in a relationship with Jake. You were happy. No matter how much you didn’t like her, it wasn’t your place to say anything. You plaster a smile on your face before heading back out to everyone.

For the rest of the day you kept your distance and acted like there wasn’t a single problem in world. On the occasion you did glance over to Chris you saw him looking over at you with his jaw clenched turning his attention back to Circe when you caught him. You made sure that it didn’t ruin your time with the Evans clan, laughing along and chatting as normal. Happy to catch up with everyone and have a good time.

When you got back to your house you headed straight for the shower to help you unwind. You sighed in content as the hot water rushed over your body. You took your time giving yourself a full on pamper leaving you fully relaxed by the time you stepped out. You quickly dried your hair getting dressed in shorts and a vest ready to relax in bed. You had just gone to the kitchen when you heard a loud pounding on the door, startling you.

You hesitate for a moment debating whether you should open the door or not. When the loud knocking didn’t stop you slowly walked to the door, grabbing your baseball bat on your way. As you open the door you see Chris glaring down at you angrily his chest heaving.

“What the hell is your fucking problem!” He demands storming into your house.

You look back at him shocked and astounded by his outlash.

“What the hell are you going on about Chris!” You ask him following him into your house, watching as he paced back and forth.

“You! These fucking games you’re playing!” He shout pointing over at you accusingly.

“What games? what the hell are you on about Chris?” You ask trying to keep yourself calm.

“You do and say one thing and then completely flip and do the opposite. I can’t keep up its driving me insane!” Chris shouts running his hands through his hair.

“Chris seriously what the fuck are you on about!” You shout quickly losing your cool.

“You say you care for me, then treat Circe like a piece of shit! Don’t you want me to be happy!” He shouts.

You look back at him shocked and slightly guilty. Okay maybe you hadn’t been as discrete as you thought.

“Look Chris I tried. I tried to I really did, but she isn’t right, she’s just using you for publicity” you tell him trying to keep your voice level.

“You don’t know that!” Chris shouts but you could see the hint of doubt in his eyes.

“Yes I do Chris there’s interviews saying she wants to be an actress and her entire Instagram is showing you off” you explains.

“She doesn’t have Instagram” he retorts shaking his head.

“She does look, all her posts reference you in one way or another, she’s using you Chris, I wish she wasn’t because I do truly want you to be happy, but she is” you sigh passing him your phone so he could see for himself.

He scrolls though her feed and you watch as his shoulder drop.

“Chris I’m sorry, I really am” you say moving to take a step closer to him.

He takes a step back “this doesn’t explain all of it” he says looking back at you.

“What do you mean?” You ask confused once again.

He shakes his head pacing back and forth again, but he doesn’t answer you.

“Chris you need to explain to me what you’re on about so I can help” you say moving to take a step closer to him, but he steps back holding his hands up. You could see the conflict in his eyes, that were slowly becoming red.

“The signals you’ve been sending ever since new year’s, the song that felt like it was aimed directly at me. Whenever we’ve seen each other since you came to LA, when you kissed me that night” Chris says his voice breaking slightly.

You could feel your heartbeat increasing as he spoke. You feel tears pricking in your eyes as you remembered that night.

“You said you wanted to forget that kiss” you mutter shaking you head hoping it would stop the tears.

“No, no I didn’t you did” he said looking back at you with tears in his eyes.

The realisation hits you like an asteroid, followed by a spaceship, followed by a truck. It had all been one big misunderstanding. Everything that had happened ever since had been caused by a simple misunderstanding.

“Oh god” you mutter, your hands shaking as you cup your hand over your mouth.

“Shit, shit, shit, no” you says slowly sitting down as you felt your legs grow weak.

“(Y/N)?” Chris questions taking a step closer.

“I- I- I meant that I wanted to forget about the vomiting not the kiss” you tell him.

He looks back at you shocked as he has the same realisation that you just had.

“Fuck” he mutters beginning to pace again.

“My sentiments exactly, I thought you wanted to forget the kiss, that it was a mistake” you tell him voice breaking as tears fall slightly.

He turns to face you, quickly moving to bend down in front of you. Cautiously putting a hand on your knee.

“God no, I was so god damn happy that it happened. I’ve been having these feelings for you for a while now, I didn’t think you felt the same way so when you kissed me I was over the moon” he tells you looking up at you with a smile.

You search his eyes to see if he was lying but saw nothing but adoration.

“Me too...” you mutter quietly making his smile grow.

Your mind instantly moves to Jake and the horrible position you found yourself in.

“Oh god” you groan dropping your head into your hands.

“What? What is it?” Chris asks rubbing your knee soothingly.

“I have a boyfriend” you sigh looking over at him.

You see his shoulders drop again as he realised what situation you were in. Unlike Circe, your boyfriend was actually a decent guy.

“Right well um” he says quietly moving to stand up, but you grab his hand to stop him.

He looks at you waiting for you to say something, but you were struggling to find the words.

“Look- Chris- I um” you start but you struggle to find your voice.

You take a shaky breath, decide to just tell the truth.

“I like you Chris, I really do, when I thought you wanted to forget the kiss it hurt, it really hurt” you say voice breaking as you choke back a sob.

“I tried to move on, so when Jake came along I took the chance thinking I didn’t have one with you, and what I have with his is good” you continue.

“Do you have the same feelings towards him, as you do towards me?” Chris asks moving to sit beside you.

You shake your head “I don’t know, Chris I don’t know” you admit.

You hear him take a deep sigh before taking you hand.

“Why didn’t we just talk, all of this could have been avoided” he sighs.

“Because people do stupid things when it concerns people they care about” you sighs looking over at him.

“I care about you Chris, a lot, and if this whole miscommunication hadn’t happened I would happily be with you, but it did and now I have to contend with my relationship with Jake, who is so sweet and kind” you tell him.

“And you don’t want to hurt him” Chris says looking over at you

“I can’t just up and leave him, I need to think this through because he doesn’t deserve to get hurt” you continue, Chris nodding his head in understanding.

“Look it’s okay take your time, and I’m sorry, but if it helps Circe is out of the picture for me, I want you” Chris says turning to face you fully “and I’ll wait for you, just come by my house if you decide if you want me. If I haven’t seen you by next Saturday I’ll know that you’ve chosen him, and I’ll hope the two of you all the best because you deserve to be happy” he continues before standing up and walking towards the door.

“But I do hope you choose me, because I choose you (Y/N)” he says turning to face you before he steps out the door.

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[natasha-romanoff-deserved-better]

The Day The Music Died

Summary:

“This’ll be the day that I die,” Yelena had sung those exact words in the car that day, and no lies were told.

Natasha never wanted to hear that song again.

Word Count: 3437

Also on Ao3 here

~~~

Natasha stares at the bandages wrapped tightly around Clint’s left wrist, eyes locked in on the red spots where extra blood had been soaked up by the gauze. Clint’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, softly drumming along to the song playing from the radio as he maneuvers the car around a bend in the old back road.

“I can feel you staring.” He says, snapping Natasha out of her trance. Clint takes his eyes off the road for a second to catch her gaze. “Nat, I’m fine. I promise.” It’s not going to change what happened, but he still tries. These types of missions were always hard on Natasha, and it’d only been made that much worse when one of the target’s bodyguards had managed to catch Clint’s forearm with a knife, dangerously close to critical veins. There had been a lot of blood and although Nat was easily able to stitch his skin back together, the close call had scared her - even if she refused to admit it out loud.

“I know you’re fine, idiot. It’s impossible to get rid of you.” She snorts and sends him a small smile. The radio cuts into a commercial, advertising their station and morning talk show before launching into another song.

A long, long time ago

I can still remember how that music

Used to make me smile

Natasha frowns at the song as an alarm bell begins to blare in the back of her head at the notes that drift out of the speakers. She furrows her eyebrows at it, a sinking feeling coming over her. Images from another time threaten to overtake her, and she’s too weak to stop them.

And I knew if I had my chance

That I could make those people dance

And maybe they'd be happy for a while

A blonde little girl, only five years old, prances around the front yard. She’s barefoot and wearing her pink sparkly sundress, hair pulled up into pigtails as she tries to catch a ladybug. Natasha watches from her perch among the tree branches. Mom Melina is kneeled on the ground as she works on the garden in front of the house, planting new flowers to replace the dead ones. She’s brought her portable stereo out, sitting it on the porch and playing at full volume. Natasha isn’t even aware of what song is playing until Yelena is running up to the porch, begging her to play it again. Mom Melina does. And then plays it again with an amused smile and quirked eyebrow when Yelena asks for a third time. Yelena cheers with joy as it starts again and rises to her tip toes as she begins to twirl and dance to the music.

Nobody knows what it is about the song that Yelena likes so much, but she loves it. She constantly asks for it, so much so that Melina loads it onto a cassette tape and keeps it in the car just for her. Natasha doesn’t quite understand what most of the lyrics are talking about, but she decides she doesn’t mind the song for Yelena. In a way, it fits- Yelena is the picture perfect little all american girl, apple pie personified.

Natasha’s frozen in her seat. She pleads with herself to move, to turn off the radio. She doesn’t want to hear this. She knows what verses are coming next, and her breathing catches in her throat as they start. These words hold no comfort for her anymore.

Bye Bye Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry

And them good ol boys were drinking whiskey and rye

Singin’ this’ll be the day that I die

This’ll be the day that I die

Her sister’s high-pitched voice singing the words, a beat behind as she moves her hands cheerfully, lost in the rhythm of the song. She’s buzzing with excitement- ready for her promised big adventure, too young and oblivious to notice their parent’s anxiety or her sister’s internal crisis happening in the seat next to her. Natasha can’t look at her sister, she doesn’t want her to see the panic she knows is written over her face. Instead, she keeps her eyes locked out the window, trying desperately to commit everything to memory. The red, white, and blue lights that light up the night, the football game where a band plays and people cheer, the abundance of restaurants where families are sat enjoying dinner. The normalness of it all makes her angry - how can all these people be so casual when her world is falling apart at the seams? Yelena begins to sing the verse about dying, and it takes everything within Natasha to not snap at her. She can’t bear to listen to her little sister singing about dying, so blissfully unaware of the possibility of the verse becoming true at any moment now. Natasha should say something to her, tell her to stop, tell her what was happening. But the lure of pretending one last time is too great for her to give away. She doesn’t say anything.

Did you write the book of love

A photo album, thick with pictures of them all sit on the shelf. It’s Natasha’s favorite thing in the house, and she often sneaks out of bed to stare at the photos. Realistically, she knows they’re all fake. But if she tries hard enough, thinks long enough, she swears she can recall the events. Thanksgiving had been fun; the food had been the best she’d ever tasted. Their summer vacation had been at the beach, and she swears she can feel the sun warming her face and the sand between her toes.

And do you have faith in God above

If the bible tells you so?

She and Clint had gone to a church once, as part of an undercover mission. She’d ended up having to walk out in the middle of the service. It had been too much. She could never believe in it, even if she wanted to. No loving God would ever create the horrors she had seen before her 13th birthday or give her a family purely to steal it all away so violently.

Can music save your mortal soul

And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Natasha’s feet hit the ground, still en pointe, as she lands the perfect Grand Jete. She tosses her arms out in the landing pose and holds it for a second before excited clapping breaks her concentration. Yelena sits there, smiling wide as possible, clad in her own black leotard and pink tights. She’s in the younger classes, not as advanced as Natasha yet, but it doesn’t stop her from trying. Yelena scrambles to her feet, crossing the floor to stand next to her sister.

“Teach me, teach me!”

It’s a complicated step, and Natasha knows she’s not ready for it just yet. She doesn’t want her to get hurt.

“I’ll teach you when you’re older, okay?” Yelena nods, and turns to the mirror, copying Natasha’s arm positions.

Natasha tries to force another breath into her lungs, but it’s harder now, her throat and chest constricted. She squeezes her eyes closed, trying to block out the flashbacks that continue to assault her.

Now for ten years we’ve been on our own

And moss grows fat on a rolling stone

But that’s not how it used to be.

Fifteen years. It had been fifteen goddamn years since Natasha had seen her sister for the last time. She refuses to let herself think of what might have happened to her. It pains her to think of her baby sister, who had once been so full of life, in such a horrid place.

Natasha wraps her arms around herself, arms holding each other tightly. She digs her fingernails into her skin, attempting to give herself something else to focus on and ground her. It doesn’t work.

Bye Bye Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the Levee but the Levee was dry

Them good ol boys were drinking whiskey and rye

And signing this will be the day that I die

This’ll be the day that I die

Natasha doesn’t know how long they’ve been stuffed into this shipping container, crowded against a hundred other little girls. They’re all dirty, all starving, all terrified. The scent of sweat and urine threatens to suffocate them, the air hot and heavy.

She has tugged Yelena into her lap, arms protectively crossed over her torso to hold her close- hasn’t let go of her since the second they were put into here for fear of losing her amongst the other girls. She’s so tiny, and Natasha doesn’t trust any of the others.

Yelena stirs, a small whimper falling from her lips. Natasha tries to shush her gently, but it doesn’t work, and her sister keeps squirming. Her cries are starting to grow in volume, and one of the girls next to them sends them a dirty look.

“Yelena, Yelena. I’m here. You’re with me.” It’s the only words of comfort Natasha can offer her. She wishes she could tell her they were okay, that she was safe, that they were going to be fine. Instead, all she can do is assure her that her older sister had her. Yelena had stopped calling out for her mom a while ago, after her calls went unanswered and she finally realized no one was coming to rescue them. Natasha shifts them around, turning her back towards the others and away from prying eyes. Natasha turns Yelena on her lap, so that Yelena is facing her. “Yelena, look at me.”

Yelena shakes her head, so Natasha gently cups both sides of her face, titling her face up so that she has no choice. Yelena doesn’t resist, just locks her tear-filled eyes onto Natasha.

“I’m scared,” Yelena sobs through hitching breaths as her body trembles.

Natasha clutches her tighter and brings her closer, so close their noses are almost touching. “Don’t cry, Lena. Just sing with me.” Yelena frowns at her in confusion, and Natasha starts to sing under her breath, quietly, so that Yelena is forced to quite herself down and focus to hear the words.

She starts with the chorus, the part that Yelena knows and likes the best. “Bye, Bye, Miss American pie,” Natasha sings. The corner of Yelena’s lips quirks up in recognition. Nat pauses, prompting Yelena to sing the next line herself.

Her voice quivers, but she sings it anyways. “Drove my chevy to the levee…” Natasha nods in encouragement and joins her for the next verse. “But the levee was dry.” They sing the next few lines together. They near the last two lines of the chorus though, and this time, Natasha can’t allow her to sister to sing the last line. They hurt too much, they’re too real.

So she interrupts Yelena, skipping forward past the “Day that I die” line and jumping right into the next verse. Yelena doesn’t even question it, just follows her sister’s lead and allows herself to be completely absorbed in the whispered song.

Natasha sings almost the entire song to her sister, doing her best to remember as many lyrics as she could, and then starts over. She keeps singing, over and over again, until her voice starts to crack, and Yelena’s eyes are slipping closed in exhaustion.

“Tasha?” Clint calls, picking up the tension in his partner. She doesn’t respond, just stays frozen in her seat, locked in her own little world. “Hey,” He calls, a bit louder this time. He takes one hand off the wheel and places it on her shoulder gently. “Nat. What’s going on?” She’s shaking.

Instead of answering, Natasha claps her hands over her ears and leans forward, bending at the waist so she can rest her head atop her knees. She’s shaking her head, muttering something under her breath.

We all got up to dance

Oh, but we never got the chance

“Teach me, teach me!”

“…When you’re older.”

Natasha never got the chance to teach Yelena that ballet move. She wonders just how many other promises to her baby sister she’s broken.

“I’m going to pull over, Nat, okay?” A male’s voice comes from somewhere close by. His hand moves from her shoulder onto her back, to rub small circles on it.

Do you recall what was revealed

The day the music died?

She had never felt so stupid. Standing on that airway strip, holding a gun out in front of her, blocking Yelena. She had let her fall into the lie, childishly believe that maybe, just maybe Dad Alexei loved them like he said he did. As Alexei kneels before them, showing no sympathy to his daughters tears, she realizes that had never been the case.

The chorus starts again, and she feels bile rise in her stomach. “Bye Bye Miss American Pie” Natasha remembers how she had stolen that gun from a solider, shoved her sister behind her and threatened to kill numerous grown men for touching her. How desperately she had clung to Yelena when they’d been ripped apart. She hadn’t been ready to give up her sister, not ready to say goodbye to the American dream lie they had built side by side. “Drove my Chevy to the Levee but the levee was dry” The memory of Yelena’s face during those few days had haunted Natasha’s dreams for years. It had frightened her- even more so than the men with oversized guns. She had never seen her sister, who laughed at everything and loved the world with everything in her, look so despondent. She had tried telling her jokes to pry some kind of smile out of her. It didn't work. “This’ll be the day that I die” Yelena had sung those exact words in the car that day, and no lies were told. That day, when dad Alexei handed them back to Russians soldiers, they had both died. Died only to be remade and ruthlessly forged into something new, nothing more than weapons of mass destruction and trained killers.

There’s cussing to her left that pulls her back halfway to the present. She’s in a car, and she’s covered in vomit that runs down her front and onto her chest and lap. Clint has a hand on her, and he’s telling her just a second, Nat.

“Clint?” She asks, still slightly confused. She can still feel the weight of a smaller body on top of her, feel the soft blonde curls against her chin.

“I’m here, Tasha. Hold on.”

Oh, and there we were all in one place

A generation lost in space

With no time to start again

Countless little girls standing in a straight line, blank expressions, awaiting their next commands. They’re all mirrors of each other, no identity left for any of them to cling onto. Natasha scans over each girl, searching for the blonde waves she knows so well. She can’t find her.

The song drags on as Clint navigates the car off the road, coming to stop. He jumps out and jogs around, flinging Natasha's door open. She doesn’t move, so he reaches in and unbuckles her before slipping his hands into her armpits and pulling her out of the car. She tumbles to the ground, falling onto her knees.

And as I watched him on the stage

My hands clenched in fists of rage

No angel born in hell

Could break that Satan’s spell

Natasha catches Dreykov’s eyes on them, and she tightens her hold on Yelena’s hand. Her sister makes a small noise - she’s going to have bruises with how tight Nat is holding her- but doesn’t pull her hand away. Natasha curls her free hand into a tight fist, ready to swing if need be.

Dreykov says something to the men with guns next to him and points a finger at them. The soldiers start moving forward, and Natasha backtracks, tries to back up but Yelena stumbles at the sudden change in direction.

I saw Satan laughing with delight

The day the music died

Natasha screams her sister's name, gripping onto her as tightly as she can. Soldiers have hands on them both, ripping them away from each other. Dreykov is standing several feet away, a tiny smile on his face. Yelena is shrieking, hands desperately trying to keep her grasp on Natasha with all the strength in her six-year-old frame.

They lose their grip on each other and are dragged apart. Yelena’s voice dies out as they carry away the only thing Natasha had left.

Bye Bye Miss American Pie -

“Turn it off!” Natasha pleads, before promptly vomiting even more onto the ground. Clint’s hands support her head, keeping her from falling. “Off, please. I can’t. Turn it--” Clint’s hands leave her for a second as he scrambles over her, reaching through the open passenger door and slamming the power button on the radio.

Natasha lets out a breath, thankful for the silence. With the song no longer playing, her head is beginning to clear, the painful images retreating somewhere she could lock them away again.

“All done?” Clint asks her. She spits out one last string of bile and nods her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as Clint helps her sit up and lean against his leg. He doesn’t rush her, just allows her to sit and try to regain control of her breathing as he combs his fingers through her hair.

When Natasha can finally think again, she frowns at herself in disgust. “Sorry,” She apologizes.

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” he tells her. Clint reaches over and opens the backdoor, grabbing his go bag and digging around until his fingers find one of his clean T-shirts. He yanks it out, closes the door. “Can I help you change, or do you want to do it yourself?”

He’s honestly not even sure if she could change herself right now, with how much she was still shaking, but he gives her the choice anyways. She shrugs her shoulders, her way of accepting help without actually having to accept. “Okay, arms up.” Natasha raises her arms, and Clint carefully tugs her shift off her by the collar, making sure the filthy outside never touched any of her skin. He crumples up the shirt into a ball and tucks it in a bag. He bunches up his shirt at the neck hole and slides it over her head before gently guiding her arms through. It takes a lot for his partner to get to this state, and his concern grows with every passing second that goes by and Natasha is still out of it. He fixes the shirt over her torso, making sure she’s completely covered and then sinks down to the ground, leaning his back against the wheel of the car. There’s a soft breeze in the air, the slight chill nipping at their skin a welcome distraction. “C’mere,” he says, and guides Natasha into his side. She tenses for a moment, but then lets her head drop onto his shoulder, allowing Clint to take her weight. He wraps an arm around her to hold her close.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha repeats, and this time Clint doesn’t say anything. He knows she’s not apologizing to him, but someone not in their presence. He doesn’t push it. She’ll tell him when she’s ready, on her own time. He has guesses though. Clint had an older brother, and he knows what a protective but burnt-out older sibling looks like. He’s seen the way her eyes linger on certain little girls in public before snapping back, caught the way she had once brushed her fingers over a fabric doll with pink hair on a store shelf, heard the way she is able to understand children’s speech without any effort. She’s never mentioned a younger sibling before, but sometimes in her sleep, she mumbles a girl’s name, her hands clenched in fists as if trying to hold on to her.

He presses a kiss to her temple, a silent promise. He won’t push her- He doesn’t need to know exactly what happened. He knows how to support her and how to take care of her when she needs it and for now, that’s enough.

Years later, Natasha will press her forehead to an adult Yelena’s, both panting from the fight, Yelena upside down and laying in the wreckage of the red room. Dreykov is finally dead, by Yelena’s hand. Yelena cracks a joke, and Natasha smiles. They’ll never again be those little girls they once were, but they’ve finally found each other.

[nancypullen]

Hump Day

We’ve had a hot and sunny start to August around here. Isn’t that how it goes every year? The August sun drains the last bit of energy from us before we settle down into the cozy “ber” months. The dog days of summer used to be great when I was a kid - more swimming, more playing, more fun.  Now kids are dragged back to school in August and miss out on summer’s long goodbye.  No fair. The Edgewater branch came over last weekend and entertained us.  They spent a day at Rehoboth Beach where the grandgirl learned to boogie board and discovered FunLand.  The beaches here boast good, old-fashioned boardwalks with arcades, candy shops, and rides.  Sounds great, but I’ll bet it’s also expensive for families.  I took my boys to the beaches on the Gulf Coast every summer and my big investment was cold drinks in the cooler and a few snacks in the beach bag.  We kept beach chairs and boogie boards in the garden shed at Mom and Dad’s house and blew the dust off them every July.  Some of my best memories are of those two sun-kissed boys, with salty skin and hair, giggling in the back of the car.  And now I’ve wandered off course...

Anywho, this week has been uneventful.  I’m barely doing any puttering - not in the house or garden. I’m just not motivated at the moment. I need to get my hair cut, I need to get a few groceries, I need to decide which pumpkin plants get to stay, and I need to finish a couple of projects (what to do to make the laundry pretty?).  But I’m just not feeling it, any of it.  Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow full of determination and ideas, or maybe I’ll just keep talking to cats and doing the bare minimum around here.  Mind you, this is not complaining, I’m enjoying it.  Today I watched a gorgeous butterfly bounce along the zinnias.  Then I threw a load of towels and napkins in the wash.  I thought about mopping and gave the idea a pass. I unloaded the dishwasher and then cleaned out the frig.  That reminds me... See that bottle with “NO” written all over it in marker?

That’s to keep my husband from drinking the sugar water I mix for the hummingbird feeder.   Originally I marked a bottle with a big H and explained to him that H designated that it was for hummingbirds.  Didn’t stop him from opening the frig and taking a big swig.  Ever wonder why I’m always exhausted? Honestly, he doesn’t think I’m normal either.  A couple of days ago I went out to pick tomatoes and came in excited to show him this double-decker beauty.

I presented it with a flourish and at the same time that he exclaimed, “A snowman!”  I blurted out, “Conjoined twins!”   We’re very different people.  At least I’m not guzzling bird juice. That tomato in the photo is from one of the heirloom varieties that Jamie gave me and they’re delicious.  Like, holy-cow-I-didn’t-know-tomatoes-could-taste-this-good delicious.  It’s a Dr. Wyche’s Yellow and I’m a fan.

Last night I made eggplant cutlets with tomatoes and basil from our garden - it was so tasty and fresh, we ate every bite. 

Maybe I should grow eggplant next summer. I’ve never tried, might be fun. Time for me to think about tonight’s dinner and it’s looking like salad.  Hot day, plenty of fresh produce in the house, it’s a no-brainer.   I hope that your day has been a lovely one and that your evening will be too.  Let’s take it easy on ourselves during this last steamy month and see if we can glide to September without much suffering.  No more unnecessary boob sweat. Water the plants and give them a pep talk but let them know they’re on their own. It’s every man for himself in August. It’s the end of the Oregon Trail and the promised land of autumn is ahead.  Am I being dramatic? Look, I tolerate summer because it’s the growing season, but my soul yearns for socks and bowls of chowder.  I need to put on a sweatshirt and watch a Hallmark Christmas movie.  We binge-watched Virgin River and it somewhat satisfied that need, but it wasn’t enough. And I’m off course again.   Have a wonderful evening. Treat yourself to something nice, large or small, doesn’t matter - just be nice to yourself. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO,

Nancy

[mariamermaid]

F.R.I.E.N.D.S

Young Sirius Black x fem Potter!Reader

Summary:  When puberty suddenly hits you and your brother´s best friend realizes his interest in you

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: drinking underaged, mentions of smoking, swearing

A/N: Inspired by Anne-Marie´s song, but not really following the lyrics

 It happened from your summer break to your fifth year in Hogwarts, for your brother James it was his sixth year.

It was, what you would call the perfect summer; You had spent it with your friend Sarah in Spain, her family owned a stunning little cottage near Barcelona. The golden beach and the hot sun brought you back with a stunning tan and even a few freckles decorated your face now. Due to many trips to the mountains and the regular exercise of swimming, playing beachball and evenings dancing on the streets beneath moonlight, you had toned up and lost some body fat. A late, maybe even a drunk decision to get a new haircut and the obsessive amount of the new clothes, that completely reinvented your sense of fashion.

The time abroad away from your family felt like a gasp of freedom to you. You loved your parents and even your brother James, if he wasn´t annoying you, dearly, but that summer you felt grown-up and independent. You found new assets, hobbies, interests and confidence to further follow them. You hadn´t planned it, but your glow up transformation was born.

You came back just a few days before school was starting and somehow, you even looked forward to it. A new found motivation to become the best version of yourself pushed you to new limits. Not even the fact that Sirius Black had moved in with your family, could shatter your positive attitude.

 “Mom, where did Dad put my luggage, I brought a few souvenirs I wanted to give you!”, you asked while looking through your backpack for a hair tie. Your mother, who had already settled back in the kitchen, her natural habitat, to get some iced tea, shrugged.

“I don´t know, darling, didn´t he put them in your room already?”

Nevertheless, it felt good to be home again.

Your father entered the dining and kitchen area from outside, a suitcase of yours in each of his hands. Just as he was about to call your brother for help, James jumped down the staircase and patted your father on the shoulder. “In a second, dad?”

James, who always had been taller than you, eyed your astonished. “Who is that girl in our home? Is that even my sister anymore?” You chuckled as he gave you a quick hug.

“Shut up James, you´re just jealous that you´re still pale like a snow owl!”

While the two of you started your casual process of sibling bickering, Sirius carefully stepped down the stairs as well. From the back, he observed your figure.

All those years, you had been James´s sister or the younger Potter, but for the first time, you didn´t perish next to James. Actually, you overshone him. James, who was athletic due to the Quidditch practice, still had a crooked and flabby posture. It didn´t help that he was used to swagger through the halls of Hogwarts. But you? You remained with your head held high, your shoulders relaxed and your tanned skin freshly glowing.

“Y/n.”

You turned to find Sirius starring at you; you couldn´t point his look, but you gave him a polite, regardless smile. “Sirius”, you greeted him. Your voice wasn´t rude or cold, still it didn´t match the voice you´d use to talk to James. “Or should I call you brother number two?”

A painfully small grin was brought to his lips. Over the course of years, the two of you barely exchanged words. But yet, you were a constant part of his life. Yes, he had spent many Christmas holidays with your family. He most definitely spent more time with James than you. You were his best friend’s sister, right?

But why did it suddenly bother him, that you called him brother?

“Y/n, Sirius is staying in the guest room from now on. We didn´t use the room anyway, did we?”

The Potter residency had an altogether combined number of four floors; the basement with storage and washing area. The main floor with kitchen, dining and living room, leading to the outdoor terrace and garden and your parent´s bedroom. The second floor with James´s bedroom, your father´s study room and of course, the guest bedroom, which now belonged to Sirius. Last but not least the attic, which was renovated to your room. A point which had caused James and you to argue for several years; the attic was an amazing room and much larger than other bedrooms in the house. James lost the argument due to very weak points. To quote your mother, James spent more time outside doing mischief than actually staying in his room.

You were more relieved than ever to have not only your own room, but basically your own floor. You didn´t mind Sirius, but you needed your space and you didn´t wanted to be involved with their pranks.

“James, help me with my suitcase, will you?” You exclaimed, but your brother already made his way to the kitchen. By his moving pattern, you knew he was up to no good.

“Mom, don´t you and Dad usually spent the weekend at Cindy´s?” You couldn´t help but rolling your eyes at his comment. The last weekend before school begins; James´s house party.

Your parents knew he´d like to bring friends over at that weekend, they didn´t know about half of the school coming and the amount of beer and fire whisky.

“James?” You sighed, but your brother was pursuing his own goals.

“I´ll help you”, Sirius suddenly spoke up and hurried next to you. He took the suitcases without much effort and immediately started carrying them upstairs. On the stairs, you passed the Black boy to open the door to your room for him. Sirius noticed your swift movement and was reminded of James playing Quidditch. Clearly you both inherited that gene. Sirius put down the luggage and couldn´t help but eye your room with growing eyes. The high wooden ceiling, which was decorated with fairy lights and pictures and painting on the walls. You had a secret talent to be good at drawing and detailed sketches of plants, you had learned about in school, hung over your desk. Pictures of you and James at the age of toddlers and family portraits from Christmas. In one of them was even Sirius. You realized how he didn´t leave your room and eyed him warry as he starred at the pictures.

“I´ve never been to your room.”

“Don´t get used to it.” You heaved your suitcase up on your bed to start the sorting out process and Sirius turned away from the pictures, raising his eyebrow. “It´s my room.”

His eyes glided over the silk sheets of your bed and he couldn´t help but wonder, how you looked when waking up in the morning by rays of sunshine falling through the windows. Have you watched him playing Quidditch with James from those windows? Ever so slightly he shook his head to get rid of that thought. You´re James´s sister, he reminded himself.

There weren´t really rumors about you in school, unlike James´s reputation. But there was one thing Sirius knew all too well; you were not to mess with. What your brother inherited in talent, was put together with an almost deadly preciseness. He saw you battling a student in his year once, you won without even breaking a sweat.

“The new hair suits you”, he suddenly added before leaving your room and closing the door behind him. Your mother had pin pointed every single detail that had changed about you, but you´d never guessed that heartbreaker Sirius Black would comment on it…

 James Potter was awfully good at talking people into doing what he desired. And James Potter desired a more memorable house party each year, thanks his ego. Previously, you had spent the weekend at Sarah´s, but after an entire summer, you were left home as well. Against your own anticipation, you didn´t mind. Was it the fact, that you had partied and danced more the entire summer than anyone could imagine? Maybe.

“Y/n, you look out for James, don´t let him do stupid things!” Like a house party? Lingered on your tongue, but you smiled bitter sweet. “It´s hard to look out for somebody as stupid as James.”

Your mother wrinkled her eyebrows, but your dad let out a laughing grunt. “They´ll be fine”, he reassured your mother, before kissing you on top of your head and heading out.

“It´s hard to look out for somebody as stupid as James”, James voice filled the air while he imitated you. He and Sirius came down to the living room, a box of somewhat decorations in their hands.

James was everything but stupid, even though there were times, where you questioned his IQ. He took out old wine bottles with candles in them and packed away your mom´s favorite cutlery and vase. One thing less to worry.

“Tell me, Y/n, do the Spain kiss good?” He continued to mock you.

“Better than the British”, you answered sweetly. A sour taste spread in Sirius mouth, but James pressed his jaw together. He hadn´t expected the answer from you, his sweet innocent little sister.

“Should I worry about you tonight?” He asked a little more serious now, but you ruffled through his precious locks. “Why? Afraid I´ll crash your party?”

“Who are you and what have you done to my baby sister?” He yelled after you, while you left the room to go upstairs, chuckling.

The marauders were first to arrive; Moony, Wormtail and obviously Padfoot and Prongs himself. Remus also brought Lily Evans, your brother´s secret, not so secretly girlfriend. You watched as they arrived one by one from the window at your desk. The golden boy and his gang, all complete.

The past few days, you had taken your time to do whatever you pleased. Your mother didn´t force any of you to have breakfast or lunch together, due to the fact that you all had different sleeping patterns. You had spent it at your desk, getting ready for school, journaling about your holidays, sorting out pictures and old clothes. In the garden helping your mother put together bouquets of flowers or riding your bike around your favorite trails and sceneries. Really you hadn´t seen much of your brother or Sirius.

You took your time getting ready, the Marauder´s already starting off with drinking. You had invited Sarah and when you saw her and her older sister, who was in James´s year, arriving, you finally made your way downstairs. James, Sirius and Remus were grouped around the kitchen aisle, debating sport games with three more guys from Gryffindor. Matt Atkins, Hogwarts second bad boy after Sirius, eyes suddenly grew big as he ran dry. His remarkably sharp jaw fell down and his mouth open. “Who is she?”

You casually strolled down the stairs, even wearing some strapped heels together with a new dress from Spain. A rather hard punch let Matt yelp, James annoyed eyes bringing him to his knees. “That´s my sister”, he muttered with his teeth grinding.

The golden boy was about to be pushed from his throne by his own sister.

You gave the group of boys a knowing smirk before welcoming Sarah, who was glowing with the same tan as you. “Seems like Spain has been muy beneficioso per nos.”

Your laughter filled the air, as not only the marauder but also several other male creatures watched the two of you chat. “How´s Gabriel?” You asked her instead and Sarah blushed. Her apparent summer fling had made it clear, that his feelings were a little stronger than just a fling.

“He wrote me a letter with a poem”, she blushed. Before continuing the topic, a boy joined the two of you. “Ladies, can I get you something to drink?”

James was quick to appear next to you, a sudden wave of protectiveness had overcome him. “She´s my sister and she doesn´t drink.”

“Yes, yes she does.”

Lily, who had joined her boyfriend, snickered at your response. James watched you wide eyed, as did the boy, walking to the kitchen with Sarah after dropping the comment; “Not from you though.”

Sirius, who´s blood alcohol level was already high enough, started smirking as you approached. The feelings he had pushed back and buried, arose in him.

“Y/n, care for a drink?” “Yes, Black, I do.”

As he fished two cups for you and Sarah, the group starred at you. Matt Atkins was first to speak up again. His initial shock about Sirius approaching you, was put back after he remembered that he lived with you and James now. Remus and Peter watched the scene, secretly exchanging a bet of how quickly you would decline Atkins.

“So, Y/n, tell me how was Spain?”

You leaned on the counter top, a trick that had earned you free drinks in bars before, and smiled.

“Hot.”

Sirius passed you the cups and you nodded thanking. His senses tingled, an explosion rushing through his veins. He wasn´t to construe it the past few days, but drunk words are sober thoughts and Sirius´s attraction towards you, grew with each second. Peter slid the money to Remus, Matt Atkins had no chance.

The party continued into the evening and quickly into the night. You were sure that at least 50 people were there, with a few outside maybe more. James, who didn´t enjoy himself as much as he´d like to, was also too stubborn to admit it. You didn´t like how he watched, almost babysitted you, lingering ready to scare away any potential boy flirting. It was until Lily finally swept in and took his mind off you.

Outside remained a small bonfire, which was coming to an end, but you still decided to catch some fresh air. You had more cups than your brother knew about, but he was kissing Lily in the corner and didn´t realize your slight staggering.

James wasn´t stupid, but stupid enough to completely miss the fact that his own best friend was falling in love with you. And he was following you outside.

“Y/n Potter, you surprise me.” Sirius voice was low and a little rough, which was explained as he pulled out a cigarette. You took another sip of who knew what mixture and smiled innocently at him. “Why´s that, Black?”

You never called him Black before, until this summer. An unconscious defense mechanism.

It had taken Sirius five days after your initial arrival to realize that he´d liked you way more than he should and now there was no turning back. He was acting on pure instinct now and so did you. But your instinct told you, that Sirius Black was a heartbreaker.

“What do want, Black?” You asked whispering as he slowly came closer, his hand reaching up to tuck back strands of your hair. This was dangerous, but you liked playing with fire. “You.”

Your laugh was bitter.

“We're nothing more than friends. You're not my lover, more like a brother. I´ve known you since we were like ten.”

You left him behind in the approaching cold from the night and the dying fire. Sirius cursed at himself and ruffled through his hand. “Fuck!”

How could he have been so stupid? You were his best friend´s sister! You were James´s sister! Of course, you didn´t see him in any romantic way and now he not only embarrassed himself to the bone, but probably ruined any kind of friendship with you. He threw the leftover cigarette into the fire, there was only one solution left; alcohol.

 Don't mess it up, talking that shit

Only gonna push me away, that's it!

When you say you love me, that make me crazy

Here we go again

 Sirius Black was astonishing good in hiding feelings and even better at drowning them. At least for the next hour or so. That was until the music box suddenly played a Spanish song with a typical reggae beat and laughing, you pulled Sarah onto the dancefloor in the middle of the living room. Oh, how you had learned to swing your hips at the rhythm.

James was burning in fury and he wanted to punch every single pair of eyes laying on your figure. Luckily, he couldn´t and much too quick for your dismay, the song ended. The room echoed in applause and howlers, and giggling you left the stage with Sarah. The two of you were used to being drunk together and lazily you found your seat on the bathroom floor.

“James isss going to kill youuuu”, Sarah laughed as she not so gracefully, kneeled onto the floor. It didn´t help that after you sat down at the brim of the bathtub, fell over crackling.

“Oh my god!” Sarah suddenly exclaimed startled. You leaned forward surprised, legs still hanging over the brim. “What?”

“We don´t have anything to drink anymoreeee! I´ll be back in a second, just stay here!”

You leaned back, head against the wall, softly humming in response. “I don´t even think I´m able to leave, I´ll wait!” For a few seconds, you closed your eyes; enjoying the buzz of the liquor and the music in the background. You heard the door open and close again.

“Merlin Sarah, you´re flying when it comes to-.“ It wasn´t Sarah, it was Sirius. You eyed him with furrowed brows. “Did you at least get me something to drink?”

He had a cup in his hands and eyed it, pondering to give it to you, or drink it himself. But you leaned forward, grabbing his arm and then snatching the drink from his fingers. He found himself starring into your big eyes, not wanting to look away.

“Don´t you have enough boys outside to bring you drinks?” He asked and you shrugged while taking a big sip. “But you´re here, aren´t you?” The sentence made his heart beat quicker.

“Don't go look at me with that look in your eye”, you then added and avoided his glance again.

“Why not?”

“You know why, but apparently you really ain't going away without a fight.”

He suddenly turned to you, pushing one of his hands against the wall, the other one trailing down to your neck. His fingers brushed against your skin and you felt goosebumps crawling down your spin. He was leaning, yes hovering above you and his eyes wandered back and forth from your eyes to your lips. Stubbornly, you looked up to him.

“You can't be reasoned with, I'm done being polite. Haven't I made it obvious?” You pushed yourself a little up from the bathtub, your face only inches away. But the look on your face was stern and certain. “Haven't I made it clear? Want me to spell it out for you?

F-R-I-E-N-D-S”

Sarah pushed open the door and rolled her eyes, she had obviously noticed the boy´s attention towards you. “Back off, Black.”

Sirius was caught off guard by her, which gave you space and time to pull yourself out of the tub, leaving him sitting there.

 The night only slowly continued after your clashing in the bathroom. Remus watched his friend with plaintive eyes. He had realized the silence and even more oblivious, his sad stares into your direction. It wasn´t hard to guess really, but he understood his reticent mood. You were his best friends’ little sister and he knew, James would kill for you. If anyone were to break your heart and if that anyone was Sirius, the friendship could be over.

On the other hand, there was one thing Remus knew, Sirius had never acted like this around a girl.

“You shouldn’t give up yet.” Sirius glanced back at him and rolled his eyes.

“She´s sees me as a friend, I´m like a brother to her.”

“You don´t dance like this in front of your friend. Y/n and James both know how to get the things they want. It´s probably a family disorder”, Remus chuckled. But he became stern again, laying a hand on his friend´s back. “She´s playing with you, you know it. And I have to admit, she plays better than you, Padfoot. You liked this girl way before, before the summer, before she started flirting with you today.”

“I didn´t-“

“Yes, you did. Or why did you stress out about getting her a Christmas and birthday gift every year since knowing James? Why did it bother both you and James, about Kevin making that remark last year? You broke his nose, in case you forgot.”

Remus was right, he was way too often for Sirius taste. He liked you more than a friend from the second he laid eyes on you. He swore himself to protect you, but now he was the endangerment of hurting you and it scared him.

People left the party; it was past 3.a.m. and Lily started putting away empty cups. He knew Sarah would sleep at the Potter house tonight and just in second, he caught sight of you carrying a blanket upstairs. “You´re the best, Moony and I hate you for it.”

He hurried up the stairs and caught you just in front of your room.

“Y/n, wait!”

You sighed heavily. “Sirius, I´m tired and Sarah´s laying on my bathroom floor throwing up.”

He tried to remember every formal etiquette ever taught to him while establishing and taking together his bravery. Hundreds, yes thousands of pranks and yet, he never had been this nervous. You eyed him wary. “Have you got no shame? You looking insane. Here we go again.”

“I´m sorry for acting like a dick.”

The apology took you a step back, surprised.

“Don't go look at me with that look in your eye.”

His tongue brushed against his lip. “Why not, Y/n? Afraid to admit it?”

“For Merlin´s Sake, get that shit inside your head, Sirius! We´re just friends.”

His hand lingered on the wall to your back. It was the second time he had encircled you, but this time around, you didn´t see an outlet. Maybe you didn´t want one either. You felt his breath tingling against your skin and against your anticipation, the scene felt intimate and fragile to you.

“I like you, Y/n. I´ve liked you for a while now and I suppressed it. You´re right, I´m heartbreaker, and I knew, if I was to break yours, I wouldn´t be able to live with myself.”

You felt your shaky breathing, the dim light coming from downstairs barely gave enough away.

“You made it obvious. You made it very clear. But I wanted- needed you to know this; you were and never will be just a friend to me.” He gulped, lowering his glance.

“And I´m sorry, if that´s going to push you away.”

You dropped the blanket to the ground, throwing your hands around his neck and pulling him down. The kiss was passionate, but dripping like honey; sweet and slowly. His hands grabbed your waist and you inhaled his deep musky scent.

You leaned away from him with caution, sighing. “Sarah´s vomiting and I´m making out, I´m a terrible friend.” Sirius chuckled lowly, his nose brushing against yours again.

“I´m glad we´re more than friends then.”

[withoneheadlight]

| a house (is a home) | (i). the keys | (ii). memories&herons | (iii). old dogs&inheritances | (iv). memorabilia | tinyplaylist |

~

The kitchen’s Steve’s favorite part of the house.

It has this odd shape. Trapezoid. “Fuck, Stevie, so goddamn weird”. Doesn’t make sense in a, on the other hand, perfectly rectangular house (or, well, it does but, they’ll only find out about that later). The cabinets are ceiling-high. The tiles of the wall white and cracked under the repeating pattern of light mint-green-stemmed, yellow-petaled lilies. The whole backdoor is painted on that same shade Billy calls Ripe banana dreams, both so terribly old-fashioned and fiercely cute none of them says a word about repainting it. There’s a wooden piece, built into the farthest end of the counter. It looks disgustingly juicy and mercilessly stabbed when they move in, but Billy insists on keeping it, and sanding, and treating, and varnishing it. Manages to get it back up on shape because “Better than anyone, darling you should know what a little touch of class can make”. And for more than two weeks straight the only goal of his life is to learn to cut vegetables at high speed because “I have to live up to this level of professionalism. Impress our most un-impressionable guests”

(And, to Steve’s surprise –and probably hers– when she finally deigns to pay them a visit, his mom is, in fact, pretty much impressed.)

He learns how to make good casserole. Tries his luck with Mexican and Italian. Fails miserably with Japanese. Will never-ever admit it but, he loves it when flour ends up staining every single surface, making the biggest mess around himself when he bakes. Steve knows why it is. It’s a shared feeling. Floats up till it reaches the ceiling and bounces back down to them, heavy with the warm smell of cooking pie and cinnamon. Tastes docile and tamed like “Maybe not so much vanilla next time. Whaddaya think, babe?.” Tastes savage and daring, like the overwhelming tang of freshly squeezed lemon lingering on Billy’s tongue, when he crowds Steve against the fridge and kisses him, nibbles a shuddering laugh out of him “How the fuck are you able to even think about putting your mouth near that thing, Hargrove?. That was––ugh. That was disgusting”, “Well you know me, whatever it takes to make you squirm” leaving Steve with absolutely no option but lick the sugary dough stain over his cheek to “Cover up that foul flavor” and maybe because he wants to make Billy squirm a little too. 

It’s a heart-warming, welcoming feeling. Like the vivid smells of green tomatoes and parsley and mustard sauce. Like the taste of love on Billy’s lips. The way he loses his breath when Steve kisses the sugary flavor into Billy’s mouth with his:

This place smells like home, tastes like home. Like finally, finally. Home.

It’s Billy’s favorite place, too. But Steve doesn’t think it’s just because of that. But also because maybe,

maybe.

He has also noticed that–

There’s this particular, particular moment. It happens around seven on autumns, right when the day starts to fade. It happens between six and six past twenty-eight on winters, and holds the sleepy cheeks of the newborn tulips on Steve’s garden till they fall asleep on springs, sun already sinking behind the horizon by the time both hands of the clock meet over the spiral of the eight, pointing towards infinity. And then grows bigger and bigger and bigger from there, flooding into summer: the golden sunlight seeping through the wide, double-paned window facing the backyard in an oblique angle, making the yellow flowers of the tiles look like they’re re-blooming in gold. 

It’s the moment the day turns into a fire. 

It’s their favorite moment in time. And in this particular, particular day of July, it happens at ten past nine.

Billy is making Spaghetti Carbonara. The kitchen is damp with the rich smells coming out of the boiling water. Mushrooms and oregano, black pepper and lime. A song is cooing at them from the radio, the beat of the drums a boneless memory of that one echoing around the quarry on faraway almost-night on a faraway July. Water rippling under the quiet sigh of the breeze. Trees cutting the liquid rays in asymmetric halves. 

Billy takes off the apron. Turns the stove down.

Reaches out to Steve, fingers wavering come, come, come.

To me. Come to me. “C’mon, Harrington. Do I scare you or what?“

He has this way of looking at Steve that makes the space between them narrow, narrow: the whole unknown world. And aseptic, non-lived-in flat in downtown Florida. This tiny, tiny town. A mysteriously-shaped kitchen––

“¿Can I have this dance?” 

Steve walks to him, takes his hand. 

––Their bodies, pressed flush. 

Inside his chest, Steve’s heart is running. 

(“Can I at least have this dance, before we say goodbye?”

Mazzy Star was playing. The corner of Billy’s eye felt wet where his skin brushed against the corner of Steve’s mouth. They danced till the daylight faded, till there were teardrops falling from the night sky.

“Billy, I don’t have to––” 

“Don’t, pretty boy. Don’t say it. I’ll make you stay if you do. And I can’t do that”)

They made lovelovelove on the back of Billy’s car.)

In this light, they fell in love, they fell apart. Ran away. Ran back. 

Steve nudges at Billy’s chest, makes him move backward till he’s far enough to tug, draw him in between their tangled arms, hands intertwined. Steve curls himself around Billy’s back, noses at the warmth trapped between his curls. He smells like BillyandSteve, like this home, like past, like future. Like us.

Steve whispers in his ear. Three words. Billy’s neck curves towards him. An instinct. Tickled by their warmth. Steve kisses the curve of his ear. Tugs the collar of his shirt aside, bites where shoulder meets neck and up, up.

“Easy, Prom King” Billy teases, grins at him tender and wild. Knows when to use the one that gets Steve every time “Or you’re gonna make me think we’ll become picture-perfect from this magical moment onwards. A bunch of kids. White fences. You know, the whole shebang” 

(Billy crashed the Camaro into a tree in the winter of two thousand and fourteen. Had left the house in a frenzy. Something happened Max wouldn’t talk about. But she was scared, so she had called,

“Find him. Please.. Make sure he’s alright”

When Steve found him, Billy was in the middle of the Brookville road, feet stumbling on the twin yellow lines, following them nowhere. So weary, so impossibly small like this: head hanging, arms wrapped around himself. A crooked shape, carrying the weight of the shadows the tall pine trees cast on his back.  

So unlike him. 

Steve stopped the car at his side, engine oozing steam, shaking in the icy mid-May air “Billy” he said. Low. Careful. Careful. Billy’s eyes looked wet in the moon-silver night, pupils blown, deceivingly calm, “What are you doing? This is dangerous” And Billy’s spine had bent even lower, forearms finding rest on the window frame. Leveling with Steve. Looking wasted, looking tired, but still, he flashed a grin at him, teeth-shark white, never going down if he wasn’t going down swinging. And Steve–– hadn’t known at the moment, but the blood staining his cheek, the screaming-purple mark around his eye.

Those weren’t from the crash.

 “I was sleepwalking, Harrington” he said, voice dry, laugh harsh. Shrugged “Waiting for a lucky strike”)

“What does it make you think that’s not what I’m aiming for?”

(When he took Billy to his house Max was already there. Had sneaked out. “Neil will kill you if he finds out,” Billy said and she nodded, white knuckles peaking red with how hard she was gripping the handler of her bike, and Steve hadn’t seen her cry before, not ever, but her eyes were swollen and wet and,

“Are you––”

“I’m alright, kiddo. You know me. I’m always alright”

And the lie sat heavy, between them. Two lies, covering the truth. Poorly stitched. But Max had called Steve for help, so that’s what he did. Help. Sent her back home. Took care of Billy’s face. Billy’s hands. Nodded at those same lies, let them do their work while taking care of wounds he didn’t know, back then, couldn't have been for a crash. Made him spend the night. 

Billy still hadn't woken up when Steve left the next day, leaving food and a note on the nightstand ‘I’ll be back soon. Stay’. 

Retraced Billy’s steps down the yellow lines splitting the forest in half. To find it.

The Camaro wasn’t done yet. Howled like a wounded beast under Steve’s touch, but stayed together all the way to Donny’s garage. And Steve paid for the repairs. Covered it all up. Max has said “His dad can’t know, Steve. Can’t know. If he finds out he will--” and steve was starting to put two and two together. To realize some billy was, maybe, running away from something. Someone. When he crashed his car.

Woke Billy up when the hands of the clock met over the spiraling infinity of the eight. Seventeen hours straight of sleep and still looking like he could use a lifetime. Told him “The car will be ready in two or three days. ‘Til then, you stay'' covered his mouth with his hand. Didn't let him complain “And If whatever happened last night happens again, you take it and you run. Back here. And you stay again, ok?”

Two weeks later, Billy showed up at his door. Lit him a cigarette. Offered to teach him how to fight.

“I cannot give you back your money, but I know you don’t need that”

Made him laugh.

They spent almost the whole summer together, after that. Some days. Most nights.

Wasting time. Fighting. Joking. Driving.

Falling.

No ‘what ifs’. No promises. Just,

“Leave the light on if you can’t sleep, pretty boy. If I manage to sneak out of the Old fuck, I’ll pick you up. Promise I won’t stop kissing you until dawn. Gotta make up for what you paid for that ca, uh?”

Because Steve was gonna leave. Wasn’t gonna throw a single glance behind his back.

That was the plan.

And he did. He did. But––)

He spins Billy out. Tugs him back. When their chests bump, his laugh bursts, bubbles up. Weightless. Happy. Because all that matters to him, to them, it’s between these four irregular walls now.

And God this, this, is Steve’s favorite part. 

(–ended up coming back running, hoping the love would re-stitch itself as he followed the road’s yellow lines. 

Hoping Billy was the one letting his light on this time.)

Because the sun’s gonna keep on shining. They can keep on dancing in here, in their weird trapezoidal kitchen (in their house, in their home), for as long as they want. Hearts touching. Lips brushing. Bodies swaying, spinning, cutting through the golden light. 

~

[tonystarkbingo]

3 Prompt Summaries Game

reunions, masks, body worship - suggested by @polizwrites

@polizwrites - Now that Rhodey was full time military, Tony hadn’t seen him  in months.  They  made plans to meet up in Key West  during Fantasy Fest  —  wearing masks (and very little else), they could finally indulge  their own fantasy of being a couple in public.

@psychiccatpanda - Rhodey took the kids trick-or-treating on his own because Tony had been called away on business again.  When they get back, Tony's home and has set the place up for a Halloween party for the kids and their friends. When the kids' friends go home and the lights go down, Rhodey takes his time welcoming his husband home.

@somesortofitalianroast - It was 5 years since Steve Rogers had last seen Bucky Barnes, when Barnes left in the middle of the night after they had sex for the first time, leaving the country the next day for a lucrative job, and Steve heartbroken. It had been several years since Steve had thought of Barnes, though he’d recognize the man anywhere, even behind a domino mask at a masquerade ball. Just seeing Barnes made his blood boil, and he wanted to charge across the ballroom, slap the man silly, and then worship every inch of the man’s body. Too bad he was at the ball with clients and there was no way he could do that without losing a very important contract.

@darthbloodorange - (ShrunkyClunks) - He waits in the shadows of an old warehouse, a mask obscuring his identity. No one could know he was here; not only would his reputation be tarnished, but that of the Avengers as their leader. But there was something about the dark assassin that drew him in. Barnes treated him like no other in this world. Treasured him, possessed him, worshipped him. Not like a hero as the world did, but as a man and lover.

Keep reading for lots more!

cookies, mermaid, dancing - suggested by @somesortofitalianroast

@somesortofitalianroast - Darcy didn’t bake for the Avengers all the time, and she never made her mermaid cookies, since they were complicated and she needed to pay attention to the details when icing them with fancy icing. So it was a big deal when she made them, the sort of thing that made you want to dance in the kitchen.

@gavilansblog - Luca AU where Tony introduces mer-people Steve and Bucky to cookies and dancing

@deehellcat - Morgan's eighth birthday party featured a mermaid theme, cookies with sparkly decorations, and dancing.

@psychiccatpanda - Bucky Barnes never dreamed he'd ever be put in charge of kids.  Who'd want the Winter Soldier for a babysitter?  But this little girl - Tony Stark's little girl - stared up at him, waiting for a reply.

He was pretty sure the last time he'd been this nervous was when he came back to the States after Wakanda.  "Yeah, we can do that.  Sounds like fun."

Which was how he found himself not-quite elbows deep in blue-green frosting for the ocean reef cookies they had baked (that he had baked) while Morgan spun around the kitchen dancing in her mermaid costume.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Tony looks at the tray of raw cookies in dismay. Whoever had designed the mermaid cookie cutter clearly had no concept of the baking skill of the average parent. 

He had managed to press out all the pictures without causing more damage than the occasional lost arm or misshapen head (and a couple of 'defective' cookies are always required for taste-testing straight out of the oven). But the process of transferring the cookies from the bench to the tray had caused the raw dough to stretch and fold and tear; leaving figures better described as some sort of vaguely-humanoid aquatic eldritch horror... 

Impatient, Morgan clambers onto her stool and gasps in delight. "Look, Daddy! The mermaids are dancing!"

@darthbloodorange - (Thundershield) - Thor set out on his boat to the middle of the lake. A smile on his face and a song on his lips. People feared the lake and the creatures that dwelled within. He didn't see why. Peering over the edge of the boat, he watched the mermaids dance. His eyes drawn to one in particular; the blond with the silvery-blue tail. He unwraps the cookies and sets them on the edge of his boat, hoping to draw the merman close again.

picnic, dragon, promises - suggested by @psychiccatpanda

@deehellcat - Steve and Bucky slip away from the village every chance they get to spend time together. Their favorite place to picnic is perilously close to a rumored dragon's lair, but they dare it for its beauty. imagine their surprise when one night as they stargaze and promise forever to each other, a dark shadow flies overhead then lands nearby. It's the legendary dragon, who greets them and offers to witness their solemn vows. (spoiler alert, the dragon is Tony, and I'm not sure what his relationship to them would end up being.)

@psychiccatpanda - Tony hated picnics.  He'd been on so many for photo shoots with his mom and Howard, then for Stark Industries, and the occasional summer charity event.  Picnics sucked.  There was either too much sun or not enough, not to mention bugs, screaming kids, or other couples making out. 

"You promised, Tony," the love of his life reminded him.  "And I got you a surprise." The surprise was a kite in the shape of a dragon. Suddenly, the day was looking better.

@somesortofitalianroast - Steve was walking to a picnic on the beach when he found a baby dragon, abandoned on the side of the road. He picked it up, intending to take it to the local fantasy animal shelter, but as soon as he touched it, he knew he would never be able to let it go. Which is why he was standing on the dunes, murmuring promises to the dragon in his arms.

@rebelmeg -  pepper sighed.  "tony, you promised you were gonna stop doing that." pointedly looking away from her, the red and gold dragon roughly the size of a large dog pointedly opened his mouth, and stuffed the donut hooked on his claw inside.  puffs of smoke emitted from his nostrils and he chuckled in a rough, growly way when a sandwich in a baggie smacked him in the back of the head. 

"we're never going on a picnic when you're shifted again, this is ridiculous."

@darthbloodorange - (Stucky, Fantasy AU) - Steve walks up to the den of the dragon; his once best friend and lover. Baskets of meat in hand, and his heart weighted heavily in his chest. He'd kept his promise for over 70 years, and he wasn't about to break it now. "Bucky, it's me. I know you remember me. You're in there somewhere, I feel it," he says in his elvish tongue. Within the den comes a mighty roar, seeming to shake the very core of the mountain. But Steve is not dissuaded.

bread, defenestration, jingle - suggested by @rebelmeg

@rebelmeg - standing at the window and very calmly eating her sandwich, natasha watched as clint climbed out of the bushes underneath and went streaking for the street, where an ice cream truck was driving past.  the second he'd heard the jingly song, the idiot had flung his own sandwich in the air and literally dove out the window.  wondering if he'd realize he didn't have any money on him, nat smirked.

@psychiccatpanda - (WinterIronHawk implied) To be fair, Clint had not thought about 'costume integrity' or the fact that the Christmas elf pajamas did not count for much in the way of bodily protection.  On the other hand, though, he'd just been planning on eating as much of the freshly baked panettone bread as Bucky let him get away with while they waited for Tony to get home.  Getting thrown through the  window of Tony's Malibu house by some Hydra experiment had not been on his radar at all. (Not Bucky - to be completely clear, he was cute and Clint didn't think mean things about people who baked him a nigh-endless quantity of sweets.)  At least he managed to keep the hat with its little bell that jingled cheerfully as Clint sailed through the air.

@darthbloodorange - Stony (probably a 5+1 fic) - Tony frowns as the familiar jingle of his phone drew him away from kneading his sourdough. He groans when he sees who it was that was calling. He nearly doesn't answer, but Barnes almost never calls, so curiosity gets the better of him. "Stark," the man greets, voice as gruff as ever. "What do you want?" he grumbles. "Arm's acting up again. Accidently threw your husband out a window. He's hanging on about the 26th floor? Thought you should know." "Damn it!" Tony cries, armour assembling around him quickly. He wishes this was the first time Barnes' arm had thrown an Avenger out the window... but it wasn't.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Tony likes bread as much as the next guy, but he is this close to swearing off the stuff entirely. He tenses as Clint moves behind him, his humming looping into yet another round of the jingle for the local bakery. He snaps. "Clint! If I hear another note I swear I will throw you out this window! And not send the suit after you." Clint grins, opens his mouth and... shuts it again. Silent.

Werewolves, Gardening, Hurt/Comfort - suggested by @darthbloodorange​

@somesortofitalianroast - (preserum!steve/werewolf!bucky) When he moved into the house, Steve was looking forward to growing a garden, with a large vegetable patch, all the herbs, and some flowers for the colors. He wasn’t expecting to get overheated. He certainly wasn’t expecting the werewolf to bound out of the woods to take care of him. He’d think he imagined the entire thing, except the werewolf stuck around. Still taking care of him.

@tehroserose - Steve and Tony had retreated into the woods. Obadiah had taken over Tony's birthright, and Hydra had encroached on Steve's home of Brooklyn. They met there, and lived off their wits. Tony did most of the smithing for the various exiles, while Steve gardened vegetables that were rare and valuable. They were content, and while they wished they could save their homelands, there was no real hope of doing so. No hope until one night, when Steve was doing one last check of the garden before going to sleep, he found a big, bleeding wolf.

@rebelmeg - "right here, honey," pepper pointed to a spot in the dirt, and tony padded over, pawing at the spot a few times before starting to dig.  "yep, that's enough." she stopped him when the hole was deep enough, then held out a hand for the flower morgan had cupped in her hands, cradling the ball of roots and dirt with care.  "see, now it's perfect!  you wanna take a ride on daddy now, morgan?  i  think he's getting bored with gardening."

"yeah!"  morgan jumped up with a shout, and scrambled up onto the werewolf's back with no problems.  "go, daddy, go!" with a woof, tony took off at a run, morgan holding tight to his fur as she giggled, and pepper smiled as she watched them.  tony hated going through a transformation during the full moon, the pain of it pretty extreme, but they'd found a lot of ways to make up for it.

@psychiccatpanda - Tony had avoided Barnes since Steve had brought him to the compound.  The werewolf had done the same.  Howard hadn't had anything good to say about weres in general, but everyone knew wolves were the worst.  It was part of the reason that part of the Avengers had been politely asked to leave Wakanda.  Opening the door to his patio, Tony caught the shine of eyes and Barnes scrambled back from what he'd been doing.  Tony scanned the patio and only saw a trowel, some loose dirt, and a flat of plants - wolfsbane. "Doesn't that stuff give you blisters or something?" Tony asked, knowing that it was probably true.  "How about you come in and wash your hands and tell me what you're up to."

@darthbloodorange - (Ults Stony) - After Steve is infected with Lycanthropy, Tony took him to one of his parents' houses out in the country. Everyone expected Steve would get over it, given time, as he did with the vampirism. But the lycanthropy sticks, appearing to have fused with the serum. While SHIELD's scientists look into a cure, Tony stays with Steve. Growing bored of the overly-manicured, emptiness that was the green fields surrounding the country house, Steve takes up gardening as his current mission. Tony watches, completely enthralled, as Steve slowly transforms the area around the house.

letter, basket, book - suggested by @rebelmeg

@jamesbuckystark - Someone left a basket on Tony's doorstep containing a book, a map, and a magnifying glass. Inside the book was a letter dated 1942. He's curious to find out what this means

@tehroserose - Morgan put down the letter. It was the last one. Her father had written her one for every birthday and potential special occasion. This one was for when she became a mother. She couldn't have them hidden away, they were on a basket on her dresser in her room, but that didn't make them any less bittersweet. He left her behind. To save the world, but he had left her. 

 She went to sit in the rocking chair next to her child's crib and began to read the children's story her mother had allowed all those years ago. "Iron Man and the End of Thanos". Any children she had would know their grandfather.

@somesortofitalianroast - When Bucky decided to become a librarian, he thought it would give him access to all the books all the time, in exchange for maybe some shelving. He didn’t realize how much work went into collections development and management, nor how much time was spent looking books up for patrons on their own system when asked if the library had a particular book. Boring and frustrating. He just had to stick it out until he paid off the worst of his student loans. Until the day the letter arrived on his desk, sitting next to a gift basket from a local fancy food store. A letter letting him know that the gift basket was from his secret admirer.

@jacarandabanyan - After waking from the ice, Steve took to reading voraciously to catch up on what he'd missed. Despite Tony's offers, he never did come around to a screen reader, though, and instead opted to keep a pile of books on his bedside table. When the pile of books got too big, he had a whicker basket to put the overflow in. 

 Tony feels like the two of them can't have a conversation outside the heat of battle without devolving into arguments and personal attacks, so he takes to slipping notes into Steve's books. Over time, the notes get longer and longer, until it would be more proper to call them letters than notes.

@rebelmeg - tiny!tony is digging through a basket of new books the jarvises got him, a mix of kids books and textbooks and novels.  as he digs, one of the books falls open, and out falls an envelope.  the letter inside seems to be written in code... but he's also pretty sure that's his mama's handwriting.  a grin spreading across his face, he sits down next to the basket and starts working out the code.

@darthbloodorange - (Stucky? Witch/Fantasy AU?) - Steve sits in his chair by the window and opens his favourite book. With careful hands, he pulls out the letter from his mother, which he'd been using as a bookmark, and carries on where he'd left off. Library, his familiar, jumps from her basket into his lap and curls up, butting her head against his hands. Despite the warmth and happiness he felt here, it wasn't complete. A part will always be missing until Bucky returns.

@psychiccatpanda - Whoever had suggested they stay at this rickety, 'quaint' seaside hotel had apparently never seen any island murder movies ever, Tony thought with disgust.  The wood floors creaked and the building made weird noises at night.  Combined with the crashing waves, it was not what Tony called relaxing.  Somebody knocked and Tony assumed it was the room service snack he'd ordered.  Instead, he found a basket with a book tucked inside.  Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None.

"That's not ominous," Tony muttered to himself, flipping through the pages. Then he saw the letter tucked inside.

[moons-and-stars-and-shit]

It worked! Sorry to bug you with a message! But I'd like to request a cake now!

So, about me. I have an actual name but I don't think I've heard it in months😃, instead I have a bunch of nicknames! (Rion, ri, oreo, onion, o, etc), I'm actually nb so I chose that name, however I 100% consider naming myself Arson💀My pronouns are they/them and I'm about 5'5, I have short, fluffy brown hair that I usually dye the front blue. I'm Asian hispanic, but I really don't look like either- my favorite foods are either really spicy and salty or sweet. Not the overwhelming chemical sweet tho, like a natural sweet flavor. My personality type is infp, and ig when I first meet people I can be shy (that's an understatement, I was mute for the first week of school🕳🏃‍♂️) but once I get to know people I can be pretty chaotic (once again, arson). I'm not a 100% demon spawn though, I don't really like making scenes in public and I probably will cry if I do- but I still have fun lol. I'm also the person who copes with severe mental health issues using humor, to an alarming degree 😔 I'm the therapist friend when really I'm the one who needs therapy. I also have a social battery that can die at random times, so I really like/need friends who can handle random mood changes of me going from energetic to silent in seconds. Academically, I'm really book smart, I'm a tutor, but my grades don't reflect it. I tend to procrastinate a lot and avoid studying, usually I catch myself last minute or trust memory on tests, but every now and then there's something that tanks my grades. I'm not very athletic, but I still try to play sports. I enjoy the feeling when I do something right, but the rest of the time I usually beat myself up for messing up.

And now just random facts 😃👍

My favorite color is yellow, not the bright eye sore shade that makes you want to throw up, but the nice softer, light shade. And I like anything that comes with that color! (Sunflowers, flowy sundresses and flip flops, summer activities, burning concrete, warm rain, etc). Nobody knows my music taste, it changes weekly, however I usually come back to mitski/cavetown or summer themed songs a lot! I enjoy playing music, but I have the curse of being a fast learner so that usually leads to be being bored and learning a new instrument at any given chance. And my birthday is a weird date that fucks with zodiacs so I can be considered either a leo or cancer, my personality changes a bunch, so take your pick lol. (Though emotionally I tend to be cancerous, I just express it and show it in a way a leo would) And someday I wanna be a long term traveler, or a florist. Just a job that makes me happy :). And I guess if I had to classify my aesthetic it would be bloomcore or soft grunge. I like wearing big sweaters and if I could I would wear a bunch of butterfly clips in my hair and wear mom jeans. (I would also wear man crushers, I mean, platforms if I was confident)

Aaaannnnd that was really long sorry!

To sum up, I'm just a bipolar bitch with depression and anxiety 👍

Thanks a bunch for just taking the time to read this!

@oririon

Romantic Matchup

Bokuto Koutarou

How Y’all Met

IERJNDJS

I’m getting a classic summer love vibe from this matchup 👀

Ok so I just Hc that Bokuto LOVES flowers

So he would always just go to the local flower shop to look at them

Pls hes to precious I cant-

But anyways you we’re working a summer job at the flower shop

And you grew fond of our little owl boy

You would always talk to him whenever he visited

He just made your job that much more enjoyable :)

So one day you stopped him right before he left and told him he could pick a bouquet of flowers if he wanted

He BEAMED at you and picked a bouquet of flowers he always looked at whenever he came

But what shocked you was instead of walking out with them

He gave them to you!

He then went on talking about how he really liked you but didn’t know how to tell you

At this point he was just rambling

So you laughed and asked him if he would like to go to the ocean with you after your shift

He agreed and you swear you saw stars in his eyes

After your shift you met up with Bokuto and went to the beach

You guys literally spent ALL day there!

And even some of the night 👀

Being the gentleman he is offered to walk you home

And when you two got to your house he asked you to be his s/o

What They Love About You

Ok starting off with a strange one

He loves the fact that your favorite color is yellow 💛

He just thinks it fits you so well 😊

He loves that you have to ability to turn your trauma into humor

Now I’m ngl...

Ye found it extremely concerning at first 🥲

But once you explained it was like a coping mechanism for you

He was super supportive!

AAAAAAAA

He LOVES your aesthetic!

He thinks it’s so cute

And once again he thinks it fits you 👀

He appreciates the fact that your smart

If he doesn’t understand something in class

He’ll just go to you!

And honesty going over the material with him has helped your understanding as well 👀

Bokuto s grades:📈

Your grades: 📈

Favorite Things To Do Together

Oml he loves summers with you

Any summer activity

Beaches

Ice cream

Flower meadows 👀

Summer night drives

The whole shtick

But when it’s not summer

He loves doing classic seasonal activities

Examples:

Fall - Jumping in leaf piles, coffee dates, preparing for Halloween, etc

Winter - Snowball fights/Making Snowmen, Christmas movie marathons, hot cocoa/ baking, etc

Spring - Dancing in the rain, picnics, gardening etc

It’s a vibe year round with bf Bokuto

Random Hc

His favorite season is summer

And his second is winter

Ik...polar opposites

Oof

He TOTALLY gets your mood swings

Although they may not be the same as his

He still understands them and respects them

Every year on your anniversary he buys you the exact same bouquet he gave you at the flower shop

Speaking of the flower shop 👀

He got a job there with you the following summer

So you guys basically spent most of your days together

Bokuto is REALLY bad at dark humor

But for some reason he still tries 😭

It’s either TOO dark

Or not dark at all 💀

Astrology

(We’re gonna go with your cancer zodiac 😂)

When Cancer and Virgo make a love match, a strong, down-to-earth relationship with staying power is the happy result.

This is a relationship with great potential to get better and better over the passing years.

Both Cancer and Virgo are goal-oriented and disciplined.

They are sincere and devoted to one another and share a strong sense of purpose.

No lightweight love here: These two were not really built for flings!

Cancer and Virgo deeply admire one another: Virgo respects Cancer’s quiet strength and dedication while Cancer appreciates Virgo’s keen adaptability and intelligence.

These lovers may get off to a slow start, but over time, bonds will only grow stronger.

The Cancer-Virgo love match prides itself on common sense and strong principles over fluff and inconsequential or fleeting connections.

They enjoy the material comforts of life, but they will only feel good about their bounty if it has come as a result of honest hard work.

There could be tiffs if Virgo becomes too critical for Cancer’s easily bruised feelings; Cancer needs to understand that it’s just Virgo’s nature to point out what they observe, that it’s not a personal attack.

A Virgo may bristle at their Cancer mate’s stubborn streak, but it’s a trait that a patient and understanding love partner like Virgo could come to appreciate.

Also, Virgo’s urge to serve suits Cancer’s affectionate, nurturing nature well.

Their dedication to working toward the same goals.

Both partners in this love match enjoy a stable home life and nice things, and Virgo truly enjoys helping Cancer along the way to achieving their goals.

Their shared goals and desires make theirs a highly compatible love match.

Overall Aesthetic

Bloomcore 🌸

Bloom - Jesse

This Side of Paradise - Coyote Theory

Flaming Hot Cheetos - Claire

Mystery of Love - Sufjan Stevens

[essays-for-breakfast]

Tales of the Past

Kiane Week Day Three: Innocence

Note: Since the identity of King’s and Diane’s child is still a mystery, I simply incorporated Ivy from my other story, Conquest of the Past, into this. You don’t have to read that one to understand this one shot. Please enjoy.

Doesn’t time fly?

One day the Holy War scourged the lands of Britannia, a threat to all life and all light, and the next King kissed Diane and sealed their unending bond through the marriage he had dreamed of for so long.

One day he held his newborn daughter in his arms, mesmerized by every breath she took, and the next she talked in full sentences and outran him in a race to the silver springs and back home.

Life hurried past so quickly, it never stopped for King to catch up, and before he knew, his daughter would grow up to go her own way. Even his increased life span as Fairy King didn’t allow for enough time to appreciate all these precious moments, to savor all the talks and all the embraces and all the kisses before time placed the veil of forgetfulness over them. But life always had a new gift in store to repay the bittersweet taste on King’s tongue when his mind drifted to the inevitable end. A simple walk, a simple conversation, a simple smile – he never needed more.

Few things these days filled King with the same warmth as when he watched his daughter play. Ivy hopped across the root-infested earth of the Fairy King’s Forest, in pursuit of a butterfly. Unlike her mother, she took a liking to bugs and critters of all kind, maybe more so than to the Fairies around her.

His thoughts circled around her in lazy turns, like ponderous bees in the summer heat, and so he nearly missed the low-hanging sycamore branch in Ivy’s path.

“Ivy, be careful or you will…” She craned her neck towards King but didn’t bother to slow her steps. Her temple crashed against the branch, and she went down. “… or you will bump your head!”

King pushed his wings to their limits and raced to where Ivy lay in the grass. But she sat herself back up before he reached her, and a sigh slipped his lips.

Ivy rubbed her head. “That branch wasn’t there last week. Do I have to die now?”

“Don’t say such silly things, you won’t die. Not on my watch.”

King flicked his fingers, and Chastifol manifested by his side, enwrapped by a golden aura. Another turn of his hand later, the Spirit Spear transformed into the translucent dome of its eight form. Ivy gaped and giggled as the pollen of the Sacred Tree healed her wound and replenished her energy. The cramp between King’s shoulders disappeared, and he allowed himself three additional breaths surrounded by the scent of flowers and the transient sound of windchimes. But, although he had plenty of magical energy to spare, the excessive use of Pollen Garden remained a lavish act.

“Everything alright now?” King asked as the gold-patterned walls disintegrated.

Ivy nodded. “It doesn’t hurt one bit! I thought I was done for.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you. I promised you that, don’t you remember? But I’m afraid that the branch above us was there last week as well. You are growing too fast.”

“And soon I will be twice as tall as you! Do you think I will be as tall as mommy one day?”

“Maybe. But I hope you take your time with growing up. Just a little bit, for my sake.”

“I don’t like being so tall anyway. Every time Lance comes over to visit, I feel like he is getting smaller. Hitting his head with a ball becomes so much harder when the target’s so tiny.”

King opted for a serious expression, but the round violet eyes of his daughter melted any steel in his voice. “Ivy, you’re not supposed to hit him.”

“Why? He always gets back to his feet the next second. He’s a sore loser, it’s not my fault he can’t admit that I’m the better thrower.”

“I just don’t want you to do something you will regret later on. You are incredibly strong, and looking at your mother, I think you will become even stronger. But strength can be used for the wrong reasons. In a moment of carelessness, strength can become a weapon to hurt others, including people you care about. I fought your uncle once because I was blinded by loss and thoughts of betrayal. I wanted to hurt him. And I did. And he wasn’t the only one I hurt. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”

Ivy crossed her arms. “But you’re not a fighter. I’ve never seen you so much as argue with someone. Not even with uncle Ban, even though he tells terrible jokes and talks too much when he is drinking that weird stuff in the glass bottles with the unseemly pictures.”

“You’d be surprised by how many battles your mother and I have fought. Come on. Let me show you something.”

Ivy straightened and climbed back to her feet – the last time King had offered her a hand, the attempt had ended in a dislocated shoulder on his part and a stream of sobs and apologies on Ivy’s part. After throwing the branch in her path a final death glare, Ivy caught up with King, and together they navigated the maze of tree trunks and broom bushes. The pathless forest allowed for uncounted places to hide and get lost beneath the dense canopy. But King knew every stone and every plant, could differentiate sections of the vast woodland by the sound of its leaves and the unique scents of morels or honey agarics. The energy of the forest was an ever-changing pattern that gave him a better understanding of where his wings carried him than any map. And so, he found the clearing overgrown with sweet woodruff in a matter of minutes.

Ivy pulled in a sharp breath. Amidst the greenery lay a war hammer of thirty feet length. The sun reflected from the bronze head. Despite a lack of recent polish, neither weather nor plant life had touched the Sacred Treasure; Gideon looked the same as on the day Diane had placed it here.

Ivy ran over and put her hands around the hilt. But she only managed to nudge the pommel from the ground. The head remained glued to its resting spot.

“What is this?” she asked and puffed when her next battle against Gideon’s weight proved fruitless. “It must weigh more than you and me combined!”

King smiled. “A lot more. This is your mother’s Sacred Treasure. She wielded it in the New Holy War.”

“No way. Mom fought in a war? And you were with her? Did you win?”

“Yes, we won. We won battles against knights and Demons, and even the foulest creature of all them all, the Demon King himself.”

Ivy abandoned her assault on Gideon long enough to gawk at King. “You mean you and mom were heroes? You took responsibility for all the many people out there and protected them?”

“Not us two alone, no. We had friends to rely on. Your uncle Ban, the Captain, and Gowther among many more. You remember them, don’t you? It’s important to have friends you can trust. So, next time you play catch with Lancelot, maybe try to be a little more careful. If you’re both nice to each other, your bond will eventually reward you, maybe in a way you never expected.”

“Yeah, sure, as long as he admits that I’m the better thrower. What else happened during the war? The people must admire you very much for saving them.”

“I believe they did. Some still do. But I never fought to gain their favor. If anything, I felt a little uncomfortable with all the parties they threw to honor the Seven Deadly Sins. There was a lot of gratefulness, some of these people gained a freedom they never knew before the war. And without the war on the horizon, the Seven Deadly Sins might have never been assembled, and Diane and I might have never reunited. Most likely she would have found someone else, maybe not the Captain, but someone who would have been willing and eager to give her the love she deserves. It’s easy to say that all fighting is bad, and I will be the first to admit that the Holy War claimed far more victims because we as a group of knights did not always stand united. But at the same time, I’m glad I can’t turn back the clock. Because otherwise, we wouldn’t have had you.”

King stroked Ivy’s soft, reddish-brown locks. She leaned into the touch, even went so far as to wrap her arms around him.

No, King would never want to turn back time and risk the life he had now, the happy ending he and Diane had fought for. But if the Sacred Tree or another god had offered him the chance to stop the clocks and hold onto today forevermore, he might have accepted.

One day, before he knew it, Ivy would be grown up, and the sweet innocence of her childhood would run through his fingers no matter how desperately he begged the flow to stop. Another war might plague the lands. Another tyrant might escape the ashes, another creature sent from Purgatory or a realm beyond the world he knew. Ivy might have to take up arms to protect what she loved, just like her parents before her.

King listened to the soft breaths of his daughter and blinked away the veil of tears. “Try not to grow up too fast. Will you do that for me?”

“Okay, dad. But I will first have to ask mom if she agrees.”

A chuckle rocked King’s torso, and the grey clouds of the future backed away to gift him with another day in the sun. “Please do that. I wouldn’t want to enrage her with another one of my selfish ideas. She could drop a mountain on top of me. And I’m afraid she doesn’t need Gideon for that. How about we go back to her right away? I miss her, don’t you?”

“Very. I wanna ask her more about the war. I bet she was a super-amazing fighter if she could lift this hammer. And while we go back, I could catch another butterfly as a gift for her!”

King made a face and produced a series of undefinable sounds. “Maybe… we could look for – er – something else to surprise her with? Flowers for example. Everyone likes flowers.”

“But they’re so boring to catch! They can’t even run away!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll try to come up with something on the way home. How about some wild berries?”

“That’s not very creative. And once mom has eaten them, she’ll have nothing left to remember the gift.”

“A mushroom that looks like a face maybe?”

“How boring!”

Side by side and engrossed in a discussion loud enough to scare away swarms of song birds, father and daughter walked back home, to Diane. By the end of their journey, they had found not a single idea they could agree upon. Diane nevertheless embraced both of them with a smile and a remark of how heavy Ivy was getting.

And as she gave King a casual kiss, he stopped the clocks and held onto this moment forevermore.

[starshineandbooks]

Remedy (Loaft)

This is made for a personal head canon in the Loaft verse. The original fics are by @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors.

Ao3

If you asked three people how to get to Whickhills you’d have gotten four different answers. That was decades ago. Now, you get four answers, but they aren’t the same as they might have been.

When you make it to Whickhills, especially if it’s around the pagan holidays. Most Notably Beltane, Halloween, and Samhin. Or, the summer solstice, all hallow’s eve, and the winter solstice.

The people of Whickhills will chase visitors out before nightfall, to protect the visitors. However, the most infamous family to chase someone out is the Picani-Adams clan, about half of them are sweet as pie, and the other is hell on wheels.

There are several families that are  a little odd, they live in Whickhills, all the families are odd. But a few stand out more than others.

The Whitaman family, distantly related to the knight of the spider prince’s court. The line split well before Margretta Fischer, if anyone had cared to know, most did not. A line of witches, though the last four generations have been hybrids, half fairy half witch. But the best in town for getting messages to and from the dead. The eldest still living, and most powerful in that family, Bia as everyone calls her, is said to have known the Spider Prince years and years ago. Bia was one of Roman’s friends, but not a close one until many years had passed and the witch himself had turned grey.

The Picani-Adams family, like stated before, are either the sweetest people in the world, or the most chaotic. Though they tend to like coffee, and know how to brew. With a definite sass streak, even in the sweet members of the clan, they can and will retaliate if pushed. The family has a nose for trouble, and a taste for adventure. But even stronger, they have a deep bond that few understand. The Picani-Adams also have a penchant for pranks, and the weird ability to stay out of trouble.

The Waller family is known for big blue eyes and even more so for strawberry blonde curls. They all have a pretty voice, though not the magic kind that the most famous Waller, Patton, had in his life. The Wallers are very loyal, and still run a farm. They still have the old barn door, where there are initials and messages carved into the old decaying wood.

The Sanders family, the most noticeably magic family. They all have some gift or other, the gift or storytelling, the gift or persuasion, the gift or wisdom. Many different gifts. Many different names and faces. Occasionally you’ll find a Sanders with slightly suspicious eyes, not often, but maybe the eyes are just slightly too much one color. 

The Pennybackers. They have a penchant for befriending spiders. They’re typically kind, though the stray jerk is known to happen. With an affinity for stripes and oddly enough German, this family is loyal to the end.

There are also places that stand out, even to those that have lived there their entire life.

The old Gage house. It’s orchards are still tended to, but no one is quite sure who does it. The garden is still maintained and pumpkins grow very well in the soil, though no one knows why. Some times, especially around Beltane, Sahmin, and Halloween, the chimney has smoke coming from it and steps can be seen in the dirt path. Chickens are still kept in the coop.

A clearing in the woods, violets grow around it’s borders. Thornless blackberry bushes, and thornless red roses grow to the east. To the west in the clearing, marigolds and little blue flowers grow. Belladonna in the center, around an apple tree. Some people say the plants represent the Spider prince and his consorts. Some say the Lynx Queen uses it as her personal garden. Some say it’s the summer who looks half rotten, using his powers for good.

The graveyard. That often stands out to people, but this one isn’t the normal reason. It has flowers that grow across it and moss across every inch. The flowers that enter the place never die. The headstones stay clear and unweathered. Wind chimes hang around the place, but they never seem creepy.

Linda leans against the old Gauge house, it’s about two fifty  in the morning on what is now Halloween. Everyone is asleep. Except apparently Linda, her wife Percy, their daughter Penny, and Linda’s pseudo uncle Remus.

A figure approaches the quartet, long air moving in the soft autumn breeze.

“You’re earlier than I expected.” The woman, Bia, smiles.

“I’m anxious is what I am.” Linda snorts.

Bia smiles softly, “I wouldn’t be. The things that went after your grandmother are gone.”

“So is she though.”

Bia just shakes her head, “I’m just here to help you reach out to them you know.”

“I know. Thank you Bia.”

“Bianca. My name, it’s Bianca.”

“What?”

“A gift kitty.” She smiles warmly, “Long overdue. Unasked for and freely given. Linda, your birthday was a few days ago, I’m sorry I was gone.”

“It’s just my Eight hundreth ninety second birthday.” Linda frowns, “It’s not important.”

Bia pulls something from her coat pocket, “Yeah it is kitty girl.”

Linda snorts, shaking her head, “If you say so.”

“It’s important Linny.” Percy says sharply, “I said so”

“Mom’s right mama.” Penny grins, her slightly too sharp teeth glinting.

Bia hands Linda an object, “I found it the other night, cleaning out some old boxes.”

Linda looks down, opening the small box she was handed. Several pieces of jewelry sit in it, all with her father’s guild and magic in them.

“How?”

“The town decided I should have all of them. And when they were all given to me it was so fresh I thought it would hurt you. I shouldn’t have kept them so long, they aren’t mine.”

“No, no, it’s not okay. Thank you.” Linda looks up, forcing a smile.

Bia smiles softly, “You don’t have to fake it Linda. I’m sure Remus, Percy, and Penny can take you not smiling.”

“We can Linny.” Percy says.

“C’mon Bobby.” Remus grins, “Let it go.”

Linda blinks, still straining her smile, “Why would you say I am faking a smile?”

Bia just hums, “you’re about as good at it right now as your papa was at lying.”

Linda rolls her eyes, “Whatever. Just tell them I love them, and miss them, and uh- thanks for everything.”

“I will. Anyone else want to add?”

“They raised a good girl.” Percy hums, “And I’m glad they had her”

“It’s boring here without them, no one to bother really.” Remus adds.

“I wish I had met them. They seem nice?” Penny adds.

Bia nods. She sits down in the grass, legs crossed and eyes closed. She hums softly, a hint of magic to her voice.

Her thoughts echo across the yard, the words each person asked to have relayed playing in the person’s voice. At the very end of the list it goes silent.

Bia stays still and quiet, breathing deeply.

A minute passes before she stands turning to Linda and smiling softly

“They say happy late birthday kitty girl. And that they’re proud of you.”

Bia turns to Percy, “They’re glad Linda has you.”

Penny looks up when Bit turns to her, “And that they will be glad to meet you one day in the far, far future.”

“And me?” Remus asks.

Bia laughs softly, “That you haven’t changed a bit.”

Bia pushes to her feet, stopping when she catches sight of twelve crows, who caw.

“Well that’s not great.” She sighs, shaking her head. 

“What’s not great?”

“Twelve crows.”

“What?”

Bia laughs softly, “Surely May taught you the old crow rhyme. Twelve as I head it means a journey that’s soon at it’s end if I remember right.”

“Oh.” Linda sighs, “But that doesn’t make sense.”

“It never does.”

Bia sighs, “I should go. Deliliah will be worried if I’m late. Good night, I’ll see you later.”

“Good night Bianca.” Linda calls.

    -__+__-

A month passes and no one seems to remember the crow warning. Because, it isn’t often that twelve crows group on the roof of an old house. 

Linda finds herself faced with a hunter, unfortunately she wasn’t fast enough and she gets shot. It was an accident, the hunter mistook her for a cat.

But the bullet is iron.

The pain she feels while she slowly burns and dies while her body tries and fails to heal is excruciating. She screams, and screams. Her voice distorting and multiplying, making even her own brain buzz.

Remus finds her first, dropping to his knees, “Bobby, kid?”

She screams louder.

“Linda.” He says, and he never calls her that, “Linda listen to me, you’ll be okay.”

Linda thrashes as he tries to soothe her. She was shot right below the heart. It has already started to burn from the iron. She won’t live, she knows it.

Remus shakes his head, he can’t let her suffer. 

Percy rushes and drops to her own knees, Percy in tow.

“You have to send her.” Remus says slowly.

“I don’t- I do don’t I?”

“You have to.”

“Linda, daughter of Spider prince changeling siren and witch, Lynx Princess, autumn, Tochter Spinne, wife of lake, mother of summer, go home.” Percy says thickly, “And don’t wait for me.”

Linda loses life quickly, but her horrible agonized screaming does quiet.

Remus looks to Percy, “It’s good that you’re already in charge, and even better we’ve sworn to you. But-” He chokes, “There’ll be trouble without Linda.”

Percy nods, looking rather numb.

“You’ll die too now won’t you mom?” Penny speaks up, “Like mama?”

Percy turns, shaking her head, “No. Not while you still need me.”

“Thank you.” Percy whispers.

Percy smiles softly, mechanically, “We had better go tell everyone then.”

  -__+__-

Linda looks up from where she lays, big puffy white clouds sit in the blue sky with the sun bright behind her. She registers that she lays in shallow water, and smells the ocean. She turns to realize that she’s on a beach, and wonders idly why the salt in the water doesn’t sting.

She slowly pushes to sit up, glancing around. There’s a forest to her right, and she tilts her head, wondering where she is to begin with.

The afterlife. 

She sighs, supposing she would be. She can’t hear Percy, or feel her loved ones’ magic. 

Linda pushes to her feet, shoving her wild curls behind her ears. She starts off towards the forest, walking slowly and keeping her senses alert.

She recognizes the trees to be apple trees. Odd.

Linda walks through the forest, catching sigh of a ladder against a tree further ahead. She shrugs, wandering over. Maybe it’s one of her parents, likely her pop, Roman Gauge.

She makes it to the ladder and finds a woman with a mane of fiery hair at the top.

“You’re not my pop.” She says, her voice scratchy and petulant. “If this is the afterlife, why isn’t he here?”

The woman turns and her face twists weird before recognition crosses it. She looks excited and upset at once, as though someone just showed her the lobe of her life, but she realized she couldn’t have them.

“Linda?”

Linda squints up at her, “Who’s askin’?”

“I’m Abbey. Abbey Gauge.”

“Pop’s ma?” She asks, a little confused.

Abbey nods, “They’ll be surprised. What happened sweetheart?”

Abbey blinks up at Abbey, “you look like pop.”

“Thank you.”

“I was shot under my heart by an iron bullet. It was an accident though.” Linda sighs, “But- they’re all here? Right? My dads, and Brian, my uncles, everyone?”

Abbey nods, “But mom’s gonna kill you. It’s so early for you Linda.”

“Well, I didn’t plan to die.” She scoffs, a teasing tone.

“Good. They’re straight ahead.” She points to the left.

Linda grins, “Really?”

“Really Linda.”

“Thank you!” Linda calls, dashing to the direction she was pointed to.

Linda runs as fast as she can, Dizzy and Jax ending up joining her in her run. Well, Jax is flying, but, same thing.

Linda runs smack into Brian, flinging her arms around him. Brian falls flat on his back, stunned.

Jem blinks down at them, he had been talking to Brian, “L-Linda?”

“Jem.” Linda says firmly, burrowing her face into Brian’s chest, “Brian. Oh my god.”

Brian hugs Linda tightly, “Linny? What-”

“Iron is a really horrid way to die B. Zero ten, do not recommend.”

Brian lets out a startled chuckle, “God Linny, you’re early.”

“I already told Abbey, I didn’t plan to die!”

“I should hope not. Virgil’d skin you before anyone else had a chance.”

“I’m glad to see you though.”

“I’m glad to see you too Linda. I just wish you, y’know.”

“I know.”

Brian lays on the ground, hugging Linda, with the biggest smile on his face.  Linda has buried her face into her slightly older cousin, smiling brightly. Not that anyone could tell.

“B?” Thomas asks, “Who’s that?”

Brian and Linda stand up, dusting themselves off. Brian grins at his dad.

Linda turns, smiling, “Thomas!”

Thomas barley braces himself before Linda hugs him tightly, throwing herself at him full force. Linda is purring and realizes she has been since she first tore off towards where Abbey pointed her.

“Linny.” Thomas laughs softly, “What happened?”

Linda shakes her head, “Tell you all at once?”

Thomas nods, “You’re so strong. We’re so proud of you.”

“Why, I’m dead.”

“So are we.”

Linda snorts, “But y’all are s’possed to be. Everyone acts like I’m not s’possed to be.”

“Oh Linda, we’re just sad that you’re not with your family anymore.”

“You’re my family.”

“So is Percy.”

“Percy!” Linda tenses, “Oh god, I left her with Penny.”

“Penny?”

“My daughter.”

Brian smiles, “Who’d you think said they wished they’d met us?”

“Would you please move?!” A voice demands.

Linda turns slowly in her uncles arms to see her four men who look mostly like her parents, but very young.

“Are those?”

“Yeah.” 

Linda breaks free of Thomas’ arms and sprints towards her parents. Roman, used to this, even now, especially now, picks her up and spins her in a happy circle.

“Kitty girl!” Roman beams, “Oh god, look at you. Look at how pretty my baby is!”

Linda laughs gently, “Po-op.” She whines, “Lemme down, I wanna hug you proper!”

Roman shakes his head, “Nope, my little princess is here, and I’m going to spin her forever!’ He continues to spin her, making her laugh.

“Roman, set her down. I should like to meet my granddaughter properly now.” A woman says.

Linda looks to the woman as Roman sets her down, hugging her from behind.

The woman is clearly a faerie, and almost certainly unseelie. Her hair is long, inky black tendrils that seem to ripple and move. She has glowing purple eyes, much like Virgil’s own. She has skin even paler than Virgil’s, pure white like the snow. Blood red lips. She almost looks like snowhite, if snowwhite made everything feel cold, and dimmed the light just around her.

The woman’s shadow seems sentient, like peter pan’s.

But the voice, she’s heard that voice once in her life, years and years, and years ago.

“Grandmother?” Linda asks, “Is that you?”

The woman nods, smiling softly, “Yes, dear, it is. You can call me as you like, some call me Cara.”

Linda smiles gently, “Grandmother, thank you.”

“What for?”

“Everything.” Linda says softly, “But especially for Penelope.”

“It’s nothing dear. How is she?”

“She was fine when I saw her this morning.”

“She would be taking her mother’s death hard.” Cara says softly, fondly even.

“You-” PAtton chokes.

Linda nods, “I do”

Virgil looks to Linda and surges forward to hug her. “I’m sorry, leaving your child is not easy.”

Linda hugs Virgil back tightly, “No, vati, it isn’t.”

The group hugs and switches places repeatedly. They end up clutching at each other for four hours. Until May shows up.

“Ms. Kitty.”

“Mrs. Kitty actually mamaw.” Linda chirps, sitting up, “Heya!”

May does lecture her, much like everyone predicted. For all of about a minute before she’s crying and Linda is hugging her, having moved quickly again.

  -__+__-

That night, at dinner, Linda tells her family what she can.

“My daughter, Penelope, Penny for short, she’s a summer. She’s part wolf, she can speak to canines. The sweetest kid I’ve ever met. She’s got Percy’s green hair, but my skin. And she’s got quicksilver eyes with green in them. She loves art, she often makes us buy her more magenta ink despite the fact she’s using b;lack at the moment.”

“She sounds wild.” Brian grins, “But she’s yours.”

“She won’t hold still long enough to get a braid in her hair, always trying to chase a squirrel.” Linda huffs, “I’m so sorry daddy.”

Patton laughs softly, “It’s okay Linny.”

-__+__-

Not many people can say they even remember what saved the town from the fabled snake king, or that they remember the first Sander family member getting blessed. A few can. 

In the town library there’s a series, called love and other fairy tales. The series captures the stories of the Spider Prince and his consorts. There’s a second series, labeled extended tales of fairies and love. A continuation of the first if you will. It still isn’t over, and it fills shelves that keep multiplying. 

No one is sure who is writing them. Except, two people.

Bia Whitaman, and the lake Princess, Percy. The two women combined their magic to cast the spell that will write the books for them, under the pen name, Vi.

In the second series, lies every story Brian Sanders ever told, every love felt by not only Logan and his husbands, but their friends. In that series lies Linda’s first love, and her wedding. In that series lies Penny’s first heartbreak that will inevitably happen. And in that series, lies a little of the magic the characters had.

Children still whisper about the snake king in ghost stories. The romantics at heart still fawn over the love that was shared between four powerful men. And mothers still marvel at Dorthoy Sanders’ defending of her children, blood and not.

If anyone cares to know about the characters from the series, because the books can’t capture everything just the most important bits of course, it’s rumored that if you go to the odd clearing with the apple tree at night, that one of four figures will wait for you, ready to answer your questions.

One of them is the Lake princess herself, her green hair ever flowing and blue tinted skin. Another is the summer who is known for looking horribly rotten and smelling rancid, but he’s rumored to have a big heart. A third is Bia Whitaman, her ever black hair inky and wild, her green eyes piercing and kind. The last, is the Wolf Princess, her green hair and silver eyes vigilant and wild.

They’ll tell you many stories. 

Maybe you’ll hear about a set of brothers loyal to each other more than to any one else, one of them is a changeling with silver eyes and a big heart, and the other is a human with the kindest soul they’ve ever met. Or they might tell you about a self sacrificing witch who needed to get out of his own head and realize how loved he really was. Or maybe they’ll tell you about the farm boy with an enchanting voice?

Perhaps they’ll tell you about The therapist and the brewer. Or maybe the wild Lynx Princess. Maybe the spiteful but loving old woman. Or the eternally strong Dot and her loving husband Larry. Maybe she’ll tell you about Kai, or Sloane, or Corbin. Maybe the man who took the changeling’s brother’s heart. Maybe the child who tld the best stories.

They will tell you about a storyteller and the lynx princess. They will tell you about the Spider Prince braiding his child’s hair.

But their favorite story to tell, even if it is in writing in the library, will always start with how to get to Whickhills. 

Everyone says differently, but the best answer is that you have to listen to your instincts.

[papermoonloveslucy]

LUCILLE BALL: NUMBER 1, BUT STILL TRYING HARDER

July 29, 1974

Editor's note: following is the final part in a series of eight profiles on America's self-made women.

By PHYLLIS BATTELLE 

“Success - whaddya you mean by that?” rasps Lucille Ball in that rowdy voice which strikes adoration into the hearts of Lucy lovers. 

“If your concept of success is happiness in what you’re doing, in being a mother, in being a wife, then I’m a success. I’m also damned lucky that I have my health and guts life takes guts and that my work paid off. 

“But if you’re talking of the kind of success that’s about dollars and cents, forget it. The real wealth is not out here in Hollywood. Its all highly taxable, honey, and who cares? Money has never been important to me. I hate looking at bills. I hate math. I’m a typical Leo: money-blind. What I’m saying is that not one of us out here has more than $25,000 to buy a stamp with! 

“Pennies, Pickles Or Something" 

So much for Lucy’s petty cash. Aside from stamp funds, she has assets: a million-dollar home in Beverly Hills, another in Palm Springs and an apartment near Aspen, Colo.; investments resulting from the sale of her Desilu Studios to Gulf & Western for $17 million in stock, her own Lucille Ball Productions Company: earnings from 23 years of “Lucy” series (now running in 77 countries); a percentage of “Mame”, the new super-movie musical; not to mention the proceeds from diligent work dating back to 1913, when she was two years old in Jamestown, N.Y., and spoke little pieces at the grocery store for pennies or pickles or something. 

At 62, Lucille Ball Arnaz Morton is No. 1 - but still trying harder. (1) Husband Gary Morton says proudly, “Her work is an obsession and a labor of love, and as long as the public likes her shell never retire.” 

Lucy recently did terminate her “Here’s Lucy” series, at least temporarily, but will hold her "business family” (about 500 staff and cast members) together while she produces TV specials. Now, she leers at her orange-haired image in a dressing room minor and says, “I’ve loved to work, always. I discovered very early that the way to please people was to make them laugh at me. So I appeared at church, school, Girl Scouts, anything and anywhere. Made the tickets, sold them, starred in my own shows. That seems backward now. That’s gone out. The business has been hanging itself, and the kids with it, by making stars and superstars out of strange, young people who don’t know their craft."

Drums And Records 

An example, Lucy says, could be found in her own son, Desi Arnaz, Jr. "When he was nine, he was very good on drums. Used to beat them while the records played as background. He got a group together with a couple of kids at school Dino Martin and Billy Hinsche and they called themselves Dino, Desi and Billy. Then Sinatra heard them, and they made a record and had a hit. 

"A magazine took off on them, and they went on tour. Poor waifs - thank God, they didn’t have any more hits. But it left its mark, this being made a star when you don’t know anything at all, and after two years it was damn hard for Desi and the other kids to get back to doing their homework." 

That sort of "big payoff for mediocrity" was not what happened in Lucy's own youth. Her family in Jamestown was "lower than middle-class, hard working, had a truck garden and was never hungry." 

Most Influential Man 

Lucy's father, a mining engineer, died when she was four. (2) Her stepfather was the most influential man in her early life. To encourage young Lucy’s "flair," he took her to see Julius Tannen, a monologist. (3) “When I saw Tannen sitting on a empty stage in a dark theater, making people cry and then laugh - oh, it was magic, pure magic," she recalls. 

At 16, she went to New York, where her stepfather entered her in drama school. "I found out how shy, awkward and unable to cope I was. The teachers put me down, said I had no talent whatever.” Lucy's blue eyes flash. “New York frightened me. Still does. You have to take me out of the hotel on a leash to get me on the streets of New York today. Being tall, lithe and well-sculptured, Lucy took up modeling. But then, almost tragically, she contracted pneumonia with complications and was bedridden for eight months. It took three years of convalescence before she regained complete control of her legs. At 21, through an agent, she was hired to become a Sam Goldwyn showgirl in Hollywood for an Eddie Cantor film, “Roman Scandals”. 

Would Take Any Part 

“Out here in California, I knew as much as the rest of the girls in movies, which was nothing,” she says. “The difference was I would take any part. I never sought to be a star. I didn't mind being typed. I wanted to be typed. One of the greatest thrills of my life was hearing a director say he wanted a Lucille Ball-type for a picture. 

Of course, later it was different, she growls, "when they said they wanted a young Lucille Ball-type. 

In 10 years as willing “Queen of the B movies," Miss Ball was out of work only two days. 

In 1939 she met a young Cuban bandleader named Desi Arnaz, and they married in 1940. From the beginning, their marriage was a difficult venture: Desi toured the United States with his group, while she stayed in Hollywood making movies. Then Desi served in the army, while Lucy starred not in films but a popular radio series, “My Favorite Husband”. They split. They tried again. 

Finally, in 1951, in a desperate move to keep their marriage alive. Lucy sold CBS on what, at the time, seemed an unlikely television series: "I Love Lucy.” 

It was the beginning of greater professional success, but not the end of domestic upheaval. Their first child, Lucie, was born when her mother was 40; Desi was born when Lucy was 43. But the much-adored children were not to save the marriage, and in 1960 - tearfully, knowing her diligent efforts had failed - Lucille divorced Desi, citing his outbursts of temperament, instability and violence. Desi did not contest the action. 

In parting, they split a $20-million television empire. They are better friends today - at arms length, with new matrimonial ties - than they were during the 19 years of marriage. 

Today, Lucy’s sense of well-being with one-time comedian Gary Morton (who is executive vice president of her production company), is obvious and delightful.

"It s really a super life, grins Gary, living with a thoroughbred." Says Lucy, I guess its very possible to live without a good man. Possible, but no fun. To bake a cake is no fun without a man. It’s no fun to make a garden without a man to watch it grow." 

Lucy also is, and always has been, a proud and over-protective mother. Is that bad? I don’t think so." 

A Share Of Problems 

But despite Lucy’s mother-hen" closeness to Lucie, now 22, and young Desi. 20, the Arnaz offspring have strayed into their share of problems. Desi and actress Patty Duke had a much-publicized affair when he was 16 (and Patty was 28); later he became engaged to Liza Minnelli, but that broke up last summer. Lucie was married in 1971 to actor Philip Vandervort, but the couple quickly split. 

Lucy is convinced her daughter, who is featured on “Here’s Lucy," will be a star. “Lucie," her mom says, “has all the material of stardom - ability, inclination, vitality, intelligence, beauty, good sense and good taste. 

“Wholesome Movies Alive" 

In fact, one reason that Lucille Ball finally agreed after three years of rejecting the role to star in the movie “Mame” is that Gary convinced me it could keep wholesome movies alive for talented people like my daughter. 

"This industry," Lucy shudders, “has turned into a sex-and-violence factory. The whole thing’s ugly, with thousands of ugly people ripping-off their clothes and ripping-off the public. If that’s what makes good box office, and if box office is what they mean by success, then success is out of kilter!”

#   #   #

FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

(1) The advertising slogan “We Try Harder” was developed in 1962 for Hertz Rent-A-Car company, who was perpetually number two in popularity to Hertz Rent-A-Car. Lucille Ball and Carol Burnett satirized the campaign on “The Carol Burnett Show” on October 2, 1967. 

(2) Henry Ball, Lucille’s father, was actually a telephone lineman, not a mining engineer. One story had Hunt as the executive of a mining company in Montana. his death certificate listed him as a ‘laborer’. 

(3) Julius Tannen (1880-1965) was a monologist in vaudeville. He was known to stage audiences for his witty improvisations and creative word games. He had a successful career as a character actor in films, appearing in over 50 films in his 25-year film career. He is probably best known to film audiences from the musical Singin' in the Rain, in which he appears as the man demonstrating a talking picture early in the film.

[blissfulalchemist]

“You can share my jacket with me, since you’re shivering.” + dealer's choice!

Thank you Kate! Look at me posting some writing with Hypatia without formal introduction. I hope you enjoy it. X

Cities were never much my thing. Even as a kid I always felt this need to get away to find open space, so much so my mom used to joke about putting me on a rocket to the stars, then I could have all the space I wanted. So while St. Louis was no New York or Los Angeles it was still a city and so it felt like a prison, a feeling that didn’t get better by being cooped up inside a building near twenty four seven. Those of us that were recruited were only allowed outside, fully equipped with fresh air, with supervision at specific times of the day, and then confined to our rooms once night came. Those were the rules and for me….rules were made to be broken. After a few failed attempts I managed to find the one way I could always, one hundred percent guaranteed, have access to the roof in the dead of night. My small haven on nights I couldn’t sleep, the moments of peace I could cling too. 

Two years, I had spent two years with the Alchemists readying myself for whatever they had in mind for me. Though they never said much about what they wanted from me specifically but it seemed so far that I was to stay at one of their biggest facilities, never to be transferred out. I had seen other witches come through the doors, get some training or teach some class, and then leave just like that. Some of the women giddy with excitement about where they were being sent too, others rolling their eyes about how their job was probably going to be desk work, but I never left. Little orphan Annie, I stayed where I was, mastering my craft and being put through so much physical training I almost wanted to ask if I was to become an assassin. Not that they’d tell me, it was a need to know and I wasn’t in the loop that needed to know. Soon though, I hoped that it would be soon I would have a chance at my first field run to show them I was more than ready to help them in their cause. 

For now I’m left sitting on the edge of this building looking up to the few stars I can make out and the cityscape sounds below me. I can hear footsteps as they approach the door on the far end of the roof, panic surging in my body for only a moment. I swing my legs back over from the edge, ducking down behind some electrical boxes, peeking just over the edge, heart pounding. The door opens and a figure steps out into the low lighting, male and tall, with a medium build. His clothing is a white collared shirt and beige blazer with matching pants, typical stiff Alchemist fashion. His features become more detailed as he leaves the shadow of the door, his auburn hair is falling into his grey eyes, hands in his pockets walking in my direction. The smile he wears almost hides the golden lily on his cheek from this angle as I stand, meeting his smile with a small eye roll, “No unauthorized personnel allowed up here Caro.” I cross my arms, shifting my weight onto my left leg, “Last I checked you’re not authorized.”

I smirk cocking an eyebrow, “And last I checked, neither are you, Conner,” he chuckles pushing his hair back, the pieces falling back to where they were, “Thought you left for the day already?”

He jumps up on the electric box crossing his legs beneath him, “Went to go and check on you and the recruits.”

My eyes widened, biting my lower lip, looking to the ground, “And you didn’t find me where I was supposed to be.”

Conner taps his nose twice, “Third time this month, T,” my mouth falls open and my heart races, “Don’t worry. I haven’t told and don’t plan too.” I let out a sigh taking a seat next to him. 

“Not like they could do much about it if you did,” I shrug flipping my hair behind my shoulder. It seems I need to make the illusion spell stronger. 

“I don’t even get a thank you,” he shakes his head playfully, “Typical Caro move,” he turns to me, face serious, “They could punish you still if they did find out though.”

I snort, “How? By transferring me out of this place,” I bring my knees to my chest, “I’d be glad for it. I’m starting to hate everything about this place.”

“You can’t hate everything about this place,” he says softly leaning his arms on his knees, “Can you?”

I glance over to him frowning as I see his solemn face, “No. Not everything.” I nudge his shoulder gently with mine, “Don’t hate you Conner. You’re about the only best thing about this place.”

The smile returns, “I could say the same about you, Tia,” I feel the corner of my lips start to pull into a smile, “If I felt that you were the best thing about this place, but the cappuccino machine takes that spot.” I groan rolling my eyes, of course he’d never admit to it, if he did it could be seen as getting too close to the “impure” witches. The Alchemists couldn't have that, nope, not while we still used our unnatural magic. All of us that joined made a vow to forgo our magic once the mission was over allowing ourselves to be pure once more. We both look to the city below us, the passing of headlights on the freeway grabbing our attention the most, “I always loved to see cities from above like this. Highways always reminded me of a river.” I scoff, rolling my eyes, “What was that for,” he asks, a smile evident.

“What was what,” I mock looking away from him to my right, nose pointing up.

He mimics my scoffing, “That. What was that for,” Conner pokes my shoulder a few times. “You got a problem with my views on the city?”

The longer I hold back any kind of response his teasing gets worse, until I groan, pushing his hand away, “I don’t have problems with them,” he rests his chin on his hand, eyes tired fixated on me, Conner doesn’t believe me. “I don’t honestly,” my hands are held up in defense, crossing my legs like him, “Just seems typical of a city boy to say something like that.”

Conner laughs, “Oh I see how it is now,” he shakes his head, “I didn’t live in anything close to a city until I was sixteen and even then it was only a small town.”

“What did you live on a farm before that,” I clear my throat, readying a terrible southern accent, “Hey y’all, my name’s Conner and this here is ma horse.”

I laugh as he rolls his eyes, “You think you’re real cute with your antics don’t you?”

“I think I’m down right adorable.”

“You’re far from adorable.”

“You got a better word to describe me farm boy?” I lean towards him resting my chin on his shoulder, my lips near brushing his slowly reddening cheek.

“I do,” he faces me, lips close to mine, whispering, “Annoying.”

I clutch my chest pulling away from him, “You wound me, Smallville,” the back of my hand makes contact with my forehead, leaning back, “I shall never recover from such an insult.”

“You insult me all the time.”

“I do not,” I lie, mouth falling open, “How can you accuse me of such a thing, cornhusker?”

“Just this morning you said the coffee had better taste than me for hair styles,” he starts to count on his fingers, “Then there was the other day where you said I was so stiff that even a stick wouldn’t fit up my ass. Or the time you said I don’t even shop at a thrift store for my clothing but the knock off of thrift stores.” 

“Those are facts not insults,” I correct.

Conner gives a smirk, the only way his dimples show, shaking his head, “Guess it’s just tomato, tomato with you isn’t it. Also are you going to keep going with the farm related nicknames now?”

“Just until something sticks, Kansas.”

He runs a hand down his face, “I didn’t even grow up on a farm you know that right? You just assumed that.”

“So you just grew up in a house in the middle of nowhere?”

“Not really,” he leans back on his hands, eyes looking to the sky, “It was a single street with some houses scattered around it. The school I went to was next to the store, which was next to the bed and breakfast, and so on.” I stare as his eyes become a little glassy with the memories, “Our house was on a few acres of land, still within walking distance, and we had a garden.”

I almost want to laugh at the idea of him tending to different flowers, hands and hair filled with the blossoms, I don’t though, not with the look of happiness in his eyes, “Your mom a florist?” 

He smiles, “Yeah. I guess so when you really think about it.” His head rolls to look at me lazily, “Guess we end up craving what we never got in the end.”

I tilt my head, “What do you mean?”

“You grew up in a city your whole life and yet when we found you, you were traveling the open road,” my heart aches at the mention of my life before here and how I may never have that again, “Always seemed to stick to the big open spaces of the desert.”

I flinch, “How do you know it's the desert that I spend the most time in?” Were they watching me for a lot longer than they told me originally? If they were, the question became why? 

“Whenever I ask you about your favorite places you always respond with places in the southwest,” he says matter of factly. I should have guessed, Conner’s smart and the only person I have real conversations with in this place. He looks me up and down, the wind has started to blow harder sending a chill through my body, “Your clothing also says a lot about your weather preference.” I look down to the dark purple tank top, with jean cutoff shorts, fishnet stockings, and black boots, my eyes narrowing.

He laughs as I give a light punch to his arm, “It does not. I just like dressing this way.”

“Tell me this then: Do you own anything heavier than a jean jacket?” I look away grumbling, crossing my arms, the goosebumps prominent, “Thought so. You never see yourself as needing one since you’ll never go as far north as Utah.” I hate that he’s right, even in the summers I never go much farther and the forests somehow feel just as packed as the city. I always keep saying one day, but it never came, an excuse always coming up as to why I couldn’t and shouldn’t go. I shiver again, rubbing my arms, Conner already shrugging off his blazer, “Here,” he places it on my shoulders, “You can share my jacket with me, since you’re shivering.” 

I push my arms though the sleeves, the warmth spreading through me as I inhale the spearmint and fresh cut pine lingering from his aftershave. “Thanks,” I smile, my dark hair blowing in the wind hiding the small blush I can feel on my cheeks, “Don’t think that I’ll be nice to you after this though.”

Conner laughs, lying back on the box, letting his legs hang off the edge, “Wouldn’t expect anything else from you Patia.” I shoot him a glare at the near use of my full name, “It’s not your full name, so I can get away with it.”

I sigh, stretching myself next to him, “For now, but you're on thin ice buddy.” My eyes search the stars picking out the different constellations hoping to see the one on my pendant.

“Why do you like the open spaces of the desert so much, T,” I hum, my mental star map lost for a moment, “The one thing I never really understood. I mean it’s pretty but there’s always something more with you to places.”

My hands reach for the silver pendant resting at the hollow of my collar bone, tracing the black engraved stars in the connecting parallelograms of Orion, “The stars. You can see all the stars at night.”

“That why you come up here?” I can feel his grey eyes on me as he shift slightly to get a better look, “To take in the ten stars that are visible?”

My brow knits, frowning as I turn to face him, “There’s more than ten stars to be seen here.”

He shakes his head, “I have counted many times over and I only get about ten, sometimes twenty on a really good night.”

I scoot closer to him, grabbing his hand, pointer finger out, “Let me show you. I can point out three constellations and the other stars I can see.” As I make invisible lines he keeps shaking his head, the lights hard to see or not there at all he claims. “I think you need to get your eyes checked, C-man,” I declare, shaking my head sadly, “cause you might be going blind and I can’t have that happen.”

“And why is that?”

“Because your life will fall to shambles if you can’t be graced with my beauty, that's why.”

He groans covering his face, “God what am I going to do with you?”

“You should be asking what you would do without me,” I tease, laughing at his features getting more tired with each word coming out of my mouth.

“I think it’s time to send you back into your cage for the night now,” he says, sitting up.

I whine, I know he’s doing it more for my safety, I’ve already spent too much time out here and the next checks would be coming soon. “Few more minutes,” I place my hand over his, Conner’s eyes glancing between his hand and my face a few times, “Please. You get to have me all to yourself for a little while longer.”

He stiffens, silent for a few moments before he swallows, nodding, “Okay. Just a few more minutes Caro.” Conner settles next to me, gaze avoiding me, keeping to the sky. The heat from his coat vanishing, the warmth of him that replaces it is enough to make the night wind more bearable, and I just know that the smell of spearmint will linger in my hair for the rest of the night. He really needs a new aftershave, he was never going to get a date with the scent of spearmint. That’s something for me to tell him tomorrow, because for now I just want to enjoy this moment of peace I’ll cling on to.