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twokinkybeans · 3 years

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The Arachnoids: ROCK BAND AU [STARKER] - Chapter 9: WARY WORDS

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Taglist: @crystallinecrimsonmoth & @staticwhispersinthedark (Let me know if you want to be added!)

Chapter 9: Wary Words

Tony’s gone.

That’s the first thought that crosses Peter’s mind when he stirs back to life after a short but good sleep. The room is empty and quiet, and it’s not just the man that has vanished. His bags are gone too and the sheets Tony slept under are neatly drawn up over the mattress. If it weren’t for the cologne lingering on Peter’s shirt, he could’ve sworn it’d all been a dream. It’s real, he reminds himself. It’s all real.

Peter doesn’t like the uneasy feeling that settles under his skin. He clamps his jaws together and blows into his cheeks, then letting the pressured air escape past his lips in a defeated sigh. He doesn’t know what to do. While it’s clear that something has to change for Tony, Peter wouldn’t know where to even start. He does realize it’s not his problem to solve, but he wants to help Tony however possible. It’s idle hope, though, to think the solution might come easy.

Tony’s gone, and there’s no sign of him until the live performance. It physically aches Peter’s chest to watch how freely Tony moves around the stage. No anxiety. No spiraling thoughts. Just Tony living through his music. The stage is Tony’s home. Performing is his home.

But after thanking his Finnish fans for supporting them today… There’s no trace left of where he could’ve gone. Tony’s hiding once again.

Latvia.

Poland.

Hungary

The next few days are all the same. No sight of Tony other than soundchecks and shows. No one knows where he is. And Peter realizes, horrified, that as much as everyone’s worried about Tony’s behavior, they don’t really care. Not truly. As long as Tony shows up to sing they seem awfully okay with it.

Austria

Italy

Spain

Peter still hasn’t managed to catch a moment alone with Tony. From a distance, he can see that the man looks paler. Tired. Lonely.

France

Belgium

Germany

Peter’s fed up with Tony evading everyone and he decides that he’ll do everything it takes to connect to him again. He will talk to Tony. As soon as he gets the chance.

Netherlands

“Hey, Stark!” Peter greets the man cheerfully as he finally finds the man by himself in the large Nijmegen venue. Tony’s leaning against the front barrier, looking up at the stage. “I’ve been thinking about your offer and I’ve decided to take you up on those guitar classes.” Tony tenses up and he grips the front barrier so tight his knuckles turn white. Oh no. Slowly, Tony turns around to face Peter. Tony looks straight at him but Peter can tell it takes everything the man has, to not avert his gaze. Peter’s heart clenches at the knowledge that the man’s been hurting so much lately, that it's a habit for him to hide everything.

“Hi, space boy.” Tony sniffs once and straightens his shoulders, faking a wide grin. Peter frowns at that. Does Tony still have the feeling he has to pretend so much? Tony continues talking before Peter has a chance to resume the conversation himself. “Wouldn’t you rather do another one of those sleepovers? ‘Twas quite a messy night, huh?”

What?

“That makes it sound like we had an actual one night stand,” Peter says slowly, eyebrows raised. If Tony wants to approach it like this, Peter will try to play along. Tony huffs a startled laugh at that. “That’s what happens when there’s only one bed,” he jokes. Tony’s smile falters soon after. He casts his eyes down to the floor. “I’m really sorry about that night, though… That… Wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What wasn’t?” Peter asks, tilting his head. He kinda expects Tony to cut the conversation short and make a run for it, but surprisingly, he doesn’t. “The panic attack- I never wanted to drop that on you. The hug…” Tony’s cheeks turn a little bit redder at that. He’s ashamed, Peter realizes. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Tony tenses at that once more. He blinks a few times, unsure of what to do. Peter swallows. The last thing he wants is to chase Tony away himself. “Hey…” Peter speaks softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” “No,” Tony pushes out. “You did. And you’re right, I guess. I have been avoiding you.” Tony glances around real quick to see if there’s no one else around. When he confirms they’re alone he sighs. “I’ve never been this vulnerable around anyone. I… don’t know how to deal with it.” Tony sits down on the floor to lean against the front barrier and he shakes his head. Peter carefully walks closer to him.

“That’s alright. It’s hard,” Peter breathes as he sinks down onto the cool metal plates as well. “I know my story isn’t nearly the same…” He continues. “But I was young when I lost everyone but Aunt May. I closed off. It fucking sucks when people watch your every move ‘cause they’re not sure what to do with you and your emotions.” Tony looks up at that. His eyes contain the exact spark of recognition Peter had hoped to ignite.

“Sometimes, it’d be much easier if none of it ever happened - or if no one knows. So that you can pretend it never did, even if just for a few minutes.” Peter pauses, trying to figure out the right words to continue. “But- If you never allow yourself to be vulnerable, no one’s gonna understand why you keep pushing them away. Eventually, they’ll take it as rejection. They give up. And it leaves you lonelier than you were before.” “Sounds familiar,” Tony mumbles quietly. Peter’s lips curl into a faint smile. “Yeah... And I’m not saying you always have to talk about the shit that’s going on, but you can let people know you’re not okay. Confide in them. You need that sense of community, Tony. Especially when things are bad.”

They’re both silent after that. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. Not at all. At one point, Tony’s composure softens. He goes less rigid, and his left knee falls against Peter’s right one. Peter lets it happen without a single thought; perhaps he too likes the warmth coming from the other’s body. Someone who, even though the story is different, shares the emotions Peter knows so well.

“Thank you,” Tony finally breathes. “That’s… You’re right- I-...” Tony groans when the words don’t come easy. Most likely unconsciously, he presses his knee into Peter’s a little more. Peter doesn’t say anything to give the man his time. He does press his knee back, though. Hoping to comfort Tony. Tony swallows and slowly continues. “Talking to you makes me feel like I can breathe, even if just slightly.” The words cause a gentle warmth to spread through Peter’s chest.

“I meant what I said the other night, Tony. I’m gonna be here, alright?” “You barely know me...” “Isn’t that enough of a reason to get to know each other better? I mean, we already slept in one bed after all,” Peter says, trying to lighten the conversation with a small joke. It seems to work. Tony snorts. “I think you’re my favorite one night stand,” Tony grins. Somehow, even though it’s obviously meant as a joke, it catches Peter completely off guard and he blushes. Tony notices and he grins. “Ooooooh! You liked it too!” Tony teases. Peter growls in response and leans sideways to bump into Tony’s shoulder. The man laughs, actually laughs, and the sound reverberates in Peter’s chest. Is this the lighter side of Tony he hasn’t seen yet?

“Hey,” Tony mumbles once his snickering died down. “I have to go do this stupid interview. Harley will lynch me if I don’t show up.” “Shouldn’t Bruce and Happy be the ones to do that?” “They don’t really bother with me. They’ve given Harley the most prestigious task of babysitting me.” “Harley seems nice though, isn’t he?” Peter tries. Tony hums. “For sure. He’s a good kid.”

Tony’s silent after that and Peter bites down his bottom lip. He feels like the conversation isn’t over yet. He drops his head to one side to look at Tony. Tony raises his eyebrows. “Will you be okay?” Peter asks quietly. “I…” Tony sighs. “I guess? Interviews trigger my anxiety quite badly. Nat, Steve, and Harley know about the medication shit, though. They try to help me through. They just don’t know about… Morgan.” Tony’s voice wavers when he chokes out her name. “I’ll manage. I promise.” Peter smiles and leans into Tony a little bit more, trying to bring him some comfort.

“Alright. Promise me one thing though,” Peter whispers. “Or, two actually?” “What’s that?” “I want those guitar classes,” Peter states and Tony snorts, shrugging and shaking his head. “Sure, what else?”

Peter hesitates and he clasps his own hands together, leaning forward onto his upper legs. From there, he eyes Tony carefully. “Don’t rewatch it.” Peter takes a breath. “The interview. Answer their questions and then forget about it.”

Tony takes a few moments to think about that before he swallows and nods. His eyes sparkle when he raises his head to look Peter straight into his eyes. “I promise.”

Peter mindlessly helps Ned set up his drums for tonight. Ned loves the new set, even though it’s not nearly the same quality as the one he has at home. It’s got a nice sound, Peter has to admit that. He doesn’t know enough about drums to give a solid opinion, but if Ned’s happy, so is he.

“So, what’s up with Tony?” Ned asks, fiddling with one of his drumsticks when Peter finishes tightening the last hi-hat clutch. Peter leans back, eyeing Ned curiously. “What do you mean?” “He seems… So… Nice? Today? I dunno,” he mumbles. “He’s not himself.” “Oh?” “Yeah, he-”

Before Ned can finish his explanation, the door slams open and Peter looks up startled. MJ comes rushing in and she throws herself into Ned’s arms. “Help!” She squeaks. “Hey, hey! What’s wrong?” “I- Harley, he- He asked me out,” she chokes out. “And my dumb ass said no. But when I ran off I- I realized I wanted to say yes and I don’t know what to do.” MJ groans and presses her lips together.

“Please, you gotta help me.”

Read the next chapter >> 10: Blossoming Bond

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senadimell · 4 years

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2, 7, 30?

Ooh, my first request!

2. Favorite underrated historical figure?

Princess Taiping/ 太平公主！ I wrote a paper on her and it was really hard to find sources discussing her in her own right. She’s a Zhou and Tang-dynasty figure, the daughter of the famous Wu Zetian, known as the only female emperor in China (Zhou being the single-generation dynasty established by Wu Zetian) She’s not someone I’d emulate, but man, she lived a wild life.

She instigated two successful coups and played politics like nobody’s business. All the while, she amassed landholdings and wealth. She was her mother’s right-hand woman: Emperor Wu* used one of the Taiping Princess’ plans to get rid of a confidante who’d gone too far by setting fire to a temple. Princess Taiping’s first husband was implicated in a failed rebellion against her mother and executed, but she was able to remarry and stay on the scene. In fact, we’re pretty sure her mother had the wife of her second husband assassinated so she could remarry him. I think it’s fascinating that she was able to stay on top during her mother’s rule, as two of her brothers were executed by her mother and two were ousted from power after being named successors. Later in her mother’s life, Taiping outmaneuvered both her mother and her mother’s head of secret police to coerce her mother into agreeing to oust him.

Eventually, she knew winds were changing in the court and her mother was falling out of favor, so she helped convince her to abdicate the throne in favor of one of her brothers, who I will refer to as Emperor Zhongzong.

It’s kinda complicated to talk about the crazy intrigue that followed her mother’s death, because practically all of her brothers and nephew all have multiple names: birth names, ruling names, and post-humous reign titles, so it can get a little confusing. So Emperor Zhongzong (sounds like jhong-tsong) came into power and his wife, Empress Wei, was also a strong political actor. She did not want Princess Taiping wielding that much political power, and Princess Taiping had lost her most powerful backer when Wu Zetian stepped down. Empress Wei wanted her daughter, the Anle princess, to hold power in the court, and even tried to have her named crown princess and heir, something unprecedented. That didn’t work and her son Li Chongmao/later Emperor Shao was named successor instead. It’s strongly suspected that Empress Wei and the Anle princess (sounds like ahn-leh) conspired to and successfully poisoned Emperor Zhongzong. The Taiping Princess lost no time in launching a coup, and in two weeks time both Empress Wei and the Anle princess were dead.

Li Chongmao didn't stand a chance. He was around 10-12 when this happened, and when people were still talking about who would be the new leader, she said “Everybody turns to the prime minister [princess Taiping’s brother, Li Dan, later Emperor Ruizong], little boy; this is not your seat.”** Emperor Ruizong treated Princess Taiping as a political equal and relied heavily on her advice.

Meanwhile, his son Li Longji grew in political power and prowess. She felt threatened by him, and participated in a smear campaign to limit his power. He tried to placate her appointing her supporters to government, so the government was filled with people loyal to her. Unfortunately for her, Emperor Ruizong’s advisors still managed to convinced him to exile her. Through her connections, she was still able to maintain power in the court.

In 712 ACE, Emperor Ruizong took a comet as a sign he was to step down (rather than eventually getting killed in the struggle between his son and sister) and announced his future abdication to his son Li Longji, temple name Emperor Xuanzong (shu-en tsong) which is how I will refer to him from now on). Aware of what this would mean for her, the Taiping Princess planned her third coup, an armed struggle to upend the soon-to-be Emperor Xuanzong, but was betrayed and discovered. She fled to a monastery, but was found three days later and permitted to commit suicide (seen as more honorable than execution). In the aftermath of the coup, all of the political leaders associated her were implicated by association and were executed or forced to commit suicide. Get this: that was all but one of the chief ministers! It took years for the state to completely appropriate her amassed landholdings and wealth.

*So Empress usually denotes a designated wife of an emperor (皇帝）. Wu Zetian went from a consort to empress regent to empress regnant, essentially. When Wu Zetian ascended the throne, she did some masterful religious and linguistic subversion to establish her legitimacy and came up with a lot of new terms and names to justify what she was doing, since it was unprecedented. Essentially, she was the female version of Emperor, but translating the linguistic titles is complicated.

**Sue Wiles and Lily Xiao Hong Lee “Li, Princess Taiping” Biographical Dictionary of Chinese Women, Volume II: Tang Through Ming 618 - 1644. Biographical Dictionary of Chinese Women.

7. Which time period would you like to live in?

Now. The current one. Go back too far even in the past century and I lose rights and privileges that I value, like the ability to dress as weirdly as I please, the ability to discuss issues of mental health and the #me too movement with women’s rights in general, the ability to work where I want, and the ability to openly practice religion. I would also miss conversations and changes within my own faith community about treating people of all races and backgrounds equally, church culture vs. doctrine, and attitudes towards church history.

But if I were a time traveller and could stop in a place for a vacation, I’d love to live in the early 1900s (1900-1920) and visit major urban centers for art, music, and to witness labor conditions and activism. Alternatively, if I were a time traveller I would simply attend live showings of my favorite shows and concerts (lots of musical theatre)

30. Favorite kids/teens history books:

Most of the historical fiction I’ve read takes place in the past 100 years, and a lot of it takes place in the 30s and 40s. I do have a rule for myself that I don’t seek fiction about the Holocaust--the things here are exceptions. I tend to read survivor’s accounts instead, though I couldn’t think of many novels in for this rec.

Between Shades of Grey, by Ruta Sepetys--gorgeous, heart-wrenching book about a girl in Lithuania sent to a Soviet prison camp in Siberia.

Code Name Verity and Rose Under Fire, by Elizabeth Wein--both take place during WWII. Rather brutal and play around with alternative narration styles.

The Devil’s Arithmetic, by Jane Yolen. I don’t know how to describe it. During a Passover Seder, Hannah Stern is transported back in time to 1942 Poland, during World War II.

Anything by Gillian Bradshaw (she’s more of a ‘dump you into the history hard and let you figure things out’ kind of author, which I love--I’m trying to get my hands on A Beacon at Alexandria. She also writes historical fiction set in antiquity, which I don’t see as often.)

Flygirl, by Sherri Smith about the WASP (Women’s Airforce Service Pilots). Tackles the racism of the era as well.

The Red Umbrella, by Christina Diaz Gonzalez, about the Cuban exile after the revolution of 1959

Esperanza Rising, by Pam Muñoz Ryan, about a girl who leaves her estate in Mexico and has to live as a migrant worker in California.

Uprising, by Margaret Peterson Haddix. This is about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire of 1911 and is a good introduction to labor issues and unions in US history. This book is almost solely responsible for why I don’t think Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them looks anything like New York at the early 20th century (yes, I know this takes place 10 years earlier, but conditions hadn’t changed all that much).

The Lightning Tree, by Sarah Dunster (not the book of the same name by Patrick Rothfuss). This one’s a bit personal--it’s a coming-of-age story following the story of a girl of Waldensian heritage set in Utah right after the Utah War (1858) and a year after the Mountain Meadows Massacre. It’s character-driven, lyrical and subverted my expectations of what would happen.

The Vanishing Point, by Louise Hawes. A fictionalized biography of Lavinia Fontana, a famous female artist in the Italian Renaissance. Considering how the art world is dominated by male artists, this was really neat to read, and also takes place further in the past than a lot of things I read.

Distant Waves, by Suzanne Weyn: Probably the weirdest book here, but just fabulous. It combines spiritualism, Nikola Tesla, Houdini and Doyle, H.G. Wells and the wealthy crème de la crème of the era with the Titanic.

Non-fiction

Yankee Doodle Gals, by Amy Nathan is about the WASP and is fabulous.

Teens at War, by Allan Zullo. Ten stories of teenagers at war throughout history.

Witch-Hunt: Mysteries of the Salem Witch Trials by Marc Aronson. One of the things I realized was just how much of an anomaly the trials were, as previously courts had been denying spectral evidence as a valid source of evidence.

Night, by Elie Wiesel. A personal history of surviving the Holocaust. Here’s the thing--if you can, read both the edition before his wife translated it and compare it to her translation. Her translations soften the hard edges of the book, which isn’t something I usually want if I’m reading about the Holocaust, but have been called more true to his words.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot. A moving and disturbing story about race, medical exploitation, the invention of vaccines, and poverty in the U.S. I don’t know if this counts as a teen novel, but I read it as a freshman in high school on my librarian’s recommendation.

Savage Girls and Wild Boys Does this count as children or history? It’s a history about feral children (raised by animals, etc) and other children raised in extraordinary circumstances.

Sort of history? It’s more modern. Never Fall Down by Patricia McCormick. It’s kind of a memoir of Arn Chorn-Pond, someone who survived the Cambodian genocide of 1975-1979 and was a child soldier. It’s brutal, but I recommend it to everyone.

This isn’t a children’s history book, but I can’t miss an opportunity to recommend it. The Rape Of Nanking: The Forgotten Holocaust Of World War II by Iris Chang is utterly heartbreaking. The Rape of Nanjing has hugely significant to cultural memory, and yet most people I’ve talked to in the states have never hear about it

As for children’s books, I read my copy of The Secret Soldier by Ann McGovern to death. If not for its length, it would probably be falling out of its binding by now.

I also read my mother’s childhood copy of The Story of Helen Keller by Lorena A. Hickok over and over again (first published 1958).

Survivor, by Allan Zullo. Compilation of stories from children who survived the Holocaust.

The Hidden Girl, the story of Lola Rein Kaufman written between her and Lois Metzger. After her mother is killed by the Gestapo, she has to hide in a barn to survive.

OH! ETA:

Rejected Princesses: Tales of History's Boldest Heroines, Hellions, and Heretics and Tough Mothers: Amazing Stories of History's Mightiest Matriarchs by Jason Porath are a fun way to get familiar with historical and legendary female historical figures. There is some swearing and description of all the sorts of things you can imagine have happened to historical women, but it’s organized by rating and type.

@brightbeautifulthings I don’t know if asking automatically tags you?

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trialround · 4 years

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Allow me this one

Stephan Leyhe/Andreas Wellinger

Wisla 2019

Spending the season apart was never supposed to be our reality.

”If you say you miss me, I’ll hang up the phone right now. It’s been only three days,” is the way Andi greets me when he picks up the phone. He doesn’t give me a chance to reply before continuing himself. “We agreed to be sensible, cold-hearted adults who will treat this as a minor inconvenience. No mushy feelings allowed! Now we are just like any other couple who has to deal with the other half travelling all the time. This is the new reality.”

“Richi snores,” I say because that’s the first thing that comes to my mind other than the fact how much this reality sucks. The reality where I’m sitting in a hotel in Poland, while Andi is at home where he will stay the whole winter while I’m away. It would be mostly fine, had we known this would be our reality, when we started dating, but that hadn’t been the case. We both had known there was the possibility of not competing together but over the years it became a distant nightmare when we established our places in the national team.

Spending the season apart was never supposed to be our reality.

“What? Right now? It’s only past seven.” Andi sounds as tense as I feel. It’s only been a few days, but it’s been harder than I thought. Not having him here has made me realize how much we really lean on each other, on the job and off it.

“Not right now. Now he’s in the shower. Just, you know, I general. He keeps me awake at night.”

“Wear earplugs,” Andi suggests sounding completely unsympathetic. “Or pick another roommate.”

“I can’t just pick whoever I want, that’s not how it works. My roommate is not here so I’m left with whoever wants to take me. So I ended up with Richi. Who snores.” Demanding sympathy from him is useless. It’s easier to leave than to be left behind after all, and I know I shouldn’t really complain about anything. Complaining keeps things light though, and light, easy banter is allowed. Encouraged even. It takes both of our minds away from thinking how much this sucks.

“Let me get this straight: you interrupted my lazy evening because you wanted to complain about Richi’s snoring?” Andi sounds mildly annoyed. It has been a bad day for him, I can tell.

“Well, no. But I’m not allowed to talk about the reason I really called you so I had to come up with something else instead.”

We made rules before I left. We both knew talking about the situation would make us both only miserable. It is what it is, and we have to deal with that. So we banned sadness and pining for each other. There would be no tears on either end, no yearning to be together rather than apart. There would be only the easy banter, light back and forth. We know each other well enough to read between the lines, hear the true feelings behind the banter: those needs and fears that are too big to say out loud.

“Come up with something better then. I’m not interested in hearing about Richi’s sleeping habits.”

“He sleeps naked too,” I huff.

“Are you thinking about ditching me and changing for a fitter model?” There’s a familiar hint of mischief in Andi’s voice.

“What? Eugh, no!”

“Good,” Andi says. “Do not get any ideas while I’m not there to supervise.”

“Oh, yeah, because I’m the one who gets rogue when left untended,” I say drily.

“Well, who knows what you get up to while I’m not around.”

“Wild parties and casual flirting with anyone who comes close enough,” I say immediately.

“I knew it.”

“Dancing on the tables every night, crawling back to bed at five am,” I continue.

“That’s pushing it. You hate dancing.”

“You don’t know what a few vodka shots can do.”

“Oh, alcohol too. You rebel.” His voice sounds lighter already.

“I have unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

“So when you get kicked out of the team because of drinking and partying, it’s my fault?” Andi asks, laughing.

“Of course.”

“I’m hiring someone to keep you in line then. Can’t take the blame for ruining your career. Karl will help, I’m sure,” Andi ponders. He mutters something to himself, I can hear him moving around in our apartment. Imagining him padding to the bedroom, curling up alone in our bed makes something twist in my stomach.

“What about you?” I ask, distracting myself from my thoughts.

“What about me? I don’t need any supervision. I know how to behave.”

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, it’s offensive,” Andi huffs.

“Any coping mechanisms though?”

The other side of the line is quiet for a while, and I start to think I’ve crossed the invisible line with my question. Maybe it hits too close to home.

“Oh yeah! Chocolate,” comes Andi’s answer though, bright and happy as always, and I know the line is intact.

“Oh no,” I moan.

“Oh yes. I still have connections despite having a new sponsor.” He’s probably wiggling his brows.

“How much weight have you put up when I come home again?” I sigh.

“None. I keep up with my exercises. Even without you here providing an incentive.” He’s definitely wiggling his brows now. “You know, I also sleep naked,” Andi lowers his voice to a husky whisper. “In our bed. And without you here, I got the toys out to keep me company. You know the one we got last year for Valentine’s day – “

“Shut up, you sleep in my pyjamas curled around my pillow,” I interrupt before he gets too graphic.

“I most certainly do not!” He sounds offended.

“Bet you’re wearing my shirt right now. That yellow one that has a hole in the sleeve,” I tease. I know I’m right, when I hear him huff from the other side.

“It was the only one clean,” he says, petulant.

“I did laundry before I left,” I point out, laughing as my words are met with silence. “And I remember folding at least seven of your shirts ready for you to wear.”

“Yeah, well – “ Andi falls silent, and I can practically hear him trying to think a snarky comeback. His silence makes me laugh even more. “Shut up,” comes his order from the other side. He’s clearly annoyed at himself for not thinking anything clever to say back at me. I listen to the silence on the phone for a little while before caving in.

“I’m wearing your hoodie,” I amend softly.

“No mushiness!” he barks immediately, hearing my voice edge towards the danger zone.

“Fine. I’m taking it off then,” I continue.

“Don’t you dare,” he warns, and I smile as I hear the smile on his voice too.

“Make up your mind already.”

“I can be as indecisive as I like!”

“Pretty sure that’s my personality trait, not yours.”

“They say old married couples start to resemble each other.”

“We are neither old nor married,” I laugh at his words.

“Only because you rejected my proposal,” huffs Andi.

“If you still think ‘we should just get married so my sisters would stop nagging about it’ counts as a proper marriage proposal, we need to break up right now.”

“Admittedly not my proudest moment.”

“I’m glad you think so,” I smile to the phone.

“I’ll make it up to you one day,” he promises.

“You better. Nothing too grand though. And definitely nothing public.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.” He does know. We have talked about it before, casually, laughing about it, but deep down we both know it’s not a joke. There’s intention behind every word, a trust that a future together is what we both want.

Andi goes on about listing the things I definitely do not want my proposal to include. I’m happy to note that he seems to remember all my wishes.

As Andi is listing, the bathroom door opens and Richi steps outside zipping up his jeans. He mumbles something to me and gestures towards the phone.

“Richi is out of the shower,” I inform Andi. “And he wants me to tell you I’m a lovesick idiot for missing you after only three days,” I interpret Richi’s gestures.

“Tell him, I agree,” Andi says.

“He says he agrees,” I tell Richi who now fights the shirt over his head and grabs the phone away from me.

“You are probably even worse,” Richi hollers to the phone.”I’ll have you know Stephan has been very well behaved. Frankly I thought he’d be better off without you distracting him all the time, but turns out that might not be the case. But we’re all being very kind with him and we make sure he eats and sleeps enough and doesn’t worry too much,” Richi reports to Andi while patting my head. I try to push his hand aways but he only grins at me. “Anyway, I’m getting dinner now so I’ll be out for an hour or so, so you’re welcome to have all the phone sex you want while I’m away. Bye!”

“There will be no phone sex,” I inform Andi as soon as Richi has gone.

“Oh, don’t worry I didn’t get my hopes up. I know you’re old-fashioned and boring, and having sex via phone is the most repulsive idea ever.”

“True,” I smile.

“Even if your super hot boyfriend is laying naked in the bed, slowly stroking –“

“I’m hanging up.”

“Boring.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe you should ditch me then and find yourself a more adventurous partner.”

“Oi, no insulting my boyfriend! I’m the only one who gets to do that,” Andi interrupts immediately. Maybe it’s for the best. That’s the joke that always falls a bit flat even if I’m trying to be better about it. It’s difficult to shake the old insecurities, the feeling that maybe I am sometimes too boring for Andi.

“I’ll have you know, my boyfriend is plenty adventurous,” Andi continues, and it’s impossible to feel insecure when I hear the pride in his voice. It makes me smile. “Once we had sex in the waxing cabin.”

The smile is quickly gone from my face. “Oh god, don’t remind me.”

“Markus finding the condom we lost is still the most hilarious thing ever,” Andi laughs.

“You mean mortifying,” I correct him.

“Oh come on, it was highly amusing.”

“You have the weirdest sense of humor,” I say as my stomach churns. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I haven’t eaten yet. Richi talking about the dinner made me hungry too, that’s all.”

“Starving to death without me there taking care of you,” Andi gasps dramatically.

“Who’s mushy now?”

“We need to hang up, you need to eat,” Andi says, ignoring my words. “And you better not call me again this weekend or I’ll start to suspect you are breaking our no mushiness rule.”

“Deal.”

“Good.”

“Go have dinner then, love.”

“I will.”

“Okay. I’m going to take the toys out and go to bed. I’ll send you pictures.”

“Please don’t. Markus will find them eventually and be scarred for life.”

“All the more reason,” Andi declares happily.

“You’re horrible.”

“And yet you want to keep me around and never let go.”

“I’m starting to second-guess my decisions.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“I’ll hang up now,” I say, because it would be too easy to let him lure me to forget the dinner and just keep talking to him.

“Fine. Bye.”

“See ya.”

The room is too silent without his voice near my ear. I shake my head, rub my eyes, forcing the growing sadness away, and head to the restaurant to find the team. No mushiness, we promised, so I’ll spend the dinner laughing with the team, talking about jumping and the upcoming season, not thinking about Andi who should be here laughing next to me.

He does send me a picture later in the evening. It’s not with the toys though. It’s him wearing my favorite pair of pyjamas, curled up in our bed, smiling sleepily towards the camera. Attached is the text:

Fine, I lied. Allow me this one. Miss you.

#lellinger #ski jumping #sj fic #fanfiction #this is by no means the drabble length I set up for myself #it's drabble in essence though so I'll put it here anyway #allow me this one

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scorpiosoes · 3 years

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Friends

Hello internet peoples, I was recently given a writing assignment in my history course and wanted to share the resulting work. I am also including the assignment prompt in case someone else feels inspired to writing something.

Prompt: Assume the role of a fictional character either living during, or perhaps fighting, the Second World War-what might it have been like for a Polish citizen in 1939 during the German blitzkrieg, a Jewish inmate surviving in a Nazi death camp, a British pilot during the air war over London, a member of the French resistance during the Nazi occupation or perhaps an American in the midst of the Ardennes offensive.

The title I gave to the assignment was Friends, hope you like it and if you see this feel free to leave thoughts or criticism, always looking to improve.

Friends

Do I regret what I did? Others like me would say no, but I would say that I do, with every fiber of my being I regret it. I was seduced by power, fame, and glory and could no longer tell right from wrong. What we did was wrong, what happened to the world was wrong, my hands will forever be soaked in the blood of millions of innocent lives for the part I played.

It had started subtly at first, propaganda posters started popping up everywhere, there were ads run in the newspapers and the media. They were printing and spreading blatant racist lies, I wish that where was it stopped, where we stopped. But we didn’t and before I knew it turned into something worse than anyone could have ever imagined, and millions of people were dead.

“But why?” It was one the first questions that I remember asking my mother; this is also the moment that I mark as the start of one of the worst periods in Germany, in the world, and in my own life. “But why?” It was the first question that I had asked my mother the day that she had hunted my down and demanded that I stop playing with my childhood best friend, I didn’t understand it then but things had started to change, and not for the better. “A good German boy like you should not be playing with the likes of him. He’s unclean,” those words made no sense to me as a child, he didn’t look dirty to me, he looked like he always had, his curtain of black curls partially covered his face and his brown eyes glinted in the sunlight. But my mother still pulled me away from him, that was the last time I ever played with Avi … or saw him ever again. Things were changing rapidly I was just too young to know it, I was innocent in the way that children are, blind to the politics and prejudices of the world, I didn’t know what she meant when she said that Avi was unclean. When asked about it sometime later she never elaborated, I never questioned it after that I imagined that my mother had her reasons. It was not until much later that I realized why she never told me. Avi was a Jew.

In the meantime, war came and went, the Great War as it was called at the time. It was fought because of rising international tensions between nations and because of an assassination that threw the world into chaos. It was the war that claimed my father’s life and nearly claimed my own. Germany had been in the war, of course, we were we had allies to help and we kept our word and helped them. This was a mistake. The consequences of Germany’s interference in the way came swiftly and without mercy. They were unfair to both Germany and her people; I shared this opinion with anyone who would listen. Many agreed of course, but none listened with as much fervor as a man I had recently met in the army, this man and I became close and I began to call him a friend. This man was Adolf Hitler, at the time I had met him I had never known a better man. We joked, laughed, and conspired together.

One day Adolf came to me and urged me to join him at an event he was attending, I didn’t refuse the invitation. It was a meeting, more like a rally really, for a group called National Socialist German Workers’ Party, these people shared my views, so I joined almost immediately. I deeply regret this decision; these people were the people that would come to be known throughout the world as Nazis.

Adolf was far more ambitious than I was, and he spoke more passionately about the issues facing Germany; he also pushed more and more people to join our ever-growing party. Because of this, the party insisted that he become its leader, and Adolf insisted that I be by his side. At the time I thought it was a great honor, I was moving up in the ranks and was granted more power. I didn’t consider what this meant for everyone that wasn’t the Nazis. Later, by a crazy stroke of luck, the Nazis were steadily seizing power, and Adolf and I were the two highest-ranking members in the party. Our power grew still, however, when Adolf Hitler was named chancellor of Germany. This when things went from bad to worse.

Adolf came to his inner circle one day and said that something was to be done about his enemies, his political opponents, and the Jews and communists. I was the first to suggest banishment from Germany, if they were no longer in the country, they would no longer be our problem. He like that idea, but he didn’t want to afflict the Jews upon someone else. “A prison then,” I suggested to him. Somewhere where opponents and communists would no longer be an issue. “An inescapable camp that houses prisoners and Jews,” that was exactly how the man sitting across from me, Heinrich Himmler, pitched the idea. Adolf loved the whole concept, we later decided to call these places concentration camps. At first, it was just for political prisoners and communists, we could keep an eye on them, and they couldn’t spread their disease. That didn’t last long; it quickly became a death camp for anyone who was sent there. This is when I started to have doubts about what we were doing, we had been spouting this rhetoric, but I never thought that we would end up in a position to act upon it. Now that we had I didn’t think that I had to the stomach for it. I remained silent and faithful to my friend.

Soon we had taken the whole of Germany and parts of other countries like Austria. I thought we were going to stop, the Jews and communists and any other who would stand up to us had been thoroughly crushed under our feet and we ruled the nation. However, Adolf was ambitious, he wasn’t satisfied with just Germany. He began to talk of bigger things, things like freeing the world, not just Germany, from the Jewish plague and spreading Nazi influence. I mean we had rounded up a majority of the Jews and put them into concentration camps, we had also crushed anyone who dared oppose us, what more could he want. The world seemed to be the answer. I asked him outright if he was sure, we already had Germany and various other countries; the world sounded a bit too ambitious to me, but he questioned my faith and asked where my loyalties lie. With my friend, of course, but faith was starting to waver, I was starting to find out that I didn’t have the stomach for some of the things Adolf wanted.

All of a sudden, we were at war, I warned Adolf that he was being too ambitious, but he did not listen, now he had gone too far. Other countries had gotten involved and instead of dominance, we were now fighting for survival. I thought that The Great War was bad, the war that followed Adolf’s takeover of Poland was a bloodbath, millions were dying daily to gain barely any ground. Millions of people were laying down their lives to try and stop the thing that my friend had become, I wish that I could do the same. I was blinded by my loyalty and our relationship; he was my oldest friend and I watched with complacency as he became one of the worst serial killers the world would ever come to know. I too had a part to play in all of this, I encouraged him in the early days and I stood silently by as things went from bad to worse, during this time I had many chances to stop him, to end the war early and I took none of them. I tried once, I intended to kill him, I had the gun to his head, but I could not pull the trigger. It did not matter; we would not be alive for much longer.

The might of Germany had been tested and exhausted, the 1000-year Reich was crumbling around us and yet people still remained hopeful that we could win this war that we had been losing for the past couple of months. This was the end, everyone knew it, Adolf most of all. Our last conversation happened in his bunker, a place that he seldom left these days. He asked to speak to me. He said that he was sorry for what he had put me through, but that he wouldn’t apologize for what he, we, had done. I got to be part of something great. We had changed the world, if only for a moment. Shortly following this meeting Adolf took his own life he had taken a cyanide pill and then shot himself.

It’s bittersweet news, look at what we have done, we held an entire nation in the palms of our hands, but at what cost. Look at what it cost to get us here, we slaughtered people because they were different than us. Looking back on it now, in my final moments, I don’t know if I agreed with the anti-Jew messages or if I was just trying to find the easiest way to get revenge for Germany’s mistreatment all those years ago. It’s funny looking back at it now, my first friend, my best friend in the entire world was Jewish and now I have unreservedly slaughtered his people. I don’t know how I ended up here, but I pray to his God, to Avi’s God that he has mercy on my damned soul.

#writers #writing prompt #history #world war 2 #assignment #college #writer

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theparanormalperiodical · 4 years

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The REAL Story Behind A Nightmare On Elm Street (1984), And The 11 Demonic Entities Which Are Most Definitely Causing Your Sleep Paralysis

In 1981, The New York Times reported on something rather unusual that was occurring in southeast Asian communities in America. A couple of years later in 1987, The LA Times would pick up on the same, strange story:

In the late 1970s, 130 people died in their sleep.

No cause was pinpointed.

No symptoms were reported.

All they knew was that healthy, young men were crying out in their sleep as if having a nightmare, and then never waking up.

A copy of this edition would fall into the hands of a horror director Wes Craven, and their findings would inspire one of the most iconic horror slashers that is still haunting our nightmares:

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984).

But the thing is, this isn’t the first time a link between our dreams - or rather, our nightmares - and the paranormal has been forged. A number of demons, spirits, and entities are said to be hiding in the dark corners of your bedroom and waiting for you to drift into an eternal slumber.

There’s reality in Freddy Krueger’s dream world.

First, let’s talk about this era-defining slasher movie.

1984 is mainly known for one thing: it titled the fictional tale of a dark, twisted dystopian novel penned by George Orwell. But in the actual year, we stumbled into a dark, twisted movie.

A movie that would change the genre forever, and spat out the very first slasher.

Through seven films we follow a simple yet traumatising premise: teenagers have nightmares of a mysterious and yet grotesque figure that attempts to kill them - and sometimes succeed. If they die in the dream, they die in real life.

As the films and even a TV series continue, we discover more about the mysterious figure, Freddy Krueger, and his past, and explore the possibilities of the dream world in which he operates.

‘Couple jokes cracked by the murderous villain and a few million dollars in the bag for Wes Craven later, and we arrive at one of the biggest horror film franchises still haunting those that grew up in the ass-end of the 20th century.

What’s the film based on, again?

Wes Craven has stated that the movie was inspired by those that had survived the Killing Fields in Cambodia. The Killing Fields are a number of sites where more than a million people were killed in what is now labelled the Cambodian genocide.

During the rule of the Communist Party of Kampuchea from 1975-79, anyone who was suspected of a connection with former or foreign governments was to be arrested and executed. The exact number of those that were executed has been disputed, but Yale has indicated through analysis of mass grave sites that at least 1,386,734 people had died at the hands of the Khmer Regime.

One Cambodian family successfully fled the brutal regime in the 70s, but their son had already been traumatised.

The child would stay awake for days for fear that something in his nightmares would chase him and eventually kill him. He finally fell asleep one night, but would cry out into the middle of the night one last time.

By the time his family got to him, he was dead.

This experience was placed within a wider phenomenon occurring throughout southeast Asian communities, a phenomenon that has actually been established in the medical world: it’s called Sudden Arrthymic Death Syndrome.

Most common among young men (average age of 33) who were seemingly healthy, they would simply cry out in the middle of the night randomly, and then they would die. It was later discovered that this wasn’t an unexplained phenomenon; they were suffering from undiscovered medical problems including a slightly large heart and other defects.

This rare syndrome was first noted in the Hmong refugees in North America in 1977, and is most often associated with southeast Asian immigrants to the US and Canada.

What’s really interesting, though, isn’t the medical proof that you can indeed die in a nightmare. It’s the paranormal link to SADS, as it is also known.

Medical journals have already outlined the link between the victims of this syndrome and their cultural beliefs in the spiritual world. This was first suggested in regards to the Hmong population:

Hmong cultural beliefs traced back this phenomena to nocturnal pressing spirit attacks.

To the Hmong people of Laos, dab tsuam - a spirit which takes the form of a jealous woman - sits on one’s chest and suffocates you in the middle of the night. And it turns out each culture right across the globe has their own negative spirit or entity that supposedly causes what we now call sleep paralysis.

The Hmong belief developed in the 1970s and 1980s, however, to take into account the political context. When the syndrome began a timely outbreak in this period, many were unable to worship properly as a result of the guerrilla war against the Laos government. By failing to worship properly, whether they were incorrectly performing rituals or failing to carry out sacrifices, the ancestor or village spirits would not protect them.

This claim is not impossible to make: many still confuse sleep paralysis from which you are awake but unable to move or make any noise with paranormal activity. This is become typically one witnesses strange, shadowy figures or terrifying entities near them and feels suffocating pressure on their chest at the same time.

That being said, a link to the supernatural has been present throughout history. And maybe, just maybe, there is something going bump in the night.

It’s time to talk about the 10 other terrifying sleep paralysis demons that are probably haunting you in your sleep.

Without summarising the entirety of human history, it’s safe to say that before science could explain natural phenomena, gods, spirits, and demons were used to make sense of the world.

Before we knew what sleep paralysis was, we pinned it on the paranormal.

Most often entities or spirits would be considered to be causing such an affliction. Even the term ‘nightmare’ can be traced back to a mare, a Norse spirit that would crush people’s chest in the dead of the night and cause traumatic nightmares for the victim.

According to folklore, the mare was believed to ride horses, leaving them exhausted and covered in sweat - a symptom associated with night terrors and nightmares. Mare would also tangle their hair, another symptom of thrashing around in one’s sleep, I guess - but this can be related to the Polish plait phenomenon (a hair disease from which one’s hair becomes matted).

Mares are also associated with witches when they would take on the form of animals. Their spirits would effectively leave their bodies, enter the animals they would possess, and leave them in a trance.

Scandinavia, Germany, and Poland are the most popular champions of mares and have their own takes on the typically dishevelled creature. In fact, some of them bear a similarity far too close to Krueger.

And the mares aren’t alone.

#2 - Kana tevoro, Fiji

Feeling the weight of a jealous old woman sitting on your chest is by no means a pleasant experience. Being eaten by a demon, or kana tevoro, is far worse.

Fijians believe the spirit of a recently deceased relative takes the form of this demon who returns to their living relative to impart important information or complete unfinished business.

Although the idea of being eaten by an evil entity sounds like something you’d much rather not experience, those sleeping near you should say “kania, kania” (“eat, eat”) in order to prolong the possession. It’ll give the relatives a chance to talk to you and explain why they have returned.

When the person being eaten awakens, they should curse or chase away the spirit to end the terrible experience. Simply tell them to go away, and you will be free from their midnight snack.

#3 - Phi Am, Thailand

Thailand is also home to demons seeking a feast in the dead of the night.

Sleep paralysis in this part of Asia is caused by the ghost Phi Am (‘phi’ is the word for ‘ghost’ in Thai), a spirit that is known to cause bruising, a tell-tale symptom of violent spirit or demonic attacks.

Phi Am sits on your chest while you are asleep, and often causes troubled nightmares and uncomfortable sleep. Some even claim this Phi can kill you in your sleep.

#4 - Dip-non, Tibet

In Tibetan culture, the phenomenon of sleep paralysis goes by the name ‘dip-non’. Roughly translated from Tibetan, this means that one is oppressed or struck by a shadow, referring to a ‘spiritual pollution’.

Despite little being mentioned on the web, it sounds like this refers to an individual’s depression or spiritual emptiness, and thus means something far more personal than paranormal.

#5 - A collection of evil beings, Pakistan

Pakistan gives their take on the Old Hag far more backstory than other nations. Sleep paralysis on this part of the planet is considered to be an encounter with one of three things: jinns, demons, or Satan.

(Take your pick, I guess.)

It is supposedly caused by black magic that is performed by enemies or those that are jealous and wish to cause harm to the victim. To protect against this, Pakistani culture dictates several measures for defending against evil supernatural beings.

This includes wearing Ta’wiz, an amulet to ward off an evil eye, performing exorcisms, and blessing haunted houses with specific Muslim practices.

There is no specific Old Hag sitting on the chests of innocents in Pakistan; instead, any ol’ negative spirit or entity will do the trick.

#6 - Jinn and/or a nameless African Queen, Egypt

Out of all cultural groups, Egyptians are probably the most terrified of sleep paralysis. A huge number of studies and investigations have even attempted to explain the high incidences of such troubled sleep.

Unfortunately, the information on the beast they believe to be haunting them is limited.

You have two options: there’s the evil African Queen who might be Lilith, a female demon belonging to Jewish mythology, or it’s just jinn.

Evil jinn typically bear the blame for sleep paralysis as a result of the strong religious traditions still present within the country. According to Islamic mythology, jinn are genies and this is not the only time they have been blamed for a bad nights sleep.

#7 - Dukak, Ethiopia

‘Dukak’ - that is, ‘depression’ - is sleep paralysis that is caused by an evil spirit possessing one in their sleep. But this possession might be associated more with khat, a stimulant which can cause excitement or euphoria.

By quitting khat, users experience hallucinations which are punishments from dukak, a personification of the depression as a result of the withdrawal. The dukak takes pleasure in extreme forms of punishment aside from sleep paralysis, including forcing someone to swallow a bag of gravel, or being put in a bottle and the bottle being shaken violently.

Don’t do drugs, kids.

#8 - Haddiela, Malta

The entity halting this island nation in their sleep is Haddiela. They take the form of a stereotypical Old Hag that spends the evening lounging on your ribcage. To get rid of them simply place some silverware under your pillow.

Interestingly enough, Haddiela is married to Hares who is considered to be an entity similar to a poltergeist.

#9 - Women executed in the Salem witch trials, USA

It’s peculiar.

No, really, this one is weird.

Each country has folklore that can be followed back to the darkest depths of history. And most of the spirits, demons, entities, and jinn mentioned in this article can be traced back just as far. But the sleep paralysis experienced by those in America during the Salem witch trials was actually pinned on the witches on trial.

Jon Loudner was one of the first to experience this, and gave his encounter as evidence in the trial of Bridget Bishop, the first woman to be executed for witchcraft in the trials.

Loudner claimed something of her likeness attacked him in the middle of the night and made attempts to suffocate him in a manner similar to other sleep paralysis entities.

“… I going well to bed, about the dead of the night felt a great weight upon my breast, and awakening, looked, and it being bright moonlight, did clearly see Bridget Bishop, or her likeness, sitting upon my stomach. And putting my arms off of the bed to free myself from that great oppression, she presently laid hold of my throat and almost choked me. And I had no strength or power in my hands to resist or help myself. And in this condition she held me to almost day.”

Yeah, you gonna want to rethink that Sunday morning lie in.

Liked this article? Love the paranormal? Go on and tap follow to read a new article about the supernatural every weekend and hear a new ghost story everyday.

Oh, you can’t wait to get your hands on more real evidence and experiences of the paranormal? Then you need to head over to the People’s Paranormal Archive, the online collection of real stories of the supernatural.

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countryshitposts · 4 years

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the vulnerability of immortality

Here's a filler fic that'd probably keep you guys waiting until i finally post that Asian Christmas party fic and German Empire getting pummeled

Österreich did not exist... but then he started existing.

Austria can remember the feeling of not existing at first, a cosmic entity watching a cataclysmic event in the far future. It was being displayed by the galaxies beyond him, his body as light as a star that tries not to shine as bright as the milky way that he was born in. He doesn't even have a name at first, he doesn't exist, after all. He can watch the planes all he wants without the feeling of crushing mortality pressing him into the solid grounds. He never even knows what ground feels like. He is nothing but a watcher, a silent one who has no personality nor voice in the whole galaxy. He sits, and he watches, looking at the visions with no feelings, numb yet wanting to die. He looks at the visions he is being shown, and he feels something; longing. Longing for the inevitable, he unconsciously touches the visions, full of nameless people that were either cemented into history or erased from it.

He regrets it.

He doesn't regret it.

Then he feels light absorb him, consume him and his non-existent mouth urges to scream, and so he does; he lets out a sound he has never heard from his silent self before, feeling his numbness turning into pain as he feels his cosmic body enter something else. The feeling of flesh attaches to his body like glue paste, as he feels himself seeing everything with bright new colors, entertaining yet painful to watch, only used to the astronomical purples and white blinkering dots resembling the stars, knowing if he approaches them they will becoming, big, bright, bold stars.

And his transformation stops, a flip from a switch as he is brought to a woman. He can move, he can see the world he had only seen from the visions that someone from beyond had sent him, to cope with him not existing. He was in a bundle, tightly wrapped like he would fall off, and die as he hits the floors.

Then, his memories start to drain, from the beginning of time when the big bang was - mistakenly - made, hot gases fughting, the great mother Earth forming in the volcanic hell that used to be the planet, the rains, the Ancient Sumerians and their inventing of wheels, the Macedonian Empire, the Toltecs, Mayans, the unexpected Mongol Empire conquering Eurasia through the means of horseback, the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and its blazing glory, the Sick Man of Europe, Red China, and the End of the World, Earth becoming sickly and turning everything into ashes.

All of what he had seen- visions, the past, the vague present, the incoming future bombarding in time, all slips from his vision, like it was nothing and a switch off from his mind.

Before his seemingly uneventful birth, he didn't exist, watching everything as a nebulous cosmic entity.

Now he exists and he must live through it all, vision-less.

I am Austria, a voice inside him says, and I exist.

The children aren't like him

He knows just by how much they fear him

They don't invite him to play with him

Not like he cared

He prefers to read the bible

They pray using their rosaries to the God above

Something inside Austria tells him he's beyond God

His mother meets her end with a sickness

Something he cannot remember

He watches his mother go without a hint of sadness

Now he is all alone

Life in the streets is hard enough

Somehow he is still healthy despite dirty living conditions

He steals

He begs

He needs

Austria meets His Majesty

The second next best thing compared to the Roman Empire

He sits on his throne

Two black pairs of wings in all his glory

On a throne of gold

His stern face looking straight at Austria

He is the Holy Roman Empire

Life as a peasant-turned-prince isn't easy

His adoptive brothers loathe him

The castle servants gossip of him being a spawn of Satan

But Holy Roman Empire lets him stay no matter what

He loves him

He hates Prussia

Holy Roman Empire encourages him to follow his heart

He becomes a pastor

Shortlived

So he takes an interest in composing and playing musical intruments

Forever

Österreich gives his betrothed a bouquet of flowers

He says he matches her eyes

He's filled with so much love

Nothing lasts forever

He hears the arranged marriage

He drops his copy of the bible

He runs to the palace where his love resides

She's not there

Her father tortures him

By giving him an invite to Korona and Lieutvos' wedding

He stands there on the isle, cross-armed and scowling

He bites his lip, trying not to cry as his true love and a barbarian kiss

He's not going to cry

He focuses on his studies more

Focuses on politics more

But he cannot seem to shake off Korona's smiling face

He looks towards his abandoned poems and compositions for Korona

He hides them in his chest with a mighty shut

Even then he knows all words and tunes by heart

Prussia is grinding at his gears

So is his father

He takes an interest in a brand new style of art from the French lands

It helps his broken heart

It helps him heal

Unlike his music

He hears rumors

Rumors of Korona and Lieutvos' marriage being unhappy

Korona is afraid of that dirty pagan

Looks like he still has a chance to win her heart after all

He approaches her one day when Lieutvos was talking to the Holy Roman Empire

"Let's run away together" he says with hope in his eyes

Korona sheepishly looks away, patting her belly

"I am bearing a child" she says her voice barely a whisper

His smile fades as hope inside of him shatters

He feels the weight of loneliness crush him to dirt

He tells his servants nor family to never enter his room

He is mourning

For what

For the death of his love

He and Prussia fight more each day

That kingdom from afar is getting too close to the outer territories of his duchy

He plays music to let off some steam

He did not even mention her name once

Holy Roman Empire is turning to a figurehead

Österreich is God

God is Österreich

He is holy in every way

He attends Korona's baby's baptism

He is named Poland after his grandfather

He cannot look Korona in the eye

He hates Lieutvos every second he is here

The child has his mother and father's striking features

He can feel his world turning blurry for a second

He spends his time away from his land

To fight wars

A war he needs to fight for his father

Who's too gluttonous to leave the throne

He can see his pair of dark wings having the slightest tinge of white

The sign of becoming old

He wonders why an immortal being is becoming old each passing day

Will he become old

How dare that damned man insult the church

How dare he post such insults in a door

How dare he question his father's rule

Prussia is objecting

He is objecting too

But he can't help but somewhat agree with the man who defames the church

Lutheranism and Reformation spreads through the entire continent like a ravaging wildfire

Even the Discovery isn't as intense as this

War was coming to his doorstep

Holy Roman Empire finally gets up from his throne

Some of his feathers falls as he stands in all his glory

The old empire is an examplary fighter

He and Prussia see eye to eye in the dissonance

France wishes for Burgundy

He defends his territory

He beats and bests the kingdom at every turn

He has become powerful in his own right

He marches to Rome

To become the rightful king of the Romans

He is the true Rome

Not Russia

Not even the Holy Roman Empire

That Kingdom of Hungary is threatening his power

Hungary wishes for peace

He is suspicious

He wakes the first day to find him invading his land

How dare he

That is not his

He gains more land and power

Hungary is a distant yet close problem now

He allies and forms bonds

He plans to take Britanny

France takes it first

Schweiz is a stubborn woman

Fighting for her independence with a fury

At first Österreich and his family laugh at her

But she is serious

And she got what she wants in the end

He admires her feistiness

He, Preußen and Russia wish for more land

They target the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth

Something inside him tells him the once love of his life will never forgive him for this

Once love of his life

Now turned to dust

They make plans

He has second thoughts

Korona's eyes give him a look of betrayal

He hesitates

Then he remembered that she isn't his anymore

She's in love with someone else now

Not him

He has no more second thoughts after this

He feels pleasure rise into him as he slits Lieutvos' throat

He hears Korona's cries, calling him a traitor

He laughs, and so do the others

Yet after he murdered the former love of his life

He starts to weep

Why is he weeping

He can't even read anything without squinting

The Holy Roman Empire drops dead

His last feathers are nothing but pure white

No more of his black feather

He cannot feel sadness despite the fact he has shown him kindness

No more of the empire

A new era begins

Rhineland gives him a baby boy bundled up in blankets

Österreich says he has no use of his child

But Rhineland pleads with him to care for the boy

He does as a friend

He's unaware of the pain and suffering he will go through

Over the years

He clutches Confederation's hand

Still warm

His tears are flooding his eyes as their warm drops pitter patter on his skin

He has a smile on his face, a smile to encourage Confederation he can still live

"I will die" Confederation says hushed

"No you will not" Österreich manages to say "You will live"

Confederation smiles at his father warmly "I forgive you"

His hand goes limp, eyes closed, body temperature becoming cold

Österreich's forced smile drops like Confederation's lifeline

He holds his body

The boy whom had warmed his heart as a son

He cries in choked sobs

Then he screams

He screams and shouts and cries

Why didn't the doctors save this innocent boy

Why did he have to leave him alone

He goes blind

Yet he still hears him singing

Austria and Hungary waltz in the moonlight, away from observing eyes

"This is wrong" Österreich says as his body dips lower

"But you do not care" Hungary replies

And then they kiss

He can feel another love sparkle through the night

There is nothing wrong with this

This is heaven

This is hell

Being fused to your love can take some time to adjust

Yet they love each other

But they're not close to each other

They're not even beside each other

He will get used to it

Of course Hungary stopped loving him

What did he expect

He can feel his heart setting to stone once again

Hungary leaves him after the fall of their empire

He breaks mirrors that show his sad and pathetic self

Glass ends up over his face

He can't try to make out what's right and wrong anymore

He's alone again

All he can see are blurry shapes

He plays the violin

He sings old melodies lost in time never sharing them

He sees the world burn like a distant memory

Österreich tries to cope with his detoriating power

By singing through it all

Ghosts appear before him, mocking at him for the way he has turned out

He chokes

Österreich stands with Reich

Once a young, naïve and nice boy has corrupted and snapped

He wanted to blame his father

But he can't help but blame he himself

He helps with his plans and tactics

Helps him in the battlefield

Helps him with everything

He needs to become powerful again

At what cost?

The war is over

Deutschland is divided

He can see their faces but never makes their details out

The world has gone too blurry for him

He looks at his hands

Now only good for playing instruments

He clenches his fists and punches a mirror

It breaks

His hands hurt

He forgot how to live

Schweiz came to him in such a manner

He has to stop for a breath

Österreich can feel himself getting pulled by Schweiz

But he trusts his instincts

Österreich likes the man before him

Their kiss lights up his life

He has to wear glasses now

What a humiliating defeat

It seems he cannot shoot a gun properly anymore

He throws away all firearms and weapons, save for those he has treasured so greatly

He doesn't feel the slightest bit of regret

He is finally free

He has finally matured and moved on

He can hear him singing

Österreich goes from door to door, searching for the culprit of the voice

It is echoing in his house, a melody he has heard of many times

He opens a door, and another, and another

But he isn't there

Why will he be

He is gone and dead

Yet his ghost still lingers

Laughing at him

Österreich screams, it echoes through the house, wanting the voice to stop singing and give him peace

Silence

Then he starts singing once again until Österreich has broken down to tears

He swears he can hear them

The voices whispering towards him as he makes his way through the halls

They grow louder

And louder

They scream at Österreich, vowing to never forget what he has done to them

He does not scream nor react feeling numb

He doesn't remember what it feels like to live

Deutschland pours him a drink, delighted smile and all

Österreich clinks his glass with him as well

Everyone's having so much fun

He smiles as he takes a sip of his beer

He doesn't remember having this much fun with people

Everyone is so lively

He doesn't remember being that lively

Everyone is living and breathinng unlike those gross voices he keeps hearing

Dr. Österreich finally learns how to live.

#mine #writing #countryhumans #countryhumans austria #countryhumans prussia #countryhumans holy roman empire #countryhumans germany #countryhumans switzerland #countryhumans hungary

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goldproblems · 5 years

Text

[read on ao3]

"Remember when you told me you weren't worth all this trouble?" Steve asks with his head down. In his hands is a compass. Bucky's compass, to be more specific. They have been in the same safe house for two weeks now, somewhere in northern Poland, and Bucky thought it was time to go on the move again, so Steve started to pack the few things they own.

Steve has his back to Bucky, he feels him turn and move slowly towards him.

"To be honest, Steve, still think I'm not"- a pause -" ...worth all of it. Even more now that two months have passed and there's no resolution in sight."

Two months, Steve thinks. It really has been two months. Two months of running away and living under the radar. (Not something Steve hasn’t done before, but all of those times it was in the name of his country, with the government on his back. The present situation couldn't be more different.) Two months of Bucky, and getting to know him a bit better. The new him, anyway. Two months of seeing him trying to keep it together, of dealing with trauma in the midst of being a wanted criminal for things he was obligated to do. Two months of seeing not only Bucky Barnes, but also the amazing asset and agent Hydra made him, giving him the tools they both need to survive this isolated for months (yeah, it's fucked up). Two months of holding Bucky when he cried, of hearing bits of his past he suddenly remembered, some including Steve, some not. Two months of having the pleasure to look at him first thing in the morning, and last thing at night.

And Steve shouldn't be this selfish, really. Ross probably has a "shoot on sight" order regarding them at this moment, but Steve can't not appreciate those small moments, not when not long ago the idea of seeing his best friend again was an impossibility.

So, when Bucky says - thinks - he isn't worth it, Steve's feels a mixture of both rage and empathy in such intensity he needs to breathe slowly not to let it show.

"Well, can't you see it through my point of view? Wouldn't you do this for me, if the situation was reversed?" Steve finally answers.

"Not really, no. I kinda hate you, I'm just good at not letting it show.”

Steve turns to him. Bucky's sarcastic tone, so familiar to him, as well as the grin attached to it. He smiles in response. It’s impossible not to.

"Idiot."

"Asshole."

Silence. Them still looking at each other with fond smiles.

"When you gave me this," Steve is still holding Bucky's compass, "I thought 'From now on this is my most prized possession'."

"It just a compass, Steve."

"Yeah...but it's your compass." He puts the compass away in his bags and looks up to see Bucky with a straight face, gazing him and taking a deep breath.

"Look, Steve -"

"Yeah?"

They're close now, so close. Steve can feel Bucky's warmth and smell him and his heart tightens a little bit.

"What you're doing for me, it's - Thank you."

"When I said 'I'm with you to the end of the line', I really did mean it."

"I did say it first though, all those years ago."

"Yeah, who's keeping track?"

Hearing this, Bucky smiles with his head down. A sweet little smile, different from all the others. One Steve was so used to see before, but now hits him like a truck.

"I love seeing you smile like that." Before he even has time to think about it, the words come out of his mouth without permission to do so.

"I love that you love that."

And that response just sort of startles Steve.

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do."

And they are still so fucking close. It would be so easy for Steve to reach out, touch him. Just touch him. He misses touching Bucky so much. Back when they were kids, when they were truly alone, they would sometimes hold each other, cuddle. Just spent time even more closely than usual. And as they got older, the touches also grew bolder. And by the time they were 17, they would spend hours closed up in their bedroom getting to know each other in ways they hoped no other person would ever get the chance to.

"Steve," Bucky asks, putting his hand on Steve's arm, "why are you doing all of this? This is crazy. We're criminals, fugitives. We keep running away and there's no sight of this ending soon."

"You're my best friend..." Steve says and although it's true, the words feel wrong.

"That not all of it, is it?" Bucky gets even closer

"What do you mean?"

"Steve, c'mon. I remember practically everything from back then now.”

Steve breathes in. The hand at his arm tightens.

“I remember our hands always brushing for a second or two in public. I remember stolen kissed in alleys. Steve, I remember the first time you told me you loved me.”

“God, Bucky-”

“I remember how good it felt coming home to you, how good it felt to stop pretending with you.”

Steve tries to cover his face with his hands only for Bucky to stop him.

“Don’t do that. Just tell me.”

Bucky’s hands come to rest on Steve’s face. Steve has tears coming down his face.

“God, Bucky. All this time... I’m still so fucking in love with you.” He is nearly sobbing. For so long, ever since finding out Bucky was alive, he hasn’t yet had the time to process all of it. Being this close to Bucky without being able to be with him these two past months took a toll on him. He puts his arms around Bucky's waist, finally able to hold him just the right way.

Everything: The plane crash, surviving only to be so far away from home - from all he knew - joining the Avengers, saving the world a couple of times, fighting his friends, becoming a wanted criminal. All of it - it all culminated to this moment. Steve literally left it all behind for this one man. The one who truly understands and knows him. Nothing else really ever matters when the other option is Bucky.

"I think I'm in love with you too..."

"You think?" Steve chuckles.

"Well, you know-" Bucky shrugs, "Between the brainwashing and hazy memories, I'm pretty sure."

Steve tries not to but he actually smiles to that comment. Before he notices it, Bucky leans in and gives him the sweetest of kisses, lingering a second or two. It reminds him the first time they ever kissed, back when they were 15. Once they draw back, nothing can describe the look they both have on their faces.

"I know I'd love to stay like this for the rest of time, but we do really need to move, okay?" Bucky says, reluctantly stepping away.

"Okay," Steve says, nodding his head a little. He knows there’s a lot to talk about. He knows Bucky can’t just drop that bomb like that and expect him to function fully normally again. But as he says 'Okay', he also realises everything will eventually be alright. It’s the two of them against everyone else, and time and time before they have proved that is all they need - each other.

@dykebucky @amethystkrystal @littlelllusion @a-vengers @thestuckylibrary @honeycarol

#this is my first time writing them i hope its not to ooc...im still getting the feel of them #you know?#I tagged the few mutuals i thought would be interested #pls feel free to ignore if this isn't really your thing!!#stucky #stevebucky #stevebucky ficlet #stucky ficlet #stevebucky one shot #stucky one shot #post cacw

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years

Text

Chapter 5 - Ben, Jerry and Alfred

La Patisserie de la Rose by George deValier

CHAPTER FIVE Ben, Jerry and Alfred

By mid Sunday afternoon, Matthew still hadn't managed to drag himself from the couch where he had fallen the night before. After almost a month in this city, the small grey apartment living room he lay in still wasn't completely furnished. A low, uncovered coffee table stood between the only couch and the television, while only a small bar fridge sat in the adjoining kitchen. Most of Matthew's belongings were currently in suitcases or in storage, which would make things easier, he supposed, when he moved town. Which, after the events of the previous evening, should be any day now.

Matthew lay against the nest of cushions and pillows he'd made for himself, steadily making his way through an entire bottle of maple syrup as he watched ancient re-runs of Degrassi High on the soap channel. The silly Canadian melodrama was only making him feel worse, but he could not summon the energy to change the channel. Matthew couldn't summon the energy to do anything but lie, unmoving, trying unsuccessfully to forget and regret the entire last week of his life. But he couldn't. All he could think of was Francis.

Matthew swallowed another gulp of maple syrup, ignoring the slightly queasy feeling growing in his stomach. Okay, so he'd met a nice guy, had a good time, and it hadn't worked out. So? That sort of thing happened all the time when people dated. Probably. Matthew wouldn't really know. Regardless, it wasn't a big deal. Francis just wanted something different from what Matthew was looking for. Francis wanted a short-term fling. Matthew wanted a relationship. And he was being all silly and upset because he had mistakenly believed Francis wanted the same. But really, this was good thing, Matthew tried insistently to tell himself. It was a relief to know, now, before anyone got really hurt. Besides, Francis wasn't even the type of man Matthew would normally look twice at. Too showy, too brash, too much. But he was also funny, and sexy, and strangely charming - and Matthew had fallen for him headfirst after only a few days.

Matthew shook that last thought from his head. No, he was not going to continue being distraught over this. He was not going to mope and cry and mourn over a man he barely knew, however special that man made him feel; however bright he made the days; however brilliant his eyes or perfect his smile or captivating his laugh or… Matthew gritted his teeth, squeezed the maple syrup bottle, and abruptly hurled it at the TV. "Oh, Caitlin, when will you learn?" he shouted at the ridiculous soap opera on screen. "Joey's only going to keep hurting you!"

A knock sounded suddenly at the door, loud and long and frantic. "Go away," Matthew muttered, hugging a cushion to his chest. The obnoxious pounding refused to stop, however, so Matthew reluctantly got to his feet and dragged himself across the room. He groaned the second he threw open the door.

"Matt, thank goodness!" Alfred spoke breathlessly, a huge overnight bag slung over his shoulder and overflowing plastic bags in his hands. He looked like he had run all the way from America. Knowing Alfred, he probably had. "I came as soon as I could!"

Matthew blinked in surprise. Of all the things he did not expect on his doorstep today… "Why?"

"Why?" Alfred looked incredulous. "Because you rang me at 3am to tell me you were moving to Antarctica. Please don't move to Antarctica, Matt! That's, like, near Poland or something. What are we supposed to do at Christmas?"

Despite himself, Matthew felt his lips twitch in a tiny smile. Trust his kind, foolish, misguided brother to turn up on his doorstep, in a different country, after a simple late night drunken phone call. "I'm not moving to Antarctica, Al. People say things they don't mean when they're upset."

Alfred breathed a sigh of relief, pushed past Matthew, and headed straight to the kitchen. "Good. Although I hear the weather's nice, and living with the kangaroos would be kind of cool. Now I know you're upset, so I brought you ice-cream."

Matthew followed slowly, his heart sinking just a little. Just what he did not need when trying to forget Francis – to be reminded of the one other man who had broken his heart. "You thought, after being dumped, that ice-cream would make me feel better."

"Ice-cream makes everyone feel bet…" Alfred's eyes widened guiltily. "Oh shit, ice-cream was your thing with that Cuban guy, wasn't it? Okay, forget the ice-cream. I also have…" Alfred dropped the dangerously full bags onto the kitchen bench and rifled through them. "Snickers and skittles and twizzlers and ooh, gummi bears, and coke and creaming soda and…"

"Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"Give me the damn ice-cream."

Matthew again sat nestled into his layer of pillows, staring unseeing at the TV, already on his second tub of Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough ice-cream smothered in maple syrup and washed down with copious quantities of coca-cola. Alfred sat beside him on the couch, resting his feet on the candy-littered coffee table, onto his own second tub of Ben and Jerry's AmeriCone Dream. Alfred had quickly hijacked the remote control and had so far scrolled through the cooking channel, a black and white French film, and an old episode of 'McHale's Navy,' all of which reminded Matthew of Francis in one way or another. Alfred was now glued to 'Ice Road Truckers,' which seemed fairly safe. However, despite his best efforts to the contrary, Matthew kept bringing the conversation back to Francis.

"Fifteen, Al. FIFTEEN!"

Alfred whistled. "Must've been sore in the morning."

"But how is it possible?" Matthew gestured with his spoon and ice-cream container, trying to make sense of the logistics. "How do they… where do they… how does everyone even fit? Even if they divide into pairs there's one left over."

"He's probably the one holding the camera."

"Sailors, even." Matthew knew he shouldn't be thinking about this, but he simply couldn't stop himself. Images kept drifting through his head of Francis in various naked acrobatic positions with a veritable legion of faceless men. Most of them wearing little blue and white caps. "Sailors, Al! Have you ever slept with a sailor?"

Alfred paused, thinking, his spoon in mid-air. "No. I almost slept with a coastguard once. Does that count?"

Matthew shrugged dismissively. "Sure, why not."

Alfred dove back into his tub of Ben and Jerry's. "What about you?"

"I've slept with two men, Alfred. Ever." Matthew waved two fingers in Alfred's face. "Two. Meanwhile, Francis has apparently slept with the entire Royal Canadian Navy."

Alfred nodded sagely. "I bet it was the submarine fleet."

Matthew shook his head, the images starting to overwhelm him. "I can't talk about this anymore. I can't. I'm going insane." He dug out a huge spoonful of ice cream, devoured the lot, then immediately asked, "Do you know what he asked me when we first met?"

"To look over his stock portfolio," Alfred answered immediately.

Matthew narrowed his eyes. "Why does everyone assume I'm an investment banker?"

Alfred looked apologetic. "It's the suit, dude."

"He asked if he could give me a hand. Just like that." Matthew attempted to imitate Francis' heavy accent. "'Can I give you a hand by any chance?'" But even as he spoke derisively, Matthew could picture Francis standing there in his bright, warm patisserie, smiling gently and gesturing gracefully and looking at Matthew like he was the only person in the entire world…

Alfred whistled again. "Well, he's got balls."

Matthew tried to laugh, tried to mock the flashy Frenchman. "He was always like that. Always 'mon cher' and 'my dear' and 'darling…'" Always kind and sensuous and charming… Matthew stabbed his ice cream angrily with his spoon and grumbled. "I mean, how pathetically contrived can you get?"

"Dude. He sounds like a total queen."

"Yes. Well, no. He's just… stupidly charming."

"Bastard. Want me to kick his ass?"

"Yes. Wait, no! Damn it, I'm not talking about this. I'm not thinking about him. I'm changing the subject." Matthew took a swig of coke, passed the bottle to Alfred, then tapped his spoon against his chin. Why was he completely unable to think of anything else? "Okay, you change the subject."

Alfred shrugged. "How's work?"

Matthew groaned. What a terrible change of subject. "Awful. Boring." The only thing that made it bearable was the anticipation of seeing Francis again… Matthew shook the thought from his head and tried to pay attention to 'Ice Road Truckers.' "I think I should quit being an accountant."

Alfred looked at him, startled. "Really?"

"Yeah." Matthew immediately began considering his options for changing jobs, moving town, and forgetting the last week in this city had ever happened. He gestured to the screen with his spoon. "I could do this, you know. I could move to Alaska and be a trucker." The solitude, the cold, the ever-present chance of falling through a hole in the ice. It sounded rather appealing. "In fact, I think I might."

"That'd be cool," said Alfred, impressed. "You could be on the show and everything. Or you could move to Louisiana and catch gators. Or be a bounty hunter. Ooh, Matt, be a bounty hunter!"

"Hmm. There's a thought." Matthew gave Alfred a tiny smile. "You could join me."

Alfred gasped loudly. "I totally could! Matt, we'd be so awesome, busting crims and wearing leather and drinking in taverns and we'd be…" Alfred's face froze in some sort of silent comprehension, his wide eyes lighting up. "We'd be like Boba Fett!"

Matthew laughed, easily remembering just what he missed about Alfred. His brother could always make him smile – even when he frustrated the hell out of him. "We could start an agency. The 'Williams-Jones Fugitive Recovery Service.'"

"Dude, that'd be so cool, except…" Alfred's face fell. "Except the NFL's got me under contract for another two years at least."

Matthew smiled softly. "Oh well. Maybe one day." Both brothers went back to their tubs of Ben and Jerry's, dreams of bounty hunting quickly forgotten. "How is work going, anyway? I heard you won some little game last week."

"Yeah," said Alfred, through a mouthful of ice cream. "The Super Bowl."

"Is that what that was?"

Alfred nodded. "Yep."

"Huh. That's sort of a big deal, isn't it?"

"Little bit, yeah."

Matthew raised his spoon. "Well done you."

Alfred touched his spoon to Matthew's in a toast. "Cheers."

Matthew suddenly felt a little guilty. He had gone over the last week three times and the previous night's party twice, yet had neglected asking anything about Alfred's life. He started by asking about Alfred's boyfriend of less than a year. Matthew had only met the Englishman a few times, but he liked the man, and they got along well. "How's Arthur?"

"Oh, you know. Same as always. Cranky, cute. Annoyingly British." Alfred smiled dopily. "Perfect."

Matthew glared through narrowed eyes. "Some solidarity, please?"

Alfred had the good manners to look a little guilty. "Oh, right. Well, um… last week he tried to cook dinner, and made me clean up."

Matthew shook his head dramatically. "Men."

Alfred snorted. "Bastards."

And then, again, Matthew's brain was flooded with thoughts of Francis. Memories, and emotions, and that dull, sick ache of desperate grief. He stared blankly at the wall as it all fell on his shoulders, fell like a cold stone in his chest. "Really, I should have seen through him. I should have known what Francis was doing. It shouldn't have taken a week. It shouldn't have taken his cousins and his friends to hammer the truth into my thick head." Matthew remembered the humiliation of standing in that doorway as Francis' friends and family laughed, the horrifying realisation that he was just another of Francis' conquests. He swallowed heavily, his cheeks burning with the memory. "It felt like they were all laughing at me. Or feeling sorry for me. I don't know what's worse."

Alfred sighed quietly, sadly. "Oh, Matt."

Matthew laughed bitterly. He laughed to keep from crying. "I should have seen it before I got dumped."

Alfred spoke softly. "From what you've said, it sounds like you dumped him."

Well, that made Matthew stop and consider. "I suppose I did, really, didn't I." He tried, unsuccessfully, to gain some satisfaction from the fact. "Huh."

"Well done you," said Alfred, raising his spoon and grinning. Matthew stared at him, then breathed out heavily as he tapped Alfred's spoon with his own.

"Cheers, I suppose." Matthew sighed again, threw his spoon into his almost empty ice cream tub, and ran a hand wearily through his messy hair. He felt so lost and empty with these thoughts of Francis running through his head. "I really thought he liked me."

Alfred spoke decisively. "Of course he liked you."

Matthew scoffed. "If anything, he just liked my ass."

"Well, you do have a nice ass."

Matthew laughed, then tried again to glare. "Stop it. It's not funny."

Alfred just shrugged, smiling. "You know, maybe - and I'm just putting this out there, so don't get all pissed off - but maybe he really did like you, Matt. Maybe you were different to all those other guys he dated. You are pretty damn special, you know. Maybe he saw that."

Matthew felt a brief warmth in his chest, then nodded. "Thanks, Al. But I heard all I need to hear. Francis doesn't have relationships - he has sex. And there's nothing wrong with that. It's my fault for thinking it was something it wasn't."

Alfred shook his head. "I've told you this a hundred times, but you're too damn nice, man."

Matthew ignored that. "But you know the worst thing? The absolute worst thing about this whole stupid situation?" Alfred looked at him silently, and Matthew had to swallow heavily before he could continue. "It's too late. I'm already completely in love with him."

Matthew suddenly felt sick. Because it was true. He was in love with Francis: he was in love, and it was over. He was in love, and he would never see Francis again. Never smile teasingly at him through lowered lashes; never brush his hand against Francis' arm across a colourful patisserie counter. Never again hear that smooth, lilting voice call him 'darling,' never feel those warm, soft, insistent lips on his. Matthew dropped the ice cream onto the ground, leant his elbows on his knees, and put his head in his hands. It was over. 'It' had never even really happened. This whole week had been a game to Francis, one of thousands he'd played before – just a way to get Matthew into bed. But to Matthew, it had been the best week of his life.

Matthew felt Alfred's hand rest lightly on his shoulder, and silently thanked his usually oblivious brother for knowing exactly when his words weren't wanted. Matthew just squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, then slowly lay down on the couch. "I'm going to sleep now," he managed to choke out through a tight throat. "I want to sleep forever."

"Okay, Matt." Alfred gently patted his shoulder. "I'll be right here, okay?"

Matthew nodded into a cushion. "Thanks, Al."

After an entire miserable, sleepless night and a whole wretched day of bad food, worse television, and encompassing despair, Matthew fell asleep almost instantly. He did not hear Alfred turn off the TV, did not feel the blanket placed over him. And he did not notice the text messages his brother sent and received on the couch beside him.

How is your brother?

passed out from ice and coke overdose

ice-cream, coca-cola

Oh. Poor bloke.

i know, hes gonna put on like ten pounds

Like you can talk.

you love it

Oh yes, Alfred, I love the way you're developing the incredible skill and highly enviable ability of balancing a beer can on your stomach.

yeah keep texting baby your getting me hot

I sincerely hope you are being as sarcastic as I was. I'll ask again. How is Matthew? Will he be all right?

dont know, hes real sad, i think he actually loved this francis guy

Francis? The man he was seeing?

yeah, french bastard, francis bonnefoy, baker or some shit

arthur?

arthur are you there?

helloooooo?

arthur if you dont text back im gonna call you

asdfgshjsfjkah

…huh? arthur are you alright?

Alfred, be a dear and go book me a hotel room.

what? why?

Because I am not going to crash on your brother's couch like some sort of unwashed Australian backpacker. I'll be up in the morning - I'll ring you when I arrive.

your so random arthur. hey what are you wearing?

arthur?

Constant, heavy, wind-swept rain pelted relentlessly at the front window, turning the usually warm and bright room dark and cold. The entire dull, grey afternoon seemed to seep into the patisserie, the unfamiliar atmosphere mirroring Francis' own state of misery. He leant against the front counter, chin in his hand, staring blankly at the far wall. This was the first rain in a week. The first rain since that startling, unexpected, glorious Monday morning when a shy, gorgeous accountant had sheltered in his store from the weather. The rain that day was beautiful: it had brought Matthew into Francis' life. The rain today was bitter, and lonely, and brought him nothing but despair.

Francis was still amazed at how much could change in seven days – it was hard to believe it had only been a week. One week in which Francis had changed more than he ever thought possible. One week in which he had gained hope and love and happiness and lost it all. Matthew was light and air and joy; without him, the colour had gone from the world. Now everything just seemed, well, dull. Dull and grey. Francis sighed and turned his eyes to the door, grateful for the lack of customers and silently begging them to stay away. He was not doing his best work today. Francis suddenly remembered that stupid family legend he had told Matthew by the river a few days earlier, and realised he'd had it all wrong. It wasn't love that destroyed talent. It was heartbreak.

Some part of him still blamed his friends. Francis had immediately stormed from the party on Saturday night, devastated and furious, determined never to speak to Gilbert or Antonio ever again. 'Never again' turned out to be little more than a day, however, since Francis had finally answered one of Gilbert's constant phone calls early that morning.

"Uh, hi, man."

"Hello."

"How ya going?"

"Fine."

"Uh, good. Good. Thanks for the personally monogrammed Gucci wallet. Sorry I didn't open it in front of Matthew. I know you only gave it to me to look impressive in front of him, and I'm probably gonna lose it or something, but it's still a pretty awesome gift."

"Yes. It is."

Silence. "Man, I'm really sorry."

Francis sighed. "I know, Gil. You were just doing what you always do. What we always do. It was just… incredibly unfortunate timing."

"If it makes you feel any better, Roderich's angry as all hell with me. That's probably got more to do with the lap dance though… Anyway. Francis, I… look, you're pretty awesome, you know? I'm sorry for ragging on ya. You do what you want to do, and, well, who you want to do, and that's awesome too. You're my best friend, and I just want you to be happy. So if you like Matthew… if you love him… then you'd damn well better go after him. He's one hell of a lucky guy."

"Oh Gil, I…"

"Don't you dare get sappy on me, man. This conversation never happened, get it? I know where you live!"

Seconds after Gilbert hung up, Francis finally answered a call from Antonio.

"Francis! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it, I wasn't thinking, I'm an idiot! You're my best friend in the world and please don't hate me and I don't know what I'd do if you never spoke to me again and…"

"Antonio, calm down. We're cool."

"Oh. Ohhhh! Oh, thank God, I… okay. Okay cool. I have to go now, Lovino has the day off and we're going shopping for golf clubs and ponies. You go after Matthew!"

Francis had spent the rest of the day contemplating his friend's advice. He'd rung Matthew's number exactly thirty-three times without any response. Maybe he should just turn up at Matthew's door – but what if Matthew ignored him? What if he wasn't even there? Francis' stomach turned unpleasantly. What if this was it? What if he never saw his sweet, funny, perfect Mathieu again, all because of a foolish misunderstanding? He could not bear the thought. Francis listened to the rain echoing his sadness against the window, then almost jumped when the little bell jingled over the front door. Francis looked up at the two men entering the patisserie, began a greeting, then stopped short. One of the men - the tall, well-built blond - looked incredibly similar to Matthew, though slightly less handsome of course. And the other…

"Merde!" Francis quickly ducked to avoid the bright pink cupcake that hurtled towards his head. It smashed into pieces against the wall behind him.

"You wine-swilling, snail-eating, bed-hopping BASTARD!"

Oh shit, merde, no, how, where, why, oh God WHY… "Arthur!" Francis cried out in a mixture of false delight and genuine horror from where he crouched behind the counter. "What a pleasant surprise! What hole did you crawl out from, my ros-bif friend?"

Arthur ignored the question. "Still playing the same tired games, Francis old boy?"

"...calling me old..." Francis muttered, raising his head slightly behind the counter. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Arthur's face was twisted in fury. He looked exactly as Francis remembered. "Never you mind that. This time, darling, you chose the wrong guy to play with. THIS time, YOU'RE the one who's fucked. With a ridged rolling pin. WITHOUT lube."

"But Arthur, darling, you always liked that." Francis ducked again. This time it was an entire lemon meringue pie that splattered spectacularly against the wall. "Oui, d'accord, sorry, okay." Francis stood slowly, his hands raised in surrender. "Arthur, my dear, did you really track me down simply to attack me with pastry? It seems a little excessive. We were together for three days. You dumped me via billboard. Using my money."

The man by Arthur's side looked suddenly terrified. "You what?"

Arthur just shouted. "You deserved it, frog! You slept with fifteen sailors! And FILMED it!"

Francis put his head in his hands. He really wished people would stop mentioning that particular episode of his life... Why was he even dealing with this right now? "Arthur, you told me it was over!"

The tall blond laughed. "Oh, he tells me that every day. You're not supposed to believe him." Then he suddenly stopped laughing, his eyes going wide. "Wait a minute - you know each other?"

Arthur rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Blimey, you're quick. Alfred, meet Francis – an ex-boyfriend, and a right bloody wanker."

Alfred raised his hands to his chest, his expression horrified. "Arthur, you slept with my brother's boyfriend? That's, like, incest!"

Francis let out a deep breath, understanding dawning. "Alfred? Matthew's brother?"

"Yeah, and MY boyfriend, and he can kick your arse because he's bigger than you and he plays football!" Arthur had the good sense to look slightly embarrassed after this remark. Alfred looked quite pleased.

Francis rolled his eyes. At least it was a relief to know that Arthur was here on Matthew's behalf, and not because of some three day affair almost ten years earlier. "Arthur, you sound like a fourteen year old girl. Congratulations on the win last week, Alfred."

Alfred grinned. "Thanks, dude. Wait, no. I'm angry at you! Matt's moving to Alaska and becoming a trucker because of you! I SHOULD kick your ass!"

"Alaska? Trucker?"

"Do it, Alfred! You hold him down, I'll punch!"

Francis raised his hands again, desperately seeking some sort of foothold in this mad, rapid, confusing turn of events. His little shit of a British ex was standing in his patisserie, along with Matthew's football star brother, and apparently they were lovers. This was too much to deal with on a Monday afternoon. Francis reached under the counter for a tray of pastries. "Honestly, my dears, are we in primary school here? Can we not sit and talk like adults? Here, have an éclair."

Alfred's eyes lit up as he hurried forward. "Ooh, éclair!"

Arthur threw an arm across Alfred's chest. "No!" He glared at Francis. "Keep those pervy things away from innocent American eyes. Alfred, have a cupcake."

Alfred cheerfully took the red velvet cupcake Arthur handed him. "Ooh, cupcake!"

"Now he's taken care of, you can explain yourself, frog." Arthur placed his hands on his hips. His styled sandy-blond hair, his narrowed green eyes, his perfectly-pressed tweed suit – what had Francis ever seen in this little queen?

Francis folded his arms and glared back across the counter. "I do not have to explain myself to you, Arthur. I've done nothing that deserves an explanation."

Arthur scoffed loudly. "Excuse me? Through your typical, philandering ways you've set in action a chain of events which have led to me standing here, talking to you - something I'm sure you remember I swore I would NEVER do again. You've caused Alfred and I several very early morning tearful phone calls from Matthew. You've made Alfred run out the front door at five a.m shouting something about his brother moving to Antarctica. But most of all, you've broken the heart of one of the nicest, kindest, most genuinely decent blokes I've ever met. And I think that deserves an explanation."

Francis dropped all attempts at bravado after the mention of tearful phone calls and broken hearts. He was completely distraught at the thought of Matthew torn up like that. He stared at the counter, at the tray of ridiculous éclairs, and felt like smashing them to the ground. "Is Matthew all right?" he asked softly.

Alfred looked up from his cupcake, his expression gravely stern. "No. No, he's not."

Francis felt sick. "He won't answer my calls."

Alfred shrugged. "He put his phone in the freezer."

"What am I supposed to do?" Francis ran his hands through his hair, let out a frustrated sigh, and tried not to kick the wall. He did not even care now who he was speaking to, barely noticed these two men in front of him; he thought only of his darling Matthew and how much he missed him and wanted him and… "He won't listen to me. He won't let me explain. He overheard all these things that mean nothing, he thinks I do not want to be with him, he thinks I was using him, and..." Francis paused to breathe, to calm the overwhelming anxiety in his chest. "And nothing could be further from the truth."

Both men regarded Francis suspiciously. Then Alfred spoke. "Okay. First of all, this cupcake is incredible."

Francis couldn't even affect his usual proud, polished routine. He just mumbled, "Thanks."

"Now," continued Alfred, drawing himself up to his full height, his apparent attempt at intimidation ruined by the red icing on his lips and fingers. "You're saying that you do like Matt? As more than a fling? As more than a trick?"

"As more than anything." Francis looked Alfred in the eye and spoke with every ounce of certainty he possessed. "I'm completely in love with him."

Alfred and Arthur glanced at each other, eyebrows raised. Arthur turned his still-suspicious eyes back on Francis. "You? In love?"

Francis shrugged. "What do you want me to say? How do you wish me to explain this? I've spent my entire life not even realising I was searching for something. I've made mistakes, and I've had fun, and I won't apologise for it. But in Matthew, I found everything I never knew I was looking for. He is the only person to ever make me feel like this. I love him, and I miss him, and I will do anything to convince him he is the most wonderfully unique person I have ever known."

Again, Alfred looked at Arthur. "What do you think?"

"I don't trust him," hissed Arthur. "I still think we should kick his arse."

Francis did not even know why he was explaining this to them. Maybe because it was easier than explaining it to himself. "It does not matter if you believe me." Francis closed his eyes and sighed. "None of this matters if I can't say it to Matthew. If only I could get him to listen…"

"All right, Frenchy, here's the deal." Alfred finished his cupcake, licked his fingers, then pointed at Francis. "I'll get Matt to talk to you, but I've got a couple of conditions."

Francis was caught between gasping in exhilaration and snorting in derision. How tiresome – this was like some sort of medieval courtship ritual. But if it meant he could somehow speak to Matthew… Francis gritted his teeth. "Do go on."

Alfred counted off on his fingers. "One – if you upset Matthew, I will kick your ass. Two – if you upset Arthur, oh boy, I will KICK your ASS. Three…" Alfred paused for a moment and licked his fingers again. "I'll take a carton of those cupcakes."

Francis rolled his eyes. "This talk of 'ass-kicking' is growing a little tedious, my dear. Regardless…" Francis nodded, the chance to see Matthew and explain everything too much to risk. Anticipation fired through his nerves and hope rose in his chest. "It is a deal, mon ami."

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#la patisserie de la rose chapter 5

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literatelove-blog1 · 5 years

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Top 10 Anticipated LGBT Reads of 2019

1. Willa & Hesper by Amy Feltman

Release Date: February 5th

What It’s About: Two women, Willa and Hesper fall in love in a whirlwind romance. However, when the romance begins to fall apart they turn to their roots for comfort. For Hesper, this means returning to her grandfather’s home of Tbilisi, Georgia and trying to fill in the gaps of her family history. Willa joins a Jewish group to visit some of the Holocaust sights in Germany and Poland. Through looking to their pasts, both women find a way to look towards their future.

Why I’m Interested: Jewish!! Lesbians!! Beyond that, I’m interested in the complicated relationship between the women and the way they explore their relationships with each other as well as their past and culture. It sounds beautiful and heartbreaking I can’t wait to read it!

2. Real Queer America by Samantha Allen

Release Date: March 1st

What It’s About: Samantha Allen, a once Mormon missionary now turned Daily Beast reporter and happily married to a woman, has always had a deep love for the ‘Red States’ in America and the American South. In this novel she takes a road-trip of sorts to introduce us to real life LGBT people in said states in order to give them a voice and chance to tell their stories.

Why I’m Interested: This is a collection of true stories about LGBT people in the Bible Belt written and compiled by an ex-Mormon trans woman and I’m a lesbian who grew up Mormon and now lives in Utah, so there’s definitely a personal connection for me here. Beyond that, I love getting to see/hear the voices and stories of actual LGBT people because it’s just such a comforting reminder that there are so many LGBT people out there.

3. The Parting Glass by Gina Marie Guadagnino

Release Date: March 5th

What It’s About: It’s the 19th century in New York and Mary Ballard is a ladies’ maid to wealthy socialite, Charlotte Walden. Little known to Charlotte, Mary is actually Irish immigrant Marie O’Farren whose feelings for her go far beyond the platonic. Meanwhile, Mary’s brother, a stable groom, is also enamored with Charlotte. Between Mary’s night escapades in New York and the class-breaking love her brother holds for Charlotte, The Parting Glass explores class, race, and sexuality in 19th century America in a way that feels new and fresh.

Why I’m Interested: The summary of this reminds me a lot of a Sarah Waters novel, who is like the queen of lesbian historical fiction. I love complicated relationships, vintage gay ladies, and drama and this book promises to have it all! I recently bought a copy of it so now it’s all just a matter of actually reading it!

4. Crossing by Pajtim Statovci (trans. David Hackston)

Release Date: April 2nd

What It’s About: Bujar and Agim, two friends growing up in the shadow of post-communist Albania decide to move past their individual hardships and struggles by moving to Italy. However, Italy poses its own difficulties for each boy as they explore their connections to home and history as they search to forge new identities and find belonging.

Why I’m Interested: This is the first of two translations on this list and I honestly can’t tell you how happy I am to get some more foreign LGBT literature. I don’t think I’ve ever read a novel about Albanian characters, which is thrilling enough but there are LGBT Albanian characters?! Sign me up! It sounds like it’s going to be hopeful and maybe a little heartbreaking and I’m here for it all.

5. Courting Mr. Lincoln by Louis Bayard

Release Date: April 23rd

What It’s About: Told in alternating voices between the two people who knew and loved him most, Louis Bayard paints a portrait of the famed president that few have seen before. When Mary Todd, a quick-witted debutant, meets potential presidential candidate Abraham Lincoln, mutual love and appreciation between the two grow rapidly. Watching in the middle of it all is Joseph Steed, Abraham’s roommate and closest friend, who also cares deeply for the soon-to-be president. A warm, meticulously researched novel that introduces the reader to the lesser known aspects of Lincoln’s life and the people who loved him.

Why I’m Interested: I must confess, I don’t actually know how gay this is going to be. However, the summary does mention that it will be exploring Steed’s perspective as well, and addressing the complicated nature of his and Lincoln’s friendship. Hopefully, we’ll get a glimpse of something more than just platonic in terms of feelings between them, whether those feelings are acted upon or not. Either way, I’ve heard the perspective of Mary is super well written and I really want to see that. It’ll be an interesting read and I’m excited to get my hands on it!

6. Lie With Me by Philippe Besson (trans. Molly Ringwald)

Release Date: April 30th

What It’s About: A chance encounter with a man outside a hotel causes our narrator, Philippe, to turn to the past to remember his first love, Thomas. The relationship began and blossomed their senior year in 1984, hidden in the shadows due to the nature of the time. However, their passionate, stolen moments continue to haunt Philippe to this day. Well loved and critically acclaimed in France, Molly Ringwald brings the story of first love to life for American audiences for the first time.

Why I’m Interested: Yes, it is translated by that Molly Ringwald and if that’s not intriguing enough, the plot sounds right up my alley: a (potentially) tragic love story, set in a different time period, and in a foreign country. This novel was very well received in Besson’s home country, France, and it’s definitely on the top of my hype list!

7. Mostly Dead Things by Kristen Arnett

Release Date: June 4th

What It’s About: The suicide of Jessa’s taxidermist father hits her family pretty hard. Jessa is left to keep the family business afloat, her mother keeps making sexual art with the taxidermied animals, her brother withdraws from the family after his wife, who Jessa has secretly been in love with, bails. Mostly Dead Things is a darkly funny exploration of family and loss and one of the most anticipated debuts of 2019.

Why I’m Interested: The lead is a lesbian taxidermist - how can I say no to that? I’ve also heard this is wildly weird and charming and honestly there’s not quite enough LGBT novels that are just bonkers to read so thank god we’re getting some weird gay literature! This has gotten a lot of early hype and I’m hoping it will follow through for me!

8. On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

Release Date: June 4th

What It’s About: Little Dog, a man in his late 20’s, writes a letter to his mother who cannot read. In it he describes the history of his family and their connections to Vietnam. Poetic and tender, Vuong explores the complicated love between mothers and sons and the connections to the past as well as presenting a deep, timely discussion of masculinity and race.

Why I’m Interested: I own Ocean Vuong’s poetry collection Night Sky With Exit Wounds and while I haven’t finished it quite yet the poems I have read are beautiful and dreamlike. Hopefully this will translate well into his first foray into prose and I cannot wait to read it!

9. Cantoras: A Novel by Carolina de Robertis

Release Date: September 30th

What It’s About: Beginning in Uruguay in 1977, Cantoras traces the history of five women who discover a hidden cape, Cabo Polonio, that becomes a sanctuary for the women in a time of political dissent and turmoil. Throughout the next 35 years their lives shift and change in radical ways, but they all inevitably find themselves drawn towards the cape as they move through life and the challenges it brings.

Why I’m Interested: This checks two of my favorite boxes: a historical setting and a foreign country. Also, the summary makes it sound like it’s exploring the relationship between multiple women. I’m thrilled that so many 2019 novels are about exploring relationships between women, and this book adding wlw voices into the conversation is such a great bonus. De Robertis’s last novel, The Gods of Tango, dealt with similar themes and was extremely well received so fingers crossed this is this same!

10. On Swift Horses by Shannon Pufahl

Release Date: November 5th

What It’s About: In postwar America Muriel, a newlywed, moves with her husband from Kansas to San Diego, where she grows lonely and misses home, her mother who died before she turned 19, and her brother-in-law Julien. Julien, a thief and a free spirit, has taken to Las Vegas, where he works as a dealer, and falls in love with Henry, a devious card cheat. To escape the crushing realities of her new life Muriel begins visiting her local racetrack as Julian explores the Tijuana nightlife after Henry is run out of town.

Why I’m Interested: This sounds like a wild and exciting historical epic of sorts. We’re talking about thieves, Vegas, betting on horses, and extended family relationships and I really don’t know what’s not to love about this novel so far. This will be an exciting read, already compared to great western writers like Cormac McCarthy and Annie Proulx, and November frankly is starting to seem like too far away.

+1 Leading Men by Christopher Castellani

Release Date: February 12th

What It’s About: It’s July, 1953 when Tennessee Williams and his lover, Frank Merlo, first meet Anja Blomgren. Even in the glamour of Truman Capote’s Italian party, the (fictional) Swedish actress makes a lasting impression on the famed playwright and their chance encounter will drastically change the rest of their lives. Ten years later Frank is dying and Anja now lives as a recluse but both of them each have strong connections to that summer that they cannot let go.

Why I’m Interested: I’m a deep lover of Tennessee Williams and his work; I have been ever since I saw the film adaptation of A Streetcar Named Desire when I was a young girl. I’m intrigued to see how Castellani explores the life of and loves of a great artist, especially because while I love Tennessee I don’t actually know much about his life, as well as seeing how well he mixes both fact and fiction. This has already been released and has gotten great reviews so far, so needless to say I’m excited!

#anticipated releases #lgbt literature #queer literature

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takadasaiko · 5 years

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Second Chances Chapter Eleven

FFN II AO3

Chapter Summary: Pepper and Peggy take Morgan into town to give the boys a chance to sort a few things out. It does not go as hoped.

Chapter Eleven

The moment that Pepper had taken Morgan and Peggy into town Tony had slipped back to his workshop. With Cap there he didn't have to worry about keeping Howard where he could see him and could fully focus on the task at hand. He wanted a good handle on what they were looking at before dragging the kid into it. The deeper he got into the formula, though, the more he was convinced he needed someone more geared towards chemistry to help get this done quickly. Peter was a good choice. Possibly the best choice. Heaven knew the teen was always eager to help.

With a quiet place to work and no distractions to speak of, Tony didn't surface from his research until hours later. He checked his messages to find one from Pep with a photo of Morgan covered in ice cream wearing that shit-eating grin that Pepper swore she inherited from him and a quick message saying they were having fun and not to wait up. He felt a smile tug at his own lips and rubbed at his eyes, checking the time. He'd been late on every meal that day. Why should dinner be any different?

He was met by the sound of laughter and the smell of food as he stepped into the house. Dark brows drew together as he followed it in to find Howard perched on the kitchen table, feet on the stool in front of him and a beer in his hand, and Cap mid-sentence about something that had to do with a man named Phillips. Behind him on the counter was the evidence that the super soldier had raided Tony's kitchen and there was something in the oven. "Whatcha doin'?" the younger man drawled, effectively redirecting both of their attentions on him.

"Hey, you were so caught up in the Pym Particles that I threw something together. Hope you don't mind. The girls said they'd be late."

"Got the message," Tony answered slowly, his smile a little hesitant. It was weird. His dad and Steve hanging out at his place. It was weird.

Howard hopped from his perch and moved to the fridge like he was perfectly comfortable in the space. He pulled a third beer out and slid it across the table between them. "Cap makes a mean shepherds pie. Didn't Dugan eat a whole one once?"

"He did."

"Damn that man could eat," Howard chuckled. "And drink. He came out to my place in California once and I had to restock after he left."

Cap grinned at that. "I can picture it."

Howard turned, motioning to the beer Tony hadn't touched. "If you tell me these are Pepper's I'm gonna call you a liar. I can't picture that woman drinking beer."

Tony snorted a laugh at that one, finally taking the offered drink and he popped the top off. "In all the years I've known her I saw her drink one and I think that's why I haven't seen it since."

"Wine fan?"

"Martini."

"Classy," Howard said with a grin, and motioned between Tony and Steve. "So, I bet you guys have some good stories."

"Remember the part where we're limiting your knowledge of your future?" Steve pointed out and Howard snorted.

"Are you telling me there's a current-day me running around out there? Hell. I'd be over a hundred years old. C'mon. Something from after I bit the dust?"

Tony rounding the table to find a place to lean, his early morning starting to wear on him, and he shot Cap a look. The blond man shrugged. "There was about a year in there that we all lived and worked out of Stark Tower in New York City after Hydra…. showed back up on our radar."

"Those bastards just don't take the hint, do they?" Howard grumbled and Tony was halfway to making the comment when Steve shot him a glare and cut him off.

"It's been years. Drop it."

"It doesn't get old."

"It really does."

"What's that?" Howard asked and Tony flashed Cap a grin.

"Nothing. Just giving Cap hell."

"Some things never change," Steve murmured, but his tone bordered on affectionate. "What about one of the stories from when you flew us over occupied Europe? Tony said he hadn't heard about you with the Howling Commandos."

"I'll make a mental note to fix that failed choice," Howard promised.

"I heard some," Tony said and motioned at Cap. "Most of them were just centered around you."

"Probably because they bailed out at the jump points," Howard offered as Steve turned to grab the food. "Poland was the only one I was on the ground for."

Steve stiffened at that one and Tony tilted his head curiously. "Okay. Now I have to ask."

"Then I'm going to need something stiffer. Your liquor cabinet was locked though."

"We do have a five-year-old," Tony reminded him as he walked over to the cabinet and tapped the code in. He reached for a bottle of bourbon in the back. "So what's the story?"

"Howard crashed the plane. Only reason he was on the ground with us. Where are your plates?"

Tony pointed to the shelf as Howard shot Steve an offender look. "The blown engines from nazis shooting at us might have had something to do with it. I dare you to find another pilot on the planet that coulda made that landing."

"Maybe Tony," Steve offered. "He brought a quinjet down when I thought we'd finally had it once."

"Hey," Tony snapped, looking over at him. "You said you didn't question me for a second."

"Apparently my poker face is getting better. Who's hungry?"

Tony knew what Cap was doing, and as much as he knew he should probably fight it he couldn't seem to drum up the willpower. There was something nice about sitting around eating and having a drink or two with his father as a man he had come to consider a close friend, despite everything that had happened between them. He took a seat at the table and caught Howard's eye. "So how'd you bring it down?"

He didn't think he'd ever seen Howard look more excited than he did in that moment.

___________

Peggy hadn't been sure exactly what she expected from her afternoon out with the Stark girls. Afternoon bled into evening, though, and she found herself enjoying every moment of it. Pepper was everything Peggy had thought she might be at first glance and more. Clever, poised, and confident in everything that she did. She was just as comfortable talking about her family and the way that they were raising Morgan as she was the approach she took as the head of Stark Industries. If Howard realized yet that his company was in his daughter-in-law's hands rather than his son's, she wasn't sure, but she was certain that they seemed to be very capable hands.

The town was full of little shops and places to duck into. The boys had scrounged some relatively decent clothes for her to wear in the past week, but Pepper helped her find something she was actually comfortable in. Vintage, she called it, but Peggy felt more comfortable in them than she had since she'd arrived.

Between fittings and different shops - including ice cream and a trip to Morgan's favourite toy store - she and Pepper swapped stories about expectations at their places of work. The ginger woman laughed thinly as she told a story about one of Stark Industry's oldest board members who had popped off to Tony when he'd appointed her CEO. There was some slight about her capabilities and a lewd insinuation about how she got the position. Tony'd had his say, Pepper told her. Tony always had his say, but Pepper had found her own moment to make it absolutely clear to the man exactly what she brought to the table. And then she'd proved it every minute since then.

"Different generation, same men," Peggy groused as they walked through the town square, Morgan running off the sugar rush from the ice cream just a few steps ahead of them.

"I hope we get a little stronger, a little wiser with each generation," Pepper said quietly, her gaze on her daughter. "We can only build off the women that have come before us."

"A lot's happened since my generation," Peggy confirmed. "Every inch was a battle in the SSR. Strangely enough, the battlefield felt more accepting than the aftermath."

"Next time she's on-planet, we need to introduce you to Carol. Before she was Captain Marvel she served in the Air Force. I think you'd like her."

"I'm sure I would."

"Mama, I'm hungry," Morgan said, twirling to a stop in front of them. "Can we have cheeseburgers?"

"What about pizza from that nice little place a couple of streets over."

"Okay, but don't make Aunt Peggy eat the gross stuff. I want to keep her."

Peggy felt a smile tug into place. "Do I get the seal of approval then?"

Morgan turned a look on her. "Yeah, I guess so."

Pepper held a finger up as she dug her phone from the pocket in her dress. That left a pair of bright brown eyes staring up at Peggy, all of that five-year-old Stark curiosity hyper-focused. Peggy offered her a smile. "So I'm Aunt Peggy, am I?"

"You're Uncle Steve's girlfriend, right? I think that makes you Aunt Peggy."

"Well, technically not, but I suppose we'll let the technicality slide if you want it to." She motioned over to the bench on the side of the street and took a seat. The little girl joined her enthusiastically. "Do your parents bring you here often?"

"Sometimes. People like to ask Daddy a lot of questions and he doesn't like it."

"What kind of questions?"

"How he got the stuff on his face," Morgan said, motioning to the right side of her own face. "Lots of other things too. Stuff he doesn't like to talk about."

"Your daddy saved a lot of people, didn't he?"

Morgan looked down to where she was swinging her feet. "I guess so."

"And he came home to you. Not everyone gets that. You must be a very special little girl that he fought so hard to get back to you."

"Yep," she answered and Peggy laughed at that.

"Modest too. You must get that from your grandfather."

"What's modest?"

"When we get back to your house, why don't you ask Howard that? Tell him your Aunty Peggy said to."

"Okay."

Pepper ended her call and started back towards them. "Sorry, Stark Industries has this massive expo coming up that I'd… completely forgotten about, which I was not actually aware I was capable of. I guess having your husband's father travel forward in time and crash with you will do that."

Peggy perked. "What kind of expo?"

"Oh, it's a thing that Tony likes to do. Howard started it, actually."

She thought that might have been it. Peggy smiled brightly. "The Stark Expo, isn't it? I never had the pleasure of going, but the boys told me all about it on one of our outings. Sergeant Barnes said something about a flying car?"

"Mama, Mama, can I have a suit for the expo?" Morgan demanded and Pepper gave her a tight smile like she'd been put on the spot.

"We'll see what Daddy can put together, huh?"

"Can I fly?"

"No."

"Can I shoot beams?"

"You can pretend to shoot beams?"

"Okay!"

Peppery was chuckling at that as she turned her attention back towards Peggy. "It's a big event where inventors all over the country show off. Honestly, the last time we did it it was Tony's ego gone wild. This time… I think it came from the right place. It's the only reason I didn't put my foot down." She motioned and Peggy stood so they could start walking again. "Things have changed a lot in the last few years. Half the universe's population was literally snapped out of existence, and then back in. The adjustment one way and then the other within just a few years has been hard. People need something good to focus on."

"I think it's a lovely idea," Peggy said. "I'd love to go."

The other woman flashed her a bright smile. "I think you should. And who knows, maybe tonight will be good and we can even bring Howard along if he's still here."

"I hope so. Howard is… many things. Certainly not all of them good, but he tries. I can't imagine a world where he'd do any less with Tony growing up."

"I wasn't there. All I know is what Tony's told me, and he…. Wants to believe that. I think he has trouble believing it sometimes, but he wants to."

Peggy made a small sound of acknowledgement. If anyone could bring the two men together, it was Steve. She had to hope things were going well back at the cabin.

___________

Peter had thought that Fury might be driving him to some Manhattan SHIELD location, but they hadn't stop until they reached an airport. He had hesitated, but Fury hadn't cared. He didn't get a say as the SHIELD director had handed him a headset and ushered him onto a helicopter.

By the time it was all said and done the sun was sinking in the sky and they were landing a structure that had come up out of the ocean below them. Aunt May was going to kill him. Hell, Mr Stark was going to kill him. He'd warned him about Fury. Told him to turn around and walk away if the man ever approached him. He was pretty sure that this wasn't what his mentor had had in mind.

"Raft Prison," Fury explained through the headset and Peter's attention jerked back around towards him.

"Did I do something wrong?" the teen managed and the older man tilted his head, eye narrowed. He didn't look amused, exactly. Peter wasn't sure he really could get a read on him.

"I want to show you something."

They landed on the helipad below and Peter hesitantly jumped from their ride. Wind whipped around him, the waves crashed against the structure, and his senses were in overdrive. He jumped when Fury put a hand on his shoulder, guiding him.

"Uh… so what is it that you wanted to show me?" he managed as Fury leaned down, lifted his eyepatch, and a scanner took a reading of his blind eye.

He straightened and motioned for Peter to follow. "It's been almost a year since the Avengers managed to snap half of the universe's population back into existence."

"Yeah. I was one of them."

"So was I." He kept walking and Peter had to scurry to keep up. "So was Hill and plenty of others. Some not so great."

They approached another door at the end of the hall and he granted access. Inside was a room full of monitors, computers, and people. If Peter had to place a bet, he'd say they were probably SHIELD agents, even though this was supposed to be a US government owned facility. From what he knew, anyway.

"This facility holds the worst of the worst. Maniacs."

"Isn't this where they put some of the Avengers when the Sakovia Accords were signed?"

"Yes it was. If it can hold Wanda Maximoff, it can hold most anybody." He paused, and Peter questioned if it was for dramatic effect. "Most anybody."

"Director Fury, sir, I'm not sure why I'm here."

"When Banner used the gauntlet to snap everyone back, he didn't just snap the good guys home. The bad came with us." The monitors flickered without Fury even asking them to. A collection of names and faces, some captured, some at large appeared on the screens. "We've spent the last year rounding up who we could, but it's not enough. We need the Avengers."

Peter blinked hard. "Okay… I get that. That makes sense, but why am I the only one here?"

"Stark is out of commission. If it's by his own choice or not doesn't really matter. He's made it very clear in the last year that he has no interest in coming back to the Avenger Initiative, and I suppose the man's served his time."

"Cap's back," Peter offered before really thinking it through. Oops. Maybe Fury didn't know about that. Shouldn't know about that. Shit shit shit….

"With friends. You think they hid that from us?" the spy asked with a shrug. "He's distracted. Romanoff is… gone. Barton refuses to come back. Thor has disappeared into space from what I hear, and Banner has settled into a life as far away from this as he can get. We need someone dependable. Stark thinks your dependable."

"Then why isn't he asking me?"

"He's not. He doesn't know you're here." Well that might have been one of the more honest things to come out of Fury's mouth. "But that doesn't matter. What matters is this -" he motioned at the monitors - "and what's out there. It's time for a new generation to step up. Are you ready?"

"I'm fifteen. Don't you want someone… I don't know? Older? That's been doing the whole superhero gig longer than I have?"

"You're the one Stark trusted when he needed someone. The one he was willing to risk time travel to bring back. You're special, son, and we need you."

Peter swallowed hard, looking back towards the monitors and all of the names of all of the bad guys that hadn't been caught, dangerous faces staring back at him.

___________

Howard's grin split wide open as Tony nearly rocked off the stool laughing. "No," he chuckled. "No way."

"I swear I said it."

"And no one can counter it because everyone that was with him is now dead," Steve pointed out.

"Because I make the best kinds of friends," Howard countered. "The ones that come get you when nazi bastards take you hostage."

Steve chuckled at that, shaking his head and taking a long swig of his beer. The other two were feeling it by this point and he wished he could too. Then maybe he could shove back that guilty twinge that kept cropping back up in instigating this. To be fair, he hadn't kept refilling Tony's glass. That was all Howard. He seemed determined to help his son catch up to the happy state he was already living in. "I swear, you and I remember this story so differently."

"How so?" Tony pried.

"Howard seems to remember the funny parts, while I remember the fact that one of my closest friends nearly died."

"Oh, I did not nearly die," Howard groused.

"You were unconscious when we found you. Shot it the back. Did you forget that part?"

"Oh yeah," Howard chuckled tipsily. "That hurt like hell. I mean, you guys said it did, but still... "

"What happened?" Tony pressed again, his expression more concerned now.

Howard waved him off. "They told me to stay put and I didn't. It was fine. I had a clear path out, or would have except for that one kid. Couldn't have been more than eighteen. Maybe younger. I had him talked down until he decided to take the shot when I was halfway outta the door."

"I never knew you'd gotten shot."

Howard leaned forward from where he was sitting on top of the table, his fingers touching just above his hip on his back. "Yep. .38 slug. Revolver." His expression sobered a little. "That armor of yours… How well does it keep a round out?"

"These days it does. I mean, it's not impenetrable, but a bullet's not going to break through. The Mark I wasn't as well designed, but what are you gonna do in an Afghani cave?" Tony took another swig of his bourbon.

That caught Howard's attention. "Afghani cave?"

Tony coughed against his drink and set it down. "Yeah… That's, uh, how all this started."

"Okay, kid, your turn. Tell us a story."

Tony shot Howard a look before giving in. "About fifteen years ago - sixteen, I guess? - I was on a demo out in Afghanistan for a new missile I'd designed. Jerricho. It was the highlight of Stark Industries then and I wanted to show it off, so I went in person." He stopped, and Steve thought he was trying to work through the haze he must have been feeling by this point to make sure he didn't give anything too time-altering away. "I was taken by a group of terrorists and built my first suit to get out." He pulled the collar of his shirt back to show a small scar barely visible through the scarring the stones had left on him. This one looked like it could have been left by a fragment of a bullet. "Only so much you can do with scraps. One made it through. Granted, that was after one of my own missiles went off right in front of me and filled my chest with shrapnel." He tapped the ARC reactor. "That's how I got this at first."

Steve pursed his lips, struggling with if he should ask the questions battering around his mind right then. He'd never heard Tony speak anywhere close to openly about his time in Afghanistan and SHIELD's files were thin at best on it. What had happened in that cave was between him and the ghosts left behind and Steve would have been lying if he said he wasn't curious. Finally he gave. "When you got home?"

"Oh no. In the cave," Tony acknowledged and Steve felt his chest tighten.

Howard reached forward, even as Tony pulled back instinctively. "Let me see?"

Slowly, carefully, Tony undid the buttons of his shirt to show the ARC reactor. Howard leaned in to study it. "In a cave?" he demanded, and Steve thought he was having just as much trouble wrapping his mind around it. "Is this casing here? How deep does it go?"

"Deep enough."

"How the hell did you survive that?"

"I've been told I'm a stubborn bastard."

"No shit."

Tony chuckled roughly at that, his fingers moving over the smooth casing over the reactor. "I had it taken out a few years ago. The shrapnel removed and the casing filed down so that they could put a plate in place and graft some skin over it. Left a hell of a scar, but it was… a promise to Pepper. One I didn't make good on, really. With the exception of nearly dying to save the universe, I've done better at that."

It was Steve's turn to make a small sound of amusement. Leave it to Tony to make a statement like that. Whenever he needed to use something he'd done to make a point, he waved the feat around like a banner. If he were honest, though, if he was laying it out without his usual flair, he waved it off. He'd saved them all and he made a joke about it.

"You've got a good one there," Howard murmured.

"You've got one on the way."

Steve looked over and Tony's expression was distant.

I don't care. He killed my mom.

The words rang out in his mind like he were voicing them right then and there. He'd never met Tony's mom. Never knew her, but he knew Howard, and a woman that was able to balance him out had to be on par with Pepper or maybe even stronger.

Howard gave a real, honest smile at Tony's statement. "Got a good kid on the way as far as I can tell too."

Tony snorted at that, leaning heavily against the table. He winced and Steve couldn't help but notice how he was clenching and unclenching his right hand like it was hurting him. "Wish you'd voiced that over the years," he said softly.

Oh no. No no no. This was exactly what Tony had wanted to avoid. This right here. It was what he was trusting Steve to stop.

The blond cleared his throat. "Tony, have you heard from Peggy and Pepper?"

Howard didn't seem to catch the drift. "What'dya mean?"

Tony looked up, his expression torn as he shook his head. "You don't know. You're not him."

"But I will be. If you tell me I can -"

"You can't fix it," Tony snapped. "You can't fix my screwed up childhood or the fact that I thought you hated me for years. You can't change that, Howard, and even if you could…. Maybe you shouldn't."

"Tony, I had a non-existent at best relationship with my old man. Why wouldn't I do everything I can to make yours and mine better?"

"Because I am who I am because you screwed up," Tony growled and Steve saw Howard physically flinch back at the words. "I was a screw up because of you and because I was a screw up, I ended up in Afghanistan. Because I was in Afghanistan, I became Iron Man. Because I became Iron Man, I saved the world. Not once, but twice. You take me out of the equation and Thanos wins. I fought too hard, I gave up too much to let that happen. I -" He stopped, the grimace pronounced now as he doubled over on the stool, and Steve leapt forward to steady him. "I'm fine," he snarled.

"You don't look fine," Steve murmured softly, not willing to be pushed away. He was worried Tony would tople if he did. The closer he got, the more worried he was. He was paling quickly, his right arm failing him and he was growing more agitated because of it. "Tony?"

"I haven't tested it," he gasped out.

"Tested what?"

"The Extremis mix with a lot of alcohol."

Steve sighed. That would have been good to know.

"Drop the judgement," the dark haired man snapped.

"I'm not… Tony, I'm worried about you. Do I need to get you to a hospital?"

"No, I'm fine. FRIDAY?"

"Scans show your within safe parameters, Boss."

"See?"

"Barely."

"Shut it, FRIDAY."

"Okay. Fine, but let's call it a night, huh? It's late. The girls will be home soon and you -"

"Yeah. Sure. If Cap says it, must be a good call."

Steve did his best not to feel the sting of the sharp retort. He was in pain. That much was becoming more and more obvious. He had to give him space. "You need help getting upstairs or can you make it?"

"I've got it," Tony growled, pushing himself off the seat.

Steve watched, forcing himself to remain where he was as the other man made his way unsteadily towards the stairs and up each one with increasing effort. "Hey FRIDAY?" he asked quietly when he thought Tony was out of earshot.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Could you let me know if he needs help?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Thanks," he huffed, turning back around to the dishes. Might as well clean it up. Tony hated a mess left out.

"I don't know what to do."

Steve turned, finding Howard sitting with his shoulders hunched over.

"I always know what to do."

"This is different."

"I get it's complicated, but I can fix almost anything given time, but this…. I'm not sure I can fix this, Cap. Was I really so bad?"

"I don't know, Howard. I was in the ice," Steve acknowledged softly.

His friend sagged against the table and Steve reached out to put a hand against his shoulder. He couldn't help him. He couldn't help Tony either. The whole thing was a mess.

___________

He hadn't given Fury an answer one way or the other. The SHIELD director dropped him back off in Queens, his lego set in hand, and Peter climbed the stairs to his apartment numbly. He'd texted Ned and promised he would explain first chance he got, then he'd texted Aunt May who had not been quite as understanding. At least she'd calmed down by the time he got home and he found her curled up on the couch with a book in hand.

"Hey," he greeted hoarsely.

"Hey yourself. Everything okay?"

"I…." He winced, not sure how to answer that. "I don't know yet."

"Was that Mr Stark that stole you away this afternoon?"

"No. It was… someone else."

"One of the other Avengers?"

"Sort of? I can't…"

She stood, crossing the space between them and suddenly he was being pulled into a hug. "I don't like this, Peter."

"I know, Aunt May."

"But I can't stop you either, can I?"

"Uncle Ben always said that if you could help, you should. I can - I have- done a lot of good."

"And someone wants you to do more, don't they?"

"How did you…?"

"Because I know you," she said with a wink. Her smile was strained and she leaned in and kissed his forehead. "I can't stop you, but I need you to be careful. I need you to be smart."

"I know."

"If you can't tell me about it, talk to Mr Stark. Maybe he can help."

"I'm worried," he confessed softly.

"About what?"

"That if he gets in the middle of it that he'll get hurt again."

Aunt May pulled him into another hug, this one crushing. "He cares about you. As frustrating as that man is, he was willing to give up everything to bring you home. That has to count for something." The teen nodded against her shoulder. "Go call him?"

"Okay," he managed and turned back to his room, tossing the bag down and digging his cell out of his pocket before he took a heavy seat on the bed. He pulled in a deep breath and clicked Mr Stark's name from the speed dial before he could talk himself out of it, holding the phone up to his ear.

It rang once. Twice. Again and again until -

"You know who I am. Leave a message."

The line beeped, signalling Peter to start talking, but he hung up instantly. Aunt May was right. Mr Stark did care about him. He had risked everything to bring him home, and it was because of that that Peter couldn't tell him. He couldn't risk him coming to the rescue like he always did and getting hurt again. Or worse. This time, Peter had to protect Tony.

___________

It was late by the time they got home. Morgan fell asleep in her booster on the way back and Pepper had to carry her into the house. "You and Steve are welcome to stay over," she murmured softly to Peggy. "It'd be too late when you got back to Brooklyn."

"Isn't Howard already taking up your guest bedroom?"

"We have two."

They made their way further into the house to find Steve crashed out on the couch. Okay, Peggy could have the spare bedroom to herself. She seemed perfectly alright with that and Pepper sent a very sleepy Morgan upstairs to brush her teeth before bed so that she could get the other guest room ready. Fresh sheets in place and everything set up, she turned to head to bed herself.

"She's my granddaughter."

Pepper looked around at the sudden voice and found Howard sitting at her kitchen table, a bottle of bourbon much more empty than it had begun at the beginning of the evening. "Yes she is."

"I knew that. I mean, here -" he tapped his temple - "but somewhere along the way it actually settled into place. Tony's not just the kid that I will have. He's already been there. Everything's set in stone for him. No changing it."

Oh. Something had happened. Something that she hadn't expected. "You can't change the past just by traveling to it."

"No you can't," Howard Stark chuckled. "You're smart. I see why Tony loves you."

"I'd like to think it's more than just that."

"Yeah."

Pepper frowned a little as she inched forward. "He loves you, you know."

"I messed up."

"You will." He looked up, his expression hurt and she offered a small smile. "Every parent does. I have. Tony has. We all do. It's what we do with that that matters."

"I don't want to be my father."

"You won't be. You'll make your own mistakes, just like Tony makes his." She glanced towards the stairs. "What'd he say?"

"That I screwed him up…. But it made him who he was, and if I changed that he wouldn't be who he is. Who he thinks he needs to be."

That sounded like Tony. "Tony will be Tony. He's…. This is a crazy world we live in. A world that, apparently, has multiple possibilities and branches of the universe that splinter off in every direction with each decision we make. One thing I'm sure of is that Tony remains who he is in every one of them. I've known him too long, through too much to believe anything else."

She found Howard staring at her and she reached forward, a hand on his arm that she hoped was comforting. "Just know that he comes around eventually, and he knows you did your best."

"I didn't get that from him tonight."

"Well, he's human. And when he drinks he acts like an idiot. It's the worst time to ask him about how he feels about things." Howard snorted a soft chuckle and Pepper smiled. "Get some sleep. We'll see you in the morning."

"G'night, Pepper."

She turned, pausing only briefly to check on Peggy who was crouched down next to a half-asleep Steve Rogers on their couch and waved goodnight before making her way upstairs.

Morgan's room was empty, but she had a pretty good idea where the little girl had snuck off to, and she was right. She lay curled up next to her daddy in the king sized bed and snoring softly.

Tony, surprisingly enough, wasn't asleep yet.

Pepper inched her way closer and caught his attention. "Hey."

"Hey," he answered back, his voice raspy.

"I hear you had a rough night."

"I drank too much," he admitted softly. "You pissed?"

"You planning to make a habit of it?"

"No."

"Then I'll let it slide this once." She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You okay?"

"Everything hurts."

Pepper pulled back at the quiet confession and she saw the strain in his expression. She reached down, hand brushing against grey-flecked hair. "Just a sec, okay?"

He mumbled an acknowledgement and she moved to change quickly into a t-shirt and sleeping shorts. He wasn't asleep when she came back and she curled up against his back, her arm around his middle and she felt him take hold of her hand, their daughter on his other side curled up against his chest in the same way. Pepper relaxed against him and pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. "Any better?"

"Yeah," he breathed and she tightened her hold as much as she dared. They would have to deal with the fallout in the morning, she knew, but for now they could sleep.

___________

TBC

Notes: So... this turned out longer than expected. Nearly 6K long. Glad I didn't try to combine it with the last chapter.

I feel like I should mention that I have not actually seen Far From Home yet, so while I have a vague understanding of what happens in the movie, I don't know the specifics. I just haven't been able to bring myself to watch yet. All that to say, if something in this story doesn't line up with FFH, that's why. It is an AU, though, so there is that.

Next Time: Peter struggles with his decision and plans are made for the Stark Expo.

#Endgame fix it fic #Tony Stark #Pepper Potts #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #Howard Stark #Morgan Stark #Peter Parker #Aunt May #Nick Fury

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yasbxxgie · 5 years

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Song that will live for ever more because of Boney M On the 40th anniversary of the disco stars' record that became a festive classic, lead singer Liz Mitchell recalls struggles that led to the magical success of Mary's Boy Child

By late November 1978 Boney M had established themselves as one of the giants of disco. With their gold lamé suits and leopardskin posing pouches the quartet had scored Top 10 hits with songs such as Daddy Cool, Brown Girl In The Ring and Rasputin - but the best was yet to come. The track they released for that year's Christmas became the UK's fastest-selling single and to this day is the 11th bestselling song of all time with sales of 3 million. It was, of course, Mary's Boy Child.

As the yuletide classic celebrates its 40th anniversary the group's original lead singer reveals how it took punishing vocal sessions in the studio to propel it to global success.

Liz Mitchell, 66, admits she still struggles to believe just how successful the track has become. "Some people play the lottery all their life and never win a penny," she says.

"Others play once and hit the jackpot and that's how it felt with Mary's Boy Child.

"I was in the right place at the right time. It was only decided to record it at the last minute and although singing a track in the studio more than 50 times in one session - including lead, backing vocals, harmonies and all the oohs and aahs - was very hard work, we created something very special which has endured over the past four decades.

"Every year people of all ages come up and tell how much the song reminds them of precious family time together at Christmas. It's truly magical."

Mary's Boy Child was originally recorded by the "King of Calypso" Harry Belafonte in 1956 and first became the UK's festive No 1 in 1957.

The Boney M version - full title Mary's Boy Child/Oh My Lord, after producer Frank Farian added a new section - was recorded seven weeks before Christmas 1978, being rushed out to shops 40 years ago this week before going to top the charts for four weeks, making it the 1978 Christmas No 1 and staying in the top spot for the first weeks of 1979.

Two music videos were produced to promote the single, both featuring the band in white furry coats.

While they looked cosy and warm Liz discovered just how unsuitable they were for winter weather when they received an invitation soon after to perform in Russia.

"Our record company's pressing plant in West Germany couldn't keep up with demand for our records so they asked for help from a pressing plant in East Berlin and then another in Poland - both behind the Iron Curtain.

"Word spread about us in what was then the Soviet Union and we received an invite from President Brezhnev to perform there, which no other Western act had previously done.

"We played ten packed-out shows at the Kremlin in just seven days and only discovered later that everyone in the crowd for the first three nights was a politician.

They had all come from the nine Soviet time zones just to see us.

"We then had to perform in Red Square in front of St Basil's Cathedral in our white, furry Mary's Boy Child video outfits, which looked cosy but were actually paper thin, meaning we had no protection from the minus 30C temperatures.

So the locals washed our hands in vodka, telling us it would keep out the cold, while advising that drinking it would keep us warm on the inside.

"We were introduced to President Brezhnev but to me he was just one of the endless list of dignitaries we had to shake hands with and my great memory of that time is that we had expensive caviar laid out for every meal.

"Moscow then was a very dark place compared with today where the neon lights make it probably the brightest city in the world."

It was a remarkable experience for a young woman who grew up in Harlesden, London, after arriving from Jamaica with her family in 1964.

She vividly remembers her first impression of England: "Everything was grey, foggy and wet."

Three years later she auditioned for a part in the counter-culture musical Hair.

At that first audition Liz - then aged 15 - was considered too young but the casting agent kept her in mind and three years later gave her a part in the German production.

Liz duly moved to Germany to replace her friend and fellow future pop star Donna Summer in the cast.

She went on to join local group the Les Humphries Singers but at the age of 22 decided to play it safe and return to London to attend secretarial college.

"I was worried my chance of show business success had come and gone and that it was time to go back to London and find a proper job," she explains. "But back home I received a call asking me to return to Germany to perform and after a show in Berlin one night I met Frank Farian, who was putting together a new studio group.

Their early recordings were so successful that Boney M went on to challenge Abba for the title of biggest pop group on the planet in the late 1970s.

Apart from Mary's Boy Child, the group had massive international hits such as Daddy Cool, Ma Baker, Sunny, Rasputin, Rivers Of Babylon and Brown Girl In The Ring.

The sound on the records was entirely the work of Liz, second singer Marcia Barrett and producer Frank, and it was a winning formula which helped Boney M sell more than 150 million records worldwide before splitting in 1986.

Although Boney M was a four-piece act, Liz was the only member of the group who can be heard on all the hits.

"Frank is a wonderful producer and he was very special to me," she says.

"He was the one who found the magic and recognised what my voice could do. And I'll always be grateful. Marcia is also a wonderful person and we were the ones in the studio singing multiple lead and backing vocals for hours on end.

"There has not been enough clarity over the years in terms of who did what in Boney M but fortunately Frank Farian has since stated that all members of the group could have been replaced except for me. And I like to think that when it comes to the music Liz Mitchell is the sound of Boney M."

Liz married her manager Thomas in 1979 and the couple, who live in Berkshire, have three children: two sons Aaron and Twan and daughter Adero.

And she still tours as The Legends Of Disco - Liz Mitchell and this Christmas will be performing in South Africa and Canada.

She says: "The fans have always stayed incredibly loyal, encouraging me to continue. I am so grateful to them."

Liz adds: "Wherever we play around the world we are always sold-out with fans of all ages many of whom were not even born when we having hits in the 1970s. And in 2018 it's wonderful to be celebrating the music of 40 years ago.

"I've been truly blessed to have had the voice that God gave me, which has given me such a wonderful life."

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houseravenclaw09 · 5 years

Text

Blizzard

Summary: This is my first attempt at fan fiction, well first attempt at writing anything since finishing school. I had this idea for a modern AU for Steve and Peggy, but this prequel of sorts kept getting in the way. This prequel is also much longer than I ever intended. I’m a day late for Steggy week day 4, as a what-if. This is my idea of what could have happened back in 1943.

Rating: Adult

Prologue

October 1943

Poland

The scent of snow was heavy in the air, and the smell was only getting stronger. At least it wasn’t the smell of herring, she told herself. Heavy clouds were moving in and the wind was picking up. And Agent Margaret “Peggy” Carter was running for her life.

She could hear the barking dogs getting closer, their handlers shouting orders to the men on her trail. She lost precious time when trying to cross the icy river, and she knew the cold was seeping deep into her legs. She pushed past the pain to maintain her run. She continues to follow the shepherd trail, trying to stay low as the brush cleared the higher she climbed into the mountains along the trail. Her lungs burning with the higher elevation, making her feel the blood loss even more acutely. She tried to keep pressure over the wound, more to stem the blood so there was less of a trail for the dogs.

Not daring to slow down to pull out the map, she used her memory of the landscape to guide her as the snow started to fall. Knowing that her trail was becoming much easier to follow, she shouldered her pack more securely, her rifle slung over her good shoulder, and started to zig zag around her destination. She grabbed branches to drag behind her to mask her foot prints as she grew tired after the snow began to accumulate. The wind whipping through her uniform, making her regret once again the need to cross those ice currents hours before.

The wind swallowing sound as it increased, making the snow feel like icy pellets when it hit her face. She hadn’t heard the dogs or the guards for a few hours. The snow already up to her ankles. Knowing she still needed to gather firewood, she started back towards the cave. She left the branches a little distance from the cave to keep her hands free to draw her pistol. Stealthily she approaches the hidden entrance, her booby trap still in place about 3 feet from the mouth of the cave when it was at its narrowest. She squeezed through the best she could, her pack making it difficult. When she was through, she turned on her torch and inspected the small cave. Her fire pit at the ready and a small amount of firewood where she left it. She dropped her pack and rifle once she deemed it safe and started a fire. Keeping her sidearm at the ready she ventured back through the cave, putting her trap back up as she exited.

The wind already did its job to hide her trail, she had a little difficulty finding those branches again. She gathered as many branches as she could, her shoulder screaming at her for carrying the growing pile of wood. She brought the first load of wood into the cave and repeated the steps 5 more times, before stopping. She knew that the amount wasn’t nearly enough, but she was feeling light headed and knew she was close to blacking out, combination of the thinner air and the blood she has lost on her escape from the trap Hydra had laid for her.

Only after she felt satisfied her booby trap was in place did she finish making camp. She was melting snow, ready to boil her med kit tools in the water. She could feel the bullet in her shoulder when she left around. She grabbed a sturdy stick and placed it between her teeth, her left hand a little shaky when she dug around inside the bullet hole. She lost consciousness twice before she was able to pull the bullet out. Still biting down on the stick, she pulled a burning branch from the fire and screamed around the make shift gag as she cauterized her own wound. She made sure the branch was back in the fire before she collapsed on top of her make shift bed.

At the same time, the SSR camp in Italy

Steve Rogers, better known as Captain America, had recently returned from his mission to Naples. The Howling Commandos had been sent to provide tactical support to free the city from Nazi forces. He cleaned up as soon as he had returned and put on his pressed uniform before reporting to Colonel Phillips to give his mission debrief. During the meeting he noticed the absence of Agent Carter, only asking about her whereabouts when the Colonel dismissed him. Phillips pauses before answering.

“Agent Carter was sent to Poland to make contact with one of her intelligence sources. She has missed all of her scheduled check-ins and is two days late returning to camp.” Phillips turned to look out at the camp. “I’m drawing up the papers to declare Agent Carter missing in action.”

Steve felt like he had been punched in the gut. “Colonel, tell me where she was sent. I’ll find her, and bring her back.”

Phillips sat back down on his desk chair “Captain, you are forgetting again that you do not get to give me orders. Missing in action doesn’t mean dead, or that we give up on her.”

“Colonel, we can’t just leave her behind. Please, I know Agent Carter. I know how she thinks. If the mission went south, I can track her.”

Phillips rapped his pen against his desk, thinking. Finally he spoke “Captain, Lieutenant Winters has the mission details. I want your rescue plan in my hands in 2 hours. I’ll let you know my decision once I’ve reviewed it. Only if I feel that there is a high measure of success, will I give the order. Are we clear?”

Saluting “Yes, Sir.”

Turning, Steve quickly hunted down Winters who handed over the mission plans including maps of Poland, and the latest weather forecasts. The blizzard was unseasonably early and stronger than predicted. It was expected to last several more days, days that Carter couldn’t afford. With 10 minutes to spare, he was back in front of the Colonel going over his rescue plan. The Colonel spoke little and put the papers down. He looked up at Steve “I haven’t said anything about the crush you and Carter have on each other, and this is not a conversation either if you will enjoy when I do. The only chance of success on this is the truth right here, right now. Do you believe you can find Agent Carter and bring both of you back safely?”

“Yes, Sir. I do”

“Mission approved.”

#steggy #steggyweek2k19 #steve rogers #peggy carter #fan fiction #first attempt

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antheiin · 5 years

Text

Revered - Supergiant Challenge

Part 2 - 2,689 Words

It’s not the right time to make a grand escape. Not at first. Apparently, it’s midday, a bit past the estimations Miriam had previously made. The light just came in too oddly for her to discern the position of the sun, or face this structure into context with the rest of the world. Something about being told a little bit more about what she’s missing out of her memory makes this a bit more real, and it helps her catch just how antsy Fedir seems.

Anxiety is another one of those traits that seemed to have passed between them. Fedir carries himself in that same nervous way she does, and as Miriam pulls the hood of the sweatshirt over her, things seem to change just slightly on one of those cosmic sorts of levels. There is danger here, and the idea of being flayed isn’t any better when it’s an imminent part of your life.

But, there is no moving out, and no grand, Mission Impossible style escapade. Instead, Fedir sits with her on the edge of the bare bones bed, and talks through these ideas in his head that are just now being spelled out. While her trust in him is infinite, the fear is still there, the factor of unknown that comes from entering another reality. No matter how much she believes in him in her heart of hearts, this is still not the Fedir she remembers holding, and no image she has ever perceived before this moment. There is a period of time that her mind was absent for, and it was a great long time, if time has passed the way she thinks it may have.

They will leave that night, he says, and there will be no true sense of freedom until they are well out of this town, and escape to somewhere they can be picked up as hitchhikers. Twenty miles northwest of the town is the M1 highway in Belarus, an area with enough traffic for a friendly car to snag them until they can cross the border, and perhaps, leave the continent entirely. It seems so simple, in the purest of senses. Moving from one place to another takes little more than feet and legs.

So, Miriam spends the warmest part of the afternoon restless, in and out of bed, pacing in restless paces around her room. Twice, the anxiety nearly makes her pull herself apart, fingers grasped around the barred windows until the knuckles turn white and ache. The only thing stopping her from trying to pry those off and escaping via the window that instant is a terribly unnerving sight.

The cloaks weren’t always this stormy color of grey. When they started, they were green, much like the herbs that grew from her hair, the basil leaves Katherine had plucked off after her lips had crossed Miriam’s throat. Then, when she’d realized how wrong this was and ran away, they’d changed to a shade of white she had once seen while traversing Poland in the wintertime. During the capture, they had turned blue. Water is the source of life, Katherine told her, pressing the flat side of a blade to her cheek.

What that meant, she wasn’t so sure.

Either way, the grey cloak had what looked like a taser on their hip, and Miriam had no intentions of playing around with that. So, she paces until her feet hurt and the sky turns dark. Eventually, there are footsteps at her door again, and Fedir comes again, hidden under one of those cloaks. Her own had been stuffed in the pillowcase with the pillow, with the other clothes he’d given her. Those were back on now, though, the cloak hidden beneath her legs, a bit more real, and subsequently frightening.

“Hey Mom,” the kiss on her cheek has a familiarity, and this Miriam plays like she’s known this for forever. “We’re gonna have to go fast. Time’s going to be more important than we want it to be. And uh, I don’t think we want to be seen. It was trouble enough just getting in here.” For the sake of herself, Miriam chooses not to ask more, and lets the other keep talking.

“So uh, the plan is that we just keep quiet as possible, and try to blend in. If we keep the hoods up, I think it should be okay from a distance. But we should keep it that way.” Fedir chews on his lower lip, and Miriam stands slowly to clasp the cloak on her own shoulders. “Get the plants off. I’ve got the other markings we’ll need to look real enough- and here.” A tube of foundation is pressed into her hands, thick and gooey and a shade too light for her face. “For your freckles.”

“Seems, reasonable.” Miriam is still going inches at a time, sightlessly slapping the stuff on her cheeks and rubbing it in until her face doesn’t feel as terrible. Side-stepping Fedir, she approaches a mirror to finish, speaking into it to avoid eye contact for a few moments. “What’s all around here, though? The most I can see is the yards down below. And some gardens.”

Fedir’s facial expression turns sour again. “Well, outside of the house is the gardens. Sacred, I heard them call them. Your’s.” No gardens she’s heard of, but Miriam nods nevertheless. “Then it’s down this road about half a mile, and then through the town. That’ll be the worst part, once we hit the woods, it’s two hours to this truck that I stashed just off a road. If it’s gone, option two is the highway.”

“It seems simple enough. What’s the issue with the town, though? I’d think this would be the worst.”

“I mean, it’s bad, yeah, but not that bad. If we’re calm enough, and nobody gets in our faces? It’s gonna be fine. But there are a lot more eyes in town, a lot more chances for us to fuck this up. Mob’s harder to run from than a few people.” Miriam laughs in reply, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Oh, tell me about it. The absolute worst.” For a moment, things feel a little less dire, but the feeling sets back in soon enough. “I uh, Fedir, hon. Question.” Miriam chews on her lip, and gives her son a long look. “Do you remember Poland, at all? You were so small but, I figured I should ask.”

“No, sorry.” Fedir shakes his head back, raising a dark brow to give his mother a questioning look. “Should I?”

“It may be best if you didn’t. I’ll know who I’m looking for if I see them.” Miriam’s answer likely leaves something to be desired, but when Fedir opens his mouth to ask a question, Miriam shakes her head rapidly. “No, I uh. Not right before, whatever this cult bullshit is. I’ll tell you later, sweetheart. Promise.” A part of her just hopes he’ll figure it out on her own. Revisiting it seems to make things harder every time, and the new stress of waking up in strange places with strange sons exacerbates it further.

So, the pair stands in silence for a moment while Miriam finishes hiding her freckles and ties her hair up into a knot at the back of her head. It isn’t pretty, but when she draws the hood, hardly any of her red hair is visible, save for strands that look a muddled brown beneath the shadows. The plants are plucked from it too, left in piles of leaves and flowers that curl sadly at their edges.

Fedir, meanwhile, has pulled up the sleeves of his cloak to reveal two identical cuffs, both emblazoned with a symbol that makes her stomach tighten. “That was Katherine’s,” she mumbles without thinking, and Fedir only raises an eyebrow, before slipping one from his wrist.

“It’s the fastest way to get through places, if we run into anyone.” The way Fedir talks about it has the leadings of a story, but she just can’t make herself, and instead, takes the bracelet and secures it on her left wrist. It doesn’t burn, but it might as well have, given how Miriam recoils upon processing the weight of it. “The biggest part of this plan is that we keep our heads down and don’t get picked up as interesting. At least, through the house. When it’s nighttime, nobody really expects anything. I don’t know what I’m doing outside of some base ideas, so we’re going to hope for the best.”

“I thoroughly hate that!” Miriam rolls her eyes, but shoves her feet into her boots nonetheless, lacing them up until she stands a good two inches higher with the heel behind her. “So let’s not talk about not knowing what we’re doing.” Fedir nods as if he’s listening, before shouldering a backpack. Realizing she has nothing much to offer, Miriam scans the room and finds its barely lived in appearance to be nothing worth remembering. Really, the longer she looks at it, the more anxious she becomes.

Her room at home has flowing curtains and dark wood floors. Miriam can very clearly recall the shape of the quilt, rumpled up and everywhere, surrounding the familiar form that Remy seemed to take when he’d join her in the early hours of the morning. The loss of it, even for the moment, leaves her feeling more lost than she’d like to admit. Miss you is offered beneath her breath, too quiet for Fedir to possibly hear. And in thinking of him, she turns to stare at her son’s face, hoping to see traces of the in between places. The times where he may have been five or ten or twelve. The little in betweens that she misses now that they’ve seemingly passed.

However, there comes a time where there is no more stalling, and seven minutes past nine, the sounds from outside simmer down to the dull murmur of drowsy housekeepers. There’s a sense of dread filling her to the brim, so while they stuff her bed with sheets and other things to simulate a sleeping form, Miriam alters her face. It’s difficult to just pick out a new face and form for yourself in the blink of an eye, but she goes with one she knows, or at least, has seen before. Growing taller means that suddenly the room feels a little different, and the borrowed shoulders are far broader than what she’s used to, and Miriam can half guarantee she’s going to clip herself on a door frame.

She’ll have to thank Anda later, for letting her borrow their appearance, even if they aren’t aware of it.

Despite having only spent a few hours in it, opening the bedroom door and stepping out into the hallway seems like a foreboding sort of task. In her fit of anxiety, Miriam stands and stares at the door for a long while in her borrowed face, probably making a few uncharacteristic facial expressions.

“What happens if we fuck this up?” She doesn’t really want to know, but a morbid curiosity claws and begs for her to continue. “What then?”

Fedir looks uncomfortable at best. “The ritual goes through, for starters. And that does, whatever it does to you, the process wasn’t really disclosed.” He’s getting wry, bordering on a panicked sort of serious. “I probably die too, if I’m being completely honest. I don’t think an entire fuckin’ cult is going to smile at me trying to sneak their goddess out of what they consider to be sacred ground. Is this even? It can’t be.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Addressing that first seems a little safer than reacting to that middle part, but she gets their eventually, clasping Fedir’s shoulder. “Let’s, I, I don’t have words for that, so let’s just please, please end up not doing that bit.”

And with nothing else to say that will make her feel any bit better about this, Miriam grabs and pulls the door open, having to scramble to catch it before it can smack the wall. Fedir receives a sheepish look, one that he mirrors back before taking the lead, shouldering down a highway too narrow to be comfortable. The place is clean, that much is certain. But the air holds the faint scent of rotting wood and burnt plant matter, something that makes the entire place feel oddly wrong. There is age here, and the home itself has a presence of its own, made clearer and clearer as Miriam and Fedir pass several closed doors on the way down the hall.

It turns out that this narrow hallway is simply a wing in something larger than Miriam could have hoped. The next hallway is wider, losing its claustrophobia in favor of another person, a faceless sort of man who Miriam doubts she will ever remember. He doesn’t speak, that much is sure. All he does is lock eyes with her, searching the face in a way that makes Miriam’s skin crawl. Maybe she can’t borrow this form for as long as she wants to, on the risk of being remembered, either as a repeating issue or as someone who just simply doesn’t belong.

The nod she offers is satisfying enough, it seems. There are no words exchanged, and it’s far more comfortable that way. Even luckier, he doesn’t move, chin held high and form otherwise unwavering. Fedir keeps his head bowed, intent on being seen as little as possible.

This hall is shorter than the first, and instead, leads out to the top of a staircase. The rotting wood is stronger here, and Miriam catches sight of further evidence when she seems a bleached out section of floor, missed stains of blood just outside of it. Just beside it, a dark haired woman burning a tied bundle of plants with a lighter, waving the smoke about it. Alerted by the sounds at the top of the stairs, she looks up, offering a lazy smile.

“Hello to you both.” Her voice is this wispy thing, barely there from how far away she is. “Is it nearly time for everyone to trade out?” For someone Miriam could happily consider the worst thing in existence, the longing in her voice makes her just the slightest bit sympathetic. “My feet are killing me.”

“Just started.” Miriam’s smile is pained, but they make it down the stairs unbothered, and get nothing more from the woman. “Today’s been killer.” Wow, she hates this.

“Well, I’ll let you go, then.” The woman’s frail hand sweeps across her chest, leaving curls of smoke behind it. “Safe travel back.”

“You too.” It’s Fedir who manages this time, making a beeline towards another archway. Miriam, unsure and unwilling to be left behind, follows dutifully. This area is an entrance room, as far as she can see, equally clean-but-wrong as the rest of this house has been. No people, though, just the two who Miriam will be content to never speak to again, personable or not.

It’s here that Miriam lets her disguise drop. Slipping back into her own skin means that everything feels a little bit more steady, a little less nth degree from reality. Fedir, glancing over, offers a shaky thumbs up as he exhales, the other hair holding tight to the door. Walk out, that simple. Miriam holds up one finger, then two. When she shows the third, Fedir pulls that door open, and the air outside feels like some other place entirely.

This other place is clean and fresh and washes away the house’s stale scent like it’s a rainstorm instead of a lazy fog. It feels more like a place Miriam could curl up in and call home. This place had to be the gardens, given the brief description that had transpired between the two of them. A place of exotic flowers and what appeared to be dozens of trees growing into each other.

“How long do we have before they know I’m gone?” It’s meant as a rhetorical question, and Fedir shrugs in reply.

“Dunno. Further we get first, the better, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

#ic #isola supergiant challenge #isola drabble #cults tw #bold is miri #bold and italics is fedir #italics is anybody else #i'm taking forever forgive me

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havekiddoswilltravel · 5 years

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Everyday Black History: Educational Guide to Incorporating Black History into your Homeschool Year-round

February is Black History Month and I would love to encourage all educators, parents and adults in general to incorporate these best practices into their daily lives throughout the year. My definition of educator is very broad. If you have a sphere of influence to speak into the lives of future generations, then you’re an educator as far as I’m concerned. I believe in intentional education and thus we should never limit an entire group’s history and contributions to 28 days.

- Be intentional in your read alouds, independent reading and book list choices. Make sure that you incorporate books that provide a well rounded perspective on history, literature, geography, language arts and even math.

- Diversify your homeschool social media feed. Connect with, read works by and learn best practices from other homeschooling parents and educators of colors.

1. Follow My Reflections Matter and incorporate their diverse resources to your educational plans.

2. Check out Negra Bohemian a self described: a free spirit redefining motherhood through a socially conscious, faith-led and wandering lifestyle.

3. Check out Trippin’ Momma to be inspired by a single mother who’s recovered from domestic violence and is exploring the world on her own terms.

4. Follow Dr. Kira Bank and her work on Raising Equity.

5. Follow my friend Sarah’s adventures in her blog and be inspired to take adventurous trips with your kids to destinations like Dubai, Hong Kong and Kenya.

6. Follow The Spring Break Family and be encouraged to take adventures with our kids even if they’re not homeschooled.

7. Check out Our Kitchen Classroom and learn how to connect food with culture - travel.

If your a Christian, read this: No Days Off...

“This February, lay down the burden of ambassadorship and let Black History Month be your swimming lessons. May it be a reminder that each stroke forward transforms our weaknesses into strengths, powerlessness into purpose. We’re not treading water. Kingdom ambassadors make new wave moves. Look back and see how God is moving us forward.”

Additional resources Click on bold sections for more information:

- Learn about Racial Identity from Dr. Beverly Daniel Tatum.

https://youtu.be/l_TFaS3KW6s

- Check out 100 Read Aloud Books for Black History and Beyond.

- 30 People from Around the World.

- Learn the truth about the Green Book by watching this documentary.

- Have your preconceived notions rocked by A blessed Heritage’s writings on faith and black history.

- Host a Black Living History Wax Musuem event at your school, home or community.

- Black History is American History.

- Race: The Power of Illusion.

- Read about why Martin Luther King JR. Day is not a day off and start planning your service project for next January.

- Why we shouldn’t forget that U.S. presidents owned slaves.

Published on Feb 2, 2017

"When you sing that this country was founded on freedom, don’t forget the duet of shackles dragging against the ground my entire life." This how poet Clint Smith begins his letter to past presidents who owned slaves. In honor of Black History Month, Smith offers his Brief But Spectacular take on the history of racial inequality in the U.S.

Learn about the musical, historical and African roots of Puerto Rico’s Bomba.

- Watch online Eyes on the Prize: America's Civil Rights Movement.

- 28 Ways to Celebrate Black History Month by the NAACP.

- Watch and be inspired by: Black Made That.

- Meet The Fearless Cook Who Secretly Fed — And Funded — The Civil Rights Movement.

- Watch Kevin Hart’s Guide to Black History on Netflix.

- Check out Wu-Tang Clan's GZA shows his genius in Liquid Science on Netflix.

- Add diverse puzzles by Puzzle Huddle to your bookcases.

- Decolonize your family bookshelves and learn more about awareness by following The Consious Kid.

- 28 More Black Picture Books That Aren’t About Boycotts, Buses or Basketball (2018).

- 5 Reasons You Should Celebrate Black History Month.

- Beyond The Painful Chains Of Slavery: Phillis Wheatley, The First Published Female African-American Poet.

- Continue learning throughout the year with various subscription options of the Because of Them we Can boxes.

- Check out Black Then for a wealth of information.

- Check out Story Corps:

StoryCorps’ mission is to preserve and share humanity’s stories in order to build connections between people and create a more just and compassionate world.

- Diversify your podcasts. A friend sent me this pod cast and I had to share: Black and White: Racism in America.

Exposure to Black Theater and Arts.

- Check out my review of Hamilton.

- Go watch Black Violin.

- Go see Alvin Ailey - American Dance Theater.

- Diversify your holiday traditions and enjoy the Hip Hop Nutcracker or the Urban Nutcracker.

- Exposure to the history and sounds of Gospel music.

- Singin’ Us to Glory: The Life and Legacy of Fannie Lou Hamer.

- Black History Month is a chance for white parents to learn how to talk about racism.

Pin for later:

- Incorporate Black History Sites into your family travel. This has been a huge way for us to incorporate our story into our learning. These are some of our favorites or ones on our bucket list:

1. National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, DC.

You can read more about my family’s trip to this history packed museum by clicking here.

2. The Tuskegee Airman National Historical Museum in Detroit, Michigan.

3. The National Underground Freedom Center in Cincinnati, Ohio.

You can read more about my family’s road trip to the freedom center by clicking here.

4. Frederick Douglass National Historical Park in Washington, DC.

5. International Civil Rights Center and Museum in Greensboro, NC.

6. Martin Luther King, JR Memorial in Washington, DC.

7. Negro League Baseball Museum in Kansas City, MO.

8. Museum of African American History in Boston, MA.

9. North Star Underground Railroad Museum in Ausable Chasm, NY.

10. Visit Martha’s Vineyard and learn about the Polar Bears.

- Check out this blog post with a large list of destinations to include in your Black History Travel Bucket List: Must See Destinations to Learn About Black History.

- Study the history of Soul Food and host a Soul Food Feast for family and friends.

The Soul Food Born of the Harlem Renaissance.

Read An Illustrated History of Soul Food with your kids.

This is a great video of the celebrates African American food and chefs.

- Teach the history of the Harlem Globetrotters and then enjoy a game.

- Take a #foodies road trip to some of America’s top Soul Food Restaurants which are full of history, music and culture.

1. Sylvia’s Restaurant in Harlem, NY.

2. Amy Ruth’s in NYC.

3. Luella’s Southern Kitchen in Chicago, IL.

4. The Coast Cafe in Cambridge, MA.

5. Roscoes Chicken and Waffles in Los Angeles, CA.

6. Busy Bee Cafe in Atlanta, GA.

- Provide opportunities for your students to read, memorize and recite black poetry. Some of our favorites are.

Let America Be America Again

Langston Hughes, 1902 - 1967

Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on the plain Seeking a home where he himself is free. (America never was America to me.) Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed— Let it be that great strong land of love Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme That any man be crushed by one above. (It never was America to me.) O, let my land be a land where Liberty Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath, But opportunity is real, and life is free, Equality is in the air we breathe. (There’s never been equality for me, Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”) Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? And who are you that draws your veil across the stars? I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars. I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek— And finding only the same old stupid plan Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak. I am the young man, full of strength and hope, Tangled in that ancient endless chain Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land! Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need! Of work the men! Of take the pay! Of owning everything for one’s own greed! I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil. I am the worker sold to the machine. I am the Negro, servant to you all. I am the people, humble, hungry, mean— Hungry yet today despite the dream. Beaten yet today—O, Pioneers! I am the man who never got ahead, The poorest worker bartered through the years. Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream In the Old World while still a serf of kings, Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true, That even yet its mighty daring sings In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned That’s made America the land it has become. O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas In search of what I meant to be my home— For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore, And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea, And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came To build a “homeland of the free.” The free? Who said the free? Not me? Surely not me? The millions on relief today? The millions shot down when we strike? The millions who have nothing for our pay? For all the dreams we’ve dreamed And all the songs we’ve sung And all the hopes we’ve held And all the flags we’ve hung, The millions who have nothing for our pay— Except the dream that’s almost dead today. O, let America be America again— The land that never has been yet— And yet must be—the land where every man is free. The land that’s mine—the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME— Who made America, Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain, Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain, Must bring back our mighty dream again. Sure, call me any ugly name you choose— The steel of freedom does not stain. From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives, We must take back our land again, America! O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath— America will be! Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain— All, all the stretch of these great green states— And make America again!

Still I Rise

Maya Angelou, 1928 - 2014

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

Lift Every Voice and Sing

James Weldon Johnson, 1871 - 1938

Lift every voice and sing, Till earth and heaven ring, Ring with the harmonies of Liberty; Let our rejoicing rise High as the list’ning skies, Let it resound loud as the rolling sea. Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us, Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us; Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, Let us march on till victory is won. Stony the road we trod, Bitter the chast’ning rod, Felt in the days when hope unborn had died; Yet with a steady beat, Have not our weary feet Come to the place for which our fathers sighed? We have come over a way that with tears has been watered. We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered, Out from the gloomy past, Till now we stand at last Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast. God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way; Thou who hast by Thy might, Led us into the light, Keep us forever in the path, we pray. Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee, Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee; Shadowed beneath Thy hand, May we forever stand, True to our God, True to our native land.

From Saint Peter Relates an Incident by James Weldon Johnson. Copyright © 1917, 1921, 1935 James Weldon Johnson, renewed 1963 by Grace Nail Johnson. Used by permission of Viking Penguin, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.

Dreams

Langston Hughes, 1902 - 1967

Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.

From The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes published by Alfred A. Knopf/Vintage. Copyright © 1994 by the Estate of Langston Hughes. Reprinted by permission of Harold Ober Associates Incorporated. All rights reserved.

About Ruth: I’m a wife and mami of 4 active and globe-trotting kiddos. I’ve always loved a good adventure and truly believe that it’s possible to travel with kids. Join me, as I share our adventures and inspire you to get out of the house with your kiddos. Whether you’re planning a family vacation, a road trip or a trip of a lifetime to an exotic destination, I’ll share insights, trip reports and information that will inspire you. Check back often to stay up to date on things to do with kids at your next travel destination.

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sole-cuore-amore-e-droga · 6 years

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Eurovision 2018 Rehearsals Day 6 - Actual first impressions

Armenia: Ooh I love them stacked-up sticks of lighting, it’s like some sort of an unbuilt fence. Sevak sells this song well enough. Nothing else to say, really. Oh yeah and for once I liked the camera shots in a preview clip. Good job Sacha?

Switzerland: Camerawork was decent too but there was this one looooong panning-zoomout shot that I didn’t like. I also didn’t mind Corinne’s clothing this time as opposed to last time. And they gave a camera shot to her brother, too.

Ireland: I still hope they don’t focus the camera WAY too much on the dancers where the main point is supposed to be the performer, not funny background events. There’s at least one shot on him and one spinning shot including him and the lady (I think it’s a lady) on the piano, and that’s good. And yes, whatever was focusing on the dancer boys in the music-video setting worked out well as well but I just don’t want this to be the music video’s replica (well at least it doesn’t seem like it as we have some... even more ‘extra’ dance moves out of this).

Cyprus: We haven’t had a proper slutpop winner since 2005... and a proper rock winner since 2006... so which is better? Also yeah Cyprus is waiting for a victory for longer too, but what else is? Iceland. And they don’t fucking stand a chance. Look, I’m all in for all first time winner countries to happen before I die (which is DEFINITELY not going to happen because we have San Marino and they still haven’t fixed their shit :’) ) but I don’t really want Eurovision to award countries that have waited for that long to do so sorted out by the number of the years of waiting the longest. I mean, with this pattern you get Lisbon 2018, Nicosia 2019, Reykjavik 2020, Valletta 2021, Ljubljana 2022 and so on. With some countries not getting their shit together (looking at you Malta, please stop selecting mediocre/harmless MESC songs as winners), I’d rather if they wait for longer for them than have this pattern followed. (also Budapest 20xx deserves to happen, whether AWS make it happen or not) So I’m sorry about being this bitter, I just... am not a huge fan of this entry as much as I am of the past Cypriot entries. Why the big praise for the ones I’m not that fond of? :( And oh yeah I forgot to talk about performance. Fire, red, choreography, hair. Well at least Romania isn’t in their semi (though if you guys wanted it to fail so badly then you think it should be, that’s sad, I hope that actually no one thinks like this), so we could witness one hair flip a day. Dunno if both will qualify though so there WOULD be 2 in 1 day... :’) (Oh yeah, and Laura Rizzotto’s hair flicks. Flicks, not flips. She might do a flip though)

Norway: And suddenly everyone is not a fan of this. I’m not exactly sure why. Rybak works the stage. I assume it’s because people are already fed up of him even if it’s been so long since he made into Eurovision as a performer. And that he won in the past, too. Well I don’t really want it to win either but since Poland, the guiding torch for all the other competitors for victory, is in their semi, then it might. But Norway 2009 won and Poland didn’t qualify that year. All 3 times Poland didn’t qualify, the winner was either Rybak, a big 5 country or a mediocre dark horse. I hope they qualify so the winner could be a GOOD dark horse. ;) (”You ride a black horse in the rain” - Hovi Star)

Romania: Eh it’s okay for what it is. They got one camera shot wrong though as a guy was escaping his mannequin-challenge pose at the end of it when he was supposed to act like a mannequin. I am not sure how will they get the staging of that moment right enough though but I hope it works decently out, yeah

Serbia: The thumbnail of their rehearsal’s (eurovision.tv courtesy) looks like it’s a typical Balkan song surrounding. Backing vocalist ladies come up to the main singer and stare into the distance like they’ve seen some sh*t. And then they start singing together with the singer in front. Anyway the sound mixing here is terrible but I hope the crowd elevates the feel. (Also they were doing an instagram takeover with The Humans, and unfortunately their journey has ended as soon as Big 5 + host country started rehearsing.)

San Marino: Now with that “Justice for Valentina” sign I can finally compile my “post-nf-pre-ESC-week-season” moments moodboard! Anyway, even with the cameras it’s a big hot mess, the dancers/backings are pointless, they better only keep the robots. Actually, I do want to see some backings. Bring on Basti! Also also, Jenny B’s costume is ugly and I’d rather if she kind of does something like Valentina last year but more youthful and less like ‘your mom tries to be cool again’.

Denmark: Yep, pretty much like the NF staging, except that there’s some pointless pink that shines on Rasmussen’s face. What for..? Trust me, I don’t know either!

Portugal: Oh so they got rid of the chair. As per the banned items request or as per Benjamin’s request? Also I love that Nirvana’s shirt of Isaura’s, reminds me of the lead singer of Musiqq turning in the first rehearsal of Latvia’s with a Spongebob shirt. xD I guess it’s simple enough of a thing there performance-wise? They don’t need to do much, just enough to keep it intimate?

United Kingdom: Oh lights. Something like Levina’s music video last year. I am not sure if this will get UK anywhere that great but I sure hope it’s not too dead of a last if it’s unfortunately last.

Spain: Togetherness. Are they just staring at each other while singing for this whole performance or is there more action to this love? We might not know just yet... but I hope they do something else at some point. Like, dramatically introducing out of nowhere when they begin singing their lines or something.

Germany: All these countries biting their nails about what they’re gonna do without any LEDs in Lisbon and Germany’s just like ‘fuck it, I’mma bring my own one anyway”. Sadly, they come across as ridiculously over-the-top, especially with the silhouettes and the black-white color spinning you see on these hypnosis toys or so. Not to mention, the chorus graphics are just THAT incredibly cartooney that I couldn’t really stand them. I’m thinking this could drop in my overall ranking of 2018 because the song just doesn’t feel too “wow” anymore and it’s just...

Italy: I waited for this so friggin long because I wanted to know about what they decided on about the on-screen shenanigans to make sure this is more than “two men being aggresive for 3 minutes”. And... I think they’re doing something about it, with lines of their song in different languages on different places and accompanying graphics and all. Really playing the sentimental card here. But I’ve yet to see a winner which relied on lots of on-screen effects (for Sweden 2015 it was on-stage effects more than on-screen). We had France 2014 being on-screen effects-heavy, we had Italy 2016 and Bulgaria 2017 relying on simple on-screen white stuff, Israel 2015 had an on-screen snapshot effect at the end of their performance. This... is just ‘extra’ as heck.

France: I thought I was gonna see more people gearing towards French City That Is Mostly The Capital One 2019 idea but it seems that there’s something off about the package so far. Maybe it’s the lack of an audience to do the hand gesture with them? Maybe it’s the unfashionable shoe choice? Oh I don’t know, I’m still holding onto that theory it’s Tallinn 2019 and still would love Sofia 2019 if there’s no one else that I would want to win is topping the charts...

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