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bottombaron · 3 years

Text

the high school Winterbaron au that I'll never write~

Zemo transfers to an American school. his father caught him attending a protest and he can't have him undermining the Sokovian government so now Zemo is living at his estranged mother's house in America.

his mother, being American, means Zemo has dual citizenship. her and his father are separated but not divorced. (Zemo hadn't seen her since she left them when he was four so their relationship isn't great)

Bucky is part of the large friend group of avenger characters (Steve, Tony, Bruce, Thor etc.) but he feels left out. it used to be just him, Steve, Natasha, and then later Sam. but now Steve is being pulled away by friends like Tony and girlfriend Peggy. Bucky has Sam and Natasha, but Nat is closer with Clint and Sam is naturally more outgoing and popular than Bucky is, with his own friends.

basically Bucky is feeling lonely as fuck.

due to a complex powder-keg of racism, American ignorance (on the avenger's side), and an already deep-seated resentment of the Starks' and the American forces bombing Sokovia (on Zemo's side): him and the 'avengers group' do not get along and are instantly at each other's throats

Zemo is constantly causing mayhem at school and trying to get kicked out and sent back home. everyone pretty much hates him and he's fine with that.

*vague plot hand wave* something happens, a bet between Zemo and the 'avengers' ends up with Zemo getting to take one of them out on a date and they have do what he says for the day

he chooses Bucky and everyone is thrown

Bucky hardly knows this guy and Steve and Tony thought it would be one of them. they try to refuse on his behalf but Bucky's not that bothered, '*shrug* he's like, what? 5 even?? (he's not) I could just pick him up and throw him if he tried anything (he could do that tho), i'll be fine.'

Bucky feels weird about it more because he's not a part of this fucking drama and now he feels like he's been made the center of it

Steve and Tony are fighting over his involvement in this mess (Steve is protective, Tony is dismissive) and Bucky is just tiRED

Zemo had simply noticed Bucky was being abandoned by his friends and thought he looked lonely like him. but he's also a little shit and too busy playing the villain (and having a blast thank you very much) to drop the façade

so Bucky and Zemo agree to meet at a mall for a 'date'

the mall Zemo chooses is huge and luxurious and Bucky already feels uncomfortable in it. he sits and waits in the food court where there's at least a Hot Dog on a Stick he can feel a little within his financial comforts

Zemo finds him and they're off walking the mall

they bicker, they banter, and of course Zemo is fucking weird. he's acting like they've been friends for years and excitedly showing Bucky all the window displays like Bucky isn't (technically) there against his will. but it's not uncomfortable enough that he isn't starting to catch onto Zemo's chaotic rhythm and enjoy himself a little

they start to talk in that sarcastic playfully teasing way. Bucky's dry wit and Zemo's sharp flirty replies work really well together and they're actually kind of having a good time

until Zemo reminds Bucky he has to do what he says for the day and takes him to a really fancy boutique and informs Bucky that his task is to try on some clothes with Zemo

Bucky instantly feels panic when he's in the store, it's too big and too crowded and there's actual security guards in three piece suits giving him the most judgmental looks as if he's a criminal

everyone knows he doesn't belong there and that he's small and dirty

he starts to have a panic attack

Zemo notices and pulls Bucky into a corner of the store, hands him a bottle of water and instructs him to focus on drinking the bottle up to the label. every sip of water he must take a deep breath like he's coming up for air in a pool. let it out. and take another sip. and repeat.

Zemo tells Bucky he's going to be right back and leaves to talk to someone important

Bucky doesn't notice when everyone starts to leave the shop

the doors close, the lights dim, the music stops playing current pop and plays something soft and old. when Zemo comes back Bucky is feeling a lot better

Zemo says he talked with the manager and they told him he and Bucky could have the next couple of hours by themselves in the shop, if Bucky was still willing that is

Bucky feels embarrassed but Zemo starts ranting about everything that's triggering in the store, like it was everyone else's fault and not Buckys'. it makes him feel less ashamed. 'it's these florescent lights, the doormen were assholes, that music hurt my head too, etc'. like what Bucky had just went through was perfectly normal and not something bad Bucky did on purpose or for attention like people normally make him feel.

he doesn't question how Zemo got everyone to leave and the store to soften (he actually doesn't know Zemo is rich, he never bothered to know Zemo at all. he was just the guy everyone at school hated)

the two of them spend the time running around like children with the store all to themselves, the only other person a butler-like-attendant that serves them champaign and cashews.

Bucky braces for Zemo to dress him up like he promised he would. he's expecting a trim three piece suit that Zemo was eyeing earlier or something equally uncomfortable. but with how surprisingly well Zemo had been treating him Bucky feels like he can indulge a small dress up party for the guy

he's surprised again when Zemo's wardrobe choices for him are sinfully soft cotton jeans, t-shirts, and the sexiest leather jacket he's even seen

they're clothes Bucky would have picked for himself and he feels great in them

Zemo for his part steps out of the dressing room looking like Elton John meets Cruella DeVil

the ugliest purple fur coat, heels with gold accents, and a crop top that says 'break my hole not my heart' on it

Bucky: that is the ugliest fucking outfit I've ever seen

Zemo: thank you, I love it 😎

Bucky asks why he wasn't forced to wear something more high fashion, Zemo answers that, 'while I would love to see you in a suit I know you wouldn't be comfortable in one. attractiveness is about comfort. my style isn't yours. I'm comfortable in things that you would never be in which is why I make this look good. and you look exquisite in that.'

Bucky blushes but doesn't disagree. he does however tease Zemo about his outfit. 'are you sure you actually pull that off?'

Zemo: oh hunny, I'm fuckable in anything

Bucky switches into his old clothes and whistles when he sees the price tag. 'I could never afford this' Zemo looks, 'ah yes , that is quite the ridiculous mark up.'

Zemo: which is why I was planning on stealing it ;3

and then he runs out of the store with all the clothes he picked out for Bucky, still in his gaudy outfit

Bucky is dumbfounded but quickly runs after him and they stop only after they're at the other end of the mall, out of breath

Bucky: the actual fuck, Zemo!

Zemo: *is wearing his ~who me? I've never done anything wrong in my cute little life~ face* :3

Zemo explains shoplifting is good actually fuck capitalism

and doesn't explain that the reason why they had control of the store in the first place is because his father is an investor and everything they ran out with was technically already bought the moment they touched it

but he doesn't want Bucky to feel indebted for the clothes or make him feel like he needs charity. and rebellion (even pretend rebellion) is funner

Bucky suspects everything is fine anyway because he's not an idiot but it's funner to pretend for him too

the fantasy world that they've created outside of their actual lives and drama, in this mall, on this day, is freeing

Zemo releases Bucky of their deal, the time having been completed

Bucky, instead of leaving, takes Zemo's wrist and guides him to Hot Dog on a Stick at the food court

he treats him to a $5 dinner and watches, trying not to laugh, as Zemo attempts to eat a corndog with mustard in a pair of white Versace cashmere pants

it's the best date he's ever had

#winterbaron #bucky x zemo #zemo x bucky #zemo #helmut zemo #bucky barnes #sad days being the one to write a hs!au fic for comfort #hell not even a full fic #a ficlet?#anyways thanks for reading!#if anyone wants this to write yourself you're welcome to it 😊#i regret posting this without a readmore jesus this is long in the browser sry

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monsoonblooms12 · 3 years

Note

What Ethan & Pooja AU is this? #OpenHeartAU

Selcouth (Ethan x f!MC)

Summary: Set in Book 2, Pooja gets the recognition she deserves for solving Naveen Banerji's case.

Selcouth: Unfamiliar, rare, strange and yet, marvelous🤎

A/N: Thank you so much @beastlyinstrument for the visual prompt❤ I had fun thinking up and writing this piece.

A/N 2: The flashback portions are indented

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)

Word Count: around 3.2K (I am sorry!)

Rating: General

Category: A bit angst, A bit fluff

Warnings: 1 Curse Word (again 😆)

Prompts: Late Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge July challenge day 4: celebration

There was stark silence surrounding him as he scribbled out points from the morning meeting of the Diagnostics Team along with some of his own observations from the patient charts. The days have been nothing out of the blue since his return from the Cholera-ridden district of Amazons.

The steam from the warm coffee filled the entire office with its sweet aroma. With winters in their full force, there was a mystic chill all around the city and the warmth the coffee gave was extremely welcomed.

It took him 30 minutes to the tee to complete his morning paperwork. And as he arranged the white sheets in a clean stack, a slow groan escapes him. He had been so engrossed in work, that he had completely missed the fact that he had emptied his coffee cup.

Ethan looks up from his desk to the windows giving an enchanting view of the brumal grounds. Snowflakes, basking in the distant sun's glory, shining like iridescent jewels, fell slowly, silently to meet their origin.

It's too serene of a day to waste indoors.

The thought caught him somewhat by surprise, even if it was his encephalon producing it.

He had spent long years of his life away from focusing on diminutive happenings like the weather or the warmth of his favourite Vienna on a frosty day.

To appreciate the beauty of falling of the snowflakes today, was a slightly unusual change. He couldn't help but wonder as to what would have caused it.

He didn't need to wait long for an answer. Like a response to his unuttered query, the notification bell of his phone brought him out of his reverie and displayed her name with the joy of a student who had solved a difficult problem with ease on the first try. It was nothing out of the ordinary, just an email of her completed reports.

And yet, he was unable to control the breakout of butterflies in his stomach.

The feeling was orphic, and yet irenic.

As his heels tapped on the white floors, supposedly conducting an intriguing conversation with them, a faint intermix of voices reached him and stopped him in his tracks.

"You're wearing all black." It wasn't a question, but a fact that Alexandra's voice enunciated.

"Are you surprised?" A concordant voice questioned. Even if he didn't acknowledge it, it was one of his favourite euphonies.

"No. Impressed."

"I lost a bet to Bryce, and this is what I get in return." There is a pause. "It's a nice change though."

He can feel the smile that emerges out on her face at the end and feels his lips curl up, like a magnetic connection. He was caught off guard as he stood there thinking of the sweet nothings and sweet everythings of his reminiscences with her.

"Good Morning Dr Ramsey!"

It took him all his power to straighten himself, and to put on the stoic façade before responding,

"Good Morning Dr Walton."

Alexandra didn't initiate a conversation, just like he had expected. Bidding goodbye to her companion, she strode off her way.

Now, it was just him and her, standing in the middle of nowhere, eyes locked in intense focus, tied together with a string they find themselves unable to break.

She looked striking like she always did.

In every hue, every ensemble, at every hour, she knew how to induce that unnamed feeling in his heart.

All she had to do was to look at him the way she did, and his idiotic heart would skip a beat, and an ambrosial emotion would follow.

And what does one do when emotions go out of control?

Self Preservation.

Giving her a brisk nod, he dropped his gaze, hurrying away past her, not having the courage to look at the hurt caused.

Idiotic.

That's the only word he could use to describe his actions.

He could think of a trillion excuses, travel through a hundred bends on the roads of justification, but nothing would be enough to balance out the pain he was giving her. Not even his playlist of curses that he played in his mind every day to remind himself what he truly was.

An asshole.

As soon as his steps took him to the outdoors, the crisp cold winds blew through his hair, and he cherished the moment.

The apricity hugged him, and the scene that met his eyes, the world draped with a veil of phosphorescing snow, generated a euphoria he was unfamiliar with. As a minuscule flakelet fell on his outstretched hand, he realized that no one needs to spend a billion dollars to get happiness.

It is hidden amidst mundane things, and the only thing one has to do is to keep foraging for it.

Happiness can be made, it can be found. But can it be bought?

Never.

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

It was unusually calm at Derry's in the morning hours.

Not that he was complaining, of course.

In comfortable, long sips, he lets the caffeine overtake the tiredness and the heartache coursing through his body. The glare of the screen and ping of his cellular broke the aura of comfort that had spread out through the coffee shop. He wants to shut it off and throw it in a corner away from his sight, but decides against it.

It's a text from Naveen.

Skipping is not an option for today night!

A groan escapes him, the annoyance of another meet and greet taking away all the calm. He tried to convince him, but all efforts went futile. He plays the discussion all over again to find any loophole he can to escape the torture.

Flashback:

It's after hours and the wing of the hospital where Naveen's office was situated bore a silence. The amicable old man sat in his chair, leaning back as the younger one stood, with his back at him. It was obvious they had been arguing, but it seemed more like amusement for the old mentor and annoyance for the young protégé.

"There is no need-"

"Ethan, you have been repeating the same words for fifteen minutes now." Naveen chuckles.

"I very well know that there is no need for anything, dear friend. I just want a little bit of happiness and merriment in the hard times."

"I am not stopping you from doing that, Naveen, you know that. But what is the need of the celebration being about me?"

"Because you are a reason I am alive today." The man gives a melancholy smile, vision blurred as the near-death experience of the past year come sailing in front of him.

"This celebration is about you and Dr Sharma. Without the two of you, I would not have been here."

Ethan's features are clouded by the pain of losing his mentor, who has been like a father to him, and inspiration. His frown softens, annoyance long lost, as he comes as takes a seat and places his hand on his.

"Fine. I will do this. But only for you, okay?"

Naveen's lips curl up in a grateful, happy smile as if wordlessly conveying his thanks. As Ethan stands up and proceeds to leave, he cannot stop himself from laying out his observation,

"For her too."

And Ethan knew. He knew exactly whom this was about. And as much as he wanted to deny the assumption, he couldn't help but accept the truth in it. Of course, he was doing it for Naveen. But he was doing it for her too. She deserved it so much more than him. If she hadn't been there, the seat occupied by his mentor today would have been...

Flashback ends

As his eyes skim through the crisp pages of the medical journal absent-mindedly, he thinks of her again. The permanent occupant of his daydreams, who would still manage to come back, no matter how many resets he carried out.

He thinks of her attire from the hour before, hair in a neat long braid, dressed in a meticulously embroidered Indian attire. And then of the celebration at dusk, where she will finally receive the recognition she deserves.

All the doubts regarding her promotion to the Diagnostics Team would be washed away.

He remembers what she had told him a few days after he had heard those nasty rumours,

"I have proved myself and I know what's true. I don't need to show anyone else the testament of my abilities. As long as I am fair and just, their words can do no harm to me."

His admiration for her had increased phenomenally when she spoke those words to him.

His pride, his faith had not been misplaced when he picked her for the difficult voyage named Edenbrook.

He has never felt so proud of any other intern as much as he does of her.

His heart sings to him, his choice was correct. He doesn't let it elaborate itself, because one wrong move from his side would be more than enough to ruin this unpolished gem before she even gets a chance to shine.

Yes, he did tell her that some things are worth any risk, she is worth any risk, back in Miami. The reminiscences of the day still played on the screen of his mind in sepia, they lulled him to sleep.

But the risk to harm her fragile career before it even blossoms?

It wasn't just a risk, it was like a crime for him.

One which he refused to commit.

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

As dusk falls and winter blues colour the land of snow in multichromatic hues, hiding any bit of orange from the setting sun, Pooja Sharma hums along with her favourite songs as she dresses up for the special evening.

No matter how much she wants to curl up in the folds of the soft Cashmere, she has to be in attendance. It's a strict order from her grand mentor and impossible for her to go past.

It's all black day, she reminds herself when picking the outfit. And she doesn't forget to leave a thank you note for Lekh as she finds the perfect one.

And now, as she stands, trying to complete the arduous job of creating a perfect eyeliner wing, a certain someone's reminiscences trouble her pained heart.

No matter how much she scolds it for its stupidity, trying to explain the futility of the hope of getting together, it never heeds, just continues to trouble her with the baritone of his that enchants her mind, the cologne that overpowers all her senses.

As she looks at the reflection in the speculum, she cannot help but imagine his reaction.

Will she even get a reaction?

Maybe just a nod, or a look.

No words.

She has convinced herself with it. It took some time, some stops, some pulls of an invisible harness, but she has convinced herself.

She's stopped hoping, soothing herself with whatever they shared, memories that felt like they belong to a bygone era, and a promise of treasuring them, just in case he ever decided to come back.

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

In the vespertine hours, the diamond dust made the sun devoid city look like a fairytale. Any other time, he would have just worried about the sharp chill, probably cursing the snow.

Being so observant of the places he is a regular visitor at, it was a new experience for him.

Strange, even.

It's something that will take some time to get used to.

The interiors are warm. Minimally decorated, as he had requested. Not wanting to create a fuss, he bee-lines to the corner of the room, where the only occupant was emptiness. He decided to cherish the moments of solace before the bother of the vivacious crowd began, wanting to start a colloquy.

On instinct, he looks around, not being able to comprehend the reason why his heart leaps to his throat. And then a pang of disappointment overlaps that sudden nervousness.

The absence of one person, the feeling so profound.

It's magical.

Dangerous, but still, magical.

A mute scold follows. No matter how hard he tries, strives towards that unannounced aim of reset, his stupid heart and its childishness always ruin his plans.

The call of his name makes him turn around.

Naveen stands, jolly smile fixed in place, eyes sparkling with joy and...

Gratitude.

They chat, topics ranging from Diagnostic team cases to complaints of coffee. His orbs casually drift towards the entryway, in hope of seeing his dearest.

And as the astrologers say, the stars align, the universe comes into play, and the shimmer of black in the lambent atmosphere makes his heart skip a beat. He feels a smile emerging and hastily hides it with a scowl.

If he had to, he would have sworn that he looked like a clown.

Her ambers gaze around in a lucid, tender manner, in strike contrast to his a while ago.

There is a lack of haste, of worry, of unease.

Her very presence fills the air with tranquility and without his consent, his soul basks in it. After what felt like an eternity, their gazes meet.

Melt into each other like the wax of two candles.

Become inseparable.

She smiles, it's faint.

It seems more of a formality than a wish. The momentary cheer is replaced by a somber, melancholic expression. Her orbs drift away, gaze turns away as if to hide whatever was to come from him.

And he knows.

He's the reason.

Silence is suffocating, but right now, the chaos is even more constricting to him.

Everyone chatters, mingles, smiles.

Everyone except her.

She stands too still, flashing a half-hearted smile and half-hearted gaze here and there, as she is surrounded by the rest of her friends, preventing him from getting a better look.

As conflict rises in his interior, a to go or not to debate, the gulps of scotch become more frequent, the frown gets tighter and guilt gets heavier. Before he can drown down into the never-ending cascade of crippling self-hatred, there is a call of his name.

Naveen.

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

Claps and whoots surround her, along with a cheer. She becomes the recipient of numerous bear hugs, and compliments as Naveen elaborates on her contribution to his recovery. It feels like a reel of situations played from her sweven. It took a pinch for her to realize that it wasn't.

A mic tap follows, it's Ethan's turn to speak. She freezes upon hearing her name getting repeated again. There is an uncanny depth to it, she notices. An indication that it conceals so much more than is visible. Not just pride, not just intoxicating happiness.

Gratitude, raw and pure gratitude.

And something else (or maybe not?)

Her focus all over the place, she missed a lot of the address. What stayed carved in golden words was a single sentence, unremarkably remarkable.

"It's not me, it's her. I lost all hope, but she was the one who fought till the very end, never giving up, even if she had thousands of storms to navigate through."

"There can be only one recipient of the applause today, and it's Dr Sharma."

Two contrasting emotions put her in a dilemma. Whether to let the water drops she held strongly to herself or to let the heartfelt joy induce the grin that would shine brighter than the stars the twinkle along with the forlorn moon?

Unable to decide, she let the cracks in her stoic mask deepen, let the faint upturn of lips become visible to the world. Every applaud fell short, in a haze, as the mere words spoken mere moments before played in a loop like a soft harmony.

The 360-degree turn of the evening gave her the most unexpected and the most precious memories.

The change of the blithe chilly eve to heartwarming dusk.

Rare, mysterious and yet, magnificent.

Selcouth.

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

Ethan Ramsey, for the past decade of his extremely brilliant career, has never displayed even a minuscule amount of emotions. Never. The mask of stoicism fixed so perfectly, that no power could ever induce a crack in it.

No one could.

Until one day, an intern waltzed into his life like an unforeseen plot twist and induced changes no one ever could.

The mask has cracked, even if to a small degree, letting the minuscule details of a transformation out. Sometimes it could be as evident as a smile, or a genuine compliment to an intern. In other instances, it would be just the absence of the forehead frown (which had become a permanent resident at a point).

And now, the beloved plot twist of his novel stood before him, her eyes expertly decorated with kohl. She was quieter than usual, engaging in casual conversation, but prevented going into depths of it.

Their gazes never meet, only slide past each other.

He missed looking into the amber of hers, trying to figure out her thoughts like someone engaged with a very complex puzzle that ends up in a phenomenal picture.

He missed listening to her sweet whispers, mumbles which made him smile more than he had for the past decade.

He missed her.

The universe is always planning a conspiracy to make destiny true. And it's definitely an action of its, that his hand extends towards her, wordlessly.

She gazes at it, gazes at him, thinks for a while.

And finally, slips her hand, bejeweled with that bracelet she wore in Miami. He still remembers it placed on his heart, which beat at an erratic rhythm.

Which beats at an erratic rhythm now.

Looking at the Bostonian sky, only drapes of translucent mist could be seen all around. No twinkles, even the moonbeams were struggling to reach them. The silence is comfortable, only interrupted by the sips of steaming hot coffee.

Her eyes are fixed above, in a search for the hidden celestial elements. His focus stayed on the snowflakes resting on his jacket.

He leans back, places a hand down.

There is a lack of warmth.

Soon enough, another hand joins him.

The cold is gone.

And so is his search of moonbeams.

Her touch felt like light, his own moonbeam. So soft, so warm, so dear. Something he could keep etched on his skin forever.

She was his moon.

And for her, those summery blue orbs held depths of the ocean, the faint, soft wrinkles that languid years leave behind as a mark of their passing like map lines of some unknown lands.

He was her world.

In every universe, through trials and tribulations, through pain and smiles, they were destined to find their way to each other. No one powerful enough to keep them apart.

Not even they themselves.

It was a cosmic state of comfort they found themselves in. His hand in hers, their fingers interwoven, the reflex etched in his mind with an everlasting ink.

He has never believed in soulmates, but as he as leans back, eyes closed, hair fluttering along with the icy-cold breeze, having her by his side, he couldn't bring himself to believe this was anything less than destiny.

That even after so many trials of forgetting her, he would always come back to her, searching for the serenity he only finds in her presence.

The feeling is rare, confusing, maybe terrifying.

But right now, he basks in the warmth that it provides, all worries and all woes are hidden in a wooden box, discarded away from his sight. And unbeknownst to even him, he waits for the day he can kiss her the way he wants to, no ties, no binds holding them away.

Yes, he waits for the day.

PS: If you are reading this, I am very grateful for you. Thank you for reading and I hope you have a great day🤎

Tags💕 (Let me know if you would like to be added or removed) :

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@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

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jamlavender · 3 years

Text

Unholy Ghosts deleted scene: Chaos Family Christmas

I was reminded of this fic the other day, and after giving it a scan I remembered that the first version of the Christmas scene was very different to the one I ended up including in the posted story. This first draft was longer and more comedic, and I decided to write another because the fic was already so long and the tone had already become more contemplative. Upon giving that first draft a reread, though, I thought it was funny, and have decided to share it here!

The necessary backstory for this is: Lord Asriel and Mrs Coulter avoided falling into the abyss (though still killed Metatron) and tricked Lyra into coming North five years later. After a rocky start, she spends her winter break with them. This is towards the end of the fic, and if you want to read about how they got to this point (or why she’s calling them Asriel and Marisa) you can read the full story here. Also, for some of the jokes to work, the version of Boreal mentioned in this is the older version from the books. I hope you enjoy!

One day, Lyra was wandering around the Saariselkä market with her mother, a migraine having confined a foul-tempered Asriel to the bedroom for the afternoon, when she spotted the date on a newspaper stacked outside the post office. Tucked away in the cabin, she’d largely lost track of time. “Look!” she said to Pan, who was rolling around in the snow. “It’s December twenty-third. It’s almost Christmas!”

They arrived home that afternoon with the usual spoils, along with a freshly plucked snow goose and a stack of root vegetables, ideal for roasting. They’d also found some sweet pears and fresh cream, which they could poach in red wine for dessert. Her mother had even let Lyra drive the motorsledge home, the wind whipping through their hair and flushing their cheeks the same bright pink as they charged over the white hills back to the cabin, both of them beaming, unbeknownst to the other.

Her father went off on a tirade when they explained what the purchases were for, of course, ranting and raving, saying that he hadn’t thrown God into an endless abyss to then celebrate his son’s birth like a sycophant. Marisa simply nodded along while she melted chocolatl into milk on the stove and spiked it with brandy, then guided Lyra to the sofa, mugs in hand, and whispered, “Let’s just wait for him to tire himself out, hmm?” which made Lyra laugh, and then she felt guilty for laughing, as she still did whenever they shared a shred of affection.

Lyra assumed that she’d prepare the meal alone on the day itself, but confronted with a sack of dirt-encrusted potatoes and a whole goose carcass, to say nothing of the chard or the gravy or the dessert, she realised that she might benefit from some assistance. She peered across the room to the lounge; her father was stretched on the sofa with a notebook on one leg and a newspaper on the other. She marched over with her hands on her hips. “There are too many potatoes for me to peel on my own, not if I’m going to stuff and season the goose too. I can’t do it all myself. You have to help me.”

He frowned. “I’m working.”

Lyra peered at his sparse scrawls. “You haven’t written a sentence in an hour.”

“I’m mulling,” he said petulantly, though Stelmaria had lifted her head, her ears twitching.

Lyra folded her arms, spurred on by his dæmon’s mild enthusiasm. “It’s Christmas.”

“You know that means nothing to me.”

“I don’t care.” They stared at each other, an imperious mirror image. She raised an eyebrow. “Marisa’s excited about it, about us celebrating together. I can tell her that you’re refusing to participate, if you’d prefer that.”

The corner of his lip twitched, the hint of a smirk. “Are you trying to play us off each other?”

“Is it working?”

He sighed. “Can’t your mother do it?”

“She’s even more useless than you are. And she’s in the bath.”

Stelmaria got to her feet with a yawn and padded into the kitchen, giving Asriel no choice but to follow, a scowl etched across his face and a triumphant grin sprawled across Lyra’s.

She put him to work preparing the snow goose for the oven while she mixed fennel and star anise and salt together for the seasoning, grinding the spices in an old granite mortar with a chipped pestle and adding a squirt of lemon juice at the end. She’d assumed that he could handle basic meat preparation – her parents’ brutal reindeer butchery had made it clear that he knew his way around a cleaver – but when she checked on his progress, her eyes widened. She’d tasked him with lightly scouring the goose’s legs and breast with a knife to help the fat render, and he’d interpreted that as gouging deep trenches into the bird, burying the knife into the carcass.

“Asriel!” she said, grabbing the knife from him. “God, no, not like that. Like this.”

He rolled his eyes as she instructed him, dragging the fine point of the knife over the goose’s other leg. He tried again and immediately created a deep channel in the bird’s flesh. Lyra glared at him.

“Have you ever been gentle in your life?”

He let his head roll towards her. “What do you think?”

She shook her head and took over, passing him the peeler instead and shoving him towards the pile of potatoes she’d already scrubbed clean. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me,” she muttered, tracing delicate scratches into the bird’s skin and then rubbing the seasoning into the fresh grooves. “Threatening to break my arm was your first instinct when I was a child – don’t think I don’t remember you putting me in an armlock in the retiring room, or all those times you dragged me to Mrs Lonsdale by the wrists – and then you tore the bloody sky in half! When it wasn’t even necessary. But that’s just what you’re like, isn’t it – ”

“What?” Asriel had paused, peeler in one hand, semi-shorn potato in the other. Lyra blinked; she’d assumed that he’d just tuned her out.

“Nothing. I was just commenting on your inability to do anything with restraint.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t necessary?”

She stared at him. “Well, there were lots of windows already, weren’t there? Even in Oxford. But no, you had to go all the way to the North – ”

He dropped the peeler onto the countertop with a clatter. “There were other windows? In our world?”

“Yeah,” she said, sharing a nervous glance with Pan. “You – you didn’t know about them?”

“How could I?” he said. “Within days of leaving Svalbard this world was several windows away. I didn’t spare a thought for home until your mother and I returned. How many? Where are they? Did you say Oxford?”

“They’re closed now,” Lyra said, an unwelcome memory of Will’s face disappearing behind a cruel, luminous seam in the air coming to her mind. “And I only knew about a few, the Oxford ones, mostly, though Will’s dad must’ve come through one too. But they’d been around for ages, they must have. I mean, Latrom had been crossing for years.” She tilted her head. “You really didn’t know that there were other windows? Even now?”

“No,” he snapped, Stelmaria grizzling beside him. “No one deigned to tell me. And who’s this Latrom?”

“That creepy collector guy, with the snake-dæmon. Oh, he had a different name in our world…”

“Boreal,” Pantalaimon piped up from beside her. “Lord Boreal.”

Her father’s eyes widened. “Boreal was travelling between worlds?”

Lyra nodded. “He’d been at it for ages. Decades, I suppose. He ran a big company in Will’s world and had travelled all over, collecting things for his weird basement. I think he was trying to impress Marisa. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work.”

That made Stelmaria growl, and Lyra’s heart began to beat a little faster.

“Your mother went with him? To another world?”

“She was looking for me, I think,” Lyra admitted. “Latrom – Boreal – whatever, he’d stolen my alethiometer to force us bring him the knife, and she came to intercept us. That didn’t work either.”

At that moment, her mother swanned into the kitchen, wearing a red cashmere dress and a coal-black shawl, a fragrant bloom of perfume following her, the intertwining notes of rose and myrrh a smell Lyra had come to recognise as soon as it appeared in the air. She smiled at the sight of them, Asriel and Lyra side by side in the kitchen, though the joy was wiped from her face as soon as Asriel exploded, “You went to another world with Boreal?”

Marisa glared at Lyra, and she took Pan in her arms at once and clutched him to her chest. “What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t realise it was a secret!” Lyra said. “It was years ago!”

“When I asked you to go to another world with me, you refused. But when he asked – ”

The golden monkey was pulling gently on Stelmaria’s ears, trying to placate her, but Marisa herself seemed unperturbed. She poured herself a glass of wine, the same deep red as her dress, and leaned against the dining table. “He had something to offer me that served my own interests. You wanted me to simply abandon my life’s work in favour of yours, without a moment’s hesitation or complaint.”

“Semantics,” Asriel growled.

Marisa sipped her wine, pursing her lips, unbearably smug. “Are you jealous, darling? I thought you didn’t care about my lovers.”

Lyra’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? You and he… ugh! That’s disgusting!”

“Thank you, Lyra,” her father said, smirking.

“He was so… so smarmy, and so old, even then!” Lyra said.

“He was not that old,” her mother snapped, shooting daggers at Asriel when he laughed.

“Trust me,” Asriel said, leaning towards Lyra but not lowering his voice, “she went older.”

“I don’t want to know!” Lyra said, at the same time Marisa growled, “Asriel.” The golden monkey’s soothing caresses became a vicious wrench, and then both Asriel and Stelmaria were grimacing.

Lyra shook her head, reaching for the warped tin tray holding the goose and carrying it over to the oven. “Ugh,” she said again, shivering slightly, thinking of Lord Boreal’s oily voice and vault of trinkets. “You did that to find me and I still got away. No wonder you were furious.” She closed the cast-iron door with a smack. “What happened to him, anyhow?”

“An altercation with a spectre,” her mother said smoothly. “If he’d been paying more attention, perhaps he’d have seen it coming. Alas.”

“You quite certain that the old snake’s heart didn’t just give out?” Asriel said, irritation transformed neatly into amusement. “As your daughter has emphasised so thoroughly, he was getting on.”

“Seems rather hypocritical to be goading me about the age of one’s lovers, hmm?” her mother said, with a sneer. “How old was that Latvian witch? Five hundred? Six?”

“Hard to say, given that she looked younger even than you,” Asriel said, leaning back against the counter with a smug smile. The monkey bit Stelmaria, and Asriel grunted.

“Stop it,” Lyra said, pressing her hands to her ears. “Ugh, just – just stop it! Both of you!”

Her parents glanced at Lyra, and then looked back to each other. Silence fell across the trio, and just as Lyra thought that the ghastly conversation was over, her father said, “She was four hundred, I’ll have you know. The witch you’re thinking of was Siberian, and she was – ”

“You’re both so infuriating!” Lyra said, storming out of the kitchen into her bedroom, closing the door with a slam.

She sat on her bed and folded her arms, expecting one of them to come and find her, but it soon became clear that her flouncing off had done little to end the argument. She could hear them bickering, two familiar tones resonating through the cabin’s wooden walls, with the occasional sharper snap or outraged shout. Then she heard the sound of glass smashing and a chair scraping across the ground. Lyra lay back on her bed with a groan, slotting her head beneath her pillow and pressing the soft cotton to her ears.

She waited a few minutes before resurfacing, pleased that the brawl had quietened, and then spent several more minutes flicking through her book, hoping that their tempers would have burned themselves out by the time she returned to the kitchen. But when she made her grand reappearance, expecting to see some contrition on their faces, even just a grain of sand’s worth, she found the kitchen empty, the only sound the faint hiss of the kettle on the stove. She looked around the empty room, noting the glass shards on the floor by the sink. “Do you think one of them ran off, and the other followed?” Pan said, peering out of the window.

“Their coats are still here…” Lyra said, frowning.

At that moment, the workshop door swung open and her father appeared in the doorway. His cheeks were flushed, and he was tucking his shirt back into his trousers. “Oh. You’re back.”

Lyra stared at him. He glanced at the oven, chest heaving. “Is that goose ready yet? I’m starving.”

Her mouth fell open. “You – you – ” She shook her head. “Oh my god!”

“Lyra, darling,” her mother said breathlessly, appearing beside Asriel, her face the same deep crimson as the dress she was still straightening.

“You two are a disgrace,” Lyra said, with all the admonition she could muster, but her father only snorted. She turned and stalked back to her bedroom. “Disgusting. Disgusting!”

This time her mother did appear after a few minutes, her wild hair neatened and her face dusted with powder, Lyra scowling beneath the covers and pretending to read when the knock came at the door. Marisa opened it and skulked inside, looking – perhaps for the first time in Lyra’s memory – truly embarrassed, her cheeks still aflame, now for different reasons.

“I’m sorry about that, darling,” she said, running a hand through her curls. “I don’t know what came over me. Now, won’t you join us in the kitchen again, hmm? I’ve mixed you a drink, with the cloudberry jenniver. I know that it’s your favourite.”

Lyra gave her an unimpressed glare. Her mother smiled sweetly, one hand stroking her dæmon’s golden back. “And you know your father doesn’t know what to do with a paring knife, nor a roast potato or a pear. It would be such a shame to see your lovely meal ruined, wouldn’t it? I certainly don’t know when to take the bird out of the oven.”

That got her out of bed, her mother’s hand rubbing gently between her shoulder blades as they returned to the kitchen. Her father was hacking at the pile of potatoes again, a half-finished cocktail by his side.

“There you are,” he said, holding out her drink. Lyra took a sip and suppressed a hum as the sweet spirit hit her throat. He gestured to the countertop. “Now, what do you want me to do with these?” he said. Before long, their workflow had resumed, Asriel scoffing at Lyra’s comments on his knife skills but following her instructions nonetheless, while her mother sat at the table and offered unhelpful suggestions, a glass of wine in her hand and her feet propped up on a chair.

“Merry Christmas to us,” Pan said after Marisa had made a particularly useless remark. Despite herself, Lyra smirked.

This is a deleted scene from my story Unholy Ghosts, in which Lord Asriel and Mrs Coulter survive the abyss and reunite with their daughter. You can read the full story on AO3.

#my fics #chaos family #lord asriel #marisa coulter #lyra belacqua #bad parenting #i thought this was funny idk #this is a crack fic tbh #the full fic is a lot less silly

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b00t-s · 3 years

Text

We're all gossip-y bitches sometimes

this is part two

Janus xey/xem

Roman she/he

Patton he/him

Virgil he/him

See the character intros for more info

TW. Swearing, arguments, alcohol, drunk characters, the word v//mit is used once, characters being characters, past trauma mentioned, tiny tiny tiny sprinkle of angst but just a passing of it at end, and nothing to intense

Again, tell me if I'm being insensitive. Shout at me if I am.

Summary: Patton goes to talk to Janus about Roman. The group opens...'some' bottles. Virgil adds on some...interesting opinions.

Events occur few hours after this.

Janus just finished xeir nightly shift when Patton came bounding up to xem. Janus raised an eyebrow at how ecstatic he looked.

"Yes?" Xey managed out, forcing back the hundreds of snarky comments xey could of said right then.

"Can you hang out at My house later?" Patton practically beamed out.

"why would I want to 'hang out'? It's just a social construct created to give people a higher sense of being." Janus remarked, flipping to closed/open side to closed.

"So you'll be there?"

"hmm. Will doom-and-gloom be there?

"doom and---ohhh, Virge. Yeah, probably," Patton realised now that this was a bad mix of people to invite "probably-probably not for long though!"

"Fine" Janus replied, taking off xeir apron. Xey ignored the obvious lie. "I'll be there in an hour." Xey knew one way or another xey would end up there due to Patton's... effective persuading.

"Great!" Patton exclaimed "oh yeah, and...um...it's raining outside so..take my umbrella, kay?"

His tone more serious all of a sudden, Patton nodded to Janus' heavily made up face, so well done an ignorant bystander wouldn't of noticed the thick layers of foundation on xeir face.

Patton handed xem a translucent umbrella, patterned with cute frogs and flowers, to Janus. Ignoring the distasteful cartoons, Janus nodded and took the umbrella.

"See you soon, Jan!" Patton cheerily waved as he bounced off.

Janus folded xeir apron, opened Patton's umbrella and braved the outdoors.

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

Janus arrived at Patton's house exactly on time, bone dry, despite the heavily flowing rain. Patton expected nothing less of his friend. He invited xem inside, amazed as always by his friend's everyday fashion.

Jan was wearing a casual yellow shirt over a long sleeved black shirt. Fishnet gloves adorned xeir hands, and xeir ruffled hair was let lose.

Xeir fashionably messy hair was topped with a neatly placed black fedora, which of xey never took off. Xey even scarred persuaded Thomas to let xem wear it to work.

Patton offered xem a smile, and walked xem upstairs. "Hi Jan!" He grinned.

"Hello" xey replied mundanely.

Xey absent-mindedly glanced at Patton's outfit, which contained a violet cashmere sweater, bell bottomed jeans, circular silver glasses and a sunflower clip in his perfect curls.

It was a good look, xey had to admit.

When they both reached Patton's room, Janus stood still, taking in xeir surroundings.

Patton's room was covered with things from the 2000's; Tamagotchi's, stickers pressed up against the pastel wall, stuffed animals, wristbands, old CD's, care bears posters and butterfly clips littering the floor in a deadly trap.

A trans flag was pinned above the single bed with blue tack, right next to some inspirational and motivational quotes.

The whole place looked like it had been puked on by unicorns.

It hurt Janus' eyes.

Xey was a little overwhelmed by all the spiraling colours and nostalgia-inducing objects, so xey sat cross-legged in the middle of the pink carpet. The world slowed down.

Janus wondered, not for the first time, how a 29 year old could be this cheerful.

Or appear this cheerful.

"Jan?"

Janus gave a small twitch of xeir head, realising that xey had spaced out. "Hmm?" Xey replied.

"Hey, you were up with the clouds! I was just saying, I think Virge is here" Patton chirped.

"oh"

"he...might be staying for a little longer then i said"

"How wonderful." Janus muttered, knowing this would happen but hating it anyway.

"oh, don't be like that! I'm sure you guys could become friends!" Janus snorted. "Or...at least not kill at each other whenever you're in the same general area" Patton corrected.

"Anyway! I'm going to greet him at the door!" He suddenly proclaimed, skipping downstairs.

Janus was disgusted at how naïve this man was.

But that was a lie.

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

Patton slowed his happy skip to a casual walk. His grin slipped into a content smile as he reached the end of the stairs. Being so happy takes its toll on people, he thought. Soft tapping of the door interrupted his thoughts as he opened the door to reveal Virgil.

The first thing you notice about this man was his unfair tall-ness. He nearly had to duck to get inside; being too skinny didn't help. Virgil was wearing a plain black hoodie over a mcr top, completing the look with a short, pleated skirt and docs. His face was slathered in white foundation, accompanied with dark eyeshadow under his eyes.

"Virge!! I'm glad you could make it, even if you are late!!Again!" Patton hugged his friend, genuinely glad for his presence. The taller man patted Patton's curls awkwardly.

"Heyyyy Pat-" Virgil did the awkward pats on the back everyone does when they want to get out of a hug but don't want to say it in fear of hurting ones feelings. "Traffic-"

Patton withdrew from the hug and smiled. "okay! at least you're here safe! Can't control the traffic"

"Janus is waiting for us upstairs" Patton continued. He hurriedly carried on speaking before Virgil could spit out an insult about xem "say, you know what I hate about stairs? They're always up to something!" Patton laughed at his own joke, whilst Virgil pretended to face-palm, hiding a snigger.

"Alright, Alright dAd, didn't you say snake face was waiting for us?" Virgil mocked. Patton chuckled uncomfortably at the nickname, but nodded nonetheless.

"Yeah, we shouldn't leave xem waiting"

They both entered his room, having walked the short journey there in a comfortable silence. Patton noted Janus had not moved from were he left xem; xey had just shifted to read a book xey most likely found lying around. Janus looked up upon their arrival, xeir face immediately twisting into a mocking grimace upon seeing Virgil. "ah, you brought the racoon"

"Janus play nice--"

"you're one to talk, you participated in 2012 Tumblr" Virgil threw back

"must you be so wounding" Janus dramatically threw xeir hand against xeir forehead.

"okAY, that's enough guys." Patton firmly said. Janus pulled a face in reply, and Virgil returned the favour. Patton sighed. He just wanted them to get along, which was probably a high expectation by itself.

Perhaps he had booze leftover somewhere.

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

Twelve near fist fights, two crying sessions and many, many, many bottles of alcohol later, it was nearing eleven pm and the group was drunker than a litter of catnip high kittens.

They all crowded into a close-knit circle on the bed, nearly falling off but not caring.

"ssso your telling me that flashy asss hhimbo sssssaid I wasss hot but then rude and that I wore too muchh makeup? What a *hic* bitchh" Janus hissed.

Patton giggled. "yeeeeee, be nice though! She was kindaaaa alllllllll over the place!" Patton continued bluntly, "But how would you feel if I set you guys up????~"

"oh pleassssse do, I would just love that" Janus may be trashed but xey still knew sarcasm. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending who you are, Patton did not.

"yayyy! This is gonna be great!!"

Virgil butted in then, waving around the bottle he was holding "hold on, just holllld on a minute there, you're planning to set up that" he vaugly gestured in Janus' direction "with Princy??? Xey've known her for what, 4 minutes? Life isn't a disney movie"

"Dare I detect a hint of jealousy there emo?" Janus purred "am I that lovable?" Xey hiccuped.

"ooooooooh" Patton leaned into the circle, loving the drunk drama.

"wouldn't you like to know weather boy" Virgil droned back, finishing off the bottle.

"Honey, I would dare ssay that was a yesss"

"nO"

"oooooo, you liiiiike meeeEe"

"you disgust me"

"kinky"

Patton shook his hands excitingly at them, nearly hitting Virgil, causing them to shut up. "I can't believe you're finally open to a relationship after what happened! With my best friend no least! Boy did I try to get you to go on more dat--" Patton suddenly clasped his hands over his mouth as if he just said something nasty.

Everyone went silent. Janus stared at Patron, xeir mouth slightly parted. Virgil laughed nervously to try and break the tension. It sounded strained.

Janus began to speak to stop Patton from starting to spout drunken apologies. "Well thatssss jusst a liee, I've dated pleeenty of people over..well...that...period..of time."

Everyone went silent again, not quite sure on what to say.

Virgil's anxiety was heightening due to the social awkwardness and the influence of the alcohol.

Patton was fidgeting in his lap.

It was Janus yet again who broke the uncomfortable atmosphere.

"Sssso, *hic* you ssaid you wanted me to go out with thisss idiot?"

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

first-previous-next

updated masterpost

tag list: @arrowthenon-binaryroyalty, @spellingwillbethedeathofme,

ask if you want to be added or removed from tag list

and we meet our boi virgil

context is for losers

i could of probably cut out unnecessary things in that but y'know I'm new and I like it

these posts will be in chronological order, unless flashback, but it's not following a set-in-stone story line, so asks are, yet again, much appreciated.

I procrastinated too much during the making of this

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #janus sanders #genderfluid!janus #patton sanders #trans!patton #virgil sanders #alcohol mention #Janus what have you agreed to #hiss hiss bitch #this story is all over the place plz #roceit #platonic moxiety #This won't and never will be a moxiety fic I'm sorry #their father ans son relashionship #no hate on the ones who do ship it #it just isn't my cup of tea #Ok-ish

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gucciwins · 4 years

Text

Canyon Moon

Harry receives love letters and Y/N doesn’t love anyone more than she loves Harry.

Word count: 5685

A/N: I started this story three different times and the other two are sitting in my drafts unfinished. I had a vision for this and then as I was writing it would die. I was in a deep hole but I have made it out. Canyon Moon is special and I love her so much. Everyone give her some love, she is underappreciated. Thank you to @hsogolden for allowing me to partake in the #FineLineFicChallenge I love this story and I hope you do as well.

Please let me know your thoughts

Hope you enjoy! xx

The sun was shining, and the neighbor’s kids Alex and Max were laughing as they rolled around in the grass together. Harry smiled, looking over at them as he made his way to his car.

“Good morning Mr. Styles.”

Harry turns around as he was opening his car door and as he hears someone approach and greet him. It's the mailman, Greg. He’s an older gentleman with a big friendly smile and kind brown eyes.

“Morning, Greg,” Harry responds cheerfully. “How’s Irene, has she got the roses planted?”

“Oh, she’s doing well. She has a bit of a cough, but nothing a chamomile tea won’t heal. Our son came by and helped her. They are looking beautiful.” His smile is so bright.

“I’ve only got one piece of mail for you today; it seems,” Greg says, reminding Harry of the original reason for his visit. “Seems it came a long way.”

At those few words, Harry’s green eyes light up. Greg knows it’s one full of love. Harry is given the letter but doesn’t look down at it until he bids Greg goodbye, and he’s sat in his car.

Harry is quick to open the letter, not bothering to see who it’s from because he knows only one person that loves sending him letters. As he slips the letter out of the envelope, a picture falls on his lap. He doesn’t think twice and picks it up, turning it around. Harry smiles at the photo of a woman with her arms spread open wide sunflowers standing tall and beautiful behind her. That’s not the most beautiful thing in the picture, no it’s the smiling woman that makes Harry’s world turn.

His lady is in Amsterdam; more specifically, she is at the Van Gogh Museum surrounded by sunflowers that don’t shine as bright as she does. Harry brings the photo to his lips and gives it a quick kiss.

My darling Harry (I was tempted to say sunflower),

I’m in Amsterdam! It’s beautiful, and I am taking many pictures, don’t you worry. The camera you gifted me is helping tremendously; I didn’t realize how lousy my last one was. You always know best. I’m thankful for you, still. Why am I in Amsterdam, you are asking. Well, I’m here to write about the famous Van Gogh and the masterpieces he created because this will be going up on his birthday, but you already know that because you read all my writing. My biggest fan. I miss you. I know it’s my job, but it’s not easy missing you. I found this bakery it was amazing but nothing compared to you. If anything, it made me want to jump on a plane and have you bake me one of everything. Missing those famous cinnamon cookies right now.

The sunflowers had me reminiscing. Do you remember our first date? I went to pick you up in my old beat-up car named Betty. I remember being nervous, walking up to your front door. I kept repeating in my head don’t trip as I was walking up the stairs. I knocked twice before I heard a loud thump, and you yell shit. It honestly calmed my nerves. Then they all came back when you opened the door and stood in front of me wearing a cashmere solar system sweater with black pants and beautiful boots. You looked out of this world (tell me you’re laughing reading that). Then you started turning red because you looked me up and down and saw me in black sweatpants and an old over sized red Malibu crew neck with beat-up old skool vans. “I’m pretty sure I told you to dress down because we were going to be painting.” Then you responded, “uhh...you make me nervous. I changed my outfit five times and forgot you told me how to dress.”

At that moment, I wanted to reach up to kiss you, but I felt that would have scared you off (I was wrong). Then I remembered I had something in my hand and immediately thrust my hand forward. I shoved sunflowers in your face, and your response was to hug me because no one had ever bought you flowers. We then proceeded to enjoy a fun painting date on the beach. You pointed out my moon in my painting of the ocean instead of the sun. You didn’t question it; you just told me it was beautiful. I know you remember all of this (at least I hope you do). I just miss you. It’s lonely, but I love my job. Remember, I love you more. I love you more than the moon loves coming out at night. I’ll be home soon, darling.

Love Y/N,

Your fiance xx

Harry smiled down at the letter and wiped his tears. These love letters kept him going and, for some reason, made your love even stronger. It was the best first date he had ever gone on. He knew at the end of the date that Y/N was the one for him.

Harry is ready to go to work but has to let his lady know he received her letter.

Amsterdam letter was a sweet treat this morning, won’t even need to have my morning danish.

Well, I’m glad it made it to you safely.

I do need you to eat a treat in my name. I’m missing out.

I’ll have a scone in your honor.

That’s a beautiful picture you sent. I can’t believe you were hiding that from me.

Got to keep you on your toes ;)

I’m going to bed. I have an early flight tomorrow

Safe travels, my love.

Thank you. I love you xx

I love you xx

Harry tucked his phone away and felt his heart tightening in his chest. He lets out a deep breath, knowing he needs to relax. Harry just misses her. It’s hard; her job keeps her away, but the good thing is Harry’s bakery keeps him busy.

“Morning, boss, man!” Sarah greeted him as soon as he walked through the back door.

“Hello Sarah, what’s on the agenda today?”

Sarah picks up the paper in front of her and looks it over quickly. “Kevin’s dinosaur birthday cake. It’s a red velvet cake.”

Harry nods. “I got it. Who’s mending the front today?”

“Jimmy and Tam.”

“Will you head out front during lunch rush?” Harry asks, knowing how busy they get because of their croissant special.

“Of course.”

Sarah looks over at Harry, who has a smile on his face as he hums along to the song playing from the speakers.

“What’s got you so smiley?” Sarah finally asks.

Harry grins, not being able to stop himself from sharing. “I got a letter from my lady today, that’s all.” He says, trying to shrug it off.

“You get those all the time!” She exclaims. “This was different, tell me why.”

Harry stops gathering his ingredients and looks over at Sarah. “She retold the story of our first date. Told me little details I didn’t know.” He smiles, thinking back to the letter sitting in his car. “Reminded me of how far we’ve come.”

“Well, ain’t that sweet.” Charlotte butts in as she walks in, holding an empty box that she begins to fill with treats. From danishes to chocolate croissants. “Please let Y/N know I miss her and that she should stop eating pastries from all over the world. It hurts my feelings.”

Harry laughs. “I’ll be sure to let her know.”

With the conversation, dwindling Harry gets to work because he knows he has a busy day ahead of him.

~ ~ ~

It's a Monday morning when Harry receives another letter.

Harry rolls out of bed late after staying up, talking to his love for hours. If he had to choose between sleeping and talking to Y/N, then sleep be damned. She's met up with a friend from what she's told him. After leaving Paris, she found Alfie and decided to travel together since they happened to be going the same way. It comforted Harry, knowing she had a friend at her side, but he wished it was him instead.

Harry made his morning tea and warmed himself a muffin. He was taking in the quiet of the house, and it reminds him of how much he hates it. He missed when Y/N would play music so loud he thought his eardrums might burst, also missed the smell of slightly over burnt pancakes, but most of all he missed her rolling over in bed and laying her head on his chest and softly tracing his swallow tattoos to wake him up from his sleep gently.

Harry walks into the kitchen and makes breakfast. He's in the mood for pancakes and a good cup of coffee. As he waits for his coffee to cool a little, he steps outside to collect the mail. A grin spreads across his face as he takes a step inside, abandoning the light bill for the time as something far better has arrived.

It's a little crumbled but no rips. The letter feels light in his palm but heavy in his heart for the words contained inside. There is an address from Paris under Y/N’s name.

Hi darling,

I'm in Paris sitting outside on the balcony and eating my weight in macaroons, and I feel sad. I look out and see how pretty the Eiffel tower shines at night and how you'd love to view it. I'm surprised we have never come to France together. What a shame. You would put the Eiffel Tower to shame with your beauty. Harry, I see the moon standing high and I tell her all my secrets. All the ones I want to say to you. I keep thinking back to a time under the canyon moon. I remember telling you how upset I could never see the stars and their constellations and learned all about them because if I couldn't see them, then at least I wanted to know all about them. Then two weeks later you rent out a big cabin up in the canyon of who knows where and you let me tell you all about the stars. Then you looked at me and said I shined brighter than all of them. All it took for me to say I love you. I'm still not sure if you cried, or it was the reflection on the stars in your eyes, but I swear your green eyes never shined brighter than they did that night under the canyon moon. I'm sorry, I'm not coming home yet, but I hope you know I never forget where my heart is.

I love you xx

Love,

Your future wife

Harry smiles down at his pancakes. That date was perfect. It was the one where Harry knew she was the woman he was going to marry. Harry thinks back to how open they both were that weekend together. Once he got back home after dropping her off, although he didn't want to say goodbye but had to because they both had to go to work, he called his mom. The conversation was Harry gushing about Y/N and how she was the one. He also let Anne know that she had a big sweet tooth, which was a big plus in his book.

Harry wants to call Y/N, but she had let him know she would be busy the next following days but would text him when she could.

It's moments like these where Harry wishes his love didn't have a job that kept her away. It's selfish of him to ask her to stay and give it up her dream job for him. He'd never forgive himself if she did it.

Harry has never in his life been so conflicted. He wanted to be selfish, but he couldn't for the sake of her happiness, but what about his?

~ ~ ~

It's been a shitty day. Harry got to work late, and Charlotte wasn't able to come in because she was down with the flu. Sarah had the week off because she was in England attending a cousin's wedding. It was Javier, the newest employee and him against the world today. Harry hates to admit it but he felt everything he baked tasted and looked bad. It was so bad that he handled the register, and Javier was sent to the back and baked the day away. Harry decided to close two hours early because he was beat and he knew for a fact so was Javier. He sent Javier home with a box of pastries and 75% of today's tips that sadly wasn't much either.

Harry knew he needed to let off some steam and decided to go to his gym where he'd do some running, and if his trainer was there, then a bit of boxing as well. To Harry's luck, the gym closed because there happened to be a problem at the front desk that caused the entire gym to lose power. Harry went home upset and in need of cuddles.

He wanted to talk to his love but honestly had no clue where she was or what time it could be. He hadn't made an effort to speak to her this past week, seeing as they got in an argument, and it was all his fault. He didn't expect it to escalate, but it seemed he had run short that day.

He currently wasn't making an effort, and Y/N was. He was just acting like a dick because he was stuck in his head wishing he could hug her and apologize. She sent extra pictures of herself, sent more I love you texts. Heck, even Anne called him to let him know that she was getting loads of pictures and was worried about Y/N. Harry knew she was doing that because he wouldn't answer her texts, and she was close to spiraling. He knew today he would send her a long message begging for forgiveness. Then hopefully, she'd tell him a story, and he'd drift off to sleep to the voice of an angel.

Harry arrived home and wanted to head inside but made a stop at his mailbox. He placed the keys in the yellow bowl by the front door. He was about to drop the mail as well when a stamp caught his eye. It was an international stamp of the moon, and Harry knew one person who used those. He didn't bother checking the information and ripped it open.

I'm sorry.

I know when you get this, our fight will be water under the bridge. (this is me being optimistic) I didn't expect us to argue about my job, it's my love, and I worked hard to be where I am. I know it's my fault; it always seems to be my fault. I'm the one making you wait at home alone. I'm the one not offering any support. I might be doing you a favor if I walk away, but I'm selfish I could never let you go. I'd let you leave me, but I'd never push you away. You're my best friend. I know you're hurt but so am I. I promise harry, I'm almost home before you know it you'll want me gone by how much time we spend together and I never let you leave the house. It sounds perfect to me. Do you remember our first big fight? I'm not even sure what we were fighting about, but I was sure you were about to walk away from me, so I did it first. I ran out the door and sat in my car and cried. I didn't even have the power to drive away. (it was also my apartment I ran out of.) You stayed up there crying as well. I think I knew if I turned that car on and left you, it would be the end of us, and I wasn't ready for that. I took a deep breath and marched my way up to my apartment. You sat on the floor with your eyes closed — a picture of us in your lap. I remember taking a deep breath and walking towards you and held my hand out. I thought I had been holding it out for the longest time but was only ten seconds. You grabbed it and pulled yourself up; I remember the cold metal of your rings meeting my hand, and I just wanted to cry, but I also was a woman on a mission. I turned out the door, and you followed, holding my hand tighter. I walked up to the roof, never letting go of your hand. I laid down on the blanket that I had left there, and you followed. We laid their hand in hand for hours until you scooted over and put your head on my chest. I ran my fingers through your hair and just began to tell you all my useless science facts. Slowly we talked it out, and at that moment, I knew I could never let you go. You are the best thing in my life.

I love you xx

Sincerely,

A girl in love missing you like crazy

Harry finished reading and found himself against the door. He's so stupid, of course, she'd take the blame. She's excellent at pointing the blame to no one but herself. This was all him and he had been acting like a jerk. She had been looking for reassurance that they'd be fine, heck she believed they'd be alright by now. She believed in them, and Harry didn't believe in himself.

Harry picked himself up and sat on the couch. He pulled his phone out, and without thinking twice, he clicked the call. It rang and rang and rang until it got to voicemail. He deserved that he felt. He tried again, and after the second ring, he heard a faint hello.

"Hi, love," He whispers before speaking up. "It's Harry."

He waited a few seconds and heard no response. "Lovie"

"Sorry, hi. I was sleeping, got out of bed, or I would have fallen back to sleep." She told him like it was normal for him to wake her in the middle of the night. "Are you okay, did something happen?" She panics quickly, knowing it must be a little late there.

"Everything's fine, nothing to worry about. Well, everything is not fine, and gosh, I'm just frustrated, and it's all my fault."

"Harry, baby!" She says a bit louder to stop him rambling. "Slow down; I'm not sure what's wrong. Help me understand so I can help you."

"I ignored you for no reason, besides not being able to get over my pride, and you sent me this beautiful letter." Harry takes a deep breath to stop his tears, but it's no use. "You say you're selfish and take all the blame, but we both know it was my fault. I keep pushing you about your job, but you never once said anything about mine, especially when I stay there for hours, perfecting a recipe and standing you up."

"You make it up to me by bringing me sweets" She decides to input, hoping it will get a laugh out of him.

"I'm serious!"

"As am I, Harry." He hears the frustration in her voice. "I've missed too many date nights. You stay home or you state late at the bakery. You don't go out as often with your friends because everyone is always with their partners. It's killing me that you're unhappy."

"Stop," Harry begs, afraid of where this conversation could go.

"Am I selfish, Harry?" She dares to ask. "I want you, but I also want my job, but I fear there might come a time where I might have neither."

"I swear I will always be here. Look down at the ring I gave you." Harry wipes his nose softly. "It's a promise of forever. A forever I only want with you."

She doesn't answer, but Harry knows this is forgiveness.

"Is this part of our forever?" She questions.

"It is, a forever, we'll tell our children and grandchildren about."

Harry goes quiet, and so does Y/N. They bask in the quietness and hold on tight to the future they have together.

"I'll be home soon, darling," She promises. "I love you."

"I love you."

~ ~ ~

Harry! Darling!

I just had the best phone call! I am amazed and shocked. Oh, honey, I forgot to mention I’m in Rome. You know how much I love it here. I swear I still want to marry you in Italy. (Please think about it.) I had the pleasure of going to this gallery opening for this artist who’s making his significant return, and it was beautiful. His work, I feel, speaks to you. He’s also very handsome but don’t worry he is also very much taken. (no one ever looks as good as you do) I didn’t get the chance to speak with him because he doesn't like interviews, but I got on well with his girlfriend, who I chatted up because of a painting he did of the night sky in Italy with a big moon and girl looking at it from her balcony. I asked how much, but it’s not for sale. (bummer, think it might be special to them). Darling, I’m coming home. Soon I promise. Before you know it, I'll be running into your arms at the airport, and I won't even care about the PDA. I miss you. Say hi to Sarah and Lottie for me (winky face).

I love you xx

Sincerely,

Your love

Harry laughs out loud in the middle of reading the letter. She says the craziest things, and sometimes he is crazy enough to follow along. Getting married in Italy sounds like a great idea, also a bit impulsive. His mom wouldn’t be opposed, but he knows her parents would be.

Harry reads it over and is surprised to see that she didn’t address what the phone call was on. I guess he would have to ask her during their next phone call.

Harry arrives at his bakery and smiles at Sarah, chatting up the regular Mitch. Harry knows she tries her best to get him to crack a smile or laugh at a joke, but he never does. At least to Sarah's knowledge, he doesn’t. Harry has seen him smile down at his drink every time she turns around or walks toward the back. Harry knows it's only a matter of time before Mitch cracks and allows himself to pursue the baker.

Sarah approaches Harry with a smirk on her face. He looks away and walks away from her.

“Harry, I haven’t even said anything yet.” She gasps in disbelief.

“You act as if I haven’t known you for years.”

“This has to do with-” Harry is quick to interrupt her.

“Nope, if you talk about her, I won’t get any work done, and it’s about time I go sign some checks.”

“This is important!” She yells.

“If it’s important, she’ll let me know.”

Harry shuts his office door and gets to work because this paperwork that was piling up was not going to do itself.

~ ~ ~

I'm going home.

I'm not sure when you’re receiving this, but I’m waiting for the phone call that follows because this is the first you hear about it. I'm estimating it to be a week from when I sent it so I should be home in two weeks. That’s crazy, just know I'm crying as I think about it because I can’t wait to feel those strong arms wrapped around me. I can't wait to have you naked for the next few days (wow! I really wrote that) I can't wait to visit the bakery and eat everything you’ve been making. I swear if I come home to a bunch of people in our home because you wanted a welcome home party, I will drive myself back to the airport and get on the next flight out of there. I just want you in your birthday suit and the bed (the wall or couch is fine if we don’t make it).

I'm going home.

Sincerely,

(soon to be) Mrs. Styles

~ ~ ~

Five days.

Harry has to hold on for five days; then, he’ll get to see his love.

When Harry got the letter, he stood there in shock, reading it over and over again. Once he read it for the ninth time, he set it down on the kitchen counter and rang the person who was causing him to feel like his heart would beat out of his chest.

Harry spent the first ten minutes, crying asking Y/N if she was serious. He knew the trip should have been about a whole month longer. The rest of the call was spent each in their separate beds, no clothes, lots of filthy talking, and sweet, beautiful moans that neither of them wanted the moment to end.

Harry was very distracted at work. He put salt in the flour for cupcakes instead of sugar. Thankfully, Charlotte caught that, or it would have been much worse later. Sarah tried her best to convince him to go home and relax, but Harry knew if he did, he would go crazy. The result being Harry was allowed to knead the dough and do paperwork in his office.

Today, he would be doing more paperwork because it was necessary when running his own business, he just didn’t believe it when many people told him about it. Harry enjoyed it for some strange reason.

Harry stopped in front of the back door and admired the light blue color he was convinced to paint by no other than Y/N. The hand prints make him smile. His employees put their hands all around. When first painting, he just wanted to add some color to it, but she argued they needed a little more. She grabbed the yellow paint and opened it carefully. She pushed it towards Harry, gesturing him to put his hand in. He does so no questions asked, then she guides it to the middle of the door and puts pressure on it. He pulls away and smiles at his long fingers. Harry grabs her hand gently places a kiss on her knuckles then dips it into the paint. He brings her hand very close to his print and presses it against the door. It’s sweet and loves that Javi, Lottie, Jimmy, Tam and Sarah have theirs on as well, it signifies his family here at his bakery.

Everything reminds him of her, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Harry enters and finds out he is locked out of his office, which is weird because it locks from the inside. A note slides out from under reading H, head to the place where we first said I love you. Harry knows it’s from her, but why would she send him up there. She is not supposed to be home until five days from now, so what exactly can she be planning; nevertheless, Harry leaves knowing Sarah will take care of the bakery and sets off to the canyon.

~ ~ ~

Harry makes it to the small cabin he rented for the weekend they spent at the beginning of their relationship. He turned the note over, and it gave him this exact location. The sun is beginning to set, and it paints a beautiful picture one he wishes he could paint if only he were a good artist.

He walks to the front door and finds another note. It says, Head to where we looked at the stars. He rounds the house and makes his way to the large backyard that has a beautiful ocean and mountain views. From a distance, he makes out a large red blanket surrounded by too many pillows. Harry could dive right on top and have a soft landing. Harry sees a small picnic basket and another note on top. Before he can read it, a song he’s never heard starts to play. It makes him smile because he may not know the song, but Y/N does, although she denies it; he always sees her singing along to these unknown songs.

“How about a picnic.”

Harry turns around quickly and stares. He looks at her in disbelief.

She’s here.

She stands there wearing black sweats, a plain white t-shirt that most likely is his and worn-out white vans.

Harry’s green eyes scanned her up and down his mind not believing she was there. Harry is quick to notice he’s crying when he blinks and feels water run down his chin.

“I was hoping for a hug or a kiss, but staring is also acceptable.” Y/N jokes.

Harry breaks out of his trance and runs up to her. He cups her face gently with both hands and holds her close. It’s pleasant and calming, finally being together after being apart. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it just as quickly. Instead, he leans down and connects his lips with hers.

It’s two missing puzzle pieces coming together to become one.

“I love this welcome!” She says with a massive smile on her face.

“You’re here.” His first words to you. “Five days early.”

“Well...I’m right on time. My letter arrived to you a week later than I expected. You were excited and told me you were counting down the days and booked the whole week for us. I couldn’t crush your excitement even if it were to tell you I’d be home sooner.” She explains.

“I’m very much surprised, but I don’t have the week off.” He pouts.

“You do!” She assures him. “I went in this morning and worked everything out with Sarah. She’s got a soft spot for me. No one seemed to mind you’d be away for two weeks. Said it would be good for you.”

“You’re sneaky” He laughs. “I love it.” He kisses her cheeks repeatedly.

She gasps and slaps his shoulder lightly. “Why did I have to find out with Lottie that Mitch and Sarah are finally dating?”

Harry stares at her, confused. “Catch me up; last; I knew he was still pining for her from afar.”

She shakes her head, no. “No, they looked really cozy this morning like a long hug and a kiss on the cheek.” Y/N sighs dramatically. “I wish I had a chance to ask her, but that can wait.”

Y/N pulled away from the embrace and walked towards the blanket. “Come on, darling.” She looks at him from over her shoulder. “I’ve got lots of kisses to make up for.”

Harry hums in agreement. “Something else you need to make up for that requires little to no clothing.”

Y/N laughs and squeezes the hand she’s holding. “All in good time.”

Harry lays down first and sighs over how comfortable it is. Y/N is quick to follow, and Harry pulls her close and gently rests her head on his chest.

“When I arrived here, I thought you were going to have me stay here for the next few days alone until someone would arrive and murder me.” Harry shares with a small laugh.

“A bit dark, my darling.” She shakes her head at his thoughts. “I was thinking of having you arrive, and the whole thing would have been filled with guests and food for our wedding, and you’d have to marry me instead of waiting until autumn of this year, but I thought it would give you a heart attack.”

Harry’s heart starts beating faster. “You would have married me today,” Harry states, confusion in his voice.

“Today, tomorrow, yesterday. I’m ready to become your wife.” She sits up. “I’m ready to settle down, finally get that cat or dog that we’ve been dying to get.” She looks up to the stars and smiles. “It’s time we really focus on us and move forward.”

“We’ve always been moving forward.” Harry is sitting up now, confused, and concerned.

Y/N moves and sits on his lap. She cups his face gently and smiles at the beautiful face she had to look at from a phone screen for too long.

“We’d stop moving when I’d go away to travel and do my writing. It might not have felt like it, but it truly did. We’d have movie dates through a computer screen, and it’s not the same as being together cuddled on our couch because I can’t hear your slow chewing so you don’t miss something important or when I give you massages because the bakery has been crazy. We-I deprived us of the little things in our relationship, so I felt it was right. I took our future back into our hands and we can move forward together.” Y/N grabs his left hand and strokes his ring finger where one specific ring should be. “I’m done traveling. I got a new job. I’m starting this autumn. I promise the only traveling I will do is with you by my side.”

“You quit traveling and being a journalist for me.”

“I mean yeah, Professor Styles has a nice ring to it, don’t you think.” Y/N is laughing at how in shock Harry is. “Did you think I would spend the rest of my life traveling?”

He nods his head and hugs you tight.

“My darling, my place in this world is right next to you.”

He grabs her chin and guides her face to his. “I love you,” he whispers against her lips, before closing the distance between them and giving her a soft kiss.

Y/N and Harry didn’t expect to make it work when they first got together because they were on two different paths, but through the guidance of the canyon moon, together they would go on to live a life full of joy, laughter and the driving force of it all, love.

~ ~ ~

Thank you for reading! Come talk to me about Canyon Moon here

Happy Birthday Harry 🌙

#FineLineFicChallenge #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles one shot #canyon moon #fine line #harry styles imagine #fluff #my writing #happy birthday harry

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ilguna · 4 years

Text

Tacenda - Chapter Seven (f.o)

Summary: you’ll never truly be free from the Capitol.

Word Count; 4.9k

Warnings; swearing, DEATH MENTION

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

You throw your arms around Finnick, “Hey, Finny.”

He doesn’t move, and you look over your shoulder to see the time again. It’s approaching nine-thirty. You’ve slept in pretty far, which is kinda usual for you. Considering that you wake up early during the games weeks. No matter how late you stay up, you’re normally awake bright and early at seven to get a jumpstart on things.

Very rarely does Finnick get up before you. On nightmare nights, mostly. After he wasn’t able to fall back asleep after one. He’s gotten really good at being quiet while he gets up and takes a shower. He’ll get all dressed and ready and then come back to bed to be there when you wake up.

You move some hair from Finnick’s face, tilting your head slightly. He does look carefree when he sleeps. Even as a teenager, he’s always lost age when he’s finally sleeping. It’s like all of his past experiences are suddenly gone and he’s the kind, guy he was back when you knew him before the games, in high school.

You wonder if he thinks the same thing when you’re sleeping, and he’s awake. If he’ll move the hair out of your face and just admire how you look. See the difference between being awake and being out cold. Awake, he might look cunning and fit the peacock nature, but asleep he’s a baby again. As for you, you might be all hardball when you’re awake, but sleeping a completely different person.

It’s funny how the games have changed you over the years. How you’ve grown bitter from the people around you, and what they’ve done to you. There’s no more innocence, it’s just anger and brutality. You don’t step lightly anymore, you make your mark because you never know when you’ll be able to return.

Of course, around certain people, like Finnick, your family, and Annie and all of them, you’re a new person too. Kind, soft, caring. You don’t yell at them, or treat them like ass like you’ve done to people here. It’s because they’re family, and they need to be treated with care no matter what. Because they’ve had your back since the very beginning, and you know that they’ll have it to the very end.

And then with people like Johanna–someone who you get along with really well because your personalities are super similar and don’t clash like some others–you’re a different person too. More teasing, you let your words fly a little looser, brutally honest because it’s what she needs to hear. Because she’s honest with you.

If you were being a complete jackass, more than usual and more than she can tolerate, you could count on her to call it out. She’s just afraid to do that kinda thing with you, and you’re not afraid to do it with her either.

Hell, you’d gotten along with Cashmere, Gloss, Enobaria and Brutus for a while because you all had something in common, and they could help you out with. All being victors of the games. All holding some sort of trauma that always puts you guys a little bit back because of it. But being around them, they overlooked that.

They might seem pretentious and bold and overly exotic, but it’s just who they are, and it was who you were for a little while too. It’s known that you develop your personality because of the people you’re around. So there’s a little bit of Johanna, Finnick, Cashmere, Gloss, Cecelia, Annie, Mags, etc in you because that’s who you’re around the most.

Anyway, you’ve gotten off topic.

“Finn,” you say, trying not to shake him or anything because you don’t want him to think it’s an emergency, you learned that the hard way, “It’s time to get up.”

Finnick doesn’t move again, and you move to press your hand against his chest, a little worried that he isn’t breathing. You feel his chest go up, and then down slowly. It rises again, and you then go back to trying to get him to wake up.

“Finnick,” you pat his chest, not wanting to be mean or anything.

You’re frowning at him because it’s unusually more difficult than normal. And then Finnick starts laughing.

“I’m awake.” he tells you, opening his eyes, “I just wanted to see how long you’d try for.”

You laugh, dipping your head for a moment, “Okay, just making sure you aren’t dead or whatever.”

You push yourself up into a sitting position, stretching. A yawn comes out of nowhere, and as soon as it’s gone, you’re getting on your feet.

“I wish they’d just give us a day to relax.” Finnick sighs.

“That was yesterday.” you say, “We practically just laid around all day.”

“I know.”

“We should eat and then shower.” you slip on your ring, and Finnick does the same.

When he stands, he groans, “When did I become so old?”

You laugh, and he looks at you, “Dude, I’m a whole year older than you.”

He laughs too, calling you old. The both of you go out to see that Elysia and Mags are at the table in their regular spots. You and Finnick assume yours, and go straight to eating. Taking in the couple of bowls, then the orange juice, water and coffee. After that, you and Finnick break apart to take your showers.

When you’re done, you slip on a comfy tank top and sweatpants. You know that you’ll be sitting around for a while. The prep team likes to take their time, which is why you end up showing up so early, to give them that breathing room.

Mags says that she’ll check on the both of you later, and Finnick follows you down to the room you’ll be getting ready in. Though, it’s empty.

“Looks like we showed up a little early.” Finnick laughs, taking a seat on the couch.

You sit in the chair that they’ll be moving around all day, “That’s a new one. We’re normally late to get the tributes to them.”

Finnick leans his head on his fist, looking over you, “Can’t wait time watch you transform.”

“I hope you mean that in a good way.”

“Of course I do.” Finnick smiles.

The prep team arrives shortly after, and they’re pleased to see you’re early for once. They spend their time doing their respected jobs. Leo does your makeup, Beth does your nails and Cleo does your hair.

Cleo blow dries first, since your hair is still relatively wet from the shower. She doesn’t seem bothered by this. In fact, she’s glad that she’ll be able to do this from scratch. After that, she straightens your hair and braids at your temples. She doesn’t do all of your hair though, only enough to make a crown.

Then she curls the hair that’s still hanging free on your back. Cleo pulls some hair out in front to make your face look better, and readjusts over and over until she’s sure that it’s perfect.

Leo decides on blue eyeshadow and a gold eyeliner. You haven’t seen the dress just yet, as you’ve said before. All you know is that it’s a nod at the first dress. Which is pretty amazing, considering that the eyeliner used for that one was white.

Beth gives you fake nails and tells you not to tell anyone that they’re fake. You’re not supposed to have anything that would give you an advantage inside of the arena. But despite this rule, she sharpens the fake nails into a slight point. After that, she paints them white with a little bit of glitter at the moon of your nail.

Finnick has to leave to go put on his own outfit. Before he goes, he gives you a sweet kiss and promises that he’ll be back as soon as he can. Laurel has entered the room in that moment and shot that idea down quicker than ever.

Laurel makes you wear dangling gold and diamond earrings that are supposed to resemble water droplets. Next is the star and moon choker, then the plain moon necklace below it. She has you pull on beige heels that aren’t a punishment, thankfully.

Next is the dress. It’s absolutely beautiful, and you can’t believe that Laurel went out of her way to make a dress like this.

The dress is entirely blue with shades that compliment each other. It’s a loose-fitting floor-length dress with a mesh train attached to the arms of the dress. The top of the dress is a deep v-neck and it goes down to the middle of the dress. Lining the edges is leather, that also goes across the chest.

The fabric from the plunge creates a sort of waterfall look at the front of the dress. There’s a new layer for each part of the leather belt, the first being taller than the next.

You can’t help but to look at the dress over and over. Since this one is a bit of a challenge, Laurel gives you permission to hold up the front of the dress to make sure that you don’t end up stepping in it.

She finishes it off with a couple of rings to add on to your wedding, as well as bracelets that are freshly polished and sparkle in the light. She makes you poss in different ways, and with the spare time, Elysia asks you a few questions.

You’re not going for a particular personality. All these guys know who you are already, so it won’t matter once you get on the stage. You guess that it could be for the crowd of Capitol people that will be watching you. But even then, you’re not really in a mood to show off.

They say that showing your true personality can pull more people in, than push them away. The people that like the spunk are going to stick a little harder, because you’re not pretending. You’re not acting all innocent, like a humble little damsel that needs someone to take care of her still.

You’re someone new. You can handle yourself. You could wipe out half the tributes by yourself that are going into that arena with you. You could absolutely snap at any given moment.

You’re not that little girl anymore. You grew up the second that you swung that sword at that girl from District Ten. Your time for dressing up in mommy’s dresses and crying in Reed’s arms when you got hurt was over. The first kill was the end of an era and the start of a new one.

It’s not a bad thing that you were forced to grow up. It’s the way that it was done. You were only fifteen then. You were still getting used to your body, trying to get out of that awkward gangly teenage phase. You wanted to be grown up but not in a way that would appeal to sixty year old men from the Capitol.

And it most certainly didn’t help that you and Finnick had a fling going on. That made it all the more awkward, even if it had gotten you comfortable. It might be sad to say, but you’re glad it was Finnick. If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t have made it, at all.

He’s the one that saved you from bleeding out in those bushes. He found you, he nursed you back to health. He did his damn best to keep you alive, even when it looked like you guys were only going backwards. Right when you had started to heal from the physical wounds, the sickness came out of nowhere and knocked the wind out of you.

When the time for your interview nears, they finally let you out of the room. In the hallway, you can hear the echo of Cashmere and Gloss talking on the tv screen down the hall. They’re on stage together, possibly because they’re siblings and people love to see them together.

“Holy shit.”

You turn to see Finnick standing there, not matching your outfit by any means. His is comfortable for sure, and even though this dress is a lot, you wouldn’t trade it for a damn thing. It’s pretty comfortable too, and you’re going to look amazing on stage.

Finnick has a white almost see-through too that is tucked into blue pants that end at the calf and flare out at the bottom. There’s a black belt and an ugly scarf-thing that hangs from the belt. On his feet is a pair of black boots.

“Well, don’t you look comfy.” You motion to his outfit.

“We should trade outfits.” Finnick grins, you can’t help but to laugh.

“Yeah, like you’d fit in this.”

“You know you’d love it.” He says, opening his arms for a hug, “Unless it’s forbidden.”

“It should be.” You tell him, pulling up the dress to make sure that you don’t end up accidentally stepping on it.

You wish you could place your head on his chest or shoulder, but you know that with your leg, you would end up smearing Leo’s fantastic job and you’d get in big trouble for it. So instead, you stand almost stiffly as him and you sway from side to side.

“The week has gone by fast.”

In the background you can hear Brutus getting called on stage. Two more people and then it’s your turn to get interviewed in front of the entire nation. The Capitol will get to say their goodbyes, as will you. Your family will get to see you on camera for the very last time in peace, rather than fighting.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

“What?” Finnick asks, moving back to take a look at your face. You must be pale because worry washes over his face in one big wave, “What’s wrong?”

“This will be Alyssum’s first time watching me fight in the arena, Finnick,” you shake your head, “She was such a baby before, but now she’s not–Finnick she’s going to watch me kill people I–”

“Deep breaths.” Finnick tells you, “It’s okay, it’s not her first time watching the games.”

“It’s her first time watching us!” you pull away from him entirely, wanting to run your fingers through your hair but instead you play around with your fingers, “She’s going to watch us kill the people around us. Everyone on stage–”

“Reed and Mox are there for her,” Finnick says, “She’s going to be fine. They’re going to comfort her, and talk her through everything.”

You nod, knowing that he’s right. The buzzer goes off again, and you can hear Wiress going to get ready to go on stage. One more person and then it’s your time to get up there and show them what you have to offer.

“My makeup still looks fine?” you ask him, and he nods.

“Nothing is smeared, you’re perfect.”

You and Finnick watch as Wiress is interviewed after that. So far, all of the tributes have said something to at least get the crowd emotional or for them to second-guess their love for these games. They’re seeing all their favorites fight once again, but it’s putting all of you to waste.

They’ve crowned all twenty-four of you over a seventy-five year period. And now they’re going to take all of that away just for Snow to prove a point. That even when the games are over, they’re not really over. That there’s always a possibility of getting dragged right back into it.

If one victor is supposed to come out of this, then that means that there will be twenty-three families that lose their houses. They no longer live in luxury, they have to go back to the house that they came from. They lose almost all of their belongings that they had gotten from the Capitol. No more money, no more fresh food, or nice furniture.

If some of those families had sold their old houses, then they’re screwed because they have nothing to go back to. The Capitol takes away literally everything and leaves all of those families screwed over. Especially for someone like Cecelia, because she’s married and she has three kids. You’re taking away a parent, which is so vital in a kid’s life.

When Beetee finally goes up, he says something about being able to unwrite the written. If these games were written into law by these people, then that means they have the abilities to take it away. You guys don’t have to go inside of that arena if they don’t want you to. But at this point, changing their minds is a little too late.

Plus, not everyone will hold the same opinions. Sure, most of the Capitol people tend to think the same, but not everyone is like that, obviously. One person could absolutely love the shit out of Katniss and Peeta, while another could find it annoying. And they would wean to see Cashmere and Gloss or you and Finnick.

You kiss Finnick, before going and lining yourself up with the doors. You take in a deep breath, relaxing your shoulders and cracking your neck.

You’re not afraid of the crowd, you’re afraid of doing something wrong. It’s the crowd that will be deciding if you did something good tonight or not. And because of that, it’s utterly terrifying.

“And next is our favorite couple, Finnick and (Y/n) Odair!”

You raise your eyebrows, looking over to Finnick to see that he’s surprised too. He rushes over, laughing as he hooks his arm around yours.

“Guess Elysia surprised us,” you laugh, watching as the doors open.

“Maybe they forgot to tell us.” Finnick smiles, and the doors to the stage open up, allowing you guys to go up.

You try your best with holding up the front of the dress, but eventually you have to unhook your arm from Finnick’s. The cheering of the crowd is loud–like lose your hearing loud. There’s also a ton of people here, and some are even standing, clapping and cheering and whistling.

“Wow!” Caesar motions to your dress.

You and Finnick stop side by side. You spend some of the time waving at certain people, wondering if any of them have sponsored you before. Finnick does the same, smiling brightly and trying to make people feel as unique as you are.

“My stylist, Laurel, has really gone out of her way this time,” you tell Caesar, “It’s supposed to be a dress similar to the one I wore during my interviews.”

Caesar thinks for a moment, and then his face lights up, “Oh! The–off the shoulder–yeah! May I say that this one is much more fitting?”

He laughs, and a few more people cheer. Caesar then turns to Finnick and he seems puzzled, “And Finnick…”

“I’m comfortable, that’s all that matters.” Finnick laughs, his arm is tight around you.

You’re the one standing closest to the crowd, he’s the one that’s on the inside, closer to Caesar. He must be worried that someone will snag the dress and try to pull you down or something. There’s no way that’ll happen, the mesh will tear before you get close to anyone down there.

Caesar laughs, but eventually starts to get a little more serious. You’re a little annoyed that you have to stand on this stage for six minutes rather than three. The time doubles since there’s two of you, and it wouldn’t be fair to try and cram everything into three minutes.

“Now, the reaping,” he says, “everyone wants to know if it was planned.”

Finnick lets you take this one. He already knows the answer, but he can’t really speak for you, since you’re the one that had volunteered and all.

“To a certain extent, yes.” you smile a little bit, “Mags and I had made an agreement to volunteer over Annie if she were to get picked. However, I made a deal with myself, that if Finnick were to get picked, then I’d have to go in, no matter the circumstances, and the chance of me getting out of the games alive.”

The crowd seems to be moved a little bit, and Caesar plays along, looking at Finnick, “And how did you feel about this, Finnick?”

He laughs slightly, “Well, if you look back at the footage, you’ll see how relieved I was when she wasn’t the name that was pulled. I was taken by surprise, just as much as you all were.”

Some people cheer at this, agreeing with what he had to say.

“How did your family feel about this, (Y/n)? Were they angry?”

You laugh a little bit, because you’re still pissed off over the fact that you had never gotten to say goodbye to them. You don’t know their feelings about it, but you have a general idea about it.

“Unfortunately, there has been new rules installed in the districts–” you look out to the crowd, “Or as I’m assuming, since normally all the districts get the same treatment. The new rules had forbidden me from saying goodbye to my brothers and sister. I was required to go straight to the train without a word to them.”

You look back to Caesar, “However, I was able to see them at the train, but still wasn’t allowed to say anything to them.”

Finnick nods along to this, because he saw how you were when they were dragging you to the car. You didn’t want to move your feet, you wanted to be right where you had been. You stood nose to nose with a peacekeeper that was holding a baton and was threatening to hit you with it.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to them now?” Caesar asks, and then he motions to the camera behind him.

“I would love to.” And then you turn your body to face the camera, leaning into Finnick a little bit for support. He squeezes tightly, knowing that this is going to be hard for you especially, “Reed, Mox, and Alyssum. I don’t want you to worry about me, okay? I promise that I will do everything in my power to come back to District Four in one piece. And if it isn’t me that comes home, then it will be Finnick.

“I’m sorry that I hadn’t told you about my plans beforehand, but you need to know that I love you unconditionally, and I hope you feel the same about me. I know you might want to be angry now, but save that for when we come home. I’m sorry you’ll have to watch me go through all of this for a second time, you know I hadn’t wanted this.

“Reed, stay strong for Mox and Alyssum, even when the times get tough. Mox, don’t stop being yourself. Cry when you have to, and cheer even when you don’t feel like it. And my dear baby sister, I’m sorry you’re going to have to see this side of me. I would give anything for you to be three and too young to understand what’s going on, again.”

You can hear a few people in the crowd crying at your monologue. And Caesar turns the microphone to Finnick.

“Do you have anything to say?”

“Thank you for being the best surrogate family I could ask for.” Finnick says, “And for allowing me to marry your sister.”

You laugh slightly, shaking your head at Finnick, because of course he would say something like that.

Caesar looks at his watch, “Time’s almost up, but from my understanding, Finnick, you had a poem for (Y/n)?”

Your face drops slightly as you tilt your head at Finnick. He can’t help but laugh, shaking his head at the floor before looking back at you, “Don’t look at me like that. You had to know it was coming.”

“Apparently, I didn’t.” you look out to the crowd, “Can you believe him?”

The crowd cheers a little bit, excited for what Finnick will have to say to you.

“It would have been way less awkward if you had gone first,” Finnick mutters into the mic, but he goes serious too, “My love, you have my heart, for all eternity. And if I die in that arena, my last thought will be of your lips.”

Finnick kisses you after that, and the buzzer does go off, letting you know that you guys can go. You wave goodbye to the people that are watching, seeing a few people are still crying. Finnick helps you up the two staircases and over to where you need to stand. You two hold hands tightly, not wanting to let each other go.

From there, you guys watch the other tributes get interviewed. District Five, then six, and then finally seven. Johanna comes on stage, makes a scene, and then she’s escorted off the stage because of it. You’re nearly in stitches from how hard you’re laughing, trying not to actually cry.

Leave it to her to say the opinion that you all were thinking.

The next few districts are exceptionally boring, it’s just the same as the ones before them. Cecelia says goodbye to her kids for the final time, others try and get the crowd to change their mind about the games while they can. It’s the same thing, one after another.

Until it gets to Katniss, who comes out on stage with a white wedding dress. You can’t help but to laugh and shake your head, a little amazed by the audacity of it all, since her and Peeta aren’t nearly as in love as they pretend to be. But soon, she reveals that Snow had wanted her to show the crowd what it would have been like.

The interview goes on, and it eventually transitions into her spinning, like she did last year. The dress erupts into flames at the bottom, and as she spins, it completely transforms into something else. It isn’t until she’s done, when you guys get the full picture.

She spreads her arms out, and that’s when you’re able to see the wings. Finnick laughs, like he’s also finding this unbelievable.

“It’s a bird!” Caesar says, “it’s got feathers–it’s like uh–”

“Like a Mockingjay.” Katniss says for him.

“Her stylist is going to pay for that,” Beetee says, he’s standing to your right.

“Yeah, I can imagine she will.” you shift on your feet a little bit.

Katniss gets her interview wrapped up, she assumes her spot on the bottom row where everyone else is. Then, Peeta is introduced, and you’re just glad that you won’t have to stand here for much longer.

Caesar mentions something about the wedding, and Peeta reveals that Katniss and him had gotten married in private. It shocks Caesar a little bit, as well as the crowd.

“You know, Katniss and I have been luckier than most. And I wouldn’t have any regrets at all–” Peeta hesitates for a moment, “–if it weren’t–if….”

You tilt your head, curious to see what’s about to unravel.

“If it weren’t for what?” Caesar asks, and then echoes the last word a few times too.

“If it weren’t for the baby.” Peeta blurts.

Your mouth falls open as you laugh. The entire crowd is shocked, yelling about the baby.

“Alright, this is news–” Caesar tries.

“Holy fuck.” Finnick says, you look over to see that Johanna is shaking her head at this.

“Calm down, this is news to all of us!” Caesar says.

And just as Peeta was probably hoping, a few of the people in the crowd start yelling about stopping the games. This is when you nod, a little proud for what Peeta had done. Even if you don’t know him well, or had told him to do that. But he just showed you guys that he’s capable of thinking outside of the box.

Caesar then leans over and tells Peeta to go and stand with the rest of you without saying it into the mic. Peeta nods, and hurries up the stairs. When he gets to Katniss, they hug. However, you can clearly see that Katniss is either uncomfortable, or she just learned about this information herself. It’s a complete lie.

And it doesn’t even matter. It got the reaction that it was supposed to.

Caesar continues to try and calm down the crowd, but you’re all linking hands together. Holding on tight. You grab Beetee’s hand, and once the entire row is holding hands, you raise them up at the same time as the front row does.

Tomorrow, you might be at each other’s throats. And you might have to kill a few people that you’re on stage with. But tonight, you guys are one. Tonight, you all worked together to do your best to end this.

Tonight, you’re a team.

The crowd boos, and Caesar tries to get you guys to stop. But when it doesn’t work, a couple of the lights begin to go out.

They can try to silence you. However, you’re still holding hands when the lights go out completely. The darkness swallowing you.

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair tacenda #tacenda

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adevotedappraisal · 4 years

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Magdalene by FKA Twigs, a review.

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I’ve been learning some shit from women from as long as I’ve been alive. Always some other shit that I never asked for but I got told it. I used to treat them things they said as laws as a child, but I never saw them in a book, so then I stopped believing them. They were always hushed laws though, laws told with squinted eyes and italicized whispers, laws told when no one else was around.

I mean, now of course men make the real laws that we know and live by. Well come on now, we write them on parchment, and display them on lights, we code them into computers, inscribe them on coins and stone. But these women…man women tell you some other shit, like glue shit, in low, muttered tones in the quiet part of the house. Like advice on… well not how the world works, but how to deal with the world when it works against you, and how to make it work for you. But you see, I’ve come to believe that the fairer sex tells you different laws than the vaunted laws and advice of our fathers because they all around see the world differently than men do. They may, in fact, have been harbouring different goals than us all along.

I mean for christssakes us men have our hero’s journey as clear as day, writ large and indelible across history books and entertainment. You could take that Joseph Campbell mono-myth theory and see it expressed in Arthurian swash-buckle, the middle earth ring-slaying of Tolkien, or in the recently concluded tri-trilogy of Star Wars galactic clashes. We’re in the empire business, as Breaking Bad’s Walter White infamously said. But still, the question always lingered to me: what is the heroine’s journey? Is it really just a lady in a knight’s armour? Or some tough-as-nails spy for some interloping government’s intelligence agency, delivering kidney kicks in a designer pencil skirt?

Well, I’ve come to believe that the heroine’s journey is navigating the waves of history we imperial and trans-national men make from our railroads and pipelines, our satellites and wars, them at once preserving a culture and sparking a path and creating a bond between cultures in order for them and their (il)legitimate brood to survive. That old chestnut about how behind every successful man is a woman always unnerved me by its easy adoption. I kept thinking ‘bout that woman. I kept thinking, what the fuck was she thinking?

You see women’s heroes, they ain’t as clear as day to me. They don’t kill the dragon, they don’t save the townspeople, they don’t shoot the Sherriff, or the deputy, or anyone most times. When I ask people in public at my job what super power they would like, most men go for strength, flight, and regenerative abilities (my pick). Most women went with mind reading and flight. In late night conversations though, with the moonlight coming through the white blinds and resting soft on us like so, I sometimes manage to hear that women’s heroes heal and clean the sick of the nation, in sneakers with heels as round as a childhood eraser; they feed a family with one fish and five slices of wonder bread; they would run gambling spots in the back of their house, putting the needle back on the Commodores record and patrolling the perimeter of the smoked-out room with a black .45 nested by their love handles; they climb up flag poles and speak out loud in public for the disposed and teach children those unwritten, floating laws while cloistered in the quiet part of the house.

Although their heroines are sometimes from the top strata of society –a Pharaoh here, an Eleanor Roosevelt there, an Oprah over there—they also name a healthy mix of radicals and weirdos with modest music success, people like Susan B. Anthony, Frida Kahlo, Virginia Woolf, or Nikki Giovanni, I mean did Nina Simone or Janis Joplin even crack the Billboard top ten? Yet there they are, up on the walls of a thousand college dorms across the country. So even though I couldn’t’ve foreseen it, it makes sense that of all the ultra-natural creatures, of all the great conquering kings and divining prophets of the Holy Bible, Mary Magdalene ends up the spirit animal for the album of the year for 2019.

Mary Magdalene was a follower of Jewish Rabbi Jesus during the first century, according to the four Gospels of the New Testament of the Bible, a figure who was present for his miracles, his crucifixion and was the first to witness him after his resurrection. From Pope Gregory I in the sixth century to Pope Paul VI in 1969, the Roman Catholic Church portrayed her as a prostitute, a sinful woman who had seven demons exorcised from her. Medieval legends of the thirteenth century describe her as a wealthy woman who went to France and performed miracles, while in the apocryphal text The Gospel of Mary, translated in the mid-twentieth century, she is Jesus’ most trusted disciple who teaches the other apostles of the savior’s private philosophies.

Due to this range of description from varying figures in society, she gets portrayed in differing ways, by all types of women, each finding a part of Magdalene to explain themselves through. Barbra Hershey, in the first half of Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ (1988) plays her as a firm and mysterious guide, a rebellious older cousin almost, while Yvonne Elliman, in Norman Jewison’s 1973 film adaptation of Lloyd Weber’s Jesus Christ Superstar is lovelorn and tender throughout, a proud witness of the Word being written for the first time. In “Mary Magdalene,” FKA Twigs, the Birmingham UK alt-soul singer, describes the woman as a “creature of desire”, and she talks about possessing a “sacred geometry,” and later on in the song she tells us of “a nurturing breath that could stroke you/ divine confidence, a woman’s war, unoccupied history.” Her vocals that sound glassy and spectral in the solemn echoes of the acapella first third, co-produced by Benny Blanco, turn sensual and emotive when the blocky groove kicks in. That groove comes into its own on the Nicolas Jaar produced back third, and when this all is adorned with plucked arpeggios it sounds like an autumnal sister to the wintry prowl of Bjork’s “Hidden Place” from her still excellent Vespertine (2001).

This blending of the affairs of the body and of Christian theology is found in the moody “Holy Terrain” as well. While it is too hermetic and subdued to have been an effective single, it still works really well as an album track. In this arena, Future is not the hopped up king of the club, but a vulnerable star, with shaded eyes and a heart wrapped up in love and chemicals, sending his girl to church with drug money to pay tithes. Over a domesticated trap beat he shows a vulnerable bond that can exist, wailing his sins and his devotion like a tipsy boyfriend does in the middle of a party, or perhaps like John the Baptist did, during one of his frenzied sermons, possessed and wailing “if you pray for me I know you play for keeps, calling my name, calling my name/ taking the feeling of promethazine away.”

Magdalene, the singer’s sophomore release, takes the mysterious power and resonance of this biblical anti-heroine, and involves its songs with her, these emotional, multi-textured songs about fame, pain and the break up with movie star boyfriend Robert Pattinson. With “Sad Day,” Twigs sings with a delicate yet emotional yearning, imbued with a Kate Bush domesticity. The synth pads are a pulsing murmur, and the vocal samples are chopped and rendered into lonely, twisting figures. The drums crash in only every once in a while, just enough to reset the tension and carve out an electronic groove, while the rest of the thing is an exercise in mood and restraint, the production by twigs, Jaar and Blanco, along with Cashmere Cat and Skrillex, leaves her laments cosseted in a floating sound, distant yet dense and tumultuous, the way approaching storm clouds can feel. Meanwhile “Thousand Eyes” is a choir of Twigs, some voices cluttered and glittering, some others echoed and filled with dolour. “If you walk away it starts a thousand eyes,” she sings, the line starting off as pleading advice and by the close of the song ending up a warning in reverb, the vintage synths and updated DAWs used to create these sparse, aural haunts where the choral of shes and the digital ghosts of memory can echo around her whispered confessional.

In many of these divorce albums, the other party’s role in the conflict is laid bare in scathing terms: the wife that “didn’t have to use the son of mine, to keep me in line” from Marvin Gaye’s Here My Dear from 1979; the players who “only love you when they’re playin’” as Stevie Nicks sang on Fleetwood Macs Rumours (1977); or as Beyonce’s Lemonade (2017) charges, the husband that needs “to call Becky with the good hair.” At first though, Twigs is diplomatic, like in “Home with me,” where she lays the conflict on both sides here, expressing the rigours of fame, the miscommunication –accidental or intentional –that fracture relationships, and the violent, tenuous silence of a house where one of the members is in some another country doing god knows what, physically or mentally. “I didn’t know you were lonely, if you’d just told me I’d be home with you,” she sings in the chorus over a lonely piano, while the verse sections have the piano chords flanked by blocks of glitch, and littered with flitched-off synths. Then, the last chorus swirls the words again, along with the strings and horns and everything into a rising crescendo of regret.

Later in the album however, her anger once smoldering is set alight, in the dramatic highlight “Fallen Alien.” Twigs sings with an increasing tension, as her agile voice morphs from confused, pouting girlfriend to towering lady of the manor, launching imprecations towards a past lover and perhaps fame itself. “I was waiting for you, on the outside, don’t tell me what you want ‘cuz I know you lie,” she sings, and, after the tension ratchets up becomes “when the lights are on, I know you, see you’re grey from all the lies you tell,” and then later on we have her sneering out loud “now hold me close, so tender, when you fall asleep I’ll kick you down.” All while pondering pianos drop like rain from an awning, tick-tocking mini-snares and skittering noises flit across the beat like summer insects, the kicks of which are like an insistent, inquisitive knocking at the door, and then there’s that sample, filtered into an incandescent flame, crackling an I FEEL THE LIGHTNING BLAST! all over the song like the arc of a Tesla coil. The song is a shocking rebuke, and it becomes apparent upon replays that the songs are sequenced to lead up to and away from it, the gravitational weight giving a shape and pace to the whole album. Because of this, the other songs on Magdalene have more tempered, subtle electronic hues and tones, as if the seductive future soul of 2013s “Water Me” from EP2, and the inventive, booming experimentation of “Glass & Patron” from 2015s M3LL1SSX, were pursed back and restrained until it was needed most, and this results in an album more accomplished, nuanced and focused than her impressive but inconsistent debut LP1 (reviewed here).

This technique of electronic restraint has shown up in the most recent albums by experimental pioneers, with the sparse, mournful tension of Radiohead’s A Moon Shaped Pool (2017), it’s cold, analog synths and digital embellishments cresting on the periphery of the song, and with Wilco’s Ode to Joy from last year, an album bereft of their lauded static and electric scrawl, mostly embossed in acoustic solitude and brittle, wintery guitar licks. Twigs and her co-producers take the same knack for the most part throughout the album, like with closer “Cellophane,” where the dramatic voice and piano are in the forefront, while effects crunch lightly in the background like static electricity in a stretched sweater, and elsewhere, as the synths of “Daybed” slowly intensify into a sparkling soundscape, as if manufacturing an awakening sunrise through a bedroom window. And it is this seamless melding of organic and electronic instruments, to express these wretched and fleeting emotions of heartbreak that makes this the album of the year.

It makes sense that an artist like FKA Twigs would be drawn to a figure like Mary Magdalene. Of the many Marys in the New Testament, she stuck out as palpably different, or rather, she depicted a differing part of womanhood than the other two. She wasn’t the chaste, life-giving mother of Jesus, or the dutiful Mary of Clopas. Instead, Magdalene was this mixture of sexuality and spirituality, one of those figures that managed to know men and women in equal measure, wrapped up with the blood as well as the flesh. Twigs also played with this enrapturing sexuality in her work, writhing around in bed begging some papi to pacify her and fuck her while she stared at the sun, then making you identify with the lamentations of video girls, and then telling you in two weeks you won’t even recognize who you were seeing before. There was something mysterious and layered to her millennial art-chick sexpot act though, layers that have begun to be revealed with this album.

We realise now, that what she was depicting all along was more like the sexual heat that lays underneath devotion, as opposed to fleeting, mayfly lust, and that she now understands the weight and half-life of love. That is, that beyond the sex and patron and fame there is a near sacred love we build between each other for a while in time, lasting as long as both hands can bear to hold it, and also that the death of a relationship still has the memory of the love created warm within it that then radiates off slow into the air. A love that then falls into our minds for safekeeping dark and unobstructed now, the way Jesus’ blood fell from his wound into Joseph of Arimathea’s grail held aloft.

“I never met a hero like me in a sci-fi,” FKA Twigs sings, an evocative line less so for the hegemonic patriarchy of the worldwide movie and comic book industry suggested by ‘the sci-fi’ here, and more for the ‘hero like me’ part, which suggests she had to make her hero origin story all up, without the scaffolding of centuries of relatable mythologies, presenting us with an avatar of millennial love, in all of its tortured luster. And you hear this type of love in her voice, no longer changed up and ran through a filter for Future Soul sophistication most times, but out in the open now, to express particular emotions, whether it’s in that swooping, falling ‘I’ in the heart-break closer “Cellophane,” or her assured realisation, later on “Home With Me” where she says “But I’d save a life if I thought it belonged to you/ Mary Magdalene would never let her loved ones down.”

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It’s never about how to conquer with these women you see. In the end of all relationships it’s how they find their way out after us temporarily embarrassed conquerors are about to leave, jacket slung over shoulder, standing by the door. You squint your eyes back at her this time, and you listen this time, while she tells you, or tells the ground in front of you, what parts of love to let go of, and what parts are worth holding on to in this age of Satan, the parts that will help you become yourself. “I wonder if you think that I could never help you fly,” the song tells you then, one of those stinging admissions that only women come up with, and you wisely stay silent, and then the piano chords part, the synths subside. And for a while there as she looks at you, as the breathy sortilege in the song keeps going, it all sounds like something worth believing in again. And then, the words she says to you start to come across like laws.

#music #music review #rnb #rnb music #r&b #soul #future soul #future pop #alt soul #electronica #fka twigs #magdalene #mary magdalene #cellophane #Long Reads #sad day #hiro murai #new music

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thatesqcrush · 4 years

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Possibilities, Part 2

Pairing: Rafael Barba x Lucy Huston

CW: language, fluff

WC: 1750

AN: I am so stoked that so many people enjoyed part one and this pairing. It was meant to be a one-shot, but here we are. I am excited for this ship, toot toot!

Tags: @melsquared79 @madpanda75 @ottosuricato @delia26 @dreila03 @sass-and-suspenders @amirightcounselor @glimmerglittergirl @mommakat32 @garturbo @southern-magnolia @neely1177 @niyashell @tropes-and-tales @imjustreallynosy @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @sweetsummertime99 @evee87 @scarletsoldierrr @kscarlett1 @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @redlipstickandblacktea - anyone else just ask.

****

It had been three months. Three months of texting, secret dates, and hidden, flirty looks when in each other’s presence. It would take every fiber in Lucy’s being to not jump into Rafael’s arms when she saw him - whether it was at Liv’s apartment or at the precinct when she was picking up Noah. Likewise, for Rafael - he would be in the middle of discussing a case with Liv when he would simply lose train of thought at the sight of Lucy. Even if she didn’t say anything, Rafael knew her scent intimately - and his olfactory receptors would go into overdrive.

Rafael was tasked to a particularly tough case and it meant many days and nights into the office. It was to his surprise when Lucy showed up at his office.

“Cariño, what are you doing here?” Rafael murmured, shutting the door to his office.

Lucy pressed her lithe body against Rafael’s and he wrapped his thick arms around her, enveloping her completely. Her hands pressed against his chest, tugging slightly on his suspenders and she stood on her tip-toes to press as kiss to Rafael’s lips. Rafael used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue darting again at hers. She sighed, melting into his embrace and they enjoyed their private moment before breaking away.

“I miss you, that’s all,” Lucy replied softly as she used the pad of her thumb to rub off her lipstick that had smeared onto his lips.

Rafael pressed his face into her hand before kissing it. “I know. I miss you too.”

A staccato knock on the door interrupted their reverie, causing them to jump. “Barba—“ Liv charged into the office. She halted when she saw Lucy.

“Lucy? Hi? What are you doing here?” Liv questioned, her brows furrowed.

Lucy felt her face flush and her mouth went dry as she wracked her brain to formulate an answer.

“She thought you were picking up Noah here—“ Rafael jumped in, glancing at Lucy. Lucy gave him a half smile, nodding along.

“Right! And then I realized I got my days mixed up,” Lucy continued, mock hitting herself on the head. “I was just on my way out to go get Noah from the precinct.” She ducked her head and rushed past Liv, grabbing her purse from Rafael’s couch. Liv opened her mouth to reply but Lucy was gone. Rafael was certain if this moment was a cartoon, smoke would be emanating from her heels.

Liv looked at Rafael who shrugged in response. Liv shook her head before focusing on why she was there - she needed a warrant and fast.

***

A week later, Rafael and Lucy walked onto the vibrant green grass in Central Park, where the waited for the Philharmonic to perform. Rafael opened up the large blue checkered blanket. Lucy sank down to her knees, smoothing out the blanket before she began to remove the plethora food items they brought with them: mixed berries, soft cheeses, prosciutto and salami, and a loaf of French bread. She sat out the Bolero wine and Rafael opened it with the wine opener. Rafael grabbed the two glasses and sat them on the blanket gently, before he removed his shoes and socks. He sat with his knees up, legs spread apart and Lucy sat against him, her legs outstretched. Unbeknownst to them, they were spotted by curious eyes from a distance.

“Mom? Who is Uncle Rafa with?” Noah asked, pointing from the path he was on with Liv. “That’s Uncle Rafa, right?”

Liv squinted. “Yes,” she replied. ‘But I can’t see who he is with.’ “Let’s leave them be - we have to go.” Noah nodded before continuing on his bike, slowly pedaling away. Liv squinted one more - the face of the woman was familiar, but she was too far away. Liv cocked her head once more before chasing after Noah.

***

“I insist you stay for dinner,” Liv told Lucy. “Noah’s been asking.”

“Well, if Noah has been asking, how can I say no?” Lucy replied, bending down to smile at Noah. “Come on, let’s go get washed up.”

As Liv finished setting out the table, there was a knock on the door. She wiped her hands on the towel hanging off her stove before making her way to the door.

“Rafael,” Liv greeted brightly. “To what do I owe pleasure?”

“Wanted to bring over the Jackson case file...” Rafael began, stopping short at the sight of Lucy and Noah who had returned. Rafael tried to stop his mouth from twitching into a smile.

“Uncle Rafa! Uncle Rafa! Are you going to have dinner with us?” Noah pushed passed Liv to greet Rafael. Rafael smiled at the young boy before looking at his friend.

“Rafael is very busy—“ Liv began but Rafael cut her off.

“I think I can stay for dinner.”

“Hooray!” Noah shouted, running back to Lucy. Lucy met eyes with Rafael and she smiled.

***

“So Lucy, are you doing anything fun tomorrow night?” Liv asked as she passed the salad to her. Lucy nodded, chewing thoughtfully before she answered.

“I have plans with a friend.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Noah asked, his mouth full of spaghetti.

Lucy flushed. Rafael coughed on the wine he was drinking, red droplets splattering everywhere.

“Noah!” Liv chastised, as she handed a napkin to Rafael. Rafael patted himself, annoyed that his clothes were sprinkled with red wine, but he was curious to see how Lucy would respond.

Lucy let out a small laugh. “He is a special friend, yes.” Briefly, her eyes met Rafael’s once more. “Very special.”

Later, as Lucy tucked Noah into bed, Rafael helped Liv clean up from dinner. He scraped the remains of the salad into the trash.

“So I saw you the other day at the park,” Liv commented. Rafael’s back was to hers, and he froze momentarily. He turned around, relieved that Liv hadn’t turned around herself.

“You seem happy,” Liv commented. “I want that for you.” She turned around and gave Rafael a genuine smile. “Where did you meet her?”

“A coffee shop,” Rafael replied. “Just pure happenstance.”

Lucy was walking up the hall when she heard the two of them speaking. She paused in her steps, and craned her neck to listen. Her heart pounded in her chest as she heard Liv quip about having dinner together.

She rounded the corner, and tried to appear jubilant. “Liv, Noah’s in bed - if you don’t mind, I’m going to head home.”

Liv nodded. “Thanks for everything. I’ll see you Thursday. Get home safely.”

“Do you want to share a cab?” Rafael suggested. “I’m almost done.”

Lucy shook her head. “No. I’m okay. See you around Rafael. ‘Night Liv.” Lucy rounded the hallway and let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding once the elevators doors shut.

***

Lucy padded around her apartment, dressed for her date with Rafael that next night. She wore a black long sleeve, mock turtleneck bodysuit that had a thing bottom. The body suit was sheer except for the sleeves and panel at the breasts, that had lace details. It had an open back and she paired it with a pair of black skinny jeans and black booties. Stacks of bangles adorned her wrists. Her hair was normally pin straight, but she used her curling wand to create large, bouncy soft curls. She lined her eyes and was in process of finishing applying her lipstick when her buzzer sounded.

“Be right down,” she spoke after Rafael said hello through the speaker. Rafael wore dark fitted jeans and a burgundy cashmere sweater, with the sleeves pushed up. He was leaning against the cab, hands in pockets. Lucy’s breath hitched at the sight of him.

“Counselor,” she greeted with a wink.

“Te ves muy hermosa,” Rafael purred in Lucy’s ear before pressing a kiss to her lips. His breath on her ear, sent a warm shiver down her spine. “Thank you,” she squeaked. “Where are we going?”

Rafael climbed into the cab after Lucy. “Want to get out of the city?”

***

Lucy and Rafael were cozied in a booth in the back of Hotel Delmano, a cocktail bar in Brooklyn. The bar was outfitted with opulent chandeliers and old, smoky mirrors. The various rooms had turquoise or muted red walls adorned with portraits of old, stately-looking people.

Oysters and other small plates like olives, cheese boards, and pâtés rounded out the many drinks that were had. Rafael’s had one hand wrapped around the lowball glass and his other hand rubbed concentric circles on Lucy’s thigh. Rafael moved her hair to expose her neck. He nuzzled the sensitive skin, pressing small kisses along the slope of her neck.

Rafael cupped Lucy’s chin, and drew her to face him. “I knows it’s only been three months — I knew the we started talking at that coffee shop, that there was something about you I needed. But it wasn’t something about you. All I really, truly needed was just you. You make me happier than I thought I could be.”

“Oh Rafael,” Lucy began before the shrill of Rafael’s phone ringing interrupted her. Rafael gave her an apologetic look as he glanced at the phone. He held a finger to his lips and mouthed ‘Liv.’

“Barba,” he answered sharply. Rafael furrowed his brows as he listened intently and Lucy instantly knew their night was over. Lucy motioned for their check. The waitress brought over the bill and while still on the phone, Rafael took care of it. “Actually I am close by — that’s another story for another time.”

He hung up, and gave Lucy an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry. I’ll need to rain check.”

“It’s fine. You’re needed. Go.” Lucy pressed a quick kiss to Rafael’s lips and gave him a small smile. “Be safe.”

Rafael turned to leave but then stopped and swept Lucy into a deep, passionate kiss. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

Lucy watched Rafael leave and opened her phone to order an Uber home. As she grabbed her clutch, she noticed Rafael’s phone was on the table. “Fuck,” she grimaced and ran out of the bar.

“Rafael! Rafael!” Lucy shouted running after Rafael. She burst out of the bar, and noticed him rounding the corner. Lucy continued to run after him. “You forgot your —“ she caught up to him and realized he was standing in front of someone — and that someone was Liv. Lucy was horrified.

“Lucy? What are you doing —“ Liv began, confused but the realization hit her like a ton of bricks. She pointed her finger back and forth.

“So how long have you two been fucking?”

TBC.

#rafael barba fanfic #rafael barba fanfiction #barba fanfic #rafael barba x lucy huston #rafael barba x lucy #barba x lucy #my fanfiction #my writing

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jessicakehoe · 4 years

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How A Year of Shopping Abstinence Gave One Compulsive Consumer Clarity

Before online shopping, I never thought I had an addictive personality. I feel indifferent to recreational drugs, drink wine primarily to learn about grapes and am far too risk-averse to gamble. Yet show me a seasonal sale and I’ll show you a person who is in too deep to see it: a frenzy of tabs opened, eyes blurry from scrolling, a pallid face illuminated by a computer screen. Saying no to vices, all things considered, was easy. Saying no to a better dressed, more impressive, idealistic vision of myself? Impossible.

Five years ago, I went into debt because of this obsessive behaviour, having filled my life with raw-silk dresses from L.A. and architectural coats from Denmark in an effort to disguise a lukewarm self-image. I lied to those around me about it, concealing shopping bags from my partner and waiting until he was out of the house to remove the tags. I knew I had a problem, and over the years, I chipped away at it, denying myself a purse here, returning a necklace there. Slowly, my bank account recovered and my fixations subsided.

But the impulse stayed—simmering beneath the skin, always threatening to come to a full boil. I wanted to study it and get to know the anxieties that fuelled it, but to gain such a perspective required distance. So when I made the resolution to stop shopping for a year, it wasn’t as a monastic last resort but a deliberate decision to take a step back and condition myself into being a more mindful consumer. It wasn’t about taking away my choices but about making one.

Not everything triggered my compulsive instinct for acquisition, so I kept the ban limited to the things that did: clothing, jewellery and shoes.

Not everything triggered my compulsive instinct for acquisition, so I kept the ban limited to the things that did: clothing, jewellery and shoes. The benefits, I reasoned with myself, were manifold. By not mindlessly browsing the internet for things to fill my closet, I would save a lot of time. By not purchasing them, I would save money. And by not creating more demand for the fashion industry, I would save the planet. (Admittedly a stretch. But I would be, at the very least, less complicit in the environmental impact of clothing production.) The most salient argument of them all: By learning to take the impulsive emotion out of shopping, I would eventually save my mental health.

I started the ban on a Thanksgiving weekend. “Brave,” said a friend with whom I’d shared the news so as to be held accountable. “You’re going to get so many emails.” She was right. They came like a deluge, each offering a sale more enticing than the last. Deleting them unread would have been easier, but I didn’t want to spend a year playing ostrich, so I decided to confront my inbox. Like a one-woman study on the efficacy of exposure therapy, I opened the emails one by one. To my surprise—and to my credit—the force of sheer willpower triumphed. I survived Black Friday. Then came Cyber Monday. Then Boxing Day. On my 30th birthday, I bought nothing to “treat myself”—a historical first.

On occasion, I would feel the familiar restlessness re-emerge, the squirrelly desire to get my hands on something new. It would be triggered by an Instagram photo, say, of a woman draped in luxurious fabrics captured as she walks past the camera. There would be movement in the photo and amazing light. Maybe she’s in Montmartre… or SoHo. Wherever she is, it’s the perfect portrait of elegance and grace, and if I were to acquire the cashmere sweater in the photo, I, too, could have it all. Or… I could keep scrolling.

What I really wanted was rarely the item itself but the acquisition of it: a shiny new object to fill a void.

Refraining from acting on these feelings, however challenging at the time, eventually gave me the mental clarity to observe them. What I really wanted was rarely the item itself but the acquisition of it: a shiny new object to fill a void. The void came in many forms: insecurity, anxiety, depression, impending burnout. Like an itchy throat heralds the arrival of a cold, my compulsion to shop always revealed itself to be symptomatic of a deeper discontent.

Thankfully, dopamine comes in other forms, too: taking a long, unhurried walk; learning to make a complicated dessert; calling someone just to hear their voice. It’s the joy of novelty without acquisition—therapy without the retail. When I’m reading books, I’m not buying books. By that, I mean the more I spend my time living deliberately, the less I get caught up in the need to embellish my life with stuff.

They say creativity thrives under constraints, which proved true throughout the ban. I was forced to confront the things I owned and find new contexts for them. I learned to create the spark of novelty by putting two old items together for the first time. I learned to see their usedness not as a strike against them but as a testament to their quality. Most importantly, I learned that the ability to abstain from shopping for a year isn’t a lesson in deprivation but one in abundance—the privilege of having what you need and wanting what you already have.

This is not to say that I will never shop again but that I now question my instincts when I do: Am I using this purchase to distract myself from something else happening in my life? Am I trying to signal value or success or dress myself up as someone I am not? Like the choice between different lenses at the optometrist’s, these questions help provide clarity as to what motivations are truly at work. And some questions are reserved for the item, too: Is it comfortable? Is it durable? Is it something I will honour by wearing it frequently and with enthusiasm?

A year later, I have emerged on the other side of the ban less impulsive and more informed.

A year later, I have emerged on the other side of the ban less impulsive and more informed. And the way I engage with fashion has also changed. The fast-fashion retailers that used to flood my algorithm have largely been replaced by local consignment shops, vintage stores and ethical fashion resale communities.

Having abstained for this long, I don’t feel right about reverting back to buying cheap, disposable clothes—or about simply replacing them with more ethical counterparts. After all, the most sustainable approach to the way we dress is not to shop sustainable brands but to refrain from supporting the resource-intensive world of textile manufacturing when we can. So, for now, I am prioritizing taking care of what has already been made: extending the longevity of the garments I own and giving other people’s clothes a second life. Maybe I’ll start another year-long ban. This time, no new clothes.

As Vivienne Westwood famously advised, “Buy less, choose well, make it last.” What doesn’t last is desire—the glimmer of getting what you want that dulls when the transaction is over. But knowing that you can live without something—a new outfit, a temporary boost of confidence, a more photogenic life—is what stays with you. That’s what sets you free.

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peacefulheartfarm · 3 years

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Flavored Cheese

Have you considered flavored cheese in your home cheesemaking operation? Likely most of you are not making your own cheese. You’ll want to seek out some flavored cheeses from your local markets for a real treat. There are so many possibilities here that I couldn’t possibly cover them all in this short podcast. Today, I’ll give you just a brief overview of what you might consider in tasting and in creating with your cheeses.

Welcome new listeners and welcome back to the veteran homestead-loving regulars who stop by the FarmCast for every episode. I appreciate you all so much. I’m going to start off with what’s going on at the homestead and then I’ll get right into talking about some tasty flavored cheese.

Our Virginia Homestead Life Updates

I want to start off with talking about our herd share program. We are opening up our raw milk cheese herd shares to more people. One full share will provide you and your family with about two pounds of our hand-made, aged, raw milk cheese per month. A half share will provide about one pound of cheese per month. We have four varieties from which to choose.

Our Peaceful Heart Gold is a danish Havarti-style cheese. It is a washed curd cheese that is soft, buttery and the sweetest cheese we make. Moving from the mildest to the sharpest, the next in line is our Ararat Legend. This is also a washed rind cheese made in the Dutch gouda tradition. It is a firmer cheese than the Gold with nearly as much butter flavor. This cheese ages well and the flavor deepens with each passing month. The next two kind of tie for sharpest, depending on how long they have aged. We have a wonderful aged cheddar and an alpine-style cheese we call Pinnacle. The flavor complexities of these two cheeses are amazing as neither is even ready to taste until 9 months or more of aging. Well, we do offer the milder cheddar at three and six months, but you will definitely want to wait for the good stuff.

Details and costs can be found on our website at Peaceful Heart Farm dot com. Product pickup is available at the Wytheville Farmer’s market, the Independence Farmer’s market and from our homestead. Support us or some other local farm. Keep good food alive. Give us a call and we can get you set up.

Cows

We are on calf watch with Rosie. This event is happening far ahead of our expectations. Her udder is developing and filling with milk. It may be only a matter of days. You never really know, any more than you know for humans, when the exact date will be for the event. She is looking good and Scott and I are feeling pretty good about Rosie and her calf. We are still cautious and watching her very closely, but again, she looks really good right now. Buttercup is doing a good job of keeping Rosie company. She is our only cow that is not going to have a calf this year.

After Rosie, next up for giving birth is Cloud followed closely by Claire. Butter and Violet are much further down the line, due in May and June respectively. And as I said, Buttercup is not having a calf this year. If all goes well, we will end up with five calves this year. Praying for some heifers.

Goats and Sheep

The sheep are doing well. Their expected delivery date is the 27th of March, so about a month more for them. We are likely to have six to eight lambs this year.

The goats have been reduced to five. Yes, finally I got moving on reducing our goat population. We are moving more rapidly toward changing over to meat goats. If you are new, we currently have cashmere goats. I had this grandiose idea that I was going to have time to gather their cashmere, have it made into yarn, and knit up some wonderful cashmere items. It took a few years for me to realize that I was not going to have time to include yet another enterprise into our business model. By that time, we had well over twenty goats.

Now these wonderful animals are great at keeping the pastures cleared of brush, briars and small pine trees. So, we definitely want to keep a few of them around. However, it makes much more sense for our homestead to have meat goats. That way they can keep the pastures pristine and also provide more nourishment for our family. Later this fall we will process the final five goats. At that point we will be in the market for a small herd of meat goats. Right now, I am focused on Kiko goats but would probably consider Spanish goats.

Quail

A few days ago, Scott and I went over the costs of raising these great birds. It’s pretty expensive according to my year-end profit and loss statement. My first, knee-jerk reaction was to just stop raising quail. However, after waiting a couple of days, I decided to break down the actual cost and how much we are benefiting from the eggs and meat.

Back in 2006, Scott raised just short of 150 chickens in the Joel Salatin-type chicken tractors. He calculated that it cost a little over $1 per pound to raise those chickens. Our cost to raise quail is somewhere between $5.50 and $6.50 per pound of bird. However, there are also the eggs to consider. Scott and I sat down and tried to come up with a better comparison. If we had to buy eggs, what would be our cost? Subtract that from the total costs, based on four quail eggs per one chicken egg, and the rest of the cost divided by the approximate weight of the birds raised for meat. The bottom line is that we decided to give the quail one more season to prove their worth. I also decided to feed them a little bit less. They did seem to be putting on quite a bit of unnecessary fat so this seemed the first place to cut a little cost. We shall see what happens this year. I’m going to keep better records.

I’m still anticipating when we will be able to build our chicken facilities. It won’t be this year. The quail get a well-deserved reprieve.

Garden

I just received a couple of rolls of woven fabric ground cloth. Yes, we are about to get started on the garden. The biggest change this year will be the strawberry bed. I’ve order 500 bare-root strawberry plants. Yes, you heard that right. I ordered 500 plants. We are pretty much starting from scratch with our strawberries. I’m excited about this new opportunity.

I’m also going to start some plants for sale at the farmer’s market. If you are in my neighborhood, I should have some herbs, tomatoes and perhaps some green pepper starts ready for your garden. I’m not going to grow very many tomatoes or peppers this year but I really love growing plants. Growing for you guys seemed to be the best way to fulfil that desire to grow stuff. And I chose to grow some culinary herbs, because they are sometimes harder to find. I’ll keep you posted on which herbs I was successful in sprouting.

Flavored Cheese

Today want to talk a little bit about flavored cheese. If you’re making your own cheese at home, this could be a great adventure for you. On the other hand, if you’re just a real cheese head and love to try new cheeses, you might take a look at some of the cheeses available that have had either spices and seeds added or maybe they have herbs added, and some have been created using ale wine and/or spirits. You may even be able to find a cheese wrapped in leaves. These are just a few of the methods used to add various flavors to cheese. In this short podcast, I’ll be briefly touching on those flavorings that I just mentioned. There are others, but I’ll stick with these for today.

Seeds and Spices

The first flavoring I want to mention is seeds and spices. Your first thought when considering what seeds and spices to add should be the quality. You don’t want to use three-year-old dried herbs from your cabinet. Next, think of what you like. Now temper that with the thought that sometimes there’s a good reason that you haven’t seen that kind of cheese made. However, don’t let that thought stop you from experimenting. Sometimes it could be as simple as it not being economical to produce such a cheese on a commercial basis. If you’re making it in your own kitchen, the costs are much less of a factor. If you’re concerned at all, simply start with a combination that you’ve seen or tasted.

There are two things that you want to consider when preparing your experiment. Getting the right distribution and the size of the seed. I’ve seen lots of cheeses use whole peppercorns. Those are pretty big seeds so you would use less. On the other hand, if you have a small seed such as Caraway, you don’t want to put so many in there that you ruin the texture of the cheese. For a cheese maybe 2 gallons of milk, you are likely going to choose one to 3 teaspoons of your chosen seed or spice.

When you’re preparing your seeds and spices for addition to the cheese curd, you might consider boiling them for 5 to 10 minutes. There are couple reasons you might want to try that. If you suspect any kind of contamination or you want to soften a seed so that the flavors are more readily incorporated into the cheese.

Adding your seeds or spices can happen in a couple of different ways. Almost universally, the whey needs to have been drained. You don’t want to lose your spice with the whey. One of the easiest methods is to simply stir your seeds and/or spices into the drained cards. Another fun way would be to layer it in the mold. Put little curd in, add your spices, put more curd, add spices again and so on. You want to be careful with that method. There is always a chance that you will bunch your spices up too closely together and over spice one area while another would be under served. You may even have trouble getting the cheese to get together properly. The trade-off is the visual effect of layers.

Here are some of the most popular seeds and spices used in this method flavoring your cheese. I’ve already mentioned caraway seed and peppercorns. Other seeds might be mustard, fennel, fenugreek, or cumin. Some useful spices include cloves and red pepper flakes. Generally, you want to stay away from using herbs for aged varieties of flavored cheese. They will be prone to breakdown and change the color of your cheese. That’s not a good look. Herbs are most often used either mixed into a soft cheese or spread. Or lots of times you’ll see them used as a coating on the outside of a fresh, soft cheese.

Ale, Wine, and Spirits

This is a great way to create a flavored cheese. And ale or beer can be incorporated directly into the cheese curd in the same way that the seeds and spices were added. Wine and spirits on the other hand, work better on the outside. This is most commonly done in washed rind cheeses. I briefly mentioned wrapping a cheese in leaves. Using alcohol to macerate the leaves, that is to soak them for a period of time, prior to wrapping the cheese is a favored practice.

Adding beer or ale, similar to adding seeds, happens after the whey has been drained. When making cheddar, it can be added after the cheddaring process has been completed and the curds have been milled. Otherwise, simply stir into the curds after they have been drained. You don’t need much. I also think it would be hard to use too much. Whether you pour the whole bottle into the curds made from your 2 gallons of milk, or you use only a half cup for your cheese and save the rest for yourself, that’s up to you. I’ll use a whole bottle for 15 or 20 gallons of milk. But again, I don’t think you can use too much.

There are several things to consider when deciding to use wine or spirits on your washed rind cheese. Because you’re adding wetness to the outside of your cheese, you can be prepared for softening. Sometimes, for a softer cheese, you might let your cheese dry for 2 to 3 days. Then begin the wash. Or, for a harder, drier cheese such as an alpine style, you can begin the wash right away. Something else to consider would be experimenting with the frequency of washing and the humidity in your aging room. The hardness of the rind and the texture of the cheese will also influence what your final results are going to be with the washing. Obviously, the softer rind is going to absorb more of the flavors.

Wrapping Your Cheese with Leaves

Many flavored cheeses utilize some type of leaf wrapping. Sometimes the leaves are dry, but more often they have been macerated in a strong alcohol, such as brandy or bourbon. This is a wide-open field. Choose your favorite spirit, and parent with your favorite leaf. Some leaves to consider are chestnut, maple, or grape.

Not all leaf-wrapped cheeses use spirits. Nettle, sycamore, or walnut are good choices here. Like with the herbs, you don’t want them to break down and become mush.

I hope you enjoy your experiments whether in making the cheese or trying out a new cheese from your local market.

Final Thoughts

I hope you’ll give some thought to becoming part of our herd share program. We’d love to be of service to you. Come on out to the homestead and see where it all happens. Say hello to Claire and the rest of the girls. Pet the donkeys. Be sure to wear rugged shoes and/or boots. Animals are messy creatures and if it has rained, omg, the mud.

I hope I’ve titillated your senses a little and you’re on your way to trying some new flavored cheese. Whether you’re making it from scratch or buying from your local market, your enjoyment is sure to be mooua, superb.

If you enjoyed this podcast, please hop over to Apple Podcasts or whatever podcasting service you use, SUBSCRIBE and give me a 5-star rating and review. If you like this content and want to help out the show, the absolute best way you can do that is to share it with any friends or family who might be interested in this type of content. Let them know about the Peaceful Heart Farmcast.

Thank you so much for stopping by the homestead and until next time, may God fill your life with grace and peace.

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ladystylestores · 4 years

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12 Designers Giving Decluttering Tips – WWD

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With the confinement still on in many countries and recreational activities spanning from do-it-yourself tutorials, Zoom video calls and digital book clubs to online workouts — expansively documented on social media during the lockdown — there’s one entry many may still have to tackle: Reorganizing their wardrobes.

The moment to face one’s best — and worst — fashion choices of the recent past might have been postponed, but as the fashion industry is stepping into new territories and sustainability is set to dictate future shopping behavior, there’s no better time to get rid of the old and embrace changes.

The KonMari method — assembled by acclaimed Japanese organizer and author Marie Kondo — and its minimalist approach may be a bit drastic for fashion enthusiasts dealing with too many items “sparking joy” during their decluttering process. So, here, WWD asks creatives in Milan, Paris and London to share their tips on what to keep, what to give away and how to keep things organized — or at least try to.

Lorenzo Serafini, creative director of Philosophy di Lorenzo Serafini

What to keep: An old denim shirt. It has no seasons but it’s really timeless.

What to give away: The tracksuits or the sweatshirts we wore to stay at home during the lockdown. We need new energy!

What to reinvent and how: Check if some long pants can become a pair of shorts.

Trick to keep your wardrobe organized: I’m not very good at this, I keep spring and fall clothes together!

Margherita Maccapani Missoni, creative director of M Missoni

What to keep: What inspires me, like a vintage Vivienne Westwood piece, with timeless proportions, which I keep because one day it could take me to new aesthetics.

What to give away: I gift what I feel doesn’t belong to me anymore, clothes I bought when trending or in fashion and thought could be part of my style but now I don’t feel quite myself wearing them.

What to reinvent and how: All the things I didn’t use that much, including a small cardigan I wore over eveningwear but that now I wear over bare skin during the day.

Trick to keep your wardrobe organized: Every time I rearrange my closet I do it according to a different theme — color, category, etc. — so that different pieces stand out each time.

Margherita Missoni’s closet. Valentina Sommariva/Courtesy Photo

Giuliano Calza, founder of GCDS

What to keep: I had to proceed as if I were setting up an archive, so I kept the pieces that in 10 years could still be valuable or items linked to important memories. I have a T-shirt of “One Hundred and One Dalmatians” which I used to wear as a dress when I was a child, and now it’s a very skinny shirt but its value increased tenfold.

What to give away: Fast fashion. I had no mercy because my brain kept telling me that my seven closets were already over capacity.

What to reinvent and how: I had different creative moments. I took two XL shirts with different patterns and resewed the two halves, and now it’s one of my favorite shirts. Or with a sewing machine, denim can be padded with tinfoil and turned into oven mitts or place mats.

Trick to keep your wardrobe organized: I have divided my walk-in closet according to colors. That way I can certainly find an item that’s out of place or find similar ones, of the same color. Another secret that has changed my life is to keep on a separate rack all the pieces that are linked to a good memory or give me a good energy. A sort of “VIP rack,” so I can pick one item that makes me happy from there and then match the rest with pieces from the other closets.

Vivetta Ponti, founder of Vivetta

What to keep: I have a small closet divided into Vivetta clothes and vintage pieces. For this spring, I kept Victorian-style items, such as an oversize man’s shirt I use as a dress; some white clothes from the Sixties, one in white lace and one in brocade with 3-D floral appliqués on the sleeves, and a robe with red marabou details, which I wear as a dress with red lace socks.

What to give away: In general, I don’t give away a lot, I always try to do targeted purchases buying high-quality and timeless pieces.

What to reinvent and how: I take the pieces I don’t think to wear in the current season to Assisi, Italy, where I have an archive for research. Every new season, I always find some item I didn’t wear for a couple of seasons and it’s fun to come up with different occasions to use them, new ideas and ways to match them to create new looks.

Trick to keep your wardrobe organized: I try to keep everything on hangers, considering I mostly have dresses.

Vivetta Ponti’s closet. Courtesy Photo

J.J. Martin, founder of La Double J

What to keep: I keep all of the Double J [pieces], so my closet looks like a thumping rainbow. And I keep all of my most precious vintage and designer clothes that had a memory attached to them.

What to give away: I recently moved apartments and before doing so I went through a mountain of clothes and accessories that I had collected over the last 20 years of working in fashion. I was astounded by the quantity and could not wait to clear it away. I am waiting until the virus lifts to hold a sale for all of these items at super-cheap prices so that young girls in Milan can have easy access to high-end fashion. I swept away every single item I hadn’t worn in the last year — there were many!

What to reinvent and how: I am reinventing myself as someone who really doesn’t consume anymore. For the last five years I’ve barely bought any fashion in fact. When you are designing and creating, you don’t really need that input from any other source.

Trick to keep your wardrobe organized: I organize my closets by season, by category of item and then by color. I’m a maniac about it. A well-ordered house is reflective of a well-ordered mind.

J.J. Martin’s closet. Courtesy Photo

Giuseppe Zanotti

What to keep: I can’t part from my beloved Lanvin jackets and V-neck cashmere sweaters. My advice is to keep everything you have been wearing in the past year, remove all the unnecessary (I often gift what I don’t wear anymore) and move everything else to the “archive” closet. Editing is so important to reset your mind and to let go of some old memories and make room for new ones.

What to give away: Everything useless. No matter how good we think we are, we inevitably make mistakes from time to time and buy things that we never wear. To me, this mostly happens when I travel.

What to reinvent and how: Timeless pieces can be easily matched in new ways.

Trick to keep your wardrobe organized: I organize everything by color, all the black jackets, all the blue, and so on. But I am aware this might be easier for a person like me who mostly wears the same few colors.

Giuseppe Zanotti’s closet. Courtesy Photo

Amina Muaddi

What to keep: What has sentimental value.

What to give away: What you never wear.

What to reinvent and how: Vintage pieces that you can transform.

Trick to keep your wardrobe organized: Organic by category first and second by color.

Amina Muaddi’s shoe closet. Courtesy Photo

Lutz Huelle

What to keep: I have an extreme relationship with clothes in that, most of the time, I will find a reason to keep something even if that reason is a particularly beautiful moth-eaten hole in a sweater. So I really have to be strict with myself. I also find it very counterproductive to actually hold on to things, so imagine my dilemma! My rule is to keep as little as possible in my closet and make sure that whatever I haven’t worn in the last 12 months goes out. I do keep things that I don’t wear anymore as an “archive” piece if interesting enough, or worth keeping for a detail that could be interesting for work, in which case they go to the office into my “Vintage Research.”

What to give away: Basically anything you haven’t worn for the last 12 months.

What to reinvent and how: The best and most useful things to reinvent are those that we wear constantly anyway. I started cutting into my bomber jacket because I kept wearing it and wanted to have another version, something less strict and that would make it look fresh again. The best way to reinvent something is to put it on and look at what we don’t like about it anymore. Perhaps it’s the length or color or a collar-detail. There are so many ways to change a garment, even without sewing or using any complicated techniques: cutting the sleeves or length, over-dyeing, and there’s something therapeutic about cutting into a garment and seeing what happens. Cutting into an old T-shirt and making a sexy top for people to copy on Instagram was by far the most joy I had during the last two months.

Trick to keeping your wardrobe organized: I only put coats and tailored pieces onto hangers, everything else is in boxes, which makes it much easier for me to find things. It also takes up far less space, and is very satisfying to look at.

Christian Wijnants

What to keep: Everything! I hate to throw away clothes and usually only do so if they are falling apart. Some of the pieces in my wardrobe are more than 25 years old; I feel an emotional connection to them as they are full of memories. I will never give those pieces away, such as early Raf Simons pieces I bought when I was a student, pieces I received when I was working for Dries Van Noten, a hand-knitted sweater made by my mother when I was a teenager. I prefer to buy less by buying timeless pieces that I know I will cherish for a long time; this is what helps me avoid a cluttered closet. The latest piece I bought is a pink sweatshirt from Hed Mayner and pants from Jan Jan Van Essche.

What to give away: The main reason I will end up giving something away is when they get much too small, which works as I have two nephews I normally give the pieces to.

What to reinvent and how: I usually wear the same things, so I can forget about pieces if they are in a hidden part of my closet. It is a great feeling when you rediscover your own closet by cleaning up and finding those pieces, some of which you might never have worn before. It happens to me quite often.

Trick to keeping your wardrobe organized: I have the luxury of having a large closet with lots of space, which allows me to sort my clothes by color and by outfits. It usually helps me to organize the clothes in groups like I would style them, it helps me get dressed quicker in the morning.

Christian Wijnants’ closet. Courtesy Photo

Anine Bing

What to keep: I think it is so important to have all of the essentials covered in your wardrobe, for me this would be a classic white T-shirt, great pair of denim jeans and a blazer. I’ve been living in cozy knit tops while working from home. I still take the time and get dressed every morning — it keeps me motivated and allows me to maintain some sense of normalcy. My current favorite is our new Empowerment sweatshirt, the bold graphic reminds me to stay positive and that we will come out of this experience stronger than before.

What to give away: If you have not worn something for six months, I think it is time to say goodbye. The key is to only keep the things you love and wear and get rid of the clutter. This helps me to simplify the process of getting dressed every day. Whenever I clean out my closet, I always like to donate those pieces to a local charity.

What to reinvent and how: A perfect white T-shirt is great for any occasion. I like to pair a crisp white T-shirt with denim for a more casual look and with a pair of leather trousers for an effortless yet elevated style. They’re great under blazers, too, for a more polished look — so versatile and should be a must-have in everyone’s wardrobe.

Trick to keep your wardrobe organized: I recently moved into a new home so I have been doing a lot of organizing. I color-coordinated my entire closet and made sections for jackets, denim, shoes, handbags. Having an organized and up-to-date wardrobe helps to takes the stress out of getting dressed in the morning.

Anine Bing’s closet. Anna Maria Zunino Noellert/Courtesy Photo

Henrietta Rix, cofounder of Rixo

What to keep: Something that you genuinely love, re-wear and can rely on no matter the situation. I wore my Zadie and Donna midi dresses regularly day-to-day pre-lockdown and still do now. I have found that my style hasn’t changed much, as I’ve always dressed for me and focused on what I like rather than trends, whether in lockdown or not. Rixo dresses and separates are honestly as comfortable as pj’s, so I’m lucky I have something unique, yet easy-to-wear and flattering. The thing that’s changed now is the footwear I pair with. Wearing Rixo around the house with cozy socks has become my thing while working from home.

What to give away: Most of my wardrobe is either vintage, charity shop finds or Rixo. I’m quite conscious when buying, so usually I have pieces for a long time and will re-wear a lot because I actually really loved and invested in them right from the beginning. However, sometimes you do feel you can outgrow certain pieces, so I’ve passed some on to my mum, who has the best style (we share everything), or even Orlagh [McCloskey, cofounder of Rixo]. It’s nice to see how people wear and style them in different ways. Then really special purchases I’m saving to one side to pass down to my little nieces for when they grow up and are able to wear.

What to reinvent and how: Old prints you haven’t worn in ages, especially as we are coming into summer. I love pulling out old Rixo prints and mixing them with a vintage element. I’ve pulled out one of our earlier Georgia skirts and I’m wearing it with a tie-dye T that I made in lockdown.

Trick to keep your wardrobe organized: Organizing by type of clothing is a must — from midi skirts to vintage shirts, midi dresses to T-shirts and so on. And also color organized. If I need to quickly throw something on, I know exactly where it is. I’m lucky I have a few prints in some of the same classic shapes I love, so my wardrobe is pretty much organized by Rixo style names at this point.

Merve Manastir, creative director of Manu Atelier

What to keep: A pair of blue jeans.

What to give away: Any item which has been bought in a moment of seduction but actually does not reflect you and make you move around in comfort.

What to reinvent and how: Turning old denim pants into new denim shorts, which is one of the best never-go-out-of-style fashion item. And the great thing about cutoffs is you do not have to spend a dime to get a pair. Basically, first you need to make sure that the baggy jeans will become baggy shorts and tight ones will become tight. After you choose the type of shorts you want to get, pre-shrink the jeans and decide what length you want them to be. So put your jeans on, use chalk or a safety pin to mark where you plan to cut them off and align a ruler with the cut-off mark that you made. Now you can cut the shorts.

Trick to keep your wardrobe organized: Using hanger stands in my walk-in closet. They especially make it really easy for me to see clearly what I have in my wardrobe; the coats, jackets, pants, shirts, skirts, dresses, basically everything. Besides, you can style them and create a look on the stand without putting everything on and trying them out.

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sherlenev7774-blog · 6 years

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Why I Actually Use Tonka Fire Truck

Flight simulator online games have been radically enhanced by improvements in graphics, animation, ease of use, and immediate access in the last 10 years. You can have single click, straightforward, well supported access to a spectacular range of flying experiences. It sounds astonishing to someone who remembers installing flight sim games on a PC way back when. And it is astonishing. Good flight simulator online games are available for instant download. There is quite a choice to be had online so you want to be watchful, as usual. Cut-rate online versions of old combat CDs and bug-ridden freebies are widely available. You want to get every one of the newest features possible but you also would like to be able to start using them immediately. Here are some criteria that help identify first-class flight simulator online games. You want to find a flight simulator online games supplier that enables you to download their game directly on to your machine. Steer clear of games that only allow you to play off the supplier's server or oblige you to wait for a CD by snail mail. The great advantages of online access are that you have immediate access and are connected to the supplier for instant notification of upgrades and improvements. A good provider will be offering free lifetime upgrades, some kind of bulletin, and a forum for questions and extra tips & tricks, information, etc. about flight simulator online games. In other words they will have a valid, continuing, web presence. Another very important thing to check on early is the level of support you get. Is it timely? Is it helpful? Do they care that their product works well, that you are up and playing with ease, and that your game is running well? Of course you will have to purchase one of the flight simulator online games to test this out. You can get great ones for less than three figures. But don't worry. Any reputable supplier has at least a 60 day no questions refund policy, (this is something else to make sure of). These basic criteria are critical for enjoying any of the available flight simulator online games. Without them you won't get to take advantage of whatever features are available, no matter how good they are. And what incredible features are out there now! +Hundreds of plane, copters, gliders, fun flying machines +Fully operational, 3-dimensional, copy-exact cockpits and the capability to redesign them yourself. +Fully animated, synchronized scenery + the land and the heavens move and change with your flight as they do in real life. +Scenery so detailed you can fly over your own home +Real-time weather for your location and the ability to program the weather so you can test yourself in a tornado or landing in the same airport in pleasant and then snowy conditions. +Every airport of any size in the world accessible right down to the lighting and slope of the runways. You should be able to fly into your home airport. All these particulars are variable and changing, which makes it vital to have access to a resource that keeps you updated. A quality flight simulator online games provider will do that for you. Also, look released for stalled vehicles, differently abled vehicles and as well accidents. Owning usage of all lights, truck can acquire into a collision into the nighttime or as early as possible morning. Again view out your new colour stock chart from currently the paint store to visit which would certainly complement generally dominant colorway. Therefore it could be a seem strategy in order to really be wide to synchronicity and devout messages by visiting all occasions. In 1937 a tender couple moved to The southeast from increase North. The problem was wooden planks to different skill levels.

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3one3 · 6 years

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The Sequel - 902

The Numbers

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“How was training? I saw pictures of you smiling.”

“We had a little fun.”

“You don’t sound like you’ve had any fun today.”

“I’m tired and- To be honest, I’m thinking too much about numbers.”

“Which numbers?”

“Goals, assists, minutes played.”

“Oh. Don’t do that.”

“I miss you.”

“I love you.”

“I wish you were coming early. Sunday, or Monday.”

“Schü got tickets for The Nutcracker at the ballet in Berlin on Sunday night.”

“You told me.”

And I really wanna go. It looks dark and magical, and it was so cute of him to bring me cookies. They even match my holiday decor. He’s running a points surplus right now, Christina thought about one football player while on the phone with another. She was on the couch in the master bedroom, waiting for the first one to finish his video games, and very ready to go to sleep. But the second one needed her.

“I have to ride both days anyway,” she told him, referring to the two days before her flight to London for Olympia. “You said I should get back to work, and I have, and I feel good about it. I wanted to tell you a bunch of times today when I got like...a tiny shot of adrenalin or happiness or something looking at my training plan for the week, or when Tom just seemed...I don’t- I know this sounds ridiculous,” she smiled. “But I feel like he kept looking at me differently today, like he knows I’m back to doing things the old way and he’s happy about it and respects me more or something.”

“That’s good cariña. I’m very happy for you,” he yawned. The rider snorted and laughed.

“Yeah, you sound it.”

“I am! I’m sleepy. I was watching shows,” Juan needlessly explained. He sent her the equivalent of a “please call me and tuck me in” message around dinnertime in London, at the Chelsea Harbour Hotel, and his girlfriend was more than happy to accommodate the request. It didn’t matter that André hadn’t instigated any fights in over a week, or that he asked her to the ballet and brought assorted Christmas cookies from the bakery he visited to try to replace the lemon bar they had to abandon at the bookstore on Sunday when Lukas’ stuffed pony went missing and the world was about to end. She still missed being able to hug and kiss the Spaniard just the same, and wanted to hear his voice every day in her ears and not just in her head when she read his texts. It was her pleasure to get cozy in new winter home decor and lend him those ears so that he could vent his building frustration with his own performances on the pitch, as it were. She didn’t know what the problem was but she knew from the message that there must be something, or that he was going to be passive aggressively upset that his calls the prior night went unanswered because she was out with André and then watched a movie with him and without her phone.

“I was so sleepy at dinner that I dipped my pita bread in my Coke instead of tzatziki.” And now I’m extra sleepy because this corner of the couch is now like the inside of a mountain cabin. I have fur, the rider narrated happily while rubbing her face on her new pillow. I have cashmere, she added, moving her legs together to feel the new plaid, fringed, scarf-like blanket. There were fat rib-knit throw pillows too. I have a proper winter nest. I have a yuge credit card bill, the happy girl finished. Zoe invited her out for a mom date during the week with the kids- lunch and shopping- and took her to a home furnishings place with beautiful stuff. Christina wanted all the textiles, and the bonus rewards from American Express.

“How did it taste? They’re both lemony.”

“Not so good. But not so bad that I didn’t eat it anyway.”

“Am I going to score a goal tomorrow night?”

“No, but you’re going to run the game. Grab it by the neck. Run the show. You’ll set someone else up to score. It’s a perfect matchup for you. While everyone else on the pitch is focused on the physical fight and keeping it tight, you can use your brain and create space.”

“Were you in the briefing today?”

“No, but it doesn’t take a UEFA Coach of the Year nomination to anticipate how it might go between a resurgent Atletico fighting for their European lives and a prone-to-only-giving-as-much-as-absolutely-needed Chelsea in self-preservation cruise mode.” Christina was very certain in her matchday forecast. And she was calm about it, not letting her desire for her prediction to come true make her sound like a salesman. It was what Juan called her for. “Be the one who starts in a top gear while the others ease into the game. Then you can dictate a role for yourself instead of waiting for them to give you a chance to have an impact.

“Smart advice.” He was smiling on the receiving end of the little pep talk.

“I’m gonna yell at the TV all night if you don’t take it.”

“Consider it taken, cariña.”

“If you do score, your celebration should include a secret shoutout just for me.”

“Like what?”

“Liiiike...walk up to Eden and pinch his butt.”

“No.”

“Take a bite out of it.”

“No.”

“Pretend to ride a dragon.”

“No.”

“Do the Matarena.”

“No.”

“Do nothing because you’re lame and no fun.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Bah ram you.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I feel in danger of becoming Mata, the guy who does the charity thing, instead of Mata, the good football player,” Juan confessed, out of nowhere. “I’m going to be on the cover of FourFourTwo this week with other winners of their annual awards, and people who see it are going to go, “Mata? What? Why!” I don’t fit on a cover with Guardiola, Kane, Buffon, Modric, and Neymar. The award is for the Common Goal project. The other guys get awards for how they play, or coach.”

“Yeah but what your award is for actually matters more than what they do,” Christina shot back, anxious to reassure him and convince him that his magazine cover, which she already knew about, was something to be proud of, not fear.

“What I’m doing with Common Goal could help a lot of people, yes, but think of what football’s stars mean to hundreds of millions of people. You know,” the uncertain Chelsea man insisted. “You know what football means to you. Millions watch every weekend and the score might influence their mood for the whole week, and their interactions with friends and people at work. You’re proud for a week if your team wins big at the weekend, or you’re the wrong side of the jokes if they lose. You get such a good feeling when you see a ridiculous skill, or a beautiful goal. So those guys are doing a lot for people too. It’s not just that they score and change games. I still want to play. I want to be known as a good person and a regular guy- that’s important- but I want to be known as a top player too. I want to have big performances.”

“You don’t want to be Neven Subotic,” his understanding girlfriend said in summary for him. She felt around inside her blanket too for the two furry friends in residence. Spencer and Lucky had been comatose in there since 30 seconds after she tapped Juan’s name on her Favorites. They were “working” the same long hours at the barn as she did. “Everyone knows he’s a great guy, and he spends all his free time getting water for kids in Africa or something, and Dortmund wheels him out as their good-guy player for interviews and events and stuff, and then once in a while he actually gets to play.”

“I don’t think it’s quite on that level yet,” he chuckled. “Thankfully.”

“You’re a long way from that. You’re a great player, Juanin. I dunno about other people but I still get excited watching you do stuff with the ball. I still go “oh my god how did he know” when you pass to set someone up and you didn’t even take a single second to plan it out- you knew before you got the ball. I can see your brain working in the game and it’s always so much better than everyone else’s. I see you between passages of play telling guys to calm down, or urging them to move up. You read the pulse of things. Yeah, you’re having a bit of a quiet period now and the manager is trying different systems with different personnel and he needs to get guys from the bench into the game earlier to keep them happy, but I don’t think you should be having...feels about what your legacy is going to be. You’ve won almost every major trophy in world football. You have way more to give football yet than just 1% of your salary and your face on the recruitment packet.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so. I’m not even just trying to make you feel better. You are objectively brilliant, Juanin. Don’t get anxious because of a little unsatisfying spell.”

“I know the difference between when you talk to pick someone up and when you say the more realistic truth,” the Spaniard smiled. The fondness in the answer gave away the grin, small as it probably was. He wasn’t usually the one who needed boosting, but Christina had provided the service for him before, and she’d administered it for others in front of him too. Unbeknownst to her, most people in her life knew the difference between her lip service and her genuine testimony. And she wholeheartedly believed, without hyperbole, every word she said to her friend about the current state of his play. “I have always appreciated that you wear your heart on your sleeve with people you’re close to.”

“I don’t even have to open my mouth for you to know what’s in my heart most of the time so it doesn’t matter what’s on my sleeve.”

“I know how I’ll celebrate if I score a goal tomorrow night. Let’s see if you notice your shoutout.”

“It’s gonna be pretty obvious if it involves your sleeve, Juanin.”

“I think I can be more creative than that, cariña.”

“You know what might help you be fabulous in the match?”

“What?”

“Shaving your face.”

“Send nudes.”

“Haven’t got any.”

“Take some.”

“I’m wearing clothes. Hey, you should get naked on a magazine cover.”

“Yeah, everyone wants to see that.”

“Naked but with your reading glasses. That would be so hot.”

“Send me videos while you’re riding tomorrow. I’m going to be bored most of the day.”

“That I can do. Any horse requests?”

“Cartagena.”

“I can’t remember if I’m doing him tomorrow.”

“Do me tomorrow.”

“I wish.”

“I miss you. I miiiiiiiiiss youuuuuu,” Juan whined, mostly playful. Christina laughed at him and whined back that she missed him too, and suggested that boredom was the primary reason he missed her so much. She suggested he just needed someone to make background noise and be annoying and generally keep him company, and the player largely agreed. He also said though that he felt left out from her recommitment to her reliable training methods and psychology- that he wished he were “there” to see her work, and see the effect it had on. The Olympic star realized that he used to be able to drop in on her at the barn whenever, or grab a meal, or go for a drive with her and see the immediate aftereffects of however her riding made her feel on any given day. That was something he told her he appreciated very much.

He loved to watch and listen to her rattle on and on about some battle of wills with one of her horses while playing DJ in his car and stopping to comment on things she hated about other cars that pulled into their spot at the Observatory, for example, and her companionship when she was just in a bubbly mood because Dirk did something amazing that afternoon. Christina knew the lack of companionship thing had been a struggle for a long time, but she never realized that extended to the lack of access to her professional life too. She didn’t know or anticipate that his distance from her stuff- the activities that were really just hers, and meaningful on their face only to her- would have such a significance. Missing the things she did with him made perfect sense. It was sort of flattering to learn that he felt like she shared the other things with him without even realizing it, and that it mattered to him.

They rounded out their chat with a discussion about how she would actually use excitement about the big Champions League features to fuel her throughout her training on Tuesday, and then Christina said she needed to get to bed. That was true, but she needed to go collect her husband first. Someone would have to get a jumpstart on warming the bed for her. It was much too cold to just slide in there. André could preheat it while she brushed her teeth, set alarms, took off jewelry, etc. She went downstairs to tell him it was bedtime, and discovered that the only advance he was interested in was sleep. He was snoring, kind of tipped over to one side, with his game controller in his hand. There was a prompt on the big screen asking if he wanted to restart. His girl bent down with her hands on the couch cushion to smooch his cheek.

“Time for bed, handsome,” she said near his ear. I think I said the same thing to Luke a couple of hours ago. Is that weird? They’re both so cute when they sleep. “Baaabe?”

“Did I die?” the sleepy blonde inquired without opening his eyes. He did yawn, and reach to cover his mouth. It didn’t require sitting up.

“It seems so, yes.”

“Is this heaven? Or did I go the other direction?”

“Jury’s still out,” Christina told him, deadpan. It prompted him to open one squinty eye and kind of glare at her, skeptical. His girl laughed. “Come to bed.”

“This is the part where you usually ask me to carry you, when I’m standing there and you’re here.”

“I would totally carry you to bed if I were physically capable. I would carry you everywhere.”

“C’mere.” André held both arms out like he wanted a hug, and his wife shook her head to refuse. She made him get up to hug her, because otherwise he’d pull her down and over with him and they’d both be lying on the sofa instead of getting into bed. It was a good hug though- all consuming, and warm, and full of sweet whispers. It was capped by a loud “mwah” on the rider’s neck. The two tired athletes gave their pets some goodnight treats, unplugged the Christmas tree in the foyer, and ascended the two staircases on either side of it separately, because André was going straight to their room and Christina was stopping at the other end of the upstairs hall to check on Lukas. The littlest member of the family was sound asleep with his thumb in his mouth and his pony under his arm in his safari-themed room with slow rotating constellations projected on his ceiling. Sometimes when she checked on him, his mom was tempted to squeeze into his little bed with him and have a sleepover. His room was enviable. Even the gurgle of the filtration system in the fishbowl was nice.

“Snuggles,” Christina requested flatly, in her little kid voice, when she was finally able to get under her satin covers with her bed heater, who rolled over to hug her with both his arms and his legs.

“Your eyes are all red. Did Juan upset you or are you very tired? Tired, eh?” He asked and answered his question with his hands on her butt, inside her candy cane striped panties.

“So tired. I’m going to bed early tomorrow since you won’t be here.”

“No you won’t. The matches won’t even be over until almost 11.”

“That’s early.”

“Early is when you used to come to the living room at 9 o’clock to kiss my cheek and warn me that if I woke you up coming to bed later you’d murder me.”

“That was before Lulu Schü.”

“I was looking forward to being in London with you without him for a couple of nights...” André commented, rueful. His wife made the executive decision that her extra days in London post-horse show could be best maximized if he came alone and Lukas remained at home with his nanny and grandparents. Half of her wanted to take him to Winter Wonderland, and to see the decorations around the stores in Knightsbridge and Chelsea, and maybe even go ice-skating. The other half of her dwelled on how difficult it would be to navigate Christmas Retail City with a stroller, with a little boy who needed the bathroom every 10 minutes whenever they left the house, with someone who was too old to just ride quietly through hours and hours of shopping anymore, and how they’d have to go to kid-friendly restaurants, and couldn’t go out at night to enjoy the seasonal festivities in adult capacities. Christina wanted two romantic dinners and unencumbered, special-operations-like shopping to complete the Christmas list she hadn’t even begun to work on yet. She also wanted a little slice of pre-Lukas life.

Unfortunately, neither she nor André realized when they made that plan to spend Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday at The Savoy that Borussia Dortmund would end up in a DFL Cup third-round tie in Munich on that Wednesday night. The player was furious after the draw. He didn’t know all the games were to be played that week. He thought he’d be free for mid-winter break after the weekend fixture. The worst part of it for him was that about 5 minutes after his wife got done lamenting the change of plans and offering to call to cancel the hotel reservation and change her return flight and cancel his roundtrip ticket, she proposed staying with Juan two extra nights, and moving her flight to Wednesday afternoon, so that she could “still get the shopping done”. Instead of being there to see her ride in the Olympia Grand Prix on Monday night and having that time alone with her, and the romantic dinners, he’d be home and then on a trip to Bayern with his teammates, and she’d be having the romantic meals and doing the shopping with Juan.

Then he felt a perverse pleasure at seeing his wife’s second plan detonated when she found out Chelsea would play on Wednesday too, so Juan couldn’t take her out on Tuesday night either. It was Christina who really paid the price. She was the one who really wanted a couple of free days in London, and it didn’t even matter to her much who she shared them with. She wasn’t getting them. She’d be staying an extra night at the Spaniard’s- Monday, after the evening feature at the horse show- and then flying home Tuesday night. All she was getting was a couple of hours to have breakfast with him and then an afternoon of shopping by herself, or with Natasha if her friend could get away.

“Me too.” She turned her lip over in an exaggerated pout. André gave her butt a double squeeze and kissed her forehead.

“We’ll have a nice time in Berlin before you go,” he reminded her. “I’ve never been there at Christmas but I’m sure it’s just as pretty and...festive.” The appeal of London at Christmastime wasn’t quite a mystery to him, but he didn’t fully understand its draw on his girl. He just knew it existed. He knew how much that time of the year and the buzz of the city meant to her. He liked the holidays. He liked the decorations, and the special air. They just didn’t matter that much. It wouldn’t have bothered him one bit to spend the whole of the holiday season somewhere tropical, maybe in some ironic snowman print swim trunks. His ex-New Yorker wife liked the cold. She enjoyed layering up between stores. The burning in her cheeks as she thawed inside was terrible and wonderful in equal measure. Full-body shivers were treasured. Having to wait forever for the car to be returned to the valet stand while holding 7 shopping bags was like a weird rite of holiday passage. Christina even enjoyed the smell of car exhaust and street-cart roasted nuts mixed with damp December air. She once told him the only thing London Christmas shopping really missed was the scent of boiled kosher hotdogs and the faint whiff of Chanel No.5. That would make it just like Manhattan, and thus, perfect. That year- their first together in Germany- more than any other, André wanted to help his favorite girl have a perfect Christmas. In a time when there was very little he could do to make most of the other things in his life perfect, showing her a good time and making her happy seemed like the best chance of feeling the satisfaction of delivering, of a job well done, of doing something right. The Staatsballett production of Der Nussknacker was a play in the game that he hoped would make up for the London loss. Tchaikovsky, and sugar plum fairies, and athletic guys in tights, were her favorite.

“I’m excited for fine dining and my poofy red dress,” Christina yawned. “Squeeze my butt more. It feels nice. Butt massage,” she mumbled as she shut her eyes and tried to nuzzle her face into his sternum.

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