#my mother has been trying to get me to eat them and walnuts all year

[forgetimabluedreamer]

I’m not much for making New Year’s resolutions but I have one goal which is to start eating pumpkin seeds as a snack

[philipkindreddickhead]

I often seen critiques of make up from an existential/philosophical perspective, but I rarely see criticism of cosmetics from a stand point of the very physical bodily harm it does. I think this is because the number of dangerous ingredients is so massive, and overlapping its an absolutely daunting task. So I've compiled the information I've found and bear with me its a lot. (This is from an American perspective. Sorry, thats what I know. However I would love it if people from other countries had things to add.)

First I want to get the "simple" stuff out of the way. I think almost everyone has heard about bacteria and fungi in makeup and that makeup causes acne from clogging pores. Makeup has a pretty strict shelf life, yet consumers are entirely supposed to self-police as Ive never seen a single expiration date on any cosmetic packaging. (I guess consumers are meant to pull this knowledge out of the ether or something. I only found out about it in a tumblr PSA. I did read that expirys are on products in Europe.) Beauty blenders are the worst offender because theyre almost always moist. When I was taught makeup I was told to wet my sponge so it would soak up less product. If you apply makeup daily your sponge is likely constantly damp. USA Today had an article which said that 96% of sponges had fungi and over 60% had E. Coli in them. But I think what people talk about less is the complication of problems from using other products in conjunction with dirty beauty blenders. USA Today warns its especially dangerous to use beauty blenders if you have damage to your skin like acne, cuts, or dry skin. However the most popular beauty products for washing your face contain walnut pieces for literally scrubbing your skin and creating microabrasions. If youre a frequent makeup user you probably know about the cyclical nature of applying foundation, breaking out, and then applying more foundation to cover the breakout. You may even be using scrubbing cleansers more frequently to combat the acne creating more tears. This can lead to "blood poisoning" and, though neither USA today or Forbes mentions this, blood poisoning (not a medical term btw. Its sepsis.) according to numerous medical sites has the potential to be extremely lethal. The symptoms are so similar to a regular flu its nearly impossible to self-diagnose.

The very first thing I was told when a friend handed me a jar of finishing powder- popular with many beauty gurus for the "baking" technique and considered a must have- was a joke about "clown lung." This was a reference to the main ingredient talc. Talc causes lung problems including cancer and respiratory illness. If anyone remembers the large Johnson and Johnson lawsuit from 2019 it was because theyd been putting talc into baby powder. Talc is dangerous because it's impossible to mine and seperate from ASBESTOS. Some high-end finishing powders will try to sell you on safe talc-free formulas but all the products I looked into contained mica instead which causes pneumoconiosis, colloquially known as "black lung disease." Like fucking coal miners get. Its not just present in finishing powder either. In my research it turned out that talc/asbestos are also present in many eyeshadows and other powder products. [Googleable, evidenced in J&J lawsuit]

Another industry to examine is nail salons. Toluene, Formaldehyde, Dibutyl Phthalate, and Methacrylate compounds are all dangerous ingredients and present in various salon products. These ingredients cause a range of problems from dizziness, drowsiness, birth defects, slow fetal growth, future intellectual disabilities in the fetus, eye skin and throat irritation, coughing, allergic reactions, asthma-like attacks, short-term memory loss, nausea, dermatitis, cancer, and misscarriage. Some nail products advertise that they are 3-free meaning that toluene, formaldehyde, and DP should be absent but often the labels are found to be completely inaccurate. It should be noted that the risk is mainly to salon workers and not patrons but ask yourself if it is right to place other people at serious risk for your aesthetic. OSHA does make an attempt to mitigate these risks however not once in my years of makeup queen did I see a salon following these directives which include constant air monitoring, half mask respirators with chemical cartridges, gloves, long sleeves, and safety glasses. (And Im not even going to touch issues of human trafficking/slave labour out of nail salons one case of which occured 5 days ago two hours away from me) It should also be noted that formaldehyde can also be found in hair relaxers and hair dyes. [Found articles in Scientific American and NYT]

I also found on the FDAs website that many cosmetics include heavy metals like arsenic, mercury, and lead. (Usually accompainied by a picture of lipstick so I assume that is the product most likely to contain it, however campaign for safe cosmetics lists foundation as containing heavy metals, and The Guardian has an article about skin lighteners from Asia and Africa containing mercury.) The website stated that the amount of these heavy metals in cosmetics is "safe" if used as intended. (and I'm going to come back to the concept of "intended use" later because thats a can of worms too) However, when searching for info on heavy metal safety I found this quote in regards to metals in food:

"Certain metals, such as arsenic, lead and mercury, have no established health benefit, and have been shown to lead to illness, impairment, and in high doses, death. Understanding the risk that harmful metals pose in our food supply is complicated by the fact that no single food source accounts for most people’s exposure to metals in foods. People’s exposure comes from many different foods containing these metals. Combining all of the foods we eat, even low levels of harmful metals from individual food sources, can sometimes add up to a level of concern"

So like, which is it? Is it a "safe amount" or is no amount of metal safe? I understand that in the case of certain foods like fish some amount of mercury poisoning is always expected but fish is also something you feed yourself and nourish your body with while cosmetics are completely unecessary to your survival. The mercury problem in fish is also mitigated by health warnings when mercury levels are particularly high but cosmetics have no such warning. Another warning on the site indicated that children should ingest NO amount of lead AT ALL because it is particularly harmful for kids yet theres no effort to stop children from using lead-containing cosmetics. I worked next to a Five Below where I was shocked to find they sold Jeffree Star and Anastasia eyeshadow dupes for five dollars which amounts to fucking pocket change for a lot of kids and kids do buy that stuff. I also think its ironic the FDA would have anything to say regarding cosmetics because in the very same article about heavy metals in cosmetics the FDA says that they DO NOT REGULATE cosmetics beyond the color additives.

Mascara, eyeliner, lipstick, and brow tint often contain carbon black. This is a color additive that is an incomplete combustion of carbon-based products. It can cause lung disease, cancer, and organ system toxicity, and eye, nose, throat irritation. The effects are mainly studied in rats and those at biggest risk are industrial workers but why do other workers have to endure lung problems for something so unecessary? [Easily googleable, NIH, CDC, WHO Europe]

This next bit I only want to mention briefly because I didnt find any particularly reputable sources about it, but its a claim that cropped up repeatedly and I think its an interesting one. Parabens, estrogen, phthalates (again), and pesticides in cosmetics are apparently linked to endocrine disorders and hormone dysregulation. Im not entirely sure what is meant by this accusation. Endocrine disorders include female diseases like PCOS and possibly endometriosis. None of these diseases is very well studied and the female endocrine system itself is not well studied either. Im not saying "cosmetics cause PCOS" because we dont know if PCOS or these other endocrine/hormonal disorders are genetic or environmental or both (it appears that PCOS is largely genetic and Endometriosis is likely autoimmune related) AND we dont appear to know for sure that cosmetic ingredients cause endocrine disorder. But I include anyway for a number of reasons:

If you happen to struggle with hormonal problems you may want to know cosmetics is a potential environment factor.

These conditions are incredibly painful. It will be a battle getting your doctor to even acknowledge that pain for diagnosis. PCOS is linked to diabetes, and heart disease. [Thanks @mother-of-pearl ] There is no cure and the treatments are often throwing hormonal birth control at it and hoping for the best.

I dont anticipate the link between cosmetics and endocrine disorders being studied any time soon or any endocrine disorders studied at all because the medical/scientific field is sexist. I dont want women to suffer in the mean time.

Now again, take this with a grain of salt because I couldnt find scientific or news sources for it. Dont fucking come for me. Im not gonna respond to you. [Most reputable source was a paper from the library of medicine at the national institutes of health but it was behind a paywall and I dont have 39 dollars to be right on tumblrdotcom]

Avoiding these ingredients is not as simple as scanning the label for them. As many beautubers and the community are no doubt aware considering multiple scandals over veganism. Products advertised as vegan or cruelty free but contain non-vegan carmine or are sold in China which legally requires the products to be animal tested. Cosmetic companies will hide ingredients claiming they are "trade secrets" or they will be placed under "fragrance." Many ingredients will be known by six or seven different names and asking consumers to be aware of seven different names for multiple ingredients requires consumers to be aware of innumerable different, often complicated ingredient names. I shouldnt have to point out that's a ridiculous burden to place on women. The EU banned 1,300 hazardous ingredients that the US did not. Cosmetic companies rely on women being unwilling/unable to bring in a list of 1,300 ingredients- with multiple names- every time they pop in to the drug store, sephora, or wherever. Buying "natural" products will not help you either. Theres no established criteria for natural/organic in costmetics, the FDA doesnt test these products, and "natural"=/= safe anyway. Plenty of plants and minerals are poisonous. One good example is traditional kohl products which advertise their natural status but also naturally contain lead and reiterating that natural powders contain mica. US courts are rarely on the side of consumers either. I found an interesting lawsuit against St. Ives for their apricot scrub taken to court for their "dermatologist tested" label despite it causing breakouts and cuts to the skin. The courts ruled that this label was fine because it only indicated that the product was TESTED not APPROVED by dermatologists. However I think any rational consumer would look at this label and assume the tests concluded it was safe for use or else why put the label on there?

[Googlable XMONDO drama, googlable laws wrt china and eu, already stated about FDA, FDA website about Kohl. Googled St. Ives lawsuit.]

I want to return to the idea of "intended use." This is sort of a fucky concept a lot of companies have ways of getting around. My "last straw" with makeup had to do with a run-in I had with Anastasia over their "Riviera" eyeshadow palette. In this pallette they had two colors that were the real feature of the palette, an electric neon purple and a radioactive pink I mean every photo, every promotion has these two colors swirled together around the eye. Because again, its an eyeshadow palette. When I buy the eyeshadow palette of course there's a little insert warning in the package that says these two shades are not intended on the eye area. In an eyeshadow palette. Contacting their customer service they told me that these two shades were meant to be used as a blush. neon purple blush. Not only that, but their website and instagram featured NO models wearing the shades as blush while EVERY model one or more of the shades as eyeshadow. When asked about this discrepancy ABH stopped responding. What I find egregious about this is the amount of people who dont know, and then more staggeringly; dont care. The sephora clerks didnt know, the in store abh representative didnt know, their customers didnt know, and when I told them they would respond with "oh, [brand] did the same thing with their [shade]." Sure enough, when I demanded that store clerks open the packaging to look for warnings nearly every product had an "eyeshadow" that was not intended for use on the eyes. Relegating dark, red-toned teal to "contour" and neon grean to "highlighter" US-based cosmetic junkies will say that these pigments have been approved for use by the EU however I found absolutely NO evidence of that. I googled it a thousand ways but all I ever found were blog posts, reddit comments, and one quote from an apparently nonEuropean layman in an Insider article. I even changed my location to France on ABH's website and the Norvina palette still contains the same warnings (not to harp on ABH in particular. I just know which shades in particular are the problem there). The Insider article noted that brands who were selling pressed pigments declined to comment. If the pressed pigments were EU friendly, I would think companies would be clamouring to say so. It also still makes their market as eyeshadow colors illegal in the US. (If any Europeans would like to chime in I'd love that.) Another problem I find with cosmetics companies and their reps is the claim that the worst thing that could happen is eye irritation for those with sensitive eyes and staining. How could they possibly know? The FDA doesnt test, or approve these cosmetics in the eye area, so ostensibly no one should be using it that way.

The next one is a bit of a "duh" but I'm going to talk about it anyway. Counterfeit cosmetics are a booming market full of untold dangers. Untold primarily because these products could contain literally anything. Ive read about glue, arsenic, lead, feces, staph, and horse urine to name a few. The labels and ingredient list on these products are fake. Legitimate brands often unintentionally play into the counterfeit market. They create artificial scarcity by making less of the product than is actually needed for consumer demand to create an even higher demand. If consumers miss out often their only chance at getting the product is to turn to counterfeits. I found examples of women who had their lips superglued, lips "turned to goo" and burned to blistering, throat closures, women with stys, contact dermatitis, eye infections. I think we as a society turn a blind eye to this problem because we think "hey, if youre buying counterfeits for a discount and you get hurt you deserve it." We imagine idiots buying products for 4 dollars from ebay or perusing Canal street for FEИTY beauty. But these counterfeits can be really convincing. I myself received a gift of a huda palette that I only recognized something was weird about it because I'd swatched it at sephora about five times earlier that month. The person who bought it for me actually paid MORE than the usual cost for the palette because it was advertised as a newer, better edition. The websites can be disturbingly similar. For instance Kylie Jenner's legitimate website is KylieCosmetics.com but you can find fakes at kyliecosmeticsshop.co.uk. These fakes can buy ad space and be one of the first sites that populate when you google the products instead of typing the legitimate site into the address bar. Counterfeits can also be bought and sold through third parties on websites like ebay, wish, and amazon. (My gift actually came from Amazon.)

[Netflix doc "Broken" ep "Makeup Mayhem" Corroborated by personal experience and google]

[erosofthepen]

Letters From Amad part. 1

Hehe, I started writing this and was going to originally end it at 3,500 words, but then I realized that the plot was super boring and dry and changed some things... I’m at 6,000 words overall so far so I split it into two parts. I hope you enjoy it.

Words: 3713

Paring: Fili x reader

Warnings: none

Tags: (these are people who just said they’d be interested i guess): @grunid, @elvish-sky, @amelia307, @moony-artnstuff, @sassyscribbler, @fizzyxcustard

The battle was won, the mountain kept safe, and the gold preserved.

Not that anyone was too worried about the gold anymore. No, Thorin had recovered well from the sickness, given the Lake-men what had been promised, and had returned the white gems of starlight to King Thranduil. Yes indeed, everything had turned out fine in the end.

More than fine for you.

The second the orcs had fled the battlefield, Fili, that beautiful lion of a dwarf took your hand, pressed a kiss to each knuckle, and asked for you to marry him. The answer couldn’t have been anything but yes.

So there you were, five months after the Battle, eating dinner with the line of Durin and talking of the wedding ceremony to come. Thorin was especially particular and picky about all the odds and ends of the event, especially since it would be the first royal wedding in Erebor in centuries. So, as he rambled on about the colors of gems and fabrics, Fili held your hand in his. At the beginning of dinner, both you and he knew that Thorin would keep you for an hour at least, talking about preparations.

It’s not as if you didn’t enjoy talking and planning your future wedding, it’s just that the actual ceremony was an entire year and a half away. Dwarrow are notorious for their long engagement period. With the event so far off, you’d just rather devote your time to being with Fili, for once not worrying about wargs or orcs or goblins or evil. Fortunately, you were saved from the conversation by Balin.

“Letters from the Blue Mountains, Thorin!” he said cheerfully, entering the room with a jolly bounce. He placed the letters in front of the mountain king before stealing a biscuit and leaving. Thorin nodded thanks, and examined the seals, a broad grin splitting his face.

“From your Amad, Lads.” Kili, who had been playing with the food on his plate, snapped into attention with wide, excited eyes.

“From Amad?!”

“Aye, here’s yours,” Thorin handed an envelope with a dark blue seal to Kili, and the young prince tore it open rapidly, reading it hungrily. Thorin then handed a letter with a matching seal to Fili, and your husband-to-be released his grip on your hand, opening his letter with the same urgency his brother had.

It was just slightly awkward for you, with each dwarrow at the table reading their respective letters, but you occupied yourself with your stew, occasionally glancing up to watch Fili’s eyes as he read. His beautiful blue eyes displayed excitement, then delight, and towards the end, longing. You had always known Fili was a mama’s boy (Or amad’s boy, in this case), and you also knew that he missed her dearly.

“She’s supposed to be leaving to come here in May!” Kili exclaimed, finishing his letter before his brother and uncle.

“Aye, next month,” Fili agreed, a smile lighting up his features. “How long do you reckon it will take for her arrival?”

“Six months, I would guess,” Thorin replied, mentally re-accounting your own journey, “Seven maybe. She’ll be with a caravan, remember. It’ll take some time for a group that size to get ore’ the Misty Mountains.”

Kili sighed, his shoulders slumping. “That’s much too long to wait.” Fili nodded in agreement at his brother's words.

“It’ll have been twenty months since we’ve seen her. A year and two-thirds.”

“Don’t worry lads, you’ll see her soon enough,” Thorin said, looking over his letter once more. “But in the meantime, I suggest you write back.” Kili scooted out of his chair, rushing out of the room with his letter clutched tightly in hand. Fili got up to follow, but then doubled back, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll come to wish you good night,” He promised.

“I’ll expect you,” You replied. He grinned and headed out after his brother.

“So (Y/N),” Thorin began, with a tone that made you inwardly groan, “What type of cut do you think the gems on your marriage robes should have?” You suspected that you might not be back in your room in time for Fili to wish you good night.

Three months had passed since the letters had come from Lady Dís, and the mountain was busy with preparations for the arrival of a hundred and fifty or so dwarrow. It would be the first caravan of many to come.

With the attention of the kingdom now focused on the arrival of the caravan, it proved to be quite the relief to you and Fili. More of Thorin’s focus was on planning for the newcomers, and not combing over details of your wedding ceremony, which meant more time for you and Fili to enjoy yourselves. It also brought on some tasks in which Fili and Kili accomplished together.

The brothers had prepared a room for their mother in the royal wing, and had furnished and decorated it to perfection. All the furniture was made of dark walnut wood, and the rugs and drapings were dark blue in color, made from the finest fabrics that could be found. They had also set about commissioning dressmakers and robemakers to complete a new wardrobe for Dís, even though Fili knew that Dís would prefer to sew her own clothes. Still, the act showed the brother’s devotion to their Amad.

When Fili was occupied with preparing these sorts of things, or otherwise completing his royal duties, you would more often than not find yourself in the library. There were several libraries in Erebor, with the mountain being so huge, and only one of the libraries was cleaned and in use. This particular library was known as the Grand Library, and only twenty or so dwarrow were ever in it at once, so it was lovely and quiet. It was probably your favorite spot in the mountain, especially when it grew chill, as it held an incredibly large fireplace with an assortment of couches and cushions in front of it.

This was exactly where you could be found that day, and it was quite curious to see Fili rushing towards you, a smile on his face and a letter in his hand.

“Amad wrote back, and she sent a letter for you as well!” he said, sitting beside you and handing you an envelope with the dark blue seal of Dís.

“She sent one for me?”

“Aye.”

“Why? She doesn’t even know me,” you replied, staring at the slightly crinkled parchment. Fili cleared his throat,

“...I may or may not have written a lengthy description of you in my letter to her.” Well, his statement shouldn’t have surprised you. Of course Fili would have told his mother about the person he planned to marry. But for some reason, the fact that Dís knew about you made you nervous. Fili interrupted your thoughts. “Well, are you going to open it?”

You gave him a small smile before carefully breaking the seal and lifting the letter out of its envelope. As your eyes scanned the page, you noticed that while Dís’s hand was rough, it was still tidy. The letter read:

“(Y/N),

I am not exactly sure how I should feel about you. My son left me without any desire of ever forming a relationship, yet he wrote to me that he has found his One. He speaks incredibly highly of you, and his description was indeed full of love.

However, do not think I am convinced of your relationship. My sons are precious to me beyond any riches, and I will not tolerate or allow anyone whom I do not approve of to wed either of them. If you truly love Fili, you must prove your love to me. Otherwise, I suggest you abandon any thought of a future with him and leave Erebor immediately.

~Lady Dís, Thrainsdottir.”

If you had been nervous about Dís before, now you were a bit terrified. You realized that, if she was not satisfied with you, Dís could very easily break off your engagement and ensure that you never saw Fili again. The thought was enough to scare you even more than running straight into a battalion of orcs. The dwarf prince himself had been reading over your shoulder, and once you had finished reading, he took your hand in his and squeezed it tight.

“She’s… Well Amad’s just a bit overprotective. She’ll love you once you meet, I know it. Don’t worry yourself over it ghivashel.”

But you did worry over it. You worried over it throughout the rest of your time in the library, all throughout dinner, and when you eventually slipped into bed. After a few hours of uneasily trying to fall asleep, you came to terms that you could at least address your worries if you wrote back.

“Lady Dís,

     I was surprised to receive your letter, as I hadn’t thought that Fili would have written of me. I understand that you don’t yet approve of me, and I think that, if our places were swapped, I probably wouldn’t approve of me either. But I do love Fili, with every single part of my being. He is my world now. It’s actually fairly remarkable to acknowledge that, since before the quest, I hadn’t even known of his existence. But I truly do love him, and would do anything to ensure his happiness and well-being.

I hope you can grow to like me, or tolerate me at least.

Sincerely,

(Y/N)”

In the months following that letter, the worry inside of you didn’t subside. Fili could tell that it was on your mind, and he tried his best to sooth your nervousness, but it didn’t help very much. Much of your time was spent in the comfort of the Grand Library, which seemed to become more in use by the common folk with every passing day. You were seriously considering trying to start cleaning out one of the smaller libraries, just so it would be a bit quieter. Apparently, the rules of a silent library did not apply to dwarrows.

One day, you were sitting in the least used corner of the Grand Library, reading a book about dwarrow folklore, when you were interrupted by an exasperated sigh.

“Good Mahal, I finally found you! Why the hell were you all the way over here? You do know there’s plenty of space near the entrance, right?”

“Yes, but it’s not nice and quiet there. In normal libraries, there’s rules set in place for silence.” You replied, rolling your eyes at the young prince Kili.

“Sounds boring.” He said, plopping down next to you. “Anyways, my Amad sent another letter for you.” He brought out an envelope and you took it and set it aside. “You’re not going to open it?” He asked.

“I am, just not right now.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“I think you should open it.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

You and Kili held some sort of bizarre staring contest, until you decided that Kili would at least be off your back if you opened it now. The letter read:

“(Y/N),

It brought me a small comfort to have read of your love for Fili, but it did not satisfy my doubts. Fili has told me much of your history and past, and you indeed seem like quite the character. However, I know my son would have put you on a pedestal to try and convince me of you, so I decided to rely on information about you from a much more honest source. That being my son Kili and my brother Thorin.

Thorin believes you to be an honest lass, with loyalty to match, and he told me he is very sure that you and Fili are the perfect match. My brother is not one to sugar-coat anything, and he is probably the most thickheaded dwarrow in the world when it comes to recognizing romantic love, so his assurances lessened my doubts. Kili on the other hand, told quite a different story.

Kili has told me that you are irritable, witty, incredibly thoughtful, and usually annoyed with him a vast majority of the time. He wrote about a few events during the journey that made me laugh quite a lot. I wholeheartedly support you and his decision to put a toad in Thorin's boot. That was brilliant. However, do not mistake this for approval of you, but know that my initial opinion on you has changed towards the better. My distrust of you has eased.

From,

Lady Dís”

When you finished reading, you turned to face Kili. A boyish grin had split his face.

“I can’t believe you told her about the toad incident.” You said.

“Oh, I told her about plenty more of our mischief as well. I already read her reply to me, she especially liked the one where we put a snakeskin in Fili’s sleeping role.” You couldn’t help but laugh as you remembered that night. That was probably the only time you had really seen Fili freak out. He had thrown the snakeskin as far away from him as possible, before taking his boot axes and chucking them at it. The snakeskin had been shredded, and you and Kili laughed for a good long while.

“I nearly forgot about that one, what fun that was!”

“Aye. I mentioned it to Fili today and he turned as red as a tomato, it was fucking hilarious!”

You and Kili spent the rest of the afternoon recounting your wrongdoings and pranks from the journey, only leaving when you grew hungry. After dinner, you wrote Dís back.

“Lady Dís,

     I’m glad you approved of the Toad Incident, honestly one of my finer moments. Thorin had his head in his arse all day, and Kili and I were tired of it. He completely ignored Gandalf’s advice for the third time in a row. I mean, he’s a terrific leader and has the support of all who follow him, but… sometimes I think someone else should have been making the decisions, as most of his decisions ended up with us being in trouble. But that’s all in the past, I suppose. He’s leading Erebor to prosperity once more.

     As for what Kili told you of me, I can’t say that he’s wrong. I do get annoyed with him much of the time. And very irritated at him. But he’s one of my closest friends, so I guess it balances out. He was reading your letter over my shoulder, and we ended up discussing all our tricks on the company afterwards. We both agree that we shall have to continue them now that we live in Erebor. We were thinking that putting cumin instead of cinnamon in a cinnamon bun would be a lovely surprise for someone.

      I’m very glad that your opinion has changed on me. It’s a bit of a relief, though I know that you do not approve of me yet. I hope your journey is going well, and that you are alright.

Sincerely,

(Y/N)”

In the weeks that followed, you were much more relaxed. The day that the caravan would arrive seemed much less daunting now that Dís appeared less cold towards you. Preparations for the day were in full swing, and about a hundred new rooms and halls had been cleared out and cleaned, as well as the start of cleaning out another library. It was called the Silver Library, and when you first saw it, you were amazed. Even in its abandoned state, it was breathtaking. The marble walls were a lovely rich blue, a nice change from green, and the shelves and tables were inlaid with silver. It was a long walk towards the north side of the mountain, but ever so worth it. Your days were now focused on clearing out the dust, alongside with a handful of scholars and writers.

The work was long and hard, but at least it was a great deal smaller than the Grand Library. The writers told you that this would be the best library to find peace, as the books here were all about history. The Grand Library hosted books from metal-working to children’s tales, hence why every sort of dwarrow could be found there. The Silver Library was a place for dedicated learners who appreciated the quiet now and again. Perfect.

Four weeks after the work had begun, it was looking nearly finished. You had spent the entire afternoon scrubbing a row of shelves, and unfortunately getting dust all in your system. A bath and bed were most welcome when night came ‘round.

After washing up, you found another letter had been placed upon your pillow, along with a note. The note was from Fili.

‘I missed you today, amrâlimê. My Amad sent another letter for you. Rest well.

-Fili’

The letter read:

“(Y/N),

We can both agree that Thorin is not the best decision maker. But there’s only so much one can do when he’s the first-born. And now I know not to trust your cooking. Or, at least I will force my brother to try it first, just to make sure it is safe for eating. I almost pity him now, that he had to put up with trouble from Fili, Kili, and yourself during the journey. But then again, he’s had it coming for a while.

The road to Erebor is long and rough, but nothing that I cannot handle. I’ve done it before, as a child no less, and I can sure as hell do it again. Hopefully though, it shall be the last one I shall have to do. We are almost half-way around Mirkwood now, another month and a half and I will be able to see you in person. I look forward to meeting you.

-Dís.”

Before retiring to sleep, you picked up your quill to write to Dís for the third time.

“Lady Dís,

     I am happy your journey is going well, and that you are nearly here. I am really excited to meet you. Fili hasn’t stopped talking about you for the past week. He says that you’ll be here in four weeks or so. The weather is getting much colder, and the Lake-men in Dale say that the winds aren’t promising. Keep safe and warm, and I wish you the best for the rest of your travels!

Sincerely,

-(Y/N)”

No more than two weeks later, you received her reply.

“(Y/N),

I should think this will be my last letter before meeting you in person. I have been able to see the mountain for the last few weeks and it makes my heart warm to know I am close. I am not worried about the cold, the elders agree that the snow will not fall hard for sometime.

We plan to arrive on November the Nineteenth.

From,

Dís”

Every dwarrow in the mountain was bustling with energy now that the caravan was only a week away. Fili and Kili were beyond excited, dragging you to the secret door to see if you could spot the caravan in the distance. It was just visible, a tiny spot by the forest that had many ant-sized dwarrow moving about.

For the next five days, Fili and Kili would find time to come up the platform with you in tow, seeing how much closer the caravan got. On the sixth day, the dwarrow had stopped roughly in between Laketown and Dale.

“I don’t like the look of those clouds,” Fili commented, his blue eyes turned grey to reflect the sky.

“Mean neither. But they’ll clear tham in time,” Kili replied, hands fidgeting with his talisman.

“Hopefully.”

The next morning, you woke to find a note on your dresser.

‘(Y/N),

             Kili and I went to the caravan, our patience to see our Amad has worn thin. Don’t worry, we’ll be back by tonight.

All my love,

Fili.’

Well, you hoped they were having a good time. It wasn’t until you had made your way out of your chambers, bundled up warm, that you heard the news.

“Did ye hear? More than a meter deep!”

“Oh aye, fresh powder, as far as the eyes can see, and still falling!”

“One has to wonder how the caravan will fare. There’s wee ones traveling.”

“And old ones.”

With every word the dwarrow spoke, you felt your heart sink even further. Your pace picked up and soon you were running to the dining hall.

Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin were all discussing the caravan when you entered the hall.

“We’ll have to send out help to hurry them along,” the King said, “We’ll wait for a break in the snow and send out a group.”

“We should probably have ponies ready for the children and elders, they won’t be up for trekking through the snow.” Balin said.

Thorin nodded before noticing you hurrying towards them.

“Ah, (Y/N). Where are the Lads?”

“I was just coming to see you about that, Fili left a note this morning.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow.

“Well?”

“They went to the caravan.”

Thorin groaned and pinched his nose. Dwalin spoke up.

“The night watch said that two dwarrow in hoods went out last night. About three hours before the snow started up.”

“Mahal damn them!” Thorin cursed, “The two should know better!”

“I’m sure they’re fine Thorin,” Balin replied, “They can travel quickly.”

“Not quickly enough to make it halfway to Laketown during a blizzard!”

“We can send out a search party,” Dwalin said.

“No, we can’t risk any more dwarrow getting stuck out there. When the snow breaks we’ll go out and look for them. And send help to the caravan.”

You were ready to shout at them. If Fili and Kili were out in the blizzard, they could need help. Even if dwarrow’s blood ran hot, it didn’t run hot enough to keep warm in a blizzard for hours on end. Balin seemed to notice your anguish and smiled in your direction.

“Fili will be alright lass, we’ll find him as soon as the storm breaks.”

You blinked and shot a glare at Thorin before turning away and leaving.

“What did I do?” You heard him ask before exiting.

“Only Mahal knows.” Dwalin replied.

[amyrlin-of-starlight]

Rain was beautiful. Rain was fast. Rain was gone. Rain was never coming back.

If you asked someone- anyone, really, maybe even a random person you caught a glimpse of in Kohl’s with Christmas tree ornaments at half the price or a cable-knit sweater with a V-neck that you could tell was meant to show off the crevice of a cleavage, and grabbed them by the arm, asked them the question you always hoped that they would answer differently- about Rain Wood, a look would wash over their face. The gaze that their eyes emanated would soften, melt with sympathy, and their lips would part without a word for a moment, and then they would say Rain was... Rain was a nice girl. Rain was a pretty girl. Rain was a missing girl. And then maybe they would notice the slope of my nose, the color of my eyes, the shape of my lips, and realize that Rain Wood was not just a missing girl to me, not just a nice girl, not just a pretty girl. That she was a girl who left something-someone-behind with the slope of her nose, the color of her eyes, and the shape of her lips to always remind her of someone who was never coming home. Her Christmas stocking, red and white, was getting dusty and smelled like old wood from so many years trapped in the attic, and there were unopened gifts hidden in the closet underneath the hems of winter coats and tucked behind the worn boots my father wore to trudge through the snow or the mittens tossed aside, flung from frozen fingers, and her favorite cereal was still in the cupboard, having expired three years ago, but my mother would have never let anyone eat it anyway.

That cereal was Rain’s.

Rain was a girl with fiery red hair that she twisted into messily done braids with wisps of her tresses curling around her ears that seemed to be caught on fire underneath the gleam of the sun, and Rain was a girl with bright, green eyes that resembled the leaves of a walnut tree in the summer. I had those bright, green, walnut tree-esque eyes too but they never looked as good on me as they did Rain. Rain had eyes that twinkled, that glimmered, and that sparkled. Maybe my eyes did that too but then Rain was gone and my eyes became dull, unpolished, and murky. Rain was a girl with a boisterous laugh, one that giggled, one that made you laugh too. Rain was a girl who sang country songs in the passenger seat of our mother’s car, her bare feet propped up on the dashboard, her chipped, baby blue nail polish seeming to look beautiful on her delicate toenails, and her voice had a southern drawl to it when she sang that my mother never understood, the origin unknown and a mystery.

Rain was perfect.

And Rain was gone.

Rain was.

The word “is” just never accompanied her name anymore.

Because.

Rain was gone.

.

It was Christmas Eve when she disappeared, when she went from Rain Is to Rain Was, and she was with me, her fingers clad with gloves wrapped around the laces of her ice skates with blades that glinted underneath the rays of the sun and clinked together as she walked, her footsteps crunching in the white, glittering snow, and she was smiling at me, telling me how beautiful everything looked in winter. She was oblivious. I was smiling, agreeing with her. I was oblivious.

I had my own pair of ice skates and I was holding them by the heels, rubbing the leathery material in between my cold fingers, and sticking out my tongue to feel the cool droplet of a snowflake falling on my tongue. I dropped my ice skates onto the snow, flurries emanating from around the blades and the sides of the shoe, and the tip of one of the laces had buried into the snow, as if it were hiding, as if it knew. I was peeling off my boots, tossing them in random directions, and I heard the humph of a man grunting behind me as my boot whacked against his shin. I heard Rain apologizing to him, I heard Rain telling him that I was just excited, I heard Rain wishing him a Merry Christmas.

I heard him ask her if she knew which direction our local Wal-Mart was.

I heard him ask her if she would mind showing him on his map in his car.

I heard her say yes.

I never heard Rain say anything after that.

I waited for her to come back, my ice skates tied tightly around my feet, and the tips of my fingers beginning to develop what felt like frostbite, and I even stepped out onto the ice alone, a small little pond with snowflakes collecting on the glass-like surface, scratched with the treads of past ice skates, and I waited. I waited for her to show him which way the local Wal-Mart was on his map in his car. I waited for her to come running back, smiling and laughing, joking about out-of-towners, and then for her to yank down the zipper of her boots that almost reached her knee and lace her ice skates.

I waited for the blades of her ice skates to graze the ice of the pond with mine. And then, after the sun had begun to dip behind the forest of pine trees behind me, I got off of the solid pond and walked on the blades of my ice skates to the parking lot of the park, wobbling and grabbing onto bird baths and light-posts when I could, and I searched for a car with a man and Rain hunched over a map, her finger tracing the roads and gliding over the rivers, and his furrowed brow, confused. He had to be really confused if he still did not know the way. But there was no car, there was no map, there was no confused, out-of-towner with a furrowed brow.

And there was no Rain.

I nearly tripped on the pavement of the parking lot as I searched for her, stepping in brown slush with the blades of my ice skates, and I called out her name. There was no Rain. I asked a woman with her children who wore matching knit hats if she saw a teenage girl with an older man, and she said no. She asked me if I was lost, and I said no. My sister, Rain, was lost, I told her. I told her about the man who wanted directions to the local Wal-Mart and how my sister was going to help him. She had just gotten her learner’s permit that year. The woman’s faced drained and wrinkled with something that looked a lot like fear as she asked if I knew the man, if he was a friend. She told me to play with her children with the matching knit hats when I told her no. He was a stranger.

And Rain was gone.

Red and blue lights flickered and gleamed off of the dark pavement of the park parking lot after the woman brought her cell phone out of her purse and pressed her thumb down on three numbers. She said that there was a missing minor, and I remembered thinking that I didn’t know what that meant. Rain, not minor, was missing, and she was just lost. She was trying to help an out-of-towner find our local Wal-Mart. I remembered a man dressed in navy blue with badges decorating his chest and a walkie-talkie strapped to his shoulder crouching down in front of me, asking me about Rain, about the man she was trying to help. He held out a pair of ice skates he found in the parking lot. He asked me if they were hers. I said yes. I said that she was going to be upset that she lost her ice skates. He smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes and took out a notepad with a leather cover and a pen, clicking the top, and asked me if I knew my parents’ phone number. I did. I told him. He told him that they would try really hard to find Rain, my sister, and I just nodded.

I was oblivious.

I was in the dark.

I was unaware of the Amber Alert. I was unaware of the search parties composed of neighbors, of church-goers, of people I never met, that combed the forests. I was unaware of the reason for my mother’s hysterical tears. I was unaware of what the term foul play meant. I was unaware when they asked for my sister’s hairbrush, placing it in a plastic bag that zipped. I thought they were going to brush her hair. I was unaware that my sister’s face was on the news. I was unaware that people were already buying candles for the vigil. I was unaware of the missing posters that were being plastered over my hometown.

And I was unaware that somewhere, my sister, Rain was gone.

I always thought she would come back.

Until I heard a man who said he was an FBI agent in a blazer with a stripped red and green tie telling my mom that Rain was presumed dead, and how loudly my mother sobbed in the living room as she tried to take down the Christmas tree ornaments. Foul play, presumed dead, predators, they all felt like they were words too big for our living room to handle. My mother said that Rain was alive. My father said my mother’s name. My mother shouted and I heard something crashing. It was the Christmas tree. And then she ran for her computer and brought the document for Rain’s missing person’s poster and kept clicking the PRINT button over and over again, her breath coming out in gasps and her eyes trickling teardrops onto the keyboard.

I asked the FBI agent as he left if Rain was coming home.

His face softened.

His head tilted.

And his lips said the words, no. Rain probably would not come home.

.

When I was thirteen, just after May and the flowers began to grow in the flower beds that were pushed against the exterior bricks of houses in the Cul-De-Sac neighborhoods, and Rain has been gone for four years and her black and white pictures that store owners let my mother tape to their windows had been torn down and crumpled, tossed thoughtlessly into trashcans because she was gone- totally gone, completely gone, utterly gone, with nothing even to bury because she was totally, completely, and utterly gone- the police called us and told us that they had a man in custody. His name was Jerrod F. Norris and he had mean eyes that were murky blue and perfectly straight teeth and dark stubble adorning his cheeks in his mug shot photograph. He looked normal and terrifying at once. I thought about my sister seeing those mean, murky blue eyes, staring into them before she slipped away, and I thought about her heart fluttering. She said your heart flutters, jumps, when you look at a certain boy. I thought about her heart fluttering and jumping as he took away. I tried to turn off of the television as his face illuminated the pixels and my fingers were fumbling, unable to press the buttons of the remote control, and then I just threw it against the screen. It cracked and went black. My parents weren’t even mad. My mother actually thanked me as she choked on her tears. My father curled his fingers around the edge of the couch cushions.

They say he admitted to taking her, to seeing her that Christmas Eve in front of the frozen pond with the laces of her ice skates pressing into the folds of her fingers, and to lying about the directions of our local Wal-Mart. He lived only five miles away. He had receipt for duct tape and a curling iron from our Wal-Mart an hour before he said he took Rain away from me. I didn’t want to know why he had bought a curling iron but they said he was single and he had short hair. He said he took her away, covered her mouth, and taped her hands and feet together and drove. He took her to the woods, he said.

He molested her, he said. He murdered her, he said. He left her there, he said.

And when they asked for him to draw a map to find her, he said he could not.

Because he did not leave her in just one spot.

I remembered how my mother screamed, wept, when the detectives told her about the interview, about his confession, about what he said he had done to her little girl. She was on the ground, clutching a pillow to her chest, and her face was red and wet. The detective looked uncomfortable, distraught, and a little alarmed. I was too. I thought women only shouted in the movies but my mother was shouting, not even words but sounds, and my father was crying too, and kept saying, “Oh, my little girl. Oh, my little girl.” The detective tried to say that there wasn’t a body, or body parts, yet, but it didn’t matter.

Someone had said that they took our Rain away from us, kept her silent, hurt her, slayed her, and tore her apart, left her in the woods all alone on Christmas Eve, with her little sister waiting for her, teetering on the silver blades of her ice skates in the parking lot as she looked for her, calling out her name.

Rain was gone.

Rain was nowhere.

Rain was everywhere.

.

The day I met Franklin was Christmas Eve, but December 24th stopped feeling like Christmas Eve nine years ago when Rain went from “is” to “was” in that single moment in front of the frozen pond, the blades of her ice skates clinking together and her footsteps coinciding with his crunching on the thick snow. I was there, in front of the pond that was crisscrossed with the scratches and grazes of the blades of ice skates and dusted with a light layer of snowflakes. It looked like that day nine years ago; when I last saw her, Rain, when I last saw her smile. I brought my ice skates but they were too small now, fit for a nine year girl with a sister who was alive- gloriously alive and so in love with life, not an eighteen year old girl without a sister who was dead. I didn’t want to skate until she was found. Eventually, I just thought that I would never skate again.

But now I was back- because a couple of hunters stumbled upon a bone in the woods during the hunting season, and the DNA tests proved that it belonged to Rain, that it was Rain’s bone. It was a leg, they said. It looked broken, they said, maybe before she died or after. They thought she was dead when it happened, when her leg stopped being a part of her, but I was not sure if they were just trying to spare us the awful thoughts we were already thinking.

And now I was going to skate again.

But my skates were too small.

And Rain was gone.

“You will need bigger ice skates than that.” I heard his voice before I saw him and I flinched as I heard his playful, light voice bouncing against the barren trees and the glimmering snow-topped grounds as he walked, his large footsteps crunching and breaking the smooth, pristine assemblage of snowflakes on the ground. My footprints were barely visible- I had been standing there so long. He wore a thick, black parka that swished as he walked and held a black pair of hockey skates underneath his arm and the tips of his ears and nose were red from the cold. His breath came out in clouds as he grinned at me. I thought about Jerrod F. Norris and his grin I am sure he showed my sister before he took her away.

I backed away from him without even realizing as he stepped toward the pond-crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch-and he looked at me for a moment, as if he were puzzled, and titled his head to the side.

He dropped his ice skates onto the snow, the little flurries of white snowflakes drifting through the air as they plopped reminding me of my own ice skates and how I just dropped them that day.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice sounding that kind of breathless that came from the cold, and he still smiled at me. “I was not meaning to insult your foot size or anything. They just look kind of small.”

He shrugged and then lifted a gloved hand to wave at me, friendly, as if I were standing feet away from him. “I am Franklin, by the way. I practice here on Wednesdays. I am going to try out for the hockey team next semester but I doubt it will happen because I suck, horribly. I accidentally did a split a few weeks ago. Only time will tell if I am still able to have children.”

You talk a lot, I thought to myself as I stared at him, almost in bewilderment, as if somewhere during his rushed, awkward words. I wondered if Jerrod F. Norris spoke a lot, if on the way to his car that he chewed her ear about his job, about the imaginary family he pretended he was visiting, about whether or not he thought his hockey abilities were proficient or not.

“I was just leaving,” I told him, gripping the laces of my ice skates tightly.

They were too small.

And Rain was gone.

“You don’t have to. I mean, the pond is pretty big. And I promise I would not intentionally injure you and if I do, I will apologize profusely.”

“That is quite alright.” I wanted to leave. I felt suffocated by his words that felt as if they should have been friendly; but to me, they felt double edged, they felt like a façade.

They felt as if they were concealing twisted and malevolent objectives that took place underneath the shelter of the pine trees in the snowy woods.

He stared at me for a moment. “Um, okay, then. Merry Christmas.”

I felt something strange in that moment as I heard him say that. I felt a twinge of something that pinched the nerves in my chests and in my eyes, and I felt my lips beginning to quiver. It barely felt like Christmas, not the Merry Christmas he was wishing me. He was wishing me something that was wrapped with golden paper and a dark, green bow and curled ribbon and peppermint candy canes hooked around the pine-scented branches of a Christmas tree. He wasn’t wishing me the Christmas I had of remembering the posters plastered on the storefront windows and the news talking about my sister so distantly and the fading image of her smile beaming at me.

“I do not really celebrate Christmas… er, Franklin.”

“Oh, you are Jewish? Sorry. Happy belated Hanukah, then.”

I shook my head. “I am not Jewish.” I felt my finger along the sharp blade of my ice skates, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the rectangular blade. I looked horrible. I looked broken.

“I am just... I really miss someone. She, uh… she is dead. Or at least, that is what they say, but I do not know even though they found her- or a piece of her- in the woods but I just…” I felt a burning tear glide down my frozen cheek. “I just do not really celebrate Christmas anymore.”

He blinked. He looked sad. His grin was gone. “You are Aer Wood.”

I nodded. “I am.” My voice was choked.

“I am really, really sorry.”

“Thanks, but that does not really matter. People think it does matter but it does not. The one person I want to be sorry is the one person who took her away. But he is not sorry. He says he is but he is not because a month after he stole Rain from me, he stole someone else and then he stole someone else. They caught him because he was trying to hide her. A little fragment of her, anyway. A hunter saw him, saw what he had. He actually shot him in the knee.”

“I heard.”

I swallowed, pressing my index finger deeper into the blade of my right ice skate. “He said he wanted to stop him because he has three daughters at home. He said good men do not bury pieces of little girls so he shot him.”

I looked up at the sky. It was gray and bleak, as if it were mourning too. “She was fourteen. Rain was older than that. She was seventeen. People acted as if it was worse that a fourteen year was murdered than a seventeen year old. It is horrible no matter. It does not matter how old you are.” I choked on my words. “She was supposed to rest in peace, not in pieces.”

“I am sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“I feel like I need to say it again.” He cleared his throat, and then unstrapped the Velcro from his gloves and ripped them off, dropped them onto the ground beside his large and bulky hockey skates, and tore off his beanie hat. He ran a hand through his black hair that matched his olive, Hispanic skin tone. “What was she like? Rain, I mean.”

I turned to look at him, away from the gray and bleak sky that felt so ominous, so looming, and so sad that I felt my heartstrings beginning to burst just looking at it. I almost felt glad that it was a bright and sunny day that she was taken. That when she was pressed on the ground that she had a warm, blue sky to look toward. “Rain was beautiful. Rain was fast.”

Rain was.

“Did she like the color blue?”

“No. She thought it was too generic. Everyone’s favorite is blue, she said. She loved purple.”

“The color of royalty.”

“That’s what she said.” I almost felt like smiling. I think Franklin noticed.

“Did she eat apples?”

“She loved apples, especially the green ones.”

“Granny Smiths.”

“They’re so sour, she loved it.” Then I did smile. Then he definitely did notice. “She liked the faces a really, really sour one made her make, how it would purse her lips and wrinkle her nose. But I think she just exaggerated it to make me laugh.”

“Did she read books?”

“She loved reading, sometimes she would read me to sleep.”

“Did she put marshmallows in her hot chocolate?”

“Yeah, but never the ones from those packages with the ones already in them. She hated those. They weren’t real marshmallows she said. Dehydrated memories of a marshmallow, she called them.”

He kept asking me questions like that, about her, about Rain. Which Muppet was her favorite, if she liked spicy food, if she wore socks when she slept, if she was an early bird or a night owl. I never would have admitted it to him as he asked various enquiries about the kind of person Rain was, asking me to imitate her laugh, and if her smile was kind of crooked like mine, but it felt almost okay to talk about her. My mother never could without crying, without swallowing back tears she had cried so many times before, and my father got angry when she was mentioned. I think if he remembered her then he remembered him and his mean, murky blue eyes so he tried never to think about her.

It felt almost okay to talk about Rain and not about the fact that she was gone, not that she was not whole, not that she was alone and afraid on Christmas Eve but that she liked Granny Smith apples, that her favorite Muppet was Beaker, that she slept barefoot. That Rain was not just a name on a list of short lives that were stolen by a man with mean, murky blue eyes. That Rain had more than just her last moments.

“I could come back tomorrow,” Franklin offered as the sun slipped away into the pine trees of the distant woods my sister supposedly was buried in and he picked up the hockey skates he never touched. He dusted the snowflakes from them. “I could ask you if she liked extra butter on her popcorn or diet drinks instead of regular ones.”

“No and no,” I replied.

I thought his face fell for a moment. I was confused. I replayed my last sentence in my mind. And then I felt my eyes instinctively widen and my mouth drop, my head shaking from side to side. “No, that is not what I meant! I meant that she, um, did not like extra butter on her popcorn or diet drinks. Not that you should not come back tomorrow but it is Christmas tomorrow so you will probably be busy and I might be too. My mother does try to pretend that Christmas is a normal holiday. She is not very good at it, but she tries.”

He smiled at me. “I could come here to practice around noon tomorrow. And if you are here then ... well, you will be here. We will probably exchange a word or two or something and ... ”

“I thought you only practiced on Wednesdays.”

“Well, I do suck so maybe adding Thursday practices to my day planner would be a good idea.”

I smiled down at the glimmering snowflakes beneath me. They looked like sparkling, fragile pieces of crystal accumulating on the ground. “Yeah,” I murmured, softly. “Maybe it would be.”

He grinned at me.

I felt the flutter my sister told me I would feel when I looked at a certain boy.

Rain was gone.

Rain was not whole.

Rain was not coming back.

But I think Rain was proud.

I think Rain is proud.

@fluffybunsss @thegreatsaiyaman3 @keenu-loves-to-talk-talkytalky @thelastdream @the-living-typo @quoted-text @nerdyfuntheorist @obsessedwithparkjimin @user-with-a-name @carmen-riddle @tookoool @kritiwritesss

[sweetalnazar]

After an eternity, I updated!

CHAPTER 2: A HOUSE, A SHOP AND A HOME

Summary: After the defeat of the Devil, Aisha and Salim catch up on all they’ve missed, including the fate of the home once shared with Asra

4.3k words. Family Fluff/Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Tw for discussions of trauma and abandonment

Lowkey Mine/Asra/Muriel.

Other Notes:

- Mine uses she/they, but only ‘they’ in this setting. Asra alternates between ‘he’ and ‘they’

- 'Foreign' words are generally not italicized, to reflect the multilingual nature of the characters

––––

Chapter 1 || Read on AO3 || Tip Jar 🌟

Their home was no more.

In Aisha’s memory, on her street by the heart of Center City, was the little two-storey house squished between a bathhouse and an apothecary, the place she called home. 

The kebab stall down the street, the scent of smoked lamb drifting through the air as she passed it by on the way to the palace. The neighbour opposite her, who grew a rich garden on her balcony with her wife, and gave Aisha a flower each time they met. The sound of the neighbourhood children kicking balls in the streets and chasing each other in the evenings.

The creak of the door hinges that never agreed with Salim’s oils, no matter what formula he used. The colorful tapestries from their families, a parting gift, that decorated the walls, as well as the numerous paintings, from Salim’s hand, from Aisha’s, and of course, Asra’s. The music echoing through their house in the evenings, the strumming of her qanun and Asra’s little hand beating on the riq, Salim’s beautiful voice accompanying.

All of it, every single bit of the house that held all these memories, had been reduced to rubble and broken brick, just like the rest of their neighbourhood.

There was a year of powerful lightning storms in Vesuvia that had led to fire, and the crowded buildings smooshed together, unprepared for such a hazard, was like kindling in a fireplace. Flames engulfed everything in their path, and when they couldn’t, the burning buildings and structures collapsed on their neighbours, leading to almost their entire neighbourhood being destroyed. 

According to Asra, he and Muriel––one of his partners––had run away to the east docks during the blaze, closer to water where it was safer. When they returned, there was barely anything left of the neighbourhood, much less the house.

Salim gulped his tea down, to the point he started coughing. Aisha thumped him, once, before switching to alternating between patting and rubbing his back.

“T-that’s something, Asra,” he said, the shock still clear on his face.

“Haha, yeah…” Asra stared awkwardly at his own teacup.

“Revani anyone?” Mine interrupted, holding a plate of brown squares, topped with crushed walnuts and pistachios. “I got a really good recipe from Selasi, so me, Asra and Muriel tried making some.” 

Grateful for the interruption, all three at the table took a piece each.

It had been a month or so since the defeat of the Devil, the triumphant return of Asra and Mine, and at long last, Aisha and Salim were catching up on what they had missed since their disappearance almost two decades ago. 

The two of them had asked Asra to see their old home, the very first house they had moved in as young newly-weds ready to start their new life.

Instead, he had brought them to the magic shop.

He had gestured for them to sit in a corner of the shop, where a couch and armchairs surrounded a rickety table opposite the counter. While Salim and Aisha took the couch, he had taken an armchair, the one closer to his mother’s side.

With Mine perching on the armrest by his side, and Muriel––quiet as always––sitting by the counter, Asra began regaling the tale of the house’s fate; from the landlord kicking him out, to new tenants, to its demise.

While the palace had remained constant, almost assuring in how little it had changed, much of the city had transformed. 

The Coliseum cast shadows across Goldgrave, obstructing the view of the arts district and its colorful antics. Red Street, once the pride of the Heart District and the Count, had been abandoned. Meanwhile, the bustling Shopping District had turned sullen and gloomy, the overflowing waterways mirroring its new name of the Flooded District. 

Then there was the little island far off-shore that loomed on the edge of the city, a reminder of darker times. Even the land itself had not stayed the same, the ebony, almost black sands of Ash Beach now bleached gray by the remains of the deceased.

Everywhere she looked, there was nothing but change. 

Old stores and restaurants Aisha and Salim had frequented were long gone, the shops now on their fourth or fifth newest venture.There was almost no trace of the Vesuvia Aisha had come to love, the city she had stepped into for her first big project away from home; when she and Salim had been young, newly married and determined to prove their skill away from their families. 

Or at least away from Aisha’s family, the renowned Alnazar name. 

“Basbousa,” Salim spoke, breaking her train of thought. 

She stared down at the cake in hand. Below the brown crust was a familiar buttery yellow. 

“I thought I recognized the smell!” Salim went on, holding his piece up enthusiastically. 

“It’s a little burnt, sorry,” Mine apologized. “We weren’t sure how hot the oven needed to be, since well, none of us usually bake.”

As Salim and Mine continued making small talk, Aisha took a bite, and her eyes widened. 

“Orange blossom syrup,” she said, surprised.

“Just like you made it,” Asra said. He gestured to the cup of orange blossom syrup to the side. “Pour half the syrup while it’s hot––”

“And leave the rest for serving,” she finished. Her chest tightened, a little, and she smiled down at the small square cake.

“I––I didn’t actually remember the name,” Asra confessed. “People in Vesuvia call it ‘revani’, but I always called it the orange blossom cake. Or the cake with semolina butter.”

Aisha laughed. “I remember! You were always trying to eat the entire butter slab while we were baking.”

“What do you mean ‘trying’? They were halfway through their second slab when we caught them that one time,” Salim pointed out.

“Asra!” Mine exclaimed, staring at them with wide eyes. “You didn’t .”

“It tasted nice when I was little,” Asra shrugged. “I liked how the texture felt when I gnashed the butter between my teeth.”

From the counter, there was a snort, and Aisha could have sworn Muriel mumbled, “...typical” under his breath.

Meanwhile, Mine rose to their feet, taking a couple of cakes on their plate, and went over to the counter, squeezing Asra’s hand before they left.

Salim took a few more pieces, munching happily, and Aisha did the same, placing another square on her plate.

“Back to our original topic,” Aisha said, “what happened to the house after that?”

“Oh.” Asra stopped, putting down his plate and taking a quick gulp of tea. “Well, it was kind of abandoned for a long time. Until Melaka––that’s Mine’s aunt––came along.”

“Then…”

Asra nodded. “That’s right. She built the shop right over where the house was.” He leaned back in his chair, and pulled the shimmery curtains behind him away to reveal the view from the large open window.

At the back of the shop, hidden by the tall storefront and the surrounding walls, was a courtyard. Garments flapped gently in the breeze from the clotheslines in the center, the clothing all different sizes. To one side, there was a collection of beakers and jars, as well as larger rectangular containers. They were all filled with dirt, plants of various sizes and types sprouting from them.

“Is that––” Salim squinted, “––another building back there?”

“That’s the kitchen,” Mine said. 

“Our main kitchen,” Asra clarified. “It’s where we put the ice box and the big stove and everything. There’s a sitting room too, to eat together.”

Aisha blinked, playing over Asra’s last sentence in her mind.

Had that been an invitation?

“Oh, that’s where Lucia and Hayrünnisa used to live,” Salim said. “Nisa would always give you seeds when she saw you, Asra.” 

“Seeds?” Aisha said. “Didn’t she usually give them those little flower crowns and rings?”

Asra’s eyes darted down, looking sheepish.

“Oops, sorry, Asra. It was supposed to be a secret.”

“What was?” Mine said, leaning over the counter, their elbows almost at the edge. Muriel pulled them back, but they stayed standing, bouncing on the balls of their feet.

“I think we’ve heard enough about my childhood,” Asra said, red dusting his cheeks.

“No, we haven’t!” Mine said. “Right, Muriel?”

Muriel nodded. If Aisha hadn’t known any better, she would have said his smile was almost teasing.

“It’s not as embarrassing as you think it was, Asra,” Salim said. “It was very sweet in fact.”

Asra pursed his lips, looking conflicted.

Aisha reached out, slowly taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. Asra snapped his head to look at her, startled.

“Habibi, we don’t have to talk about it if you truly don’t want to,” she told him gently. “But I must admit...I would very much love to hear this little secret of yours.” 

Asra chuckled, squeezing her hand back before she released him. “OK, mom. I guess...it has been long enough.” 

“Tell us!” Mine said, bouncing faster now, the pink-tipped dark curls resting on their shoulders bouncing higher.

“..calm down,” Muriel muttered, almost fondly, as he placed a hand on their rotund hip and attempted to get them to sit.

“Now for the story,” Asra clapped his hands, his face still a little red as he began. “I saw er, Nisa––”

“Aunty Nisa,” Salim corrected.

“Yeah, Aunty Nisa was always giving you flowers, mom, and I, I wanted to do that too. A whole bouquet of flowers that I grew on my own.”

“You wanted to make a big balcony garden just like hers.” Salim shook his head. “It took a while to talk you down too.”

“It’s true,” Asra laughed. “Dad convinced me to start small. He would let me borrow the beakers and jars from your lab. We’d get some dirt and I’d put them on the ledge under my window where you couldn’t see.”

“So that’s where all our equipment went!” Aisha said, smiling at her husband. She placed an arm around his shoulder, pressing herself closer. “And here I was, half-convinced you were melting them down for some explosive new experiment.”

“Aisha, I would never.”

She gave him a knowing look.

“...without telling you first, that is.”

“That is true. I do dislike not being privy to the workings of your beautiful mind, ya qalbi.”

“Of course, ya a’youni. How could I ever do anything without my eyes to guide me so?”

For a while, there was silence, as Aisha and Salim gazed lovingly at each other, lost in the other’s eyes.

Up until Muriel cleared his throat, mumbling, “...Getting mushy must run in the family.”

“Shh, Muriel,” Mine whispered loudly, elbowing him. “It’s romantic . Let them be!”

“Anyway,” Asra said, “So that’s my little secret, mom. I hope you, er, liked it?”

“I loved it, habibi. Thank you, it was very sweet.”

“We should try that again.” Mine bounded up to the chair, settling on the armrest again. “Growing a flower garden. We could get a few more beakers––oh, a proper plant bed maybe? Portia has a great garden, we could ask her for tips and stuff!”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Um, I mean, if you’d like, mom and dad.”

Aisha blinked, confused for a moment, until the meaning clicked. “You want us to garden...together?”

“Only if you want to,” Asra quickly clarified. “It’s fine if you don’t, it really is.”

“Not at all, Asra,” Salim said. “I think that’s a lovely idea.”

Aisha nodded firmly.

Asra smiled, then faltered, looking down. Before either Salim or Aisha could ask him what was the matter, he had pulled Mine close, whispering into their ear.

They bobbed their head, before their attention turned to Aisha and Salim. “We were also wondering if the two of you wouldn’t mind joining us for dinner sometime. Yknow, once in a while, we could sit down around the table and um, just enjoy a family meal.”

“A little get-together sort of thing,” Asra added. “Nothing special.”

“Oh, but habibi, that is something special,” Aisha said. “We, we haven’t really had anything like that in a long time.”

“Y-you don’t have to––”

“We want to,” Aisha and Salim said simultaneously.

“Asra,” Aisha began, “We have missed so much, too much, of your life. Every moment we can share with you, even in the littlest ways, they are precious.”

“We can’t make up all that lost time,” Salim said. “But we are going to try and make the most of our present. We can only spend so long lamenting our losses. We want to move forward...with you, Asra, if possible.”

Asra’s eyes glistened in the soft sunlight filtering through the curtain, and Mine put an arm around him, a reassurance.

“There’s no rush, of course,” Aisha said. “We can go at your pace, as you like.”

“N-no, it’s not, it’s not that.”

He cleared his throat, wiping at the corner of his eye with his thumb. Mine undid one of the clothknots from their fingers and offered it, which Asra accepted and dabbed at his eyes.

��Muri, come over here,” Asra waved. “I want you to be closer for this.”

“...fine.” 

Muriel shuffled over, chair in hand, before placing it down next to Asra and taking a seat. There was another empty armchair, across from Asra, but it seemed both his partners wanted to stay close to him right now.

Asra took a deep breath, his thumb running over Mine’s knuckles, before he started speaking.

“Mom, dad, I, I spent a long time alone. It was...it wasn’t easy. I had Muri, but we barely got by, especially when we were younger.”

Aisha swallowed, one hand gripping the edges of her hijab as she braced her heart. Neither she nor Salim were not technically at fault, but nonetheless, how could she not feel pain or guilt or grief over what her child, her precious little one, had been forced to go through in the absence of his parents? 

How could she not feel responsible for the pain Asra had gone through?

“We had good times, Muri and I, but––but there were a lot of days that hurt. There were a lot of days that were painful and scary.” Another inhale, Mine squeezing his hand. “...But what hurt most of all was wondering if, if you had left me alone on purpose.”

“Asra,” Salim breathed, the shock in his tone mirroring Aisha’s own. “We would never.”

“I know. I know that now. But when I was little and afraid, I had no idea. You just suddenly never came home, and sometimes––sometimes I wondered if it was me. That I had done something wrong, or if there was something wrong with me that made you want to leave.”

Salim opened his mouth to speak, but Aisha raised a hand, wordlessly gesturing for him to wait. Asra still had more to say.

“For the longest time, I believed no one would stay for me.” Tears rolled down his cheeks, dropping into his lap like little pearls, and his lips quivered as he said, “Because you two didn’t stay.”

Asra closed his eyes, exhaling, while more tears dripped down. Muriel passed a handkerchief to Mine, who promptly wiped at Asra’s cheeks.

“T-thanks, Mine, Muri,” he mumbled.

After wiping away most of his tears, Asra raised his head, meeting Aisha and Salim’s gazes. 

“Mom, dad, it’s not your fault, but it took me a long time to let people in again. To actually let people love all of me, instead of keeping a part of myself out of their reach so I wouldn’t get hurt. I––I’m actually still afraid, of letting people in. What if they get tired of me? What if they don’t want me anymore? What then?”

Asra had every right to be angry, to be upset, but to Aisha’s astonishment, a smile spread across his face, his expression growing brighter with each word.

“But I don’t want to be held back by my fears anymore. Even if I am afraid, I––I still want to try. Mom, dad, I want to try at us being a family again. I know it won’t be easy, and I know there will be a lot of times where things don’t go the way we planned. Despite that...would you still want to try with me?”

“Of course,” Aisha and Salim answered immediately.

“Asra...you’ve been through so much,” Salim said. “I am so, so sorry for what we put you through. I know the situation was out of our control, but not a day goes by that we don’t regret leaving you alone. You were so young, we should have been there to protect you, to help you.”

“But we weren’t,” Aisha said, unballing her fist and letting her hijab fall back into place. “Habibi, your scars run deep, and neither our apologies or efforts are enough to heal each and every past hurt. You can be angry or bitter towards us, we both understand. Regardless, we will always love you.”

Salim nodded. “No matter what. We might disagree with each other, or argue until our voices go hoarse, or even hate each other for a time, but no matter what happens, our love will never change.”

“To put it simply,” Aisha said, “nothing would make us happier than to try together with you, Asra, to be a family again.”

Asra’s hands flew to his face and he doubled over in the chair, white curls touching his knees. 

“Asra?!” Mine and Muriel exclaimed, Muriel jumping to his feet to come closer.

Then, Asra lifted his head, and Aisha understood his reaction.

His cheeks were completely damp, tears flowing freely, along with snot running from his nose. His body quivered with soft sobs he was barely holding in, both his partners hugging him on either side. 

He had been such a messy crier as a child, and some things didn’t change. 

“I––I’m sorry, I’m just...I’m f––feeling a lot of things right now,” he managed to choke out, attempting a wobbly smile.  

“There, there,” Mine said, rubbing his back, while Muriel poured water into his teacup. 

Once he had calmed down, though his eyes were still watery, he continued.

“Thanks, mom, dad. Thank you….for everything. I, I never thought I would hear you say that and I just…”

Mine patted his shoulder. “There, there, sayang. We get it. Go at your own pace.”

He rested his head on their chest. “Thank you, dearheart. And you, Muri, love.”

Muriel grunted. He had gone back to sit down, but his chair had been moved closer, in case Asra needed quick comforting once more.

Aisha smiled. “Seems to me like you’ve certainly found many who love you dearly.”

“And I’m lucky for each and every one.”

“As we’re lucky to have you, Asra,” Salim said. “Thank you, habibi, for being the sweetest, kindest and loveliest child there ever was.”

He laughed weakly. “Dad, stop.”

“It is true though,” Aisha said. “Take my word for it, I’m never wrong.”

Asra chuckled and shook his head, affection clear in the gesture. “Mom, dad...I love you. So much.”

Aisha blinked, her vision becoming watery now. She leaned over, grasping Asra’s hand. 

Together, she and Salim said, “We love you too.”

The hours seemed to fly by as the conversation carried on, the edges of the blue sky starting to bleed orange soon enough. When Aisha pointed it out, Asra stammered out an invitation to stay for dinner tonight, and Mine jumped to their feet in excitement, suggesting all of them could even cook together.

Naturally, Aisha and Salim happily accepted.

When Asra asked what they would like to eat, Aisha took one look at her husband, and in unison, they answered, “Lamb fatteh!” 

In Zadithi tradition, fatteh was a celebratory dish of rice and toasted pita bread, piles of mutton crowning the top and accompanied by savory sauces. Around many parts of the country, it was the Mahrajan dish, for the Mahrajan Qurban, or the Mahrajan Saum. 

Aisha had many a happy memory of breaking her fast to a plate piled high with falafel and fatteh and roasted eggplant, family and friends and loved ones all around her, and she could not help but wish her child could also have such wonderful memories too, even if it was a little late.

By sunset, the shop’s kitchen was a mess of splatters and ingredients strewn about, rice sticking to Aisha's hijab while the dark curls of Salim's fringe had stains of tomato paste. Yet at the same time, there was laughter and chatter resounding throughout the whole building, never quiet for a single moment.

And despite the mess, the fatteh turned out beautifully, looking gorgeous as Salim and Muriel brought it out on its large dish, almost dominating the entire coffee table.

Asra closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Quietly, he said, “I haven’t smelled this in years. It’s just as wonderful as I remember.” He opened his eyes, turning to his parents. “I could never find the recipe to make it just like yours.”

“It’s the eggplant,” Salim said, brushing the last of the rice off her hijab. “Your mother loves them.”

Aisha laughed. “It’s the best part. My abi would make it like that.”

“My...grandfather?"

She nodded, her gaze becoming wistful. “It’s been such a while since we’ve seen my family. Your family, Asra. We are planning to reconnect soon...if you would want to.”

Asra bit his lip.

“You don’t have to, habibi,” Salim quickly said. “They are your family regardless, but you don’t have to force yourself into anything.”

“I’ll think about it….but maybe, I would like to meet them. Someday.”

Beside Asra, Mine bumped his shoulder, done with tying Muriel's hair back into a ponytail. “Baby steps, love. Take your time,” they said.

On Asra's other side, Muriel nodded in agreement. With his bangs out of his face, Aisha could see the softness beneath his gruff exterior, the love reflected in the green of his irises as he gazed at his partners. Truly, her child was surrounded by such wonderful people.

“Mine’s right,” Aisha spoke. “You can take your time, Asra. Whether it’s finding your roots in Zadithi, or connecting with us here in Vesuvia, your family isn’t going anywhere.”

Asra’s smile was soft and small, but radiant. “Thanks, mom.”

“Speaking of, can we start digging in yet?” Mine piped up. “I’m starving, and this fatteh smells wayyy too good for just staring at it.”

The rest of the table guffawed, even Muriel chuckling under his breath.

“Dig in, everyone!” Salim said

After reciting a tasmiya, they all began their meal, scooping up piles of rice and bread and lamb and eggplant, drizzling their dishes with ladles of tomato sauce and garlic sauce. 

As Aisha was halfway through her plate, Muriel told Asra, “You never did finish the story about the house.”

Asra put down his fork, surprise clear on his face. “Huh? What did I leave out?”

“Why it took so long for this place to be built.”

Asra’s cheeks flushed at this, in a way Aisha was starting to recognize.

“Asra Alnazar,” she said, “what did you do this time?”

“ Nothing ,” he said, though his expression was sheepish. “Things just...took a while. No one wanted this palace until Melaka came along. Once she did, she bought this lot and the one behind, and well, she rebuilt.”

“Despite Asra’s best efforts,” Mine whispered to Muriel, grinning.

“What do you mean?” Aisha asked, ears sharp as ever, before turning to Asra. “Habibi, what do they mean?

The blush grew deeper, his cheeks aflame, and he looked away. 

“Go on, Asra,” Muriel said, a little quiet, but a small, teasing smile tugging on his usually downturned mouth. “Tell them all about the hauntings.”

“The what ?” Salim exclaimed.

Asra covered the lower half of his face with his hands, his cheeks aflame now. 

Mine cackled. “Go on, Asra. I’m sure your parents will love this.”

With a sigh, he relented. “So, dad, mom, after the landlord kicked me out, I may have been, well, scaring all the new tenants away.”

“With an actual ghost?” Salim said.

“N–no, that was just me, doing some magic. Playing some pranks.”

“Scaring every single resident half to death,” Mine said.

“And sending them scurrying out in the middle of the night,” Muriel added.

“Yes, that.” Asra cleared his throat, continuing in a quieter voice, “And I may have also...committed property damage after Melaka first moved in.”

“ What?! ” Aisha said, her voice going shrill, trying to keep the grin from spreading across her face. “Asra!”

“Don’t forget breaking and entering,” Muriel chimed in.

“Trespassing too~” Mine sang. “I’m surprised auntie didn’t curse you into a toad or something.”

Asra glanced from one partner to the other. “Tonight is just about dredging up my entire embarrassing history, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Mine and Muriel replied.

“And we’re enjoying every bit of it,” Mine said, Muriel bobbing his head as well.

“So what happened next?” Aisha interjected. “Were you caught by Miss Melaka?”

“Yep,” Muriel said.

“I was,” Asra admitted. “And then…”

The night passed with stories of past memories, both the ones Aisha and Salim knew, and those they didn’t. And while a part of Aisha’s heart still panged at how much she had missed, she couldn’t help the joy and delight blossoming in her chest.

Perhaps they could not take back the past.

But to be allowed to be a part of Asra’s present, to be able to learn about the sort of person her child used to be and the person he was now, it was a gift beyond measure. 

And to know that they were still a family, that he still had a place in his life for them after all these years?

It was beyond her wildest dreams.

––––

 Notes Disclaimer: I'm not Middle Eastern or Arab, and much of this is pulled from the internet as well as some of my own basic knowledge as a Malaysian Muslim. Please feel free to correct anything.

Qanun: A type of stringed instrument found across the Middle East, Asia, Africa and southeastern Europe. Riq: A type of tambourine and a traditional instrument in Arab music. It's the national musical instrument of Pakistan Revani/Basbousa: A type of sweet cake popular in the Middle East, and has many names Fatteh: A type of dish that is served differently depending on region. In Egypt, it is a type of feast meal

Abi (ابي): Arabic, from abu (أب)/father, meaning 'my father' Habibi (حبيبي): Arabic, from huub (حب)/love, meaning 'my love' Ya Qalbi (قلبي): Arabic, from qalb (قلب)/heart, meaning 'my heart' Ya A'youni (عيونى): Arabic, from a'in (عين)/eye, meaning 'my eyes', an affectionate petname. *Ya is a word often placed before names/nouns, ie 'Ya Aisha' or 'Ya Habibi'. The closest translation I understand is akin to saying "O Aisha", but not quite accurate

Mahrajan (مهرجان) : Arabic, meaning festival. Eid, the biggest celebrations of the Muslim world, can also translate to festival and in this story, Mahrajan is essentially fantasy!Eid. Mahrajan Qurban refers to Eid ul Adha, while Mahrajan Saum refers to Eid ul Fitri Tasmiya (تَسْمِيَّة): Arabic, a fantasy equivalent to the Basmala. In Muslim tradition, it is common to utter a Basmala before carrying out a task such as before eating

Clothknots: Mine has ADHD and to help with their forgetfulness, they often tie clothknots around their fingers to serve as reminders Sayang: Malay, meaning 'love'. Here, it's used as a petname

[redhairedfeistynerd]

A Very Bucky Thanksgiving

Bucky Barnes x reader, singledad!Bucky, Riley and Piper Barnes, Steve Rogers

Summary: This is the first year Bucky has invited someone special to join in on their Thanksgiving dinner.Will everything go smoothly?

Warnings: some swearing, some sly sexual conversation, teasing, some humour

Word Count: 3K +

A/N: I originally wrote this piece for Canadian Thanksgiving but here we are!  I hope you enjoy another moment with the Barnes family.

For as long as his girls have been in this world, Bucky has been passionate about baking. He figures this came to fruition when his ex-wife started spending more time out of the house and preferred being away on business trips than building a life with him and their young girls. As their relationship slowly deteriorated, Bucky found solace in pastries, cookies, and breads. Navigating his way through forums and how-to videos online, searching for recipes like he once hunted for his latest mission.

His girls had requested their favourites for this last-minute weekend celebration. Pumpkin pie with maple cream, pumpkin walnut scones, and a new treat he was testing out today, pumpkin spiced doughnuts with maple salted glaze, and for his sweet lady friend; a pecan pie.

Bucky could smell the doughnuts before the time reached zero. The soft smell of cinnamon and sugar wafted through his two-story house, reaching him while he tidied up the bathroom from the girls attack on it early that same morning. Wiping down the counter, he flicked off the light, bounding down the stairs to the kitchen as the last seconds wound down on the timer. Oven mitt on, doughnuts pulled out of the oven (he was trying out a baked version this time) he had about an hour before the girls would burst in the front door after a day of shopping the holiday sales.

The weekend plans had changed at the last minute, his ex (Jackie) had cancelled on the girls again. The girls were to fly up to their mothers' cabin in Whistler, B.C. for a Canadian Thanksgiving but a last-minute job had come up and she chose that over her kids.

Bucky was not impressed by her choice. Riley rolled her eyes at the news and muttered “big surprise” when Bucky relayed the message to his youngest daughter.

Jackie always chose work before their daughters. Her new husband had more importance to her these days.

Her influencer status has skyrocketed after she left Bucky, leaving him high and dry to raise the girls. He didn't see it as an issue though, he loved his girls and if he had to do this on his own, then that's what he would set out to do. His Avengers status pushed away a few years before, he found that he was calling Steve a bit more during those earlier years. Sometimes he needs a break, to sit in a quiet room where Riley wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs, which would have Piper in tears. There was something magical about Uncle Steve though, maybe it was his rich voice, whispering sweet words to Riley to ease the screams to a low whimper. Maybe it was the way he sang the sweet songs of the 40s to stop the tears flowing from Piper's bright blue eyes. Whatever it was that Steve had, Bucky was extremely thankful for.  

One of their first Thanksgivings without Jackie, had both girls sick with the stomach flu. He'd never seen anything as disgusting as what his young girls were dishing out.  

Blood, wounds, and other violent memories had nothing on this. Who knew little people could cause THAT much mess?

Bucky was exhausted. Riley had finally fallen asleep on the couch and Piper was sprawled out in the master bedroom on his bed, resembling a starfish.

With one last swipe of the kitchen counter, Bucky tossed the rag in the laundry basket and released a sigh of completion. Turning on the hood fan, he turned off the track lights and walked towards his daughter who was now snoring lightly on the couch, when a soft knocking came from his front door. Puzzled, he turned away from his sleeping daughter and made his way to the entryway. He opened the door to Steve's smiling face.

"What are you..."

"Nat phoned and gave me the heads up that you were literally drowning in shit."

"Language," grumbled Bucky as he opened the door wider to let Steve in.

Steve chuckled and took a good look at Bucky. "Man, you're looking a little rough around the edges."

"You would too if you were knee deep in dirty laundry and had two goblins that were puking so much, they make that scene in the Exorcist look tame.

Steve scrunched his nose and tried to shake the memory of that scene out of his head. The previous year, Bucky had invited his old team over for a horror movie night while the girls were spending the night with their mom. Steve still hadn't forgiven Bucky for subjecting him to that movie. "Absolutely disgusting."

Bucky grunted and shut the door, Steve following him from the entryway and up the stairs to the kitchen.

"Here, Nat made some soup for you and the girls, if they are feeling up to eating it,” Steve said holding out the package.

“Oh ya, thanks. I’m sure the girls will appreciate their Aunty Nat making her famous soup,” he nods his head in thanks before muttering “hopefully it's not pea soup,” and walks across the kitchen.

Steve watches as Bucky tucks the soup away in the fridge, noticing how stringy his hair has become and when he looks his way, the dark circles are around his eyes. “Hey Buck, why don’t you leave the tidying up to me and you go take a shower, relax a bit.”

Bucky shuts the fridge door and looks at Steve. “Are you sure you want to clean up this cesspool?” He asks as his arms waving to point out the mess around the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m here to help you out, all right?” Bucky nods and pats Steve on the shoulder on his way up to the bathroom.

Steve manages to tidy up the first floor of the house, shift Riley from the couch to her bed, and fold a load of laundry. He’s pouring hot water into a mug when Bucky walks back in, looking like the shower did its job. “You want a cup of tea?” He asks Bucky when he sit down at the kitchen table.

“Please, a cup of something black so I can keep my eyes open for a bit longer. You feel like watching a funny movie? I feel like I need a good laugh after what this week has been like.”  

“Sounds good, how about you go on down and put something on, I’ll bring the tea and some snacks for us,” Steve replies and pours a second mug full of water.  

The men settle in and watch a classic comedy, quiet laughter sailing out of both of their mouths, trying to be quiet while the girls sleep. Steve decides on a second movie and they watch until they fall asleep on the couches.  

Bucky wakes up, his stomach twisting, and the pain, THE PAIN. "You've got to be fucking kidding.” He lurches off the sectional and runs to the bathroom by the laundry room.

Steve wakes from the sounds of his friend slamming the bathroom door, the unmentionable sounds have Steve pulling his pillow over his head. When he moves it away several minutes later, all he hears is silence. Steve gets up from the couch and makes his way to the bathroom, gently knocking on the door. "Bucky? Are you alive in there?"

"Fucking kill me, please,” he begs and Steve hears his best friend heave again.

Steve camps out at the Barnes household during that Thanksgiving weekend. There is no turkey, no pumpkin pie, or a dysfunctional family fight. Everything is quiet as Bucky careens himself in his bedroom while Steve manages the rest of the household. He keeps the girls busy and out of Bucky’s hair for several days; visits to the ice cream shop and to the park near their home, keeps them smiling and giggling while their dad is at home, miserable in bed.

Steve sits back on the park bench and admires the colours changing all around him; the leaves sway from left to right, falling gently down to the ground. Piles of brown and yellow sit before him, raked into tidy piles. He gets and idea, something to cheer Bucky up the last few days of having the stomach flu. He calls the girls over and tells them his plan to make their dad smile. He makes a video of them, jumping in the leaves and throwing them around, their laughter warming his heart. When the girls have finished frolicking in the mounds of colourful leaves, he takes each other their hands in his and begins the walk back to the house. He’ll send the little video to Bucky in the morning when he heads out and back to work.  

Bucky still smiles at the memory of that little video. He can now smile about his treacherous first Thanksgiving as a single dad but he made it up every year that followed; this year, he has to make up for what his ex has left behind. Riley is pressuring him to make her mom's famous stuffing (he laughs at this because this is a recipe that she took from a cookbook he had from his mom) Piper has decided that Bucky is THE WORST because he is going to kill an innocent turkey and all she wants is for him to save one (and yes, he does donate to a local farm that saves turkeys later in the week) and have it live the rest of its life, in their backyard. He notes that she will have a plate of vegetables tonight and he has no idea if that is sufficient enough for a teenage girl who that is 15.  

“Cranberries sauce”

“Check!”

“Water chestnuts.”

“Check!”

“Wait, what the heck are water chestnuts for, Pop?”

Bucky is sitting on the kitchen floor sorting through the pantry and about to answer when he sees you creeping into the kitchen, hiding behind his oldest, about to scare her. Her arms wrap around Piper and she squeezes her tightly expelling a high-pitched squeak.  

He will never get over how beautiful her smile is when her eyes meet his. His heart beats so fast that he’s afraid she will be able to see it pounding in his chest.  

The flowers she is holding scream fall – oranges, yellows, and reds – the cute Chinese lanterns that she adores, wobble back and forth as she walks towards him. She reaches for him with her free hand and pulls him into a tight hug, whispering “you look extra handsome today, soldier.”

“He got his hair trimmed for you,” Riley shouts from the top of the stairs and watches as her father’s face turns as red as the Gerbera's in the bouquet. She snorts as she walks down the stairs at Bucky’s embarrassment and hops down the last few steps to pull y/n into a hug.

“Hi sweetness, I missed your smiling face,” Y/N says into Riley’s strawberry blond curls.

“Missed you too. Are you ready for your first Barnes Annual Canadian Thanksgiving?” Riley asks while rocking on her feet.

Y/N looks at her, “Is it any different from the other Thanksgiving I would be having?

“Well duh, this one if full of maple syrup, poutine, and never-ending skits by Bob and Doug Mackenzie!

Bucky bursts out laughing and poor Y/N is looking between the two of them, lost when it came to the last item. “Okay, okay, Ri, leave the poor woman alone. Here love, let me take those flowers and put them in a vase.” Bucky squeezes her waist gently, taking the colourful bouquet from her hands. She follows him to the cabinet housing the vase and sniffs the air.

“What’s is that smell? It’s so-

“Delicious?” Riley adds as she passes by Y/N and hops up onto a bar stool? “Your taste buds are in for an incredible treat. Dad is the best baker this city has!”

“Pretty sure I’m not hun, but thank you for boosting me up a bit.” Bucky’s cheeks changing in colour, somewhat embarrassed by his daughter's compliment.

“Oh, come on dad, that’s why all the moms are always swooning when you join the bake sales,” Piper chirps in.

“The moms swoon over your dad? I’m pretty sure that has more to do with his-” she’s cut off by Bucky shoving a Snickerdoodle in her mouth. Squinted her eyes at him and waving her finger as if she’s promising to get him back later. He can’t help but smirk and squeeze her side.

“Shhh, my sweet. Don’t be telling my girls how irresistible I am,” he whispers into her ear and kisses it.

Riley makes gagging sounds from behind her dad and Piper’s face turns red from the affection their father is showing Y/N. This is the not the first time they have seen their father with a woman but this specific woman has done something to their father. He’s smiling, he whistles while he bakes, and he’s happy.  

Y/N turns to face Riley, “Oh kid, are we embarrassing you? Making you feel a little queasy inside?” She walks over to Bucky as he arranges the flowers in the vase and loudly kisses his cheek and laughs. “How about that Ri?”

“You’re the worst,” Riley chuckles and grabs the serving spoons to put on the table.  

Bucky pulls Y/N into a hug and kisses her lightly on the lips. He can taste the Snickerdoodle and it makes him wish he could fully indulge but he restrains, knowing that tonight they’ll have time alone once the girls head to their rooms for the night. He brings his lips to her forehead before taking the flowers to the table and placing them in the centre.  

“All right ladies, let’s get this show on the road!”  

“Don’t you mean Barnes’, Assemble!” Piper asks with a smirk on her face. Bucky just shook his head, a big smile across his face.

“Tell me where you want me, Barnes,” Y/N said as she looked at Bucky, his smirk telling her that where he wanted her was not in the kitchen.

“Turkey is in the oven, that weird Tofurky thing is in there too, I need to add the water chestnuts to the beans, the pot of potatoes needs to boil, and in a bit, we can get the rest of the veggies going too. Who’s good with making gravy?”

“I hope you made stuffing for me that isn’t in that bird, dad,” Piper said, giving her dad one of her teenage looks.

Bucky slides a bowl across the counter to his oldest so she can see the stuffing he made; animal free. “It’s vegan sweetie, I hope you like it,” Bucky responds. “I found this recipe online, some popular blog.” He watches as she scoops a bit of the warm food in her mouth, and can’t help but chuckle when a groan of satisfaction spills out.  

Y/N can’t help but take a scoop for herself, a squeal of delight escaping her mouth. “Shit, Barnsey, you’ve been holding back! Where have you been all my life?” She laughs and walks back over to him, wrapping her arms around him and going in for a quick kiss. “Let’s get this show on the road! All pots on boil!” She shouts and turns the last pot on.

The Barnes family and their first-time guest are indulging in their feast within an hour. Nothing but chewing and soft music can be heard at the table. It always amazes Bucky that it takes hours upon hours of work for this one evening and within minutes the food is gone. He’s thankful though; for his girls, for the life he now has, and for you. He wouldn’t change anything. One last scoop of mashed potatoes goes into his mouth and he places his fork down. “So, do you three want dessert now or do you want to digest a bit first?” Riley stands up from her seat and throws her hands in the air. “Roll out the cart of desserts for us to feast upon, father!”  

All Bucky can do is laugh, she’s always been the dramatic one and he lives for these moments. “Riley, I haven’t said what I’m thankful for yet this evening but one of those things I’m thankful for the humour you provide in this family.”

“Aww Pops, I appreciate that but can you please just bring out the good stuff?” Riley’s blue eyes sparkle and Bucky pushes his chair in and heads back to the counter where he has the pies and other sugary treats. He brings the doughnuts and pumpkin pie with maple cream out first, leaving the girls to help themselves as he returns to the kitchen to cut Y/N a slice of pecan pie. He places a dollop of fresh whipped cream beside it and carries it to her, his face turns red when he places it before her stating, “I made this especially for you.” A look crosses her face and its one he has only recently seen. He thinks its adoration? Or could it be...love? He’s not sure if it’s either but whatever it is, he hopes she continues looking at him that way. He sits back down across from her and watches as she takes the first bite of pie. Her eyes close and he can see the sparkle in her eyeshadow as the light above bounces off of it. It feels like forever before he hears a sound of approval from her.  

“Wow Barnes. I’m going to say this is almost as good as s-

“Well now, girls, how about you start cleaning up what you can and let Y/N finish up her pie.” He tries to pull back Piper’s chair and is met with resistance.

“No WAY, Pops. I want to hear all about how good this pie of yours is. Right, Riley?” Piper looks to her sister, eyebrow raised in hopes that her sister will join in on the teasing.”

“Hell no, I don’t want to hear about the crap these two get up to. Nu uh, NOPE,” she shouts and she grabs a few dishes from the table and heads to the sink to rinse them off.  

Dishes away and the leftovers wrapped up, Bucky takes Y/N’s hand and walks with her to his room. Door closed and locked behind him, Bucky finally pulls his sweet lady as close to him as possible. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Buck.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him into a kiss. “Come on Barnsey, there’s one thing you haven’t warmed up yet this evening.”

“Oh, did I forget to warm up your pie because I can head back-

She quiets him with another kiss, deeper than the last. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant. Now, be good a good man and get ready for the real dessert.”

Bucky can’t help but curl up and laugh loudly. His girl knows all the ways to make him laugh and smile, tonight is no exception. With one pull, she is on top of him, where he wants her this evening; where he can be warm within and thankful for everything his life has brought him.

[elisaphoenix13]

Delusional (Ch.1)

Okay, so this is something that won't be for everyone. It's a trope that me and my friends got into while RPing so this was born. I think this will be one of those fics that I'll only continue if there's enough interest. Let me know what you think!

Tony had been pissed when his parents told him that his mother was pregnant. He had no idea what possessed them to think having another kid was a good idea when they could barely pay attention to the one they already had, and he even said that. It ended up turning into an argument between him and Howard and Tony gave them both the cold shoulder for the entirety of Maria's pregnancy. Whether it was because of her age or possibly because of Tony's ongoing silent treatment stressing her out, his mother went into labor a month early. Tony couldn't even bring himself to visit his parents or the new baby at the hospital, but they eventually came home with his new baby brother that he almost considered ignoring completely.

But then he realized that would make him exactly like Howard.

So when his parents went gallivanting off to some party one day, leaving their preemie baby in the hands of the maid, Tony finally decided to properly meet his brother. A seventeen year age difference wasn't unheard of, but it still felt weird to walk into the nursery with the knowledge that the baby inside was a sibling. He decided he would make sure the baby was still alive and then go back to his bedroom to study for his physics final, but when he approached the crib the baby was sleeping in...he softened.

His baby brother slept peacefully on his back with his arms stretched out on both sides of his head and every so often snuffled in his sleep. He wasn't covered with a blanket and he vaguely recalled hearing that he shouldn't be at his age, but he was at least dressed warmly in tiny blue footie pajamas. He had wisps of dark hair that looked like they would be soft to the touch and Tony was tempted to reach out and see but he refrained. He didn't want to disturb the baby.

Tony had been so focused on ignoring Howard that he had to wrack his brain for his brother's name, which he knew his mother had told him. He was pretty sure he had been studying at the time and was only half listening, but it eventually came to him.

Scott.

Scott Harris Stark.

It was barely seconds later that the baby started to fuss and Tony looked around a little lost before finally giving in and leaning down to scoop him up. Tony was a goner after that. Scott's hair was just as soft as it looked and Tony was worried he could break his brother if he so much as sneezed. It didn't stop him from taking over most of the responsibilities of caring for Scott from that moment on though. Tony did his research, watched his mother, and even asked the maid for advice, but soon he was changing diapers. He fed Scott, stayed up for hours on end when he was colicky or sick, dressed him, played with him…

Tony was determined to make sure Scott had the love and attention he was deprived of. At least Maria tried with both of them.

But when Scott was just under a year old, tragedy struck. Both their parents died in a car accident on the way to a party, leaving Tony alone with his infant brother. Fortunately he was freshly eighteen so he could have legal guardianship over Scott and Tony had Rhodey and Obadiah for support and help with the company he now had control over. Scott always came first though. Tony made sure he had a decent childhood despite the fact that he easily got sick, and the adorable smiles he got in return were well worth it as Scott grew up.

So was the boy's first word. Dad. Tony never corrected him since he did raise Scott, and his brother never knew their parents. So as far as Scott knew, Tony was his father and Tony made sure to hide away the truth. As far as he was concerned, the lie wasn't hurting Scott and it was partly true in a sense.

He didn't expect it to be easy and it wasn't. Because Scott was born premature, he had special needs in the form of allergies (both food and environmental), asthma, and he even got sick constantly. Most days found Scott in Tony's room because the boy whined whenever Tony tried to put him in his own room, and he was terrified Scott would stop breathing in the middle of the night. Scott slept in Tony's bed until well into his grade school years when he finally started to grow out of his need to be near his father. Tony was still nervous and checked on Scott before he went to bed and at least once in the middle of the night when he woke up.

When Tony first found out Scott was allergic to peanuts, he was a wreck. He threatened the doctors to help his kid when he heard Scott wheezing for breath, and when the boy was finally recovering, he demanded they do whatever they had to do to check for any allergies he might have had. Tony didn't think he could handle seeing Scott as sick as he was again. The wheezing, the hives, the overall misery his little boy had been in…

It turned out Scott was severely allergic to all types of nuts. Peanuts, cashews, almonds, walnuts...if it was a nut, Scott couldn't have it. That was easy enough to plan meals around but then there was also shellfish, sesame, parsley, and pineapple. Whenever they went out to eat, Tony scrutinized every ingredient on the menu if it was available, and if it wasn't, he demanded to talk to the chefs. Fortunately once he learned what food Scott could have, it became second nature.

Tony always made sure to carry an inhaler and epipen with him, had extras held for Scott at school, and more in the boy's backpack. He taught Scott as early as possible what he couldn't eat because it would make him very sick and for the most part, things went well enough. There was only one incident at school when Scott unknowingly ate something he wasn't supposed to, but he was quickly treated with one of his pens and sent to the hospital. Scott was quick to bounce back from that since the school staff had been prepared, so the only constant issue was his asthma.

Scott never let it slow him down and Tony swore he was going to either go gray at 25 or suffer heart failure. The little boy was constantly climbing everything, and Tony once had to pull him off the bookcase that he managed to climb up to the fifth shelf. The fifth shelf. Rhodey had his fair share of retrieving Scott from high places whenever he visited too.

Before Tony knew it, Scott had grown into a young man with a talent for hacking and engineering and had a penchant for tacos, oranges, and lollipops. He helped Tony with a lot of his projects but absolutely refused to help with anything related to weapons. Scott never liked violence and always hated that Stark Industries was solely based on weapons making. Tony never faulted him for it.

"Scott, have you seen my--?" Tony stops mid sentence when he looks over at the young man and finds him at his computers with his feet kicked up on a small part of the desk, dozing with a lollipop in his mouth. "Oh, that's safe."

He walks over and takes the lollipop out of Scott's mouth and he jolts awake. "Hey! I was eating that!" Scott complains.

"Yeah, you were very proactive about it. I didn't raise you for 21 years so you could choke and die because you fell asleep with candy in your mouth." Tony rolls his eyes and sticks the candy back in Scott's mouth before he could protest. "Now have you seen that little screwdriver you like to steal?"

"You had it last, and I've been busy updating Jarvis's code." Scott answers.

"I saw that. I guess you're so good you can do it in your sleep."

"It was uploading!" Scott drops his feet to the ground with an annoyed huff. "And I told you I wouldn't help you with your stupid weapons. That includes finding misplaced tools."

"Fine, fine."

Tony tries fixing the cow lick in Scott's hair and rolls his eyes when it only floofs back into place. He learned very early on that his kid's hair was untameable but that didn't stop Tony from trying. Hair gel, pomade, hair spray...none of it could contain and style Scott's hair. The cow lick worked for him though so Tony wasn't too obsessed with trying to find something to keep it in place.

"Well while you wait for your new code to upload, why don't you make me a sandwich?" Tony says. "I gotta get the Jericho prototype finished tonight."

Scott frowns. "Why do they want you to fly all the way out to Afghanistan? What's wrong with how you usually sell this stuff?"

"It's just for a couple of days volpino. Now where's my tuna sandwich?" Tony asks.

"Probably in the fridge. It's deconstructed." Scott says as he leaves the lab.

"Oh, haha. Funny. I like mine constructed so get on it. Chop chop."

Tony smirks when he hears Scott mumble something under his breath along the lines "slave driver", but with no heat. Things had gotten easier as Scott got older but he never really grew out of his physical problems. He still had his food and environmental allergies, his asthma, and even his tendency to get sick, but that had mostly been remedied when Tony moved them to Malibu. The warm weather helped with that and Scott didn't get sick nearly as often as he did in New York, and that had been a huge relief for the both of them. Tony only wished he had thought of it sooner.

When Scott comes back with the sandwich and sets it nearby for Tony, the man looks up at him and rolls his eyes when he finds the younger man drinking out of a juice box. "You know you can have beer now right?"

"Juice is better." Scott says. "When are you leaving tomorrow?"

"You'll probably still be asleep. Even if I leave late." Tony grabs the sandwich and takes a bite. "So try not to blow up the lab while I'm gone." He adds around his mouthful.

"That's no fun." Scott says sarcastically. "Pepper called by the way. She said she has some paperwork for you to look at before you leave."

Tony groans. "Tell her I'm not home."

"It'll be true in a few hours anyway."

"Don't underestimate Pepper. She'll be waiting on the tarmac for me to look at those papers if she has to." Tony grumbles and then looks up at Scott with a suspicious smile that makes his son narrow his eyes at him. "You're 21. Maybe it's time to start giving you some responsibility with the company."

"I do. It's called making sure my dad doesn't blow himself up because he writes codes when he's half asleep. How are we still alive?"

"Rhodey and Happy." Tony replies dryly before whapping Scott upside the head. "Don't sass me."

Scott rubs the back of his head as he walks back over to his personal workstation to check on the progress of the code. When he had shown an interest in engineering and computers, Tony had immediately set up Scott's own work area with age appropriate equipment that he either replaced or updated as Scott got older. He was good at it too. Tony couldn't count the number of times he got calls from the FBI asking him to get Scott to stop leaving them viruses with laughing cat videos or something. They were always harmless and easily fixed, so Tony's response was to tell them to update their security so Scott couldn't get in.

Apparently they had yet to find a way to keep Scott out and Tony wasn't about to take away one of his son's very few joys in life. As long as it all stayed harmless, Tony would look the other way. He knew Scott was very capable of hacking into pretty much anything, and he was glad his kid was a pacifist. Because Scott was definitely very capable of getting his hands on nuke codes.

Tony actually wouldn't be surprised if Scott had already gone in and changed them.

Some whirring pulls Tony out of his thoughts and he looks over at the kitchenette to find DUM-E making smoothies again. A quick glance told him that there was at least peanut butter and almond milk in it so it wasn't safe for baby boy consumption.

"Hey! Are you trying to kill your little brother with that?" Tony asks and DUM-E beeps sadly when the blender goes off. "You know he can't have nuts!"

"There goes my social life." Scott says and Tony makes a face.

"I don't want to hear about that."

"Says the man whose one night stands I had to chase away."

Tony laughs. "To be fair, it was funny to see them get creeped out when you just stood in the kitchen and stared at them while drinking your juice box."

"...yeah. That was pretty fun." Scott admits.

"Sir, Miss Potts is on her way down." JARVIS says and Tony groans.

"Ugh the dreaded secretary with her paperwork."

There's a few beeps before the lab door hisses open and then the sound of heels clicking across the linoleum.

"Tony-"

"I know," he sighs. "Paperwork. Give it to Scott."

Pepper places the small stack next to his arm. "He's too busy making sure you don't blow yourself up."

"You know I had to teach him how to do that right?"

"And now he's better than you." Pepper says and Scott cackles.

"Ouch. My pride." Tony clutches at his chest in mock hurt.

"Please just look at this and sign. It won't even take you ten minutes." Pepper sighs.

"I trust you."

"Nice try."

[maggotmouth]

          hillo sexthy legends !!   i’m nora and i’ll be writing margo colby n probs sm1 else bcos lets be real, i lack self-control. u can find her pinterest here n some info abt her sexy self below the cut. plot with me on discord ( hot girl midsommar#8664 ) or in my ims !!  x o x

     * CAMILA MORRONE, CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER  | you know MARGO COLBY, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ELEVEN YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to SCRAWNY BY WALLOWS  like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BLEACH WHITE SNEAKERS POUNDING ON A GYMNASIUM FLOOR, USING THE SAME BLUNT SCISSORS TO HACK THE SLEEVES OFF AN EXES T-SHIRT THAT YOU USE TO CUT YOUR 3AM FRINGE, A WALNUT-SHAPED ACHE IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH FOR THE PERSON YOU COULD HAVE BEEN thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 8TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nora, 25, gmt, she/her )

CLICK ANYWHERE ON THIS SENTENCE FOR SEXII GOOGLE DOC!!

bullet point summary of margo.

—   born margaret but NOBODY calls her that. its colby, coach or margo, and go to the privileged few. margo grew up in the creek commune n then dropped out of school cos of a teenage pregnancy so she was a bit of a cautionary tale back in’t’day (said tht in my yorkshire accent). she now works for summer camps coaching pee wee soccer and pee wee cheer, as well as helping out her beekeeper dad on his honey farm, which is jst north of abernathy creek, and working at scuba on the off seasons.

—  its just her and her dad, and has been for as long as she can recall !! everything she knows about her mum could fit on the back of the weathered passport photo she keeps in her wallet of a stranger who shares her face - her name’s melody, or at least tht was name she used when working as a dancer, she’s from argentina and dropped mag’s dad as soon as someone w more money came along.

—  margo’s father is a beekeeper with his own organic honey company. margo and her dad moved to irving in the early 00s, the summer between grade school and middle school, because her dad had heard about the communal living in abernathy creek and wanted to lend his skills there and live off the fatta the land in a very lenny from of mice and men kinda way.

—  for a few years of middle school margo was bullied for living with the ‘freaks from the creek’, but when they realised how chill her dad was with underage drinking, margo ‘keg-bringer’ colby soon gained popularity among the more renegade students. every so often, the high school parties would happen at her end of town, occasionally with members of the commune even offering the high schoolers a spiritual experience they’d never forget (often in the form of mushrooms) which meant people tried to stay on her good side. to get an invite to a margo colby party handed you a free pass to make up the most ridiculous shit about the commune you liked and nobody else could say anything, because they’d never been to the creek.

—  at school, margo had a lot of ‘behvioural issues’ bcos of undiagnosed adhd, she found it difficult to sit still for hours n write down huge chunks of information n her restlessness was seen as laziness. she was encouraged to do sports, as were most of the kids who weren’t that academically inclined, but she turned out to be pretty hot shit at sprinting, because she grew up surrounded by bee houses and he who runs slowest gets stung, baybeyy!! so yea, in school sports became her LIFE. she was gonna get a sports scholarship to college but ended up dropping out of school in senior year n becoming one of those kids who could have had it all but lost it.

—  she had sex with sutter at a house party when she wasnt really ready because it felt like the right thing to do at the time and everybody else was doing it. she’d attended health class, she’d seen the corny videos. she knew about all the statistics, but she also knew that it had never happened to anyone she knew and the pull out method was basically safer than the morning after pill and way less expensive.

—  a teenage pregnancy knocked her out of the runnings for prom queen and meant she had to leave school early. she didn’t go to college when her friends did, instead she spent the time interviewing potential foster candidates and eating her weight in lindt chocolate while marathoning love island in her room.  

—  she had a son, who she passed off to someone else a couple of towns away.  it was a closed adoption which seemed like the best idea at the time, but she now wishes she had access to his life.

—  after peaking in high school and jumping between jobs for a few years, she got a more permanent role at scuba which she loves with all of her heart and soul, but unfortunately a bar job doesn’t pay the rent.  

—  she works at summer camps coaching  junior soccer and netball on the side. she’s extremely competitive and takes it very personally if her team lose. the kids all call her, coach colby n write her longwinded letters about how they’ll never forget this summer camp before they go back to their suburban picket fence houses n she keeps all the letters in a drawer n takes them out to read when she’s feelin depressed.

—  enjoys surfing and worked for a number of years on resorts like mila kunis’ job in forgetting sarah marshall. she went on to work 18-hour days as a stewardess on luxury yachts which is a part of her backstory i added after watching season one of below deck because i guess i really am that fucking impressionable. met most of her surf friends doing tht but said she’d never in her life do it again bcos it was mostly just picking up after rich white ppl for shit pay. she came back to irving n thats when she started doing the summer camp jobs so she could move out of the creek n get her own apartment. 

—  she never actually finished senior year so she’s currently going to night school at the community college to get through her exams and is trying to save to go to college or open university. she wants to major in criminology. she’s super ambitious but also super adhd so she fluctuates between thinking she can achieve anything to just feeling like a failure n thinkin whats the point

—  used to shoplift to feel joy and as an act of resistance to her hippy commune routes, but now sees herself as a reformed, bin-diving freegan (sims 4 eco living can i get a hell yaaaa). also she thinks it’s totally wrong to steal when you have enough money and clearly don’t need to steal to survive, ppl risk imprisonment for basic necessities, so for her to do it for a brief thrill and some new shades felt a bit derogatory

—  was raised jewish. became a vegetarian as a child because it seemed, at the time, easier than having to explain which foods she was and wasn’t allowed to eat together, so she just cut out meat entirely. still a vegetarian now and dabbles in veganism, although its become less about not eating certain meats in the milk of their mother and more about her global impact / carbon footprint

—  nurses little animals to health in her garden. has a hedgehog name OJ short for orange juice not the other one filthy pig. her and her dad have always been huge animal rights activists and existed on a vegetarian diet. the only one in their house who isn’t vegetarian is their cat, auggie. (short 4 augustus gloop)

—  has a lot of stupid ass stick and poke tattoos. there was a phase during her years as a barmaid where she wanted to train as a tattoo artist n would mostly practice on herself or any friends who would let her

—  she doesn’t form many long lasting friendships cos she tends to be super excited when she makes a new friend and just see them all the time but then it wears off and she can ghost a bit. she’ll always coming pinging back but she’s not the most predictable or loyal friend, sometimes she’ll sleep in your house every night for a week and then you won’t even get a text from her for a month. her best friends are elderly neighbours and houseless people she meets when volunteering at the foodbank. she thinks they’re more authentic than most of the ‘fake posers’ she meets down the vela pier

—  calls herself a butch lesbian but still has sex with men when she wants validation. sexually attracted to some men, especially effeminate men, but only romantically attracted to women. very possessive of the gals in her life.

—  stopped giving a shit about getting older or adhering to anyone elses bullshit standards, realised it was all fake p much as soon as she dropped out of school and one by one her friends just stopped texting her

—  lives in one of the lofts in port apartments. it’s open plan with rugs and lava lamps everywhere. she has a palette bed. its all very ‘sustainable chic’. like, oh wow, a pallet bed that im supposed to think you made from scratch but i KNOW you got it  off ebay because you thought it looked trendy

—  constantly says shes poor but still buys clothes from urban outfitters. sus.

—  frequently found at fannies flirting with the cute bisexual bartender with a choppy black bob.

general vibe / personality

vibrant, vulgar, self-absorbed, tenacious, veers bewteen apathetic and dogmatic, temperamental, flighty, unreliable, magnetic, charismatic, passive aggressive, likes to play devil’s advocate, takes the moral high ground. estp and a leo

likes: 70s music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy, cowboy chic culture, dc comics, the smell of locker rooms,, deep red lipstick, lacrosse sticks, smoking weed from a bong, dogs, karaoke, pet rats, kate moss, late-night strolls, hawaaiian shirts worn open over a bralette, skinned knees, thai food, picking the apples at the very top of the trees, zip-lining, cigarettes, the idea of pegging but not the practical application of it, decorative lamps, LGBTQ+ pin badges, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

dislikes: girls who call other girls ‘pick me’ girls, woody allen movies, mental mathematics, wealthy children, quentin tarantino, ironing, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, ‘dump him’ feminism, wes anderson films, spoken word poetry nights, college-educated bar staff who act like they’re better than you,  indie softbois, the general mentality of cheerleading squads.

aesthetics

orange peel, the smell of bleach, skeleton drawings in the margins of a journal, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, bleach white sneakers pounding on a gymnasium floor, setting dumpsters on fire for the hell of it. a hit flask of vodka decorated with hello kitty stickers, split knuckles, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, a child in an oversize bee keepers suit, scabbed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you,  a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

hoo boy this is getting LONG AS FUCK but here are my wanted plots

wanted plots

ok margo’s been in irving since she was like 10. she’s quite a vivacious person?? she dresses completely instinctively without any sense of cohesion so she stands out. a guy once told her she was wearing the ugliest outfit he’d ever seen and he thought that was so cool and brave of her. but anyway where was i going.. she grew up in the abernathy creek so stuck out like a sore thumb,,,, maybe ppl who were super interested in the creek or maybe poked fun at her bcos of it idk.....

b4 she dropped out, margo used 2 b in with the cool kids at school bcos her dad would buy them booze and rarely ask for the money. maybe a fun plot cld b with some of the ‘it girls’ she used to hang around with b4 she got pregnant n dropped out and they all went off to college n stopped texting her.

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! some1 she feels like she knew before irving ???

since margo literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships. fwbs. enemies with benefits. all the angst. all the slow burn mutual pining we hate each other narratives

locals who play sports. margo wld be all over community soccer n take it way too seriously. maybe ppl she plays hockey with. girls who she’s like, weirdly intimate with but its not a thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

she works part time at scuba. i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

she's also a surf instructor and occasionally works as a lifeguard!! gal has like 7 jobs ik but regular swimmers hmu

ppl she coaches at the gym !! she wants to be a personal trainer

i reckon she might have recently started meditating to try and calm down her mind cos its always bustling with thoughts, n i think she’s p interested in buddhism so if anyone’s a buddhist hmu

someone she’s trying to make a zine with on female empowerment and women in film and art, etc. just a very feminist zine. 

TLDR:  angry sports gay, former high school track prodigy turned drop out, who likes feminist literature, wearing leather jackets over slip dresses, and smudged red lipstick.

this was so long !!! im sorry !! if you’ve read this far have a biscuit, love x

[digitalta]

( you probably get these a lot but...here i am)

i've read antithesis about 3 times, i always stopped reading around chapter 66 because it was too painful, but it's one of my favorite works in fanfiction. i convinced my sister to read it (it's like...the second fanfiction she's ever read) and she's absolutely engrossed, and today is the day i finally finished reading this tragic masterpiece. (now there's a void in my heart).

what i mean to say is...thank you (for the angst, for the drama, for the comedy, for everything). i don't know what to say or even how to say it, this is such a humane and tragic story that touched me so much that i can't even formulate a semblance of what i really want to say and what it means to me. so, thank you.

oftentimes i found myself so entranced in your writing that i feel like i didn't register the best pieces of writing and identified what could be some quotes to add to my all time favorites.

by chance, do you have a compilation of antithesis's best quotes or poetic tidbits you can share with us please?

and thank you, really ♡

So, I got this Ask a few days ago, and I’ve been sitting on it and looking at it constantly.

First- no. The number of messages never EVER take away from the meaning behind them. I could receive four messages, or four hundred, and I treasure each and every one. You are an individual with completely unique experiences and views. You deserve to be treated with kindness and respect, not thrown into a list of messages from nameless people.

Reading the story isn’t easy for some people. It’s all a matter of perspective, and how we can connect with it and how we can hurt from it. I am so proud of you for finishing it, and finding meaning at the end. 

There are...sections? Of the story that I am incredibly proud of. Pointing out quotes from memory is impossible based on the insane length of the fic.

So I tried to find individual portions that meant a lot to me, as an author and writer. I have a style of writing that I started to refine much further in the story, which appears often in the end. Surrealism and lyrical twist that is more akin to poetry than standard literature. Those lines are the ones I’m most proud of.

A few more popular quotes are those I still enjoy.

Truth be told, moments I actually enjoy appear in the middle and towards the end.

Ch. 36: "I could have been raised to kill Potter." Adrian tried again, desperate in his attempt to scare the man.

"You could have been," Remus agreed, with the faintest glimmer of sympathy, "And if you were, I would give you freedom to live away from expectations or requirements. I would give you an opportunity to follow what you want to do, and not what you were raised to do."

"It wasn't your fault Adrian," He repeated carefully, "and I'll tell you that every day for however long it takes for you to realize that. You weren't abandoned because of who you are. It wasn't your fault."

Ch. 37: He had never thought of her as someone with individual dreams and desires, an individual life that everyone would mourn and miss and remember.

She hadn't...she hadn't (or had she always been?) a person, in his eye. She was just an object, a possession of the wrong side…He had left her behind, left her lying in a pool of water too weak to stand or speak. He had turned his back on her and left her on the floor.

Ch. 38: The man's eyes were bulging, his hands were gasping against his torn and butchered chest.

"He is prey," Nagini simplified, "Prey are eaten."The man gasped something wetly, it sounded faintly like a plea.

What had he done. What had he done?

Ch. 40: "I know, I just...I do things on my own." Adrian paused, trying to elaborate but struggling with the words.

"Ah, I know how you feel." Remus smiled slightly, something nostalgic and yet so terribly pained, "We all have our own burdens to carry."

Ch. 40: Luna noticed, and she smiled something soft and sad."You know, I think you'd be a wonderful thestral.”

Ch. 44: She turned, opening her mouth and displaying saliva and venom soaked teeth, as long as dinner plates, "And do you, Cerastes, have anything to your name that make others cower? Or are you a hatchling child who dreams of prey far too large for his teeth."

"That's not true," Adrian shook his head in denial, knowing his face was flushing ugly with his anger. His scars itched and his eyes were burning and his nose was filled with disgusting snot.

"Are you crying?" Barty asked, sounding like he was going to burst out laughing, "as if the Dark Lord would find you useful!"

"Master," Lutain unhooked from Barty's leg, slithering across the distance, "Master that is not true,"

"It is," Adrian swallowed, a lump the size of a walnut was lodged in his throat.

Ch. 45: "That's why you wore this dress." he realized, speaking out loud as the epiphany struck him. "So people would stare at you. Instead of staring at me."

"People always stare at me," Luna offered dismissively, "I'm different and people don't like that. I think it scares them, like thestrals do."

Ch. 46: Luna smiled enchantingly, "Adrian you're good at spells."

"I'm really not," he automatically blurted.

Luna's eyes searched his, flickering from one back to the other, "Why are you arguing? Why do you think you're so...mediocre?"

"Because I am!" Adrian blurted, face feeling warm as he flushed against his will. Luna's spell faded out. She whispered it once more, squinting into his face as if looking for something in particular.

"I don't think you are," She confided, "I think you're brilliant."

Ch. 46: Adrian's throat moved three times as he nervously swallowed, "I...I'm not good enough n-"

"I'm afraid you're going to do something stupid for the approval of someone that doesn't matter." 

Ch 50:  "I tried, but the little demon went savage on Mundungus again, stabbed him with a fork and looked right happy with it." Sirius grimaced.

Ch. 50: "How was your summer?" Luna asked curiously. "You look terrible."

"You know, most times you're supposed to compliment me first." Adrian dryly commented, "It's wonderful to know you're so sweet."

Luna shrugged, "You look like something's eating you."

Ch. 50:  Skylar's jaw flexed, twitching as he refused to look away from the window, "Cedric really...I saw Cedric die. I saw him die, and you saw someone die, right in front of you, years ago."

"I was young," Adrian swallowed, his throat felt dry, "I barely remember it."

Skylar gave a single bark of laughter, bitter and sharp, "You don't- you don't just...just forget about it." 

"Yes you do." Adrian blurted, not even hearing the slightly pained whine in his voice. 

Skylar looked haunted, "I...I remember his eyes. They...Merlin, his eyes."

"I don't think I'll ever forget it," Skylar admitted quietly, "What Cedric looked like. Laying there, on the grass. He, he was just...alive, and then… and then he wasn't."

"It wasn't your fault." Adrian spoke, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Ch. 54: “You’re not unlovable, silly.”

Ch. 56: “I could set this entire room on fire,” Adrian mused quietly. “I could burn this entire house down and kill you. burning people smell a lot like burning meat.”

Sirius realized, that he was afraid. He was quite afraid actually.

Ch 57.: Adrian stilled, pausing as if in thought. He looked at Remus with half lidded eyes, the yellow far too bright to be anything but alarming. "Do you like me, Remus?"

Remus felt as if he was mourning for the loss of something gone, which was impossible. Adrian was right there, but he felt so far away. He felt as if he had changed truly, as if something hideous had condemned him to something so foul, he had accepted it.

"Of course I do," Remus spoke, voice strained and distorted through his distress, "Adrian, you know I do. Why would you ever think I wouldn't?"

Ch. 58: "I thought I was insane." Adrian mused without much emotion, "Disturbed. Psycho. Spastic. Mad. Mental. Thick. Freak." Adrian's body twitched in a small spasm, "Loony." he practically hissed out.

Remus breathed through his nose carefully, "Who called that to you?"

"Nobody," Adrian murmured quietly, "Everyone. They think it, everyone does. Selwyn has a few screws loose. Selwyn is a freak."

Remus gently set aside the comb and scissors. He ignored the few scraps of hair, and instead slid forward slightly so that his weight was a nearby presence for Adrian.

"That isn't even my name," Adrian whined, shaking across his shoulders, "I- I just want to be good."

"You are good, Adrian." Remus assured him, "You're exceptional."

Ch. 60:  "Oh I know," Adrian hummed back, carefree as if truly it was barely of importance, "my life is a tragedy. I think I hadn't cared to truly involve myself to my full capabilities. Now...now with a deadline, I think that It's time for me to step forward."

Ch 60.:  "You love me," Adrian whined out like a dying animal. (Which, he supposed, he was).

Ch. 63: I know what it is like, to be unmade.I know what it is like, to be nothing.And through that, I know I am not.

Ch 64.:  "I'm surprised you never noticed, in all honesty." Adrian mentioned with a wry smile, "after all, professor. I have my mother's eyes."

Ch 65.: For now, all Adrian had was himself.In the sweet smelling heather and deep earthy peat bogs out of sight, in the moonlit shadow of a moss covered mountain which towered over an isolated cobblestone road cut from the mountain itself; Adrian found peace.

Past Chapter 65...honestly, each chapter is filled with absolutely gorgeous one liners. I pulled out small quotes above that I found really stuck out to me, or had some sort of important meaning. It would be impossible to pull out every single quote, basically because it would take so much time.

What’s your favourite?

[weaselle]

I like knowing the nature of a place.

I’m getting ready to move after a stint back in my childhood home, and I’m realizing that for me a big part of feeling at home is knowing the Nature of the place.

Here, I have a deep knowledge of the surrounding nature. I know the water, as the house water is all supplied from a well. I know the clayish soil, having pulled tree stumps out of it, grown gardens in it, dug trenches and set foundations in it, sat in it making little mud castles as a child. I’ve tasted it even.

I know the fat little squirrel that knows us also. I know the 3 mocking bird pairs who’s territories converge near here. Or did until recently, when a pair of california scrub jays moved in after a several year hiatus (we lost the willow tree and it became less desirable jay real estate) and now the mocking bird territories are in a state of disarray. I’m excited to see the scrub jays, those clever little corvid bastards, because it means we might actually get to eat some cherries this season. The mocking birds sort of tend to fight more over nesting sites, but the jays will see the cherries coming in and declare all three trees a no-fly zone for other birds -- and boy do they enforce it. Which means instead of every bird in the area eating some of our cherries before we can get any, we get what the two jays can’t eat, which usually works out to about half the crop.

I know the fire ants that patrol areas with water, harvesting the other insects that are drawn to it, the drowned bees, any injured insects, and so forth. I know where the yellow jackets tend to nest, and which plants the bumble bees prefer -- we keep a hedge of those flowers specifically for them because while honey bees are still numerous here (helped no doubt by the six bee boxes in the yard of the house across the field) the fat fuzzy bumble bees used to be a lot more numerous here than they are now. I know where the lizards hang out and what kind of spiders I’m likely to see, and if I wanted to find some salamander burrows on this block I know what to look for. And I know the local possum posse stopped using the north side fence as an autumn path once the walnut tree died, and now in fall they use the south side fence where the guava trees offer them a foraging opportunity. 

I know the raccoon clan. Well, I know of the raccoon clan. After years of jostling for territory with each other, we and the raccoons worked out some boundaries which, like, five or six generations later are just now starting to be contested.

We did things like get geese to protect our ducks from the raccoons and we stopped having outside cats with their outside food, so we turned into a less reward / more risk territory for them and tradition became sticking to the far edges of the yard. But now the waterfowl have been gone for years there’s no more dog and we’ve been dumping the parrot’s half eaten mix of nuts and seeds out there so that what he doesn’t like doesn’t go to waste. I don’t think my mother has caught on to how much that has been slowly changing the local biosphere.

It used to be her mother’s bird, and she has a lot of emotions about Joker (who still occasionally laughs grandma’s laugh or coughs her cough) which results in her offering him quite a banquet to pick from. So his leftovers are a significant resource she’s pouring into this little biome.

I think the raccoons are becoming interested (tracks right up to the edge of the house, three feet from where the bird seed sits). The pairs of birds more or less doubled, and it may be a big part of why the jays are back. The squirrel solved the problem of getting into the elevated dish recently, instead of just picking from what the birds scatter. Which is definitely why he’s so fat and glossy and I predict he’ll have to start fighting harder for this territory soon. The seed dish draws little birds in, but the hawks that would hunt at it like a watering hole have stayed away so far. Except for one newly adult hawk that studied the situation for a couple weeks from the old pine but couldn’t figure out how to exploit it when we responded by moving the bird seed pedestal to under the low hanging branches of a small tree. She finally got sick of the squirrel screaming at her to get out of his pine tree and left. Which is good news for the squirrel because silencing that delicious little alarm probably would have been step one for any intelligent hawk deciding to make this her hunting spot. Honestly imo tho this particular ecological niche would probably benefit from a hawk’s attention. 

We live under a hill, and I know which side of the hill the coyotes stick to, and which side the mountain lion prefers. And I can conjecture a few other mountain lion territories, centering on the smattering of hills off that direction, because it’s been generations of cougars up there and we spot a cub with whoever is currently Queen of This Hill every few years. Sadly, most of them don’t survive, based on both the statistics and the fact that while we catch glimpses of mom and small cubs semi-regularly, we’ve never once seen any in the close to one year old range, when they would be nearly adult sized but still accompanying their mother. Which doesn’t mean there have been none, but does imply that they are rare. And of course there are the years she’ll be spotted with two cubs for a while, but then only with one cub for a while after that.

They coyotes don’t come down unless times are tough or maybe if they are very bored and want to tease the dogs, but every now and then one does wander a couple blocks down our little street that dead-ends halfway up the hill, and slinks across the tree line that separates our front yard from the small field across our driveway. Years ago they used to come along more regularly, but there’s more people these days and the jackrabbits have pretty much disappeared, so now they mostly just come down the other side where the cow pasture is if the cows aren’t going up the hill soon enough for them during calving season. Pretty sure Queen Cougar goes over there whenever she feels like it and tries her luck at a calf now and then too.

I know the deer that come down and wander the neighborhood. They used to swing through our back yard until I engineered the fence between us and our neighbor to discourage them. The neighbors and my parents didn’t want the deer in their gardens but no matter how high they put the wire the deer were trying to go over it and damaging the top of the fencing which meant there was a chance they were injuring themselves. None of us want that. When it got brought to my attention one visit, I went and looked at it and solved it right away. Wood was too expensive, so they were just topping the existing fence with like 6 feet of wire grid. But the deer are coming through dusk/dawn and midnight, and they already have eyes that aren’t built for detail, and this is wire the thickness of a fat toothpick... so I went out to the bamboo patch and got some bamboo as thick as the butt of a pool stick and wove a line of it along the top of the wire. Light weight enough to not bend the wire, and something to smell, big enough to see. End of problem. One mamma deer has figured out how to get through from the other side, and she keeps a fawn in our neighbors yard almost every year.

Anyway, I just automatically tend to learn this sort of thing when I move into  a place, but I haven’t stayed anywhere long enough to get this level of knowledge about anywhere else, and being back here is making me realize how important it is to me. Observing and understanding my surrounding natural setting is, well, natural, and I won’t feel like my new place is home until I start to learn the biome there.

[hotarutranslations]

#IshidaBread !!

Evening Its Ishida Ayumi

 Somehow,

 Ishida’s Bread

 Going on March 27th (Sat) 28th (Sun), There will be a limited sale of it for HinaFest

 https://youtu.be/PdH3V4z8PKA 

  Nuoowaaaaooooi!!!

  I’m finally able to announce it… I’m trembling…

   ❤ ❤ ❤

 Speaking of Ishida’s bread,

 More than myself, I’ll talk about…my mother,

 Please read it

  My mothers hobby baking homemade bread, She went and learned from a teacher, And my mother has also taught as a teacher herself,

 I grew up watching this,

 When I get home I can smell the great scent of bread from ❤

 My mothers bread is really delicious, Her cooking is actually really delicious too,

 I grew up eating that homemade baked bread

  And, when I joined Morning Musume, When I had a concert in my hometown Miyagi,

 I brought in my mother baked bread, To all of the members and staff-san!

 I did that about every time, Little by little,

 When talking about Miyagi, speaking of Ishida’s home, its about bread

 I think that now there are many people, Who have that impression

  At the same time,

 I want to eat that bread~

 There are a lot of people saying that!

 I also, someday, Wondered if it could become possible,

 I’ve always been thinking about that in the corner of my head

  Maybe last November,

 It came to the center of my head!!!

 At that time,

 Through luck with “Nartia Dream Farm”-san, They’ve decided to work with us,

 Around December I actually visited the ranch,

   The cows at the ranch, sleeping, cute

 We had a lot of meetings, About the bread

 I tasted it many times

 Narita Dream Farm-san, Made a lot of samples as well… Really, thank you very much

 Up until now I’ve been able to eat a lot of my mothers bread, Of course I like bread, And I think I know about bread but,

 After all, I respect my mother the most

 I even had my mother try the samples!

 Also a lot of the time, I was given suggestions for improvement

 Really there were a lot

 In the first place for bread, The flour you use makes all the difference in the final product

 Therefore,

 Making everything with my mothers recipes, With a handmade process, There is a difference in making a lot of it, This is honestly something I can do now,

 It is not, my mothers bread,

 Please understand……

  (therefore, its not “Ishida’s Family Bread” but “Ishida’s Bread”…)

  Even then, taking advantage of the suggestions from my mother, I was also particular about a lot of things,

 And we are now able to make it available to you

  And one more thing,

 Speaking of every year at HinaFest,

 As part of the SATOYAMA&SATOUMI events, There are many booths from all over the country  

 But this year because of Covid, We wont be having those booths

 But fully look forward towards the HinaFest Main!

 Its like, I wonder if there is anything I can do, I wonder if there will be anything interesting,

 I thought that ❤ Fufufu

  That’s the background of it

  The bread sales are,

  Limited to the 2 days that HinaFest is being held

 Makuhari Messe International Exhibition Center 3 Hall Indoor and Outdoor Narita Dream Ranch Food Truck 27th (Sat) 8:45AM~ (indoor sales) / 9:15AM~ (outdoor sales) 28th (Sat) 8:15AM~ (indoor sales) / 8:45~ (outdoor sales)

 Ranch Souka momom Aeon Mall Makuhari New Metro Shop

 Its happening in 2 places!!

  Its limited sales but, Yeah, Its kinda like,

 Since I asked them to prepare a good number of them,

 I look forward to you having it

  Talking amongst ourselves, EVEN IF YOU DON’T HAVE a HinaFest concert ticket, because they’re being sold at a place WHERE YOU CAN BUY IT, and since the food truck is cute, if you are interested we are definitely waiting for you

 Through delicious bread, I hope to bring a bit of happiness to a lot of you

  I put such a hope in it

  I want you to see the walnut bread

 That is, I wanted to make into a 4-leaf clover shape, I was picky about it,

  Since from joining, its been the 10th generations trademark

 I wonder if it was conveyed……

  This makes me super happy but,

 Being able to announce this, Now that the bread is complete, here,

 Its still, in the beginning

  If everyone hasn’t eaten it, It hasn’t been sent out,

 I’m not completely please with it yet

  Please give me your thoughts and opinions…

 Also…

 ❤

 Voicing that you want there to be mail orders… just, just, just wait a minute…. I will do my best the best I can… Thank you for your support

 I’ll be waiting for everyones voices

 Also there is an announcement from Fukumura Mizuki-san

 Further, there will be delicious pizza at Makuhari Messe…

  See you ayumin ❤

 https://ameblo.jp/morningmusume-10ki/entry-12663978622.html

[ultraglittercat]

Drabble 143

Trimming a Tree

Dedicated to Amy's grandfather, may he rest in peace.

The gang (minus Eugene) had been successful in their endeavor to get a Christmas tree. They'd ridden in Max's sleigh so a pregnant Rapunzel could rest her feet while still enjoying the trip. Varian, Catalina, and Kiera all were wearing jackets damp with winter snow by the time they got back, so Rapunzel insisted they take off their wet clothes and warm up. Eugene greeted them cheerfully, and only hesitated for a brief moment when Rapunzel asked him to let the kids near the heater Varian had built.

“I swear that thing is a lifesaver. Almost makes winter bearable.” Eugene praised.

“If you spent more time outside, you'd get used to it.” Rapunzel assured him.

“I don't even think you should go outside. What about baby Fitzherbert?” Eugene pressed.

“The baby is fine. I would know that better than anyone.” Rapunzel said firmly.

Lance stepped in to prevent what might have become a disagreement. “I bet you're excited to become parents! I know my girls bring me joy every day.” Lance smiled.

“It is so exciting!” Rapunzel smiled brightly. “I want to be a good mother and teach my baby how to paint and explore and make friends wherever they go.”

“They'll be learning from the best.” Lance predicted.

“I'm going to teach the baby how to read, starting with the Flynn Rider books.” Eugene envisioned.

“Oh, good. Another nerd.” Kiera joked.

“I'll have you know those books are well-plotted and full of adventure and most definitely not for nerds.” Varian insisted.

“And yet, you read them so clearly that last part's not true.” Kiera teased.

“Be nice, kids or you might not get many presents.” Eugene warned.

“Do our presents really depend on us being good?” Catalina fretted.

“Clearly, your sister is doomed.” Varian said smugly. Kiera stuck out her tongue.

“I'm sure you'll all get presents. And what better place to put them than under a tree? I think you've dried off enough that you can start putting up decorations.” Rapunzel knew how to get everyone psyched up about a group project.

“Yeah, let's decorate the tree!” Catalina cheered.

“I'll get some supplies from the kitchen. Varian, you can help.” Eugene decided.

“Why not me?” Lance wanted to know.

“Because we need the food to make it to the tree.” Eugene said simply.

“...That's fair.” Lance could admit to being a big eater. He couldn't help it, so many things just looked so tasty! Out of all his friends, Ruddiger the raccoon best understood that feeling. The little raccoon was sniffing everywhere, looking for apples, but all he found was an empty plate that had once held cupcakes. Ruddiger licked a bit of leftover frosting, but still felt hungry.

Varian and Eugene returned, arms loaded with popcorn strings, candy canes, walnuts, oranges, and apples. Ruddiger looked up expectantly, Varian tossed him an apple (which rolled to a stop a little ways in front of Ruddiger. His human had never had the strongest throwing arm, but Ruddiger never minded.)

Rapunzel immediately went to work, attaching ribbons and paint to the walnuts. Pascal inspected each one, nodding in satisfaction. Kiera and Catalina began placing the fruit on the lower branches. Lance overcame his urge to eat the popcorn, and placed the strings on the tree. Varian and Eugene worked with the candy canes, and soon the tree was nearly complete. There were just finishing up when Rapunzel's parents Frederic and Arianna entered the room, with Nigel trailing behind them.

“Wow. You've all done an excellent job decorating the tree!” Arianna marveled.

“Without your parents helping.” Frederic grumbled. Arianna elbowed him. “Still it looks nice.”

“Well, we do have to put the angel on top. I did promise Lance he could do that though.” Rapunzel realized she'd left her parents out, and felt a bit ashamed.

“It's fine, dear. This is Lance's first Christmas as a father, isn't it? I'm sure no one would begrudge him getting this special moment.” Arianna looked at her husband, who frowned but didn't argue with her.

“Great! Okay, here I go.” Lance stood on tiptoe and placed the angel on top of the tree.

“It looks perfect, Dad.” Kiera said happily. She and Catalina moved closer to their Dad, so Lance could hug them.

“Mom and Dad, there's still the whole rest of the room to decorate. You can help me put up wreaths, and garlands, and mistletoe.” Rapunzel looked at Eugene and winked.

“I'd like that, dear.” Arianna smiled.

“I'll inform the staff, and they'll look for mistletoe and garlands. I believe there are wreaths in boxes nearby.” Nigel bowed.

“Thank you Nigel.” Frederic said, a little stiffly, but he was trying hard not to be offended that Rapunzel had thought of her friends before him. Rapunzel ran up and gave him a side-hug, as her pregnant belly was starting to make hugs difficult. He smiled, a genuine smile this time.

“Come help me hang the wreaths, Daddy. And next year, you can be the one to hold baby Fitzherbert as they open their presents.” Rapunzel offered a consolation prize, and Frederic took it.

“I'd love that. Thank you, Rapunzel.” Frederic was really looking forward to being a grandparent. As they finished decorating the room, there was talk about setting up a secret gift exchange for Rapunzel and Eugene's friends, to ensure everybody got a special gift at Christmas time. They drew names out of a helmet (Varian took two names, so his father would be able to participate too, and Rapunzel added Quirin's name to the helmet. Varian's names were Rapunzel- his gift assignment- and Catalina- Quirin's gift assignment. Arianna appointed herself secret keeper, and looked at the names everyone drew to make sure no one had gotten their own name by mistake.)

“This has been fun, but Ruddiger and I have got to go if we wanna be home before dark. We'll go to the evening mass on Christmas Eve, so we can visit here two days in a row. I'm sure Dad will like seeing how nice Corona looks with red and green decorations everywhere.” Varian tightened up his scarf and got ready to leave.

“Okay, Varian. We'll see you and Quirin soon.” Rapunzel said.

“Take care!” Arianna added.

“Bye guys!” Varian waved goodbye.

“See ya, V!” said Kiera.

“Bye Varian.” Catalina echoed.

“Goodbye, Hairstripe.” Eugene added.

“Don't get stuck in any snowdrifts, little man.” Lance cautioned.

“I'll be okay.” Varian replied. He bent down and picked up Ruddiger, who quickly climbed onto his shoulder. They'd had a lot with their friends today, but nothing beat being at home with his Dad, sitting by a fire and enjoying the holiday season.

The End

I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday, and if you have lost any loved ones this year, remember they are watching over you and love you still! Take care, all.

[childofhelios]

“flower blooms and falls scars cure and buds shoot”

ship: Hades!Doyoung x Persephone!Taeyong

characters: Doyoung, Taeyong, with appearances by Jeno and mention of Zeus!Johnny and Poseidon!Ten 

rating: general/teen for slight injury and mentions of blood, also slight possessiveness from Doyoung but he regrets it very soon after

genre: fluff with angst for like .5 seconds

word count: 2.8k

title was taken from seventeen’s fallin’ flower, which is really good to listen to while reading! also, tell me if there are any mistakes bc i did convert a piece of my other writing into this fic. but anywho enjoy and feel free to send a message/ask about what you think about it :DDDD

“Taeyong, please just come out.” I lean my forehead against the black, walnut door where I can hear him franticly running around her room.  “We can talk about this like civilized people.” I hear him begin to mutter under his breath and I catch him saying my name and a few unpleasant phrases that I wish weren't associated with my name, but alas. “Taeyong, don’t you think you’re being a little immature? You’re acting like a child!” 

I almost fall forward as the door opens suddenly. Taeyong’s eyes were ablaze with fury as he stares at me in front of his door.  

“Oh, my sincerest apologies, Doyoung. I just didn’t expect to get kidnapped by someone that I’ve never met, starved for six months, accidentally eat a pomegranate, and then be stuck in this terrible, dreary place with no other company other than the dead and you. And I would rather spend time with the dead!”  

“Believe me, the dead are worse company than I am.” 

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!” I jolt at his loud voice echoing through the manor. I’ve had his presence for over six months, and I’m still not used to having people around me. To having an actual living, breathing person in my company. He sweeps a hand through bubblegum pink bangs and takes a deep sigh. “Doyoung, I beg of you. The humans need me. Without me, they’ll die. I need to go back on the surface to assist my mother.” 

I roll my eyes. “Humans are made to die. It’s how they're made to be. Plus, She’s is a goddess that has been around for centuries. She was able to assist humans without you there. Besides,” I take a hold of his hands, his beautiful tan contrasting against the blueish pallor of mine, “didn’t you say you loved me?” 

Yanking his hand out of mine, he says, “I said I loved you a little. And if I knew that it would go straight to your head and you would try to use against me, I wouldn’t have said it. If you had given me the chance, maybe it could have grown. Maybe I would have been able to become your bride.” 

“Taeyong, you can’t leave. I finally got used to having someone with me. You can still become my husband.” 

“Doyoung. You can’t just keep me here because you’re lonely.” 

I sigh and rise to my full height, towering over him slightly. “You’ve misunderstood me. You can’t leave. I forbid it.” 

He scoffs and pushes past me. “Haven’t you heard of free will? I’m leaving and you can’t stop me.” Before he rounds the corner, something whizzes by his face. He whips around, furious with a small cut on his cheek beginning to spill golden ichor. I stride up to him and yank the sharpened ruby out of the wall.  

“It seems that you've forgotten who I am. I am Doyoung, the god of the underworld and riches. I am one of the oldest gods to exist and I’ll be one of the last to disappear. Did you think you’ll be able to leave that easily? This is my domain and I decide what comes in and out of it. And you,” I crush the ruby and let the powder run through my fingers like sand, “aren’t going anywhere, my little lotus. Now, you can walk to your room on your own, or I can have Cerberus escort you back there. Your choice, my dear.” 

If looks could kill, I would already be six feet under as Taeyong stares up at me. Slowly, he steps away and walks in the direction of his door. I watch as he leads a trail of ichor and shuts his door with a forceful SLAM! 

 I begin walking towards my quarters. As soon as I close my door, my knees give out. “Gods, why did I do that? You know that he’s right. We can’t force him here; he’s going to be unhappy and what’s the point of having him here if he’s upset the entire time?” I stare down at my hands as they tremble slightly. “I injured him. On purpose, I made him bleed.” It’s a weird feeling to be shaken by blood when that’s what I deal with every day. I see the most gruesome of murders and war causalities but injuring a minor god has me shaking in my boots. I wobble over to my sink and submerge my face underwater. I came up gasping for air and catch my reflection in the mirror. At the rate I’m paling, I’ll look more like a ghost than the people outside the manor. My eyes resemble the darkest of obsidian and have deep eye bags underneath them, my face is sunken in as if I’m a beggar from the streets, and my hair is matted in every which way. The longer I stare at myself, the more I can see the monster Taeyong must see.  

“JENO!” My voice booms and seconds later, a pile of bones bursts through the door. No, quite literally, a disassembled skeleton falls through my door and onto the ground before me. The skull, sporting a flat cap, turns towards me and grins widely.  

“Master Doyoung! What can I do to help you today?” 

“Please tend to Mr. Taeyong from now own. First, make sure his wound is taken care of. Second, make sure he eats, sleeps, and does whatever else he needs and wants to do. Do you understand?” 

“Absolutely, Master. He’s in the right hands. Or, um, bones.” 

“No tricks, Jeno. I don’t think our guest would appreciate that. And neither would I.”  

Jeno’s voice takes on a mischievous tone. “Guest? Don’t you mean groom, Master? Unless you’re having second thoughts?” 

“I’m not sure what you mean. But I do know this.” I pick up the skull and stare fiercely where the eyes would have been. “If you do anything to upset her, I will crush your bones into powder and use it as incense for the next 30 years. Do you understand?” 

“Would my bones even last that long?” 

“Do you really test me right now?” 

“Fine. I understand. Now, can you please put me back together again?” I roll my eyes, but I set down the skull in the middle of the bones. My eyes glow a bright gold and with a wave of my hand, the skeleton assembles once more. He fidgets with his cap.  

“Now, that’s much better!” 

“What happened to you?”  

“Cerberus tried to use me as a chew toy. Again.” 

“I knew there was a reason he’s my favorite.”  

“I would take personal offense to that but, he’s my favorite too.”  

“Go to Taeyong. Make sure she’s alright.”  

“Your wish is my command, Master.” As he walks out the door, his bones clatter and then I’m left in silence. I fall back into my bed, wondering if I should just apologize to him directly. I did act unreasonably, and I shouldn’t have let my anger explode like that, but I don’t want him to leave. As I lay there, I slowly drift off.  

 The next month is difficult for multiple reasons. First, immediately after I send Jeno to take care of Taeyong, he throws a fit and makes flowers grow out of every hole in his skeletal body. Then, he refuses to eat with me or even look at me. I would walk down the hall and he’d sprint into a side room just to avoid me. And let’s not even get started with the escape attempts. You would think after about 10, he would give up. But no. He has tried to escape more than 50 times. Fifty. I swear to the gods, he’s making me grow gray hairs just from stress. Then we have Johnny, Ten, and practically the entirety of the Pantheon breathing down my neck trying to bring her back. And I’ve explained to them multiple times that it’s the law of the underworld and I can’t change it simply because one young goddess is down here. But now, Thunder Thighs and Kelp-for-Brains can’t grasp it for some reason.  

I sit behind my desk, grasping my head as I glare at the piles of scrolls in front of me. You would think death was pretty cut and dry, but no. I have to deal with making sure bodies end up with families, people don’t act on stupid grudges and become monsters to kill people, or something else entirely stupid. I pick up one scroll when the door cracks open.  

“Jeno, I thought I told you if you disturbed me, I would- “  

“Let Cerberus year me apart and keep me as his chew-toy, I know, I know. But it’s urgent.”  

I drop the scroll in my hand. “If it means I can get out of my work, I’m all ears.”  

“Mr. Taeyong…. He’s disappeared again, Master.”  

The pounding in my head worsens. “Oh.” 

“Shall I go after him? Or maybe send some people after him?” 

“No, just leave him. If he’s this persistent to leave, then we should just let him go.” 

“But, Master!” 

“Enough, Jeno. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take a rest before I break the law of my land.” I stand and stagger my way to my bedroom, ignoring Jeno’s shouts and how my head worsens with each step I take. Ugh, this whole affair is such a mess. I shouldn’t have gotten myself involved with him in the first place. I close my eyes and the next time they open; the sky had faded from the morning’s light dusk to the afternoon’s midnight blue. I rise with my robes wrinkled and sleep in my eyes. I find my way to the kitchen and snag an apple before heading to the endless pile of scrolls I left. On my way there, I see Taeyong’s door slightly ajar.  

“Jeno, I thought I told you about going through other people’s things? You never-” Instead of seeing that insufferable skeleton with a guilty grin, I find Taeyong unpacking a bag. “You’re back.” 

“Not by choice, unfortunately.”  

“Oh? I thought you had left. Did Jeno stop you? I told him not to and not to send anybody either.” 

“No, my mother stopped me. Talked about how if I came back before my time here was finished, you would kill any human that even breathed wrongly. So, now I’m back here. I’m sure you’re ecstatic about it.” 

“No!” He looks at me suspiciously, setting down the robes he took out of his bag. “I knew you didn’t want to be here, so I thought not going after you once you had left would finally let you be happy. But it appears to be untrue.” He shakes his head and turns back to his clothes. “If there’s anything I can do that would make it easier for the next five months, please tell me.” 

“I don’t know. Not being here would be pretty great.” 

I wince. “Other than that?” 

“Answer this for me. You say you want me here, but you act like a shriveled prune every time I’m near. Why?”  

“I’m not entirely sure what you mean.” 

“I mean this! This is both the most you’ve ever spoken to me and the nicest you’ve been to me. It’s been a month and we’ve barely talked.” 

“So, what should I do?” 

He walks past me to the door and looks back at me from the doorframe. “Show me. Be sincere and I’ll see if I’ll want to stay.” He walks off and I’m just left stupefied in her room. I all but sprint to my office and start scrawling out two letters.  

I summon Jeno and give him a message. “Give this to Ten and Johnny. Tell them to respond to me immediately.” 

If immediately means 6 days later, I fear for their subjects. As I skim through both of their letters, I see the same pattern of making fun of me, attempting to help, and then making fun of me again. I should have expected it from Airhead, but I thought Ten would be at least somewhat helpful. I throw both of their scrolls in the fire because there was no use in keeping those around. I slam my head into my desk a couple of times, wallowing.  

Over several days, I tried every trick known to man and god. But it either ends with me making a fool of myself or just making Taeyong even angrier. I squat in the garden and hang my head in defeat. The artificial sun in the sky beats down on my skin and my hands are covered in coarse dirt.  

“Master, are you sure you don’t want us to help you? We have staff for this sort of thing.”  

I look back at Jeno. “For the fifth time, Jeno, I truly don’t mind doing this. At least, this is something to distract me from my work. I think my headache is getting better too.” 

“That must be true, sir, because you haven’t stopped smiling since you started planting. “ 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” I look towards the lavender sprigs sitting next to me. “I was just thinking of Taeyong’s reaction when he sees this. I hope this brings a little bit of happiness to his stay here.” I continue planting the lavender until there was a cluster in the section closest to the entrance. At this point, I’ve only put half of the flowers in the ground. But I feel pride swell in my chest as I look at the tiny cluster I planted.  

“What are those?” I whip around to see Taeyong standing on the steps. 

“Oh, um. I was just planting some flowers in the garden. I know you’ve missed nature so I thought I would try to bring some to you.” 

“Wouldn’t they just die?” 

“No. I’ve been trying to grow different types of flowers down here and lavender was the only one that survived.” He continues to stare at me with a mysterious look in his eye. After a couple of seconds, he speeds down the stairs and gets on his knees in front of the sprigs I just planted. “What are you doing?” 

He snaps at me. “Shut up.” If it had been anybody else, they wouldn’t have been saying another word for the rest of their lives and even after that. But I close my mouth and I study Taeyong and he studies the lavender. His hands glow a soft pink and the lavender turns vibrant, almost energized. “There. That should help it for a little while.” 

“What did you just do?” 

“Just gave it a little pick-me-up.” I nod in understanding and Taeyong moves where I had placed the other flowers. “Where were you going to put these?”  

I point at the other side of the garden and he strides over there with the flowers in hand. “Ah, Taeyong. There’s no need. I have this under control.” 

He scoffs. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for the flowers because you don’t know what you’re doing.” 

“Isn’t it just simply putting the plants into the ground and tending to their needs?” 

“Oh, gods. It’s so much more than that. You must be gentle and treat them with the utmost care. You move slowly and fluidly. Come here, I’ll show you.” I squat next to him and see him sprinkling dirt to cover the roots. “Doyoung?” 

“Yes, Taeyong?” 

“Did you know that there’s a language just for flowers?” 

“Really? Fascinating. Is it possible for me to learn? Can you understand it? Wait, has the lavender been speaking the entire time?” 

Taeyong giggles and the artificial sun shines brighter. “Not that kind of language. Each flower has its own meaning. Roses are passion, daisies are innocence, carnations are good fortune, etc.” 

“Wow, then what’s lavender?” 

He stares directly into my eyes, the mysterious look back on his face. “A lot of things but to name a few: purity, calmness, and... devotion.” 

The sun beats down harder, feeling like ants are crawling over my back. “Oh.” 

“Mhm. That’s why they’re one of my favorite flowers. They have a pure message, they’re absolutely beautiful, and they’re able to grow anywhere.”  

“Oh.” 

“Doyoung, do you understand what I’m saying?” 

“To be perfectly honest, I haven’t the faintest idea.” 

His eye twitches and throws a handful of dirt at my chest. “You’re a fool. I’m saying I return your affections. I acknowledge your feelings and feel the same way. Gods, I’m saying I love you and I’m willing to become your husband.” 

It didn’t fully register so my response was: “Oh, that’s nice.”  

“Let’s just continue planting these before it gets too dark, or at least darker. Then, we can discuss this later.”  

And so, we spent the afternoon tending to the flowers and as the day faded to night, we fell asleep with “I love you’s” littering the air like the sweetest and most intoxicating perfume.  

[beerecordings]

Graceling AU - Based on the Graceling books by Kristin Cashore. Jameson is a 'Graceling,' a person with mismatched eyes indicating a supernatural talent, and his brother Anti is a Monster, a supernaturally beautiful person who has spent his life hiding from or destroying anyone who would try to hurt him. While wandering the fields one day, Jameson discovers another Monster named Marvin being held captive in a nearby keep and befriends him.

Warnings for imprisonment and human trafficking, as well as a comment about using starvation to cause weight loss.

Stolen away from Chase and the rest of his family, Marvin struggles to keep his hope up alone.

.

He dreams of Chase.

“Keep up, slowpoke!”

Running through the grass with their hands clasped together, turning to heave the child into his arms when the mud reaches his little brother’s thighs, making him shriek with laughter as he swings and rocks him through the muddy valley in mid-spring, blowing blubber kisses into his fat toddler tummy.

He dreams of Jackie.

“Keep quiet, keep quiet, haha!”

Sneaking through the hallways of the castle one at a time, beckoning for each other when the coast is clear before darting into the kitchen to steal lemon poppyseed muffins and jam bakes and a jug of apple cider each, causing trouble and then retreating as fast as their teenage feet could carry them to their rooms in the high tower or the swaying tree house they built for themselves in the arms of the old oak tree beyond the courtyard.

He dreams of his cousin.

“You study too much, come on, come play with us.”

Slamming cards and chess pieces down against the table as they played games at rapid-fire speeds, their eyes sparkling with a shared enthusiasm for the fond competition between them, exchanging insults in a half-dozen different languages, gossiping about everyone they know and laughing for the fun of it, curled up in front of the fire with mulberry wine and Henrik’s company to keep him warm through the winter time.

He dreams of his family.

“Where are you?” he whispers to the shadows. “Why haven’t you found me yet? You said you’d keep me safe, please… I know I act like I can take care of myself, but I’m scared. I’ve never been this scared in my life. I don’t want to be sold.”

A slam against iron like the striking of swords jolts him from his sleep with a scream. He grabs his own shoulders and shoves himself back against the walls of the cage, staring in terror up at his captor, who looks back with bleak blue pelican’s eyes, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Age?” he asks, holding up a pad of parchment.

Marvin breathes hard, staring around his cell, blinking.

“Still surprised to find yourself in here? You been in here three fucking days, start adjusting. Age?”

“What?”

“How old are you?” asks the man, enunciating his words slow and mocking. “How many years do your mommy and daddy say you are when your grandpappy asks?”

Marvin squeezes his eyes shut, flushed with humiliation. “I – I’m twenty-six.”

He writes it down, unperturbed. Marvin wraps his arms tighter around himself, shivering in the cold. “Can I have something to eat?” he croaks out. “I’m starving.”

“Better if you’re thin,” answers the man blandly. “Maybe in a couple days. What’s your name?”

Marvin clutches his knees to his chest, staring at the filthy floor in front of him, his eyes flickering back and forth. “Fabian,” he whispers after a moment, hearing the frailness of his own voice. His whole body is giving out on him. His mind too, he expects. He closes his eyes. “I’m Fabian.”

“Good,” says the man, scrawling on his notepad. “You’ve already learned to lie about it. No one cares about your old name. No one cares about your old life. Forget it. You’ll never go back to it.”

“My father would pay a lot of money to have me back,” cries Marvin. “And my brother is a Graceling warrior! You ought to let me go before he finds me, or I swear to God that you’ll regret being born!”

“Glad to see you’ve resorted to threats instead of biting and screaming like that first day,” grumbles the man, shaking out the wound on his hand that Marvin gave him.

“You deserve it!” Marvin screams. “You and everybody’s who’s trying to steal me away! I’ll kill you like I killed the first one who grabbed me! If he didn’t have his fucking friends there – ”

“Any health concerns?” asks the man, staring down at his clipboard.

Marvin breathes hard, tears dripping down his face, holding himself in the middle of his cold cell.

“Well?”

“I… I’m allergic to walnut,” Marvin whispers, shrinking in on himself and closing his eyes.

“Great,” says the slave trader. “I’ll mark that down.”

He turns and walks away.

Marvin stares at the floor. The tears dripping onto it humiliate him. Everything is a humiliation. Everything is a threat. Everything wants to use him. To hurt him. To take him away.

He remembers being rebellious as a child when his parents would shave down his hair and make him wear coverings in public or hide him away during state dinners, never letting anyone but Jackie and Chase and Henrik see him, sometimes even telling guests they had only two sons to keep him a secret. He complained about being a prisoner - isolated, guarded, not allowed to grow up like a normal kid. At the time, the pain of his being hidden away from the whole rest of the world felt like something that would destroy him. It makes him want to laugh now, but all that comes out is a quiet sob. He should have been more careful. He should never have gone into town with Chase. He’s thirteen now and old enough to get anything Marvin needs from the city without him. What Marvin wouldn’t give to be back in their little summer cabin right now, making pancakes or swimming in the lake with him. With no one staring at him or touching him. With food in his belly and a friend at his side.

But the one upside to this hunger and the cold and the grief are that they keep sending him back to sleep. Back to dreams. He drifts off once more soon enough, chewing on a strand of his hair like he’s a five-year-old again, rocking himself against the stone walls on his every side.

He dreams of his parents, and his childhood.

“I don’t want to go to bed yet, Momma.”

“You don’t have to just yet, baby.”

He would like to be a child again, rocking on her lap, curled up between his parents by the fire. Jackie would be on the floor, looking up at him with his big child’s eyes, just a couple years older and protective from the start. Watching over him. With everyone close. With everyone holding him. He would like to be safe again.

“I don’t want to go just yet,” he whispers, pressed into his mother’s arms. Jackie would struggle up onto the enormous bed and squirm his way into his mother’s arms beside him, landing soggy child kisses on his face and reaching out to be held by their father, patting his chubby hands against his shoulders when he’s picked up and snuggling down against them both, the four of them sandwiched together in the warmth.

“You can stay,” his father would say, stroking his hair, blue as the galaxy, shining like its closest stars. “You can stay, my little son. No one will take you away.”

They had made him this promise time and time again. Even before he was old enough to realize it, his parents understood the curse that he was born with. No one, they said, will take you away. Even if we go. No one will take you. Jackie will protect you. Won’t you, Jackie?

And Jackie, from the time he was three years old, had nodded and promised with more intensity in his Graceling eyes than any child should ever have to muster.

“Yes, Marvy. I will protect you.”

He’s spent his whole life protecting Marvin. He’s given him everything he had. It wasn’t his fault. Marvin knows that. Their parents should never have made him promise. Their parents should never have promised him they could keep him safe. No one can. No one ever could. He should have known.

“I’m just a Monster,” he whispers, when consciousness comes to hurt him again. The walls of the prison cell stare back at him, wide-eyed and silent. “The whole rest of the world knows that this is where I belong.”

Forget that old life. You will never get back to it.

Marvin realizes that this might well be true. Up until this moment, he never knew it was possible to be this afraid.

“Please, Jackie... please hurry. Please find me soon, my brother.”

[redhairedfeistynerd]

A Very Bucky Thanksgiving

Bucky Barnes x reader, singledad!Bucky, Riley and Piper Barnes, Steve Rogers

Summary: This is the first year Bucky has invited someone special to join in on their Thanksgiving dinner.Will everything go smoothly?

Warnings: some swearing, some sly sexual conversation

A/N: I originally wrote this piece for Canadian Thanksgiving but here we are!  I hope you enjoy another moment with the Barnes family.

For as long as his girls have been in this world, Bucky has been passionate about baking. He figures this came to fruition when his ex-wife started spending more time out of the house and preferred being away on business trips than building a life with him and their young girls. As their relationship slowly deteriorated, Bucky found solace in pastries, cookies, and breads. Navigating his way through forums and how-to videos online, searching for recipes like he once hunted for his latest mission.

His girls had requested their favourites for this last-minute weekend celebration. Pumpkin pie with maple cream, pumpkin walnut scones, and a new treat he was testing out today, pumpkin spiced doughnuts with maple salted glaze, and for his sweet lady friend; a pecan pie.

Bucky could smell the doughnuts before the time reached zero. The soft smell of cinnamon and sugar wafted through his two-story house, reaching him while he tidied up the bathroom from the girls attack on it early that same morning. Wiping down the counter, he flicked off the light, bounding down the stairs to the kitchen as the last seconds wound down on the timer. Oven mitt on, doughnuts pulled out of the oven (he was trying out a baked version this time) he had about an hour before the girls would burst in the front door after a day of shopping the holiday sales.

The weekend plans had changed at the last minute, his ex (Jackie) had cancelled on the girls again. The girls were to fly up to their mothers' cabin in Whistler, B.C. for a Canadian Thanksgiving but a last-minute job had come up and she chose that over her kids.

Bucky was not impressed by her choice. Riley rolled her eyes at the news and muttered “big surprise” when Bucky relayed the message to his youngest daughter.

Jackie always chose work before their daughters. Her new husband had more importance to her these days.

Her influencer status has skyrocketed after she left Bucky, leaving him high and dry to raise the girls. He didn't see it as an issue though, he loved his girls and if he had to do this on his own, then that's what he would set out to do. His Avengers status pushed away a few years before, he found that he was calling Steve a bit more during those earlier years. Sometimes he needs a break, to sit in a quiet room where Riley wasn't screaming at the top of her lungs, which would have Piper in tears. There was something magical about Uncle Steve though, maybe it was his rich voice, whispering sweet words to Riley to ease the screams to a low whimper. Maybe it was the way he sang the sweet songs of the 40s to stop the tears flowing from Piper's bright blue eyes. Whatever it was that Steve had, Bucky was extremely thankful for.  

One of their first Thanksgivings without Jackie, had both girls sick with the stomach flu. He'd never seen anything as disgusting as what his young girls were dishing out.  

Blood, wounds, and other violent memories had nothing on this. Who knew little people could cause THAT much mess?

Bucky was exhausted. Riley had finally fallen asleep on the couch and Piper was sprawled out in the master bedroom on his bed, resembling a starfish.

With one last swipe of the kitchen counter, Bucky tossed the rag in the laundry basket and released a sigh of completion. Turning on the hood fan, he turned off the track lights and walked towards his daughter who was now snoring lightly on the couch, when a soft knocking came from his front door. Puzzled, he turned away from his sleeping daughter and made his way to the entryway. He opened the door to Steve's smiling face.

"What are you..."

"Nat phoned and gave me the heads up that you were literally drowning in shit."

"Language," grumbled Bucky as he opened the door wider to let Steve in.

Steve chuckled and took a good look at Bucky. "Man, you're looking a little rough around the edges."

"You would too if you were knee deep in dirty laundry and had two goblins that were puking so much, they make that scene in the Exorcist look tame.

Steve scrunched his nose and tried to shake the memory of that scene out of his head. The previous year, Bucky had invited his old team over for a horror movie night while the girls were spending the night with their mom. Steve still hadn't forgiven Bucky for subjecting him to that movie. "Absolutely disgusting."

Bucky grunted and shut the door, Steve following him from the entryway and up the stairs to the kitchen.

"Here, Nat made some soup for you and the girls, if they are feeling up to eating it,” Steve said holding out the package.

“Oh ya, thanks. I’m sure the girls will appreciate their Aunty Nat making her famous soup,” he nods his head in thanks before muttering “hopefully it's not pea soup,” and walks across the kitchen.

Steve watches as Bucky tucks the soup away in the fridge, noticing how stringy his hair has become and when he looks his way, the dark circles are around his eyes. “Hey Buck, why don’t you leave the tidying up to me and you go take a shower, relax a bit.”

Bucky shuts the fridge door and looks at Steve. “Are you sure you want to clean up this cesspool?” He asks as his arms waving to point out the mess around the kitchen.

“Yes, I’m here to help you out, all right?” Bucky nods and pats Steve on the shoulder on his way up to the bathroom.

Steve manages to tidy up the first floor of the house, shift Riley from the couch to her bed, and fold a load of laundry. He’s pouring hot water into a mug when Bucky walks back in, looking like the shower did its job. “You want a cup of tea?” He asks Bucky when he sit down at the kitchen table.

“Please, a cup of something black so I can keep my eyes open for a bit longer. You feel like watching a funny movie? I feel like I need a good laugh after what this week has been like.”  

“Sounds good, how about you go on down and put something on, I’ll bring the tea and some snacks for us,” Steve replies and pours a second mug full of water.  

The men settle in and watch a classic comedy, quiet laughter sailing out of both of their mouths, trying to be quiet while the girls sleep. Steve decides on a second movie and they watch until they fall asleep on the couches.  

Bucky wakes up, his stomach twisting, and the pain, THE PAIN. "You've got to be fucking kidding.” He lurches off the sectional and runs to the bathroom by the laundry room.

Steve wakes from the sounds of his friend slamming the bathroom door, the unmentionable sounds have Steve pulling his pillow over his head. When he moves it away several minutes later, all he hears is silence. Steve gets up from the couch and makes his way to the bathroom, gently knocking on the door. "Bucky? Are you alive in there?"

"Fucking kill me, please,” he begs and Steve hears his best friend heave again.

Steve camps out at the Barnes household during that Thanksgiving weekend. There is no turkey, no pumpkin pie, or a dysfunctional family fight. Everything is quiet as Bucky careens himself in his bedroom while Steve manages the rest of the household. He keeps the girls busy and out of Bucky’s hair for several days; visits to the ice cream shop and to the park near their home, keeps them smiling and giggling while their dad is at home, miserable in bed.

Steve sits back on the park bench and admires the colours changing all around him; the leaves sway from left to right, falling gently down to the ground. Piles of brown and yellow sit before him, raked into tidy piles. He gets and idea, something to cheer Bucky up the last few days of having the stomach flu. He calls the girls over and tells them his plan to make their dad smile. He makes a video of them, jumping in the leaves and throwing them around, their laughter warming his heart. When the girls have finished frolicking in the mounds of colourful leaves, he takes each other their hands in his and begins the walk back to the house. He’ll send the little video to Bucky in the morning when he heads out and back to work.  

Bucky still smiles at the memory of that little video. He can now smile about his treacherous first Thanksgiving as a single dad but he made it up every year that followed; this year, he has to make up for what his ex has left behind. Riley is pressuring him to make her mom's famous stuffing (he laughs at this because this is a recipe that she took from a cookbook he had from his mom) Piper has decided that Bucky is THE WORST because he is going to kill an innocent turkey and all she wants is for him to save one (and yes, he does donate to a local farm that saves turkeys later in the week) and have it live the rest of its life, in their backyard. He notes that she will have a plate of vegetables tonight and he has no idea if that is sufficient enough for a teenage girl who that is 15.  

“Cranberries sauce”

“Check!”

“Water chestnuts.”

“Check!”

“Wait, what the heck are water chestnuts for, Pop?”

Bucky is sitting on the kitchen floor sorting through the pantry and about to answer when he sees you creeping into the kitchen, hiding behind his oldest, about to scare her. Her arms wrap around Piper and she squeezes her tightly expelling a high-pitched squeak.  

He will never get over how beautiful her smile is when her eyes meet his. His heart beats so fast that he’s afraid she will be able to see it pounding in his chest.  

The flowers she is holding scream fall – oranges, yellows, and reds – the cute Chinese lanterns that she adores, wobble back and forth as she walks towards him. She reaches for him with her free hand and pulls him into a tight hug, whispering “you look extra handsome today, soldier.”

“He got his hair trimmed for you,” Riley shouts from the top of the stairs and watches as her father’s face turns as red as the Gerbera's in the bouquet. She snorts as she walks down the stairs at Bucky’s embarrassment and hops down the last few steps to pull y/n into a hug.

“Hi sweetness, I missed your smiling face,” Y/N says into Riley’s strawberry blond curls.

“Missed you too. Are you ready for your first Barnes Annual Canadian Thanksgiving?” Riley asks while rocking on her feet.

Y/N looks at her, “Is it any different from the other Thanksgiving I would be having?

“Well duh, this one if full of maple syrup, poutine, and never-ending skits by Bob and Doug Mackenzie!

Bucky bursts out laughing and poor Y/N is looking between the two of them, lost when it came to the last item. “Okay, okay, Ri, leave the poor woman alone. Here love, let me take those flowers and put them in a vase.” Bucky squeezes her waist gently, taking the colourful bouquet from her hands. She follows him to the cabinet housing the vase and sniffs the air.

“What’s is that smell? It’s so-

“Delicious?” Riley adds as she passes by Y/N and hops up onto a bar stool? “Your taste buds are in for an incredible treat. Dad is the best baker this city has!”

“Pretty sure I’m not hun, but thank you for boosting me up a bit.” Bucky’s cheeks changing in colour, somewhat embarrassed by his daughter's compliment.

“Oh, come on dad, that’s why all the moms are always swooning when you join the bake sales,” Piper chirps in.

“The moms swoon over your dad? I’m pretty sure that has more to do with his-” she’s cut off by Bucky shoving a Snickerdoodle in her mouth. Squinted her eyes at him and waving her finger as if she’s promising to get him back later. He can’t help but smirk and squeeze her side.

“Shhh, my sweet. Don’t be telling my girls how irresistible I am,” he whispers into her ear and kisses it.

Riley makes gagging sounds from behind her dad and Piper’s face turns red from the affection their father is showing Y/N. This is the not the first time they have seen their father with a woman but this specific woman has done something to their father. He’s smiling, he whistles while he bakes, and he’s happy.  

Y/N turns to face Riley, “Oh kid, are we embarrassing you? Making you feel a little queasy inside?” She walks over to Bucky as he arranges the flowers in the vase and loudly kisses his cheek and laughs. “How about that Ri?”

“You’re the worst,” Riley chuckles and grabs the serving spoons to put on the table.  

Bucky pulls Y/N into a hug and kisses her lightly on the lips. He can taste the Snickerdoodle and it makes him wish he could fully indulge but he restrains, knowing that tonight they’ll have time alone once the girls head to their rooms for the night. He brings his lips to her forehead before taking the flowers to the table and placing them in the centre.  

“All right ladies, let’s get this show on the road!”  

“Don’t you mean Barnes’, Assemble!” Piper asks with a smirk on her face. Bucky just shook his head, a big smile across his face.

“Tell me where you want me, Barnes,” Y/N said as she looked at Bucky, his smirk telling her that where he wanted her was not in the kitchen.

“Turkey is in the oven, that weird Tofurky thing is in there too, I need to add the water chestnuts to the beans, the pot of potatoes needs to boil, and in a bit, we can get the rest of the veggies going too. Who’s good with making gravy?”

“I hope you made stuffing for me that isn’t in that bird, dad,” Piper said, giving her dad one of her teenage looks.

Bucky slides a bowl across the counter to his oldest so she can see the stuffing he made; animal free. “It’s vegan sweetie, I hope you like it,” Bucky responds. “I found this recipe online, some popular blog.” He watches as she scoops a bit of the warm food in her mouth, and can’t help but chuckle when a groan of satisfaction spills out.  

Y/N can’t help but take a scoop for herself, a squeal of delight escaping her mouth. “Shit, Barnsey, you’ve been holding back! Where have you been all my life?” She laughs and walks back over to him, wrapping her arms around him and going in for a quick kiss. “Let’s get this show on the road! All pots on boil!” She shouts and turns the last pot on.

The Barnes family and their first-time guest are indulging in their feast within an hour. Nothing but chewing and soft music can be heard at the table. It always amazes Bucky that it takes hours upon hours of work for this one evening and within minutes the food is gone. He’s thankful though; for his girls, for the life he now has, and for you. He wouldn’t change anything. One last scoop of mashed potatoes goes into his mouth and he places his fork down. “So, do you three want dessert now or do you want to digest a bit first?” Riley stands up from her seat and throws her hands in the air. “Roll out the cart of desserts for us to feast upon, father!”  

All Bucky can do is laugh, she’s always been the dramatic one and he lives for these moments. “Riley, I haven’t said what I’m thankful for yet this evening but one of those things I’m thankful for the humour you provide in this family.”

“Aww Pops, I appreciate that but can you please just bring out the good stuff?” Riley’s blue eyes sparkle and Bucky pushes his chair in and heads back to the counter where he has the pies and other sugary treats. He brings the doughnuts and pumpkin pie with maple cream out first, leaving the girls to help themselves as he returns to the kitchen to cut Y/N a slice of pecan pie. He places a dollop of fresh whipped cream beside it and carries it to her, his face turns red when he places it before her stating, “I made this especially for you.” A look crosses her face and its one he has only recently seen. He thinks its adoration? Or could it be...love? He’s not sure if it’s either but whatever it is, he hopes she continues looking at him that way. He sits back down across from her and watches as she takes the first bite of pie. Her eyes close and he can see the sparkle in her eyeshadow as the light above bounces off of it. It feels like forever before he hears a sound of approval from her.  

“Wow Barnes. I’m going to say this is almost as good as s-

“Well now, girls, how about you start cleaning up what you can and let Y/N finish up her pie.” He tries to pull back Piper’s chair and is met with resistance.

“No WAY, Pops. I want to hear all about how good this pie of yours is. Right, Riley?” Piper looks to her sister, eyebrow raised in hopes that her sister will join in on the teasing.”

“Hell no, I don’t want to hear about the crap these two get up to. Nu uh, NOPE,” she shouts and she grabs a few dishes from the table and heads to the sink to rinse them off.  

Dishes away and the leftovers wrapped up, Bucky takes Y/N’s hand and walks with her to his room. Door closed and locked behind him, Bucky finally pulls his sweet lady as close to him as possible. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Buck.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him into a kiss. “Come on Barnsey, there’s one thing you haven’t warmed up yet this evening.”

“Oh, did I forget to warm up your pie because I can head back-

She quiets him with another kiss, deeper than the last. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant. Now, be good a good man and get ready for the real dessert.”

Bucky can’t help but curl up and laugh loudly. His girl knows all the ways to make him laugh and smile, tonight is no exception. With one pull, she is on top of him, where he wants her this evening; where he can be warm within and thankful for everything his life has brought him.

[wild-aloof-rebel]

waited so long to say this to you

Five times they say "I do" (and one they don't).

- part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 -

“And now the forecast is saying there’s a thirty percent chance of rain! I know that’s not a guarantee, but it was only twenty percent when I looked yesterday, so it’s getting— What— Why are you stopping? What are we doing?”

Patrick pulls the car onto the grassy shoulder and puts it in park, ignoring the protests of his clearly over-stressed fiancé. He reaches behind the seat to dig through the insulated bag he’d managed to sneak into the car while David was ranting about all the ways Alexis has been adding to his to-do list since she got back last week, emerging with two pints of ice cream and two spoons. He hands the cookies and cream to David whose face does a thing where his eyes go big and wide with surprise while his mouth goes small and soft. It’s a study in contradictions, just like David himself, and it’s one of Patrick’s favorite looks; he cherishes every time he can manage to make it appear.

“What’s this?” David asks.

“You’re stressed about the wedding.” David scowls, as if Patrick is pointing out some dark secret. As if the pitch and cadence and length of his ranting over the last hour hadn’t given him away. “So we’re taking a break from the to-do list. Just for a few minutes,” he adds as panic begins to well up in David’s eyes. “We can have some ice cream, relax, and then we’ll go back home and tackle whatever else needs to be done tonight. So dig in before it gets too melty.”

For a moment, it looks like David might protest, but then he sags back against his seat, pulling the lid from the container. “I don’t like it when it’s melty.”

“I know.”

They eat in comfortable silence for a while, Patrick enjoying his maple walnut, feeding David a spoonful every time he takes a break from inhaling his own. Patrick loves how much David loves ice cream, loves the way his eyes close on the first bite, the way he lets it sit on his tongue for a moment before he swallows, relishing it like he’d forgotten just how good it is. Loves the way the rest of the pint disappears in exactly the opposite way, consumed with manic, childlike glee and gone before Patrick can finish a quarter of his own. Loves the way David will complain later, curled up in their bed with a bellyache, and Patrick will rub soothing circles into his skin and kiss him till it’s better.

“Why here?” David asks when he drops the spoon into his empty pint, looking out the window at Town Hall directly across the street.

It’s where they’re getting married next week. Precisely one week from today, they’ll be inside, somewhere in the middle of their ceremony, perhaps reciting their vows or sliding rings onto each other’s fingers. Patrick thinks he’ll probably be crying, whatever they’re doing. The happy tears will probably start the moment he sees David and won’t stop until sometime around their 50th anniversary. Maybe not even then.

He leans across the seat to kiss his fiancé, sticky and sweet, his cold tongue warmed by the heat of David’s, relishing the fizzy laughter he can taste there.

“Tell me about the rain,” he says when they part.

“It’s only a thirty percent chance.” The words are much less frantic this time, like David could be talking about the weather for tomorrow or some other day that isn’t their wedding day. “It’s probably nothing,” he says confidently, turning in his seat to lean back against the door, and Patrick watches the way his eyes slide over to look at Town Hall again, a soft, wistful smile settling across his lips.

“Probably,” Patrick agrees. “But what’s the backup plan if we need it?”

This is what they do. It’s what they’ve done with the store and what they’ve done in their relationship, and now it’s what they’re doing with their wedding. David handles the dreams. Patrick handles reality. It works for them. It works really fucking well.

“Jocelyn is bringing the umbrellas the Jazzagals used for that Singin’ in the Rain medley. They’re fugly and yellow, but people only need them to get to the cafe, where we can move the reception inside if needed, so it’s going to be fine.” David says the last part like he’s practiced it, and in truth, he has. They’ve gone through their plans, their backup plans, the schedule for the day, the catering menu, their song selections, all of it enough that they both have the whole of the day memorized. Patrick feels like there’s nothing they haven’t prepared for, which is just the way he likes it. Sometimes David just needs to be reminded of that.

“And what if the power goes out?”

“The ceremony will be fine because it’s early enough and there are plenty of windows,” David recites. “There’s an extra case of Jennifer’s candles in the stock room at the store if we need them for the reception. Stevie is letting us borrow that ancient”—he swallows thickly, the next word sticking in his throat for a moment before he manages to free it—“boombox from the motel, which we can use as speakers for your phone. The batteries for it and a portable charger for your phone are already in the emergency bag.”

“You develop a sudden rash?”

“Cold compress and tea tree oil. If that doesn’t work, Alexis’s makeup. If that doesn’t work, Mom’s stage makeup. Absolute last resort: Photoshop.”

“We spill something on our tuxes?”

“My backup sweater and pants are already in my bag. You’ll wear the cashmere sweater I got you for your birthday and those grey slacks that make your ass look so good.”

Patrick gives him a knowing smirk. “You always think my ass looks good.”

“What? It’s a good ass!” He laughs, bright and loud, absolutely beautiful in his happiness, before his mouth twists into something sweeter and shier. “I’m gonna marry that ass.”

The smirk on Patrick’s face grows into a grin nearly too big to be contained. “And here I‌ thought you loved me for my sparkling personality.”

“Oh, I love that, too, but your ass is the real draw here.”

He chuckles and drops a happy kiss to David’s knuckles, brushing his thumb across the four rings he’d put there just a few months ago, the four rings that mean at this time next week David will be his husband. “Is this helping?”

David nods. “Yeah, just… can we keep going?”

They have a long, frighteningly extensive list of backup plans for every worst case scenario they could think of, from the mundane to the unlikely and absurd. Patrick is pretty certain they won’t need to use their backup plan for what happens if a member of the wedding party becomes possessed by a demonic entity, but if it makes David feel better to have a plan just in case, Patrick is more than happy to give him one (isolate the possessed person in the bathroom if possible, remove everyone else from the area if not, send another member of the wedding party to the church to get a priest).

He drops his melting container of ice cream into the cup holder and takes David’s hands to run through the rest of the list. “The caterer doesn’t show?”

“We order delivery from Panucci’s.”

“The cake collapses?”

“There are mini cupcakes in the freezer at the store.”

“The heel on one of your mother’s shoes breaks?”

“Dad’s bringing an extra pair in the car.”

“The officiant doesn’t show?”

“Roland—god forbid—conducts the ceremony from the copy of the script saved on Stevie’s phone.”

“An osprey gets loose in Town Hall?”

“We— What the fuck is an osprey?”

Patrick bites back a laugh, swallowing hard to try to keep it from spilling out of his mouth. He doesn’t do a very good job of it. “A big bird. Like a hawk.”

David glares at him, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward in spite of him. “You were in charge of the backup plans, and I don’t think you made one for that. Now if an ostrich—”

“Osprey.”

“—interrupts our vows, it’s going to be all your fault, Patrick Brewer.”

Patrick grins and grins and grins some more, so incredibly in love with this man and the dramatic pout now aimed his way. “Well we wouldn’t want that,” he says, leaning teasingly across the center console, and David drags him the rest of the way in, pulling Patrick over to crash against his mouth, hard and brash as thunder. The heat of it rolls through him, echoing against tendon and bone, leaving them vibrating against one another, David stretching his fingers along the line of Patrick’s jaw, Patrick twisting his hands into David’s hair, dragging him closer, wanting more of him, wanting every good and gorgeous thing he can give him. 

Unfortunately, they’re in the front seat of his car in the middle of the afternoon, parked practically in the center of town. It’s not exactly an ideal place for David to give him anything at all, so Patrick lets all of his buzzing desire settle back down into a gentle hum and reluctantly pulls away.

David watches him go, starry-eyed and slow, like he’s still stuck somewhere in the moment with Patrick’s lips on his, finally coming back to himself with a long blink. “How do you do it?” he asks, a little wrinkle forming on his brow.

“Do what?”

“This.” The rings on his hand flash wildly as he gestures at the ice cream and Town Hall and everything else within view. “How do you always manage to know exactly what I need?”

Patrick shakes his head. “You think I‌ don’t know how to love you?” He reaches across to twine the fingers of their left hands together, one of David’s rings pressing against the place where his own will soon sit, squeezing against the feeling as he tries to find what he wants to say. “Best, I’ve spent the better part of three years thinking about and trying to do little else. I mean, I’m not perfect. And I’m— I’m still gonna get it wrong sometimes.” He looks up into the deep, steady warmth of those familiar brown eyes. “But this—loving you—it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done. And I’m so glad I’m gonna get to spend the rest of my life doing it.”

Strong hands are dragging him in again before he even finishes his sentence, cradling his face so that David can kiss him long and deep and slow. 

If it’s also a little wet, Patrick pretends not to notice.

“I love you,” David whispers against his lips, and then his cheeks, and then his nose. “Do you know that?” He kisses Patrick’s eyelids and his chin and his forehead. “Do you know how much I love you?”

“I do,” Patrick says, feeling the warmth of David’s smile in the kisses fluttering all over his skin. “I do.” And he reels his fiancé back in so that he can savor the truth of it on his lips.

Far too soon though, David is leaning away again, just a trace of his panic returning as he asks, “Do you really think there might be an osprey?”

Patrick shakes his head but says, “I’ll make a backup plan just in case.” 

Seemingly satisfied, David tilts in to kiss him once more, laughing and joyous and light, and Patrick thinks that next week can’t possibly come soon enough.