#I will sign Midge up for it as soon as she's old enough

[docholligay]

Forgive me, I have a hobby level interest in some aspects of linguistics* and can’t shut up.

So, phonology is the first thing you pick up as an infant. How the SOUNDS are made. Not words, SOUNDS. All languages can be broken down into a series of sounds, all of which are made by moving your mouth a certain way, to oversimplify it. We learn those mouth movements very young. FIRST. Words come next, morphology, syntax, etc. BUT, to my point, phonology is what we learn first and this is the building block of a language. So, some people ‘keep’ this longer than others, but for most of us the sweet spot is birth-10 or 12 (And frankly, some people lose it earlier). I started hearing and learning Spanish casually when I was...6? I started studying it in earnest, as much as I could, by 8, and I of course went on to minor in it at school, I was a Spanish lab teacher for a few years, until recently I volunteered in the summer to do translation for migrant workers with the clinics. But all this started because I learned the trill early enough. I sound ‘right’ in that pronunciation way. My pronunciation of Spanish is pretty good, but it has nothing to do with me being ‘smart’ or whatever stupid thing we’ve assigned it.

This is true of all languages. There are sounds in Chinese I cannot make. Xhosa is right out, for me.

If someone is an asshole to you about you not being able to roll your R, it’s roughly the same as me being an asshole to a Japanese person at not being able to pronounce the hard R at the beginning of my legal name. You never learned the phoneme! Your mouth is like, “You want me to do what now?” and some people can retrain their mouths, but it’s very very difficult, and this idea that smart people have flawless pronunciation and can all flawlessly imitate any accent and dumb people just can’t hear it or whatever shows a ridiculous misunderstanding of how language works.

I mean this makes sense when you consider that Duolingo is an American company and what reason would we have to learn peninsular Spanish, and also one of the founders grew up Latin America so of course LA Spanish is going to be the go-to, but if it makes you feel any better I find Duolingo nigh-unusuable, because I know enough Spanish that I know there is more than one right answer. If that makes sense. I have learned enough Spanish that I have my own way of speaking, too. I ended up just, before I had the baby, auditing upper-level courses at the college because it was the only way to get that exposure to speaking while also being allowed some...flexibility? I guess? With how things are said. Computers ain’t everything, basically, and they’re bad at teaching language. Also, you know, what’s ‘correct’ and what’s ‘done’ are different. A lot of thing English spoken in the rural community I’m a part of isn’t GRAMMATICAL, but it is RIGHT, you know? There are variances in language and just because ones of privilege win the grammar war--and I have an English degree, I’m not even opposed to a ‘central grammar we all agree upon for say, the news--doesn’t mean that the way things are said in other communities is wrong. Duolingo tries to tell me “Seen you come over here” is wrong and I’m like, “eat my entire ass, owl, that’s how “I saw you come over here” would be said in my circles” ahaha. But I have a hick accent no one is interested in defending but me, that is often the butt of the joke, so.

ANYWAY, all this to say that Duolingo has its uses but it has exceptional limitations. I’m not really a ‘online language learning’ gal, but I do prefer Babel, generally. It was easier for me to skip ahead to the higher-level shit I needed to be engaging with, at least, though it occasionally frustrates me as well.

*It’s just, a huge field. And there are a million ways to be ‘into it’ I would say the VAST majority of my interest is in English, particularly American English in all its variants, but I do have a lot of affection for other English-speaking countries versions of the language--Kiwi English is very fun, I have loved the tightness of the East End/Cockney accent for a very long time, which tracks with the fact that most of my favorite American Englishes are also very working class, any way the point of all this is that the linguistics of, say, Spanish is not really my knowledge base but most of this is pretty broad anyhow

[aliypop]

Anyway You Do Chapter 4

Word Count: 2,765

Writers Note: I didn't expect to make this a series, to be honest

Warning: None

Pairing: OC x Elvis

Plot: What happens when love, at first sight, becomes fate.

Taglist:

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@sissylittlefeather

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

Memphis Tennessee. October 1959

Cecelia ran upstairs to her old room,

"I'll talk to her," Midge sighed. Cecelia was lying on her old bed. The remaining posters of Frank Sinatra on her walls, the signed Dean Martin one from New York, and her Elvis Record Collection, "Cece... can I come in..." Midge asked as Cecelia grumbled, the song Heartbreak Hotel fading out into the distance. "Oh my God, we're not doing this..." She heard her rewind the record. The last time this happened was the night at Russwood, and before that, the Florida fair when she finally left, and he was hugging another girl. 

"Well, since my Elivs left me... BRAWM BRAWM!" Cecelia sang, "I have nowhere to dwell, BRAWM BRAWM!" Cecelia shouted into her pillow, "It's right at the end of Lonely Street and-" Midge walked in as she saw Cecelia with her guitar, sobbing lyrics like a madman. 

"You're obsessed with him..." Midge laughed. 

"I'm not obsessed. I'm in love with him, Midge..." she sighed, "My heart aches when he's away... and I..." Cecelia began to get frustrated trying to find the words. It had been a while since Midge was in her twenties and in love, 

"I never met anyone like him."

"Cece, you've met plenty of men like him, "

"No, I haven't. Those actors and heartthrobs aren't the same. When I'm with Elvis, I feel home..." she smiled, "It feels like home... Like I can do anything with him." She smiled, " Last year, I was having dinner with his family. We just sat there and had a conversation with just our facial expressions until his mother told us to stop." She giggled, thinking about it as Midge listened. 

"What else, kid..." 

"We talked one time for so long when we said good night, it was morning," 

"So why are you so down then..."

"I know... he and I could never be..." she sighed, "Face it, the world would eat us up alive... You wouldn't get it, Midge..." 

"Oh, sure, the woman who got married in San Fran doesn't understand..." 

"I owe Richard 10 bucks..."

"You two bet..."

"Not the point, Midge... "

"Well, if you love him all that much, tell him,"

"Tell him he gives you fever like Peggy Lee once said..."

"He definitely gives me fever..." she bit her lip as Midge laughed, 

"When he dances... Boom, I'm pregnant, Midge, really I am." Midge laughed as Cecelia laughed. "Look, If I weren't in my thirties and married to Cheryl, who I love... One night with him...mmm-" Cecelia hit her with a pillow.

"WHY YOU LITTLE!" Midge threw a pillow back at her as Cecelia fell over. 

"Now, why do you really think you two couldn't be together and don't avoid it this time?"

Cecelia took a deep breath, looking at the picture on her dresser,

"I should uh get going. I have a flight soon..."

January 7th 1960

Dear Cecelia,

I hope you like the fur coat I sent you. I know it's not much of a birthday gift, but I wanted to give my best girl something. Hopefully, it matches the earrings I got you from France for Christmas. I know it's been hard trying to keep up with dates by a piece of paper, but they're saying pretty soon I'll be back, and I can take you on as many dates as I owe you. 

I also forgot to mention I heard your Christmas record. You sang the hell out of Blue Christmas. It made me wonder, were you thinking of me? 

January 8th 1960

My Dearest, Elvis 

By the time you've read this, it should be your birthday. I did enjoy the coat. It was perfect, though you didn't need to get me anything. Hearing from you is always enough. But! I hope you received the new guitar I got you. I know it's not much, but it's custom-made. 

A few friends of yours told me what to get you. 

And yes, to answer your question, I was thinking about you. I always am. My mother the other day was thinking of you, too. But that doesn't matter. I want to tell you everything whenever you return if you ever return.

          With love,

                         Cecelia S Valmos

Graceland March 7th 1960

"Vernon... Why'd you call us here..." Denise asked as Midge looked at the fleet of fans at the gate. Was she willing to allow Cecelia to endure that every day? 

"I got word in that. Elv-" Cecelia walked by, straightening things up, "We only have 15 days until he arrives!" she smirked. Denise then rolled her eyes, 

" As you were saying, Vernon..." 

"Elvi-" 

"Midge, could you help me pick out what I'll wear when he returns..." Midge nodded, "The dress you have on now is fine. The pencil skirt suit is perfect." She smiled as Cecelia shrugged. Denise only scratched her head, wondering how she even got here. 

"I was saying E-"

 Cecelia gasped, seeing the limo outside. She wondered if it was a guest that no one told her about. Peaking from the door, she saw the top half of a uniform come out as she screamed,

 "ELVIS IS BACK!!!"

"Cecelia Shanel Valmos calm!" Cecelia was out the door and hugging him.

 "Down..."

"I was trying to tell you." 

"Cecelia!" he smiled as he kissed her forehead, the press. And the camera's trying to follow him. He then looked at her outfit as he bit his bottom lip, "Sergeant Presley," she saluted as he laughed. Her eyes were burning with a lusty look that he couldn't ignore. His leather gloves were still on his hands. There were those thoughts she had racing in her mind. 

"What'cha lookin at, doll?"

"Mhmm me nothing..." she took his hand and guided him into the house,

"No hello for me..."

"Tom..." Denise spat out. Her heels clicked back into the house.

Elvis picked Cecelia up bridal style as he kissed her nose, "I got so many stories to share." they said in unison, laughing. 

Sitting at the dinner table, Cecelia sat next to Elvis as he talked about his stories in the military, some she had heard about during his arrival interview. 

"So there was this girl..." and the empty pit of her stomach dropped again. She was already feeling nauseous as he started the sentence. Midge could tell, and so could Denise, who didn't want to say I told you so just yet, "She was a pretty thing, funny too; her father was in the Air Force, and she'd give me advice on this beautiful woman back home." he smirked as Cecelia nodded. 

"What is this woman like?" Denise asked,

"Yeah, what's she like..." Vernon asked, looking over at Cecelia, who appeared to get sicker by the second. "Oh, she's a beautiful woman, got a smile that makes the sunshine seem dim." he laughed, "And when she sings..." 

"I'm feeling a bit tired... I think I'll rest for the evening." Cecelia said, trying not to cry. Cecelia stood up and went outside, sitting under a tree. It was brisk, but she'd managed. For once, she thought she'd find someone who wouldn't have left or replaced her. 

"Well, don't just stand there, Mr. Presley, go after her..." Denise said in a demanding tone. Elvis ran after her as Midge laughed, "I feel like I'm watching one of his movies with Cece..." she joked as the tension of suspense between the two parents was thick. 

"Cecelia, there you are..." Elvis smiled. Sitting next to her. She wouldn't look at him, "Cece... If I did something or..."

"Did our letters mean anything..."

"Doll..."

"Did they mean anything!" she looked at him, her eyes glassy with tears, "Maybe my mother was right..." she laughed, "Right about what..." 

"You would hurt me... just like he did." 

"Like who? Cece, you're scaring me." 

"My father." she sighed, the hole in her heart opened wide as she said it. 

"Sometimes, I can still see him leaving from the doorstep."

Raleigh, North Carolina, June 10th 1941

Are you lonesome tonight?

Fireflies flew around the porch of a white house. Sitting on the porch swing was a six-year-old brown-skinned girl. She'd been out there for what was almost a week. Tears streaming down her face as she held onto her Mickey Mouse toy. It was always her favorite because he gave her that toy.  

Do you miss me tonight?

The sun was gone, and the only thing she would do was sit there and wait. "You've gotta eat something pumpkin." her mother sitting next to her as she petted her hair, 

"I want him to come back..." the little girl had tears in her eyes. "I'm afraid he's not going to." She noticed her mother's wedding ring was gone from her finger. 

Are you sorry we drifted apart?

It had been two weeks now. Another night of her crying, he had stopped writing her letters and giving her empty promises he couldn't keep. "We'll be okay..." she smiled, "I'll fix it... We'll move to somewhere nice, and I'll record again. You'll never have to hurt again."

"I want daddy back..." she cried harder.

"CECELIA HE'S NOT COMING BACK!" Denise shouted as her daughter cried harder, "HE'S GONE, HE LEFT, HE DOESN'T LOVE US ANYMORE!"

Does your memory stray to a bright summer day

When I kissed you and called you sweetheart?

Graceland March 7th 1960

"I just... I don't want to be that little girl again crying..." she sighed, "So tell me if you love me or another," Elvis then looked at her, his finger under her chin as he pulled her face closer to him, "Well doll, if you hadn't run out, I was gonna..." looking into his pockets he tried to feel around for a box, "Well... you were gonna what..." he kept looking for the box, "God damn it... Shit, I think I lost it..." he groaned, 

"You lost what..."

"Hey, what's this little box doing in the chair..." Midgie said, picking it up as Denise took it from her and opened it,

 "Vernon, it's a ring..." 

"A ring?" 

"A ring!"

"Shit, everyone scatter and and find him!"

"Darlin, I was gonna ask you something." he smiled, taking her hand, "I guess I can still ask it, but uh, I have never been so sure and so damn nervous about something." he took a deep breath. 

"Spit it out!" Cecelia laughed, looking into his eyes. 

"Darlin, I want you in my life forever. And-"

" I FOUND THEM. SHE SAYS YES!!!"

"Mother, what are you on about..." Cecelia stood up. Attention turned to face everyone at the doorstep. Standing there on bended knee was,

 "Elvis, are you..." Midge ran as she handed him the ring,

"I'm tryin to." he laughed as she nearly tackled him and kissed him, 

"Is that a yes?"

"Does Little Richard wear eyeliner." she joked as he picked her up. 

"She said yes!" 

"I've got to tell, Colonel..." 

"I'd keep that secret to him." Denise smiled, "I'd keep it a secret until the wedding; It'd be safe for you both." she mentioned as Cecelia sighed, 

"We'll try to keep it a secret,"

"Cecelia..." Denise glanced at her daughter.

"Don't worry, we got this..."

Fontainebleau Hotel Florida March 26th, 1960

"Remember Cecelia, smile." Cecelia nodded, walking down in a black low-cut sweetheart pencil dress with Dior gloves. Cecelia's hair slicked back into a bun full of pin curls."You look so beautiful, Cece." Midge smiled, "Thanks, I'm nervous, singing a jazz song on a show I only know a little about..." her eyes averted to Elvis as he walked by in his suit, "Hey, Mama, you're..." looking at her dress he couldn't help but stare at her beauty, "Hands are shakin."

"I'm a little nervous, darlin." Elvis said as she kissed his hands, "You'll be fine... I know it's been two years, but if you get nervous, know I'm rootin' you on." 

"Ms. Valmos, you're on." Cecelia nodded, "Wish me luck." Cecelia was hired as a last-minute solution to the show, but the people of Miami still seemed to love her,  

"So you didn't tell her whose show it was," Midge smirked, 

"Nope, I wanted it to be a surprise," Denise smiled, 

"I never thought I'd hear her sing jazz..." Midge laughed,

"It's in her blood." Denise watched. On the other side of the stage was the Colonel and Elvis, who had the most love-sick grin on his face. It was as if he was watching her perform for the first time, and in all honesty, he was. It was like Elvis had those same butterflies he felt the night at the carnival. When she finished performing, she passed him as he looked her way.

"Focus, you and Sinatra go on next."

Cecelia turned to see Frank Sinatra walk past her, her heart nearly fluttering. Denise could see the whole interaction happening on the other side of the stage as she chuckled, 

Cecelia was in a dream. She had to be to witness both Elvis and Frank on a stage singing. Never in her 26 years of being alive would she have ever thought to see this happen.

 When filming wrapped, Elvis walked over to Denise, who was looking at Cecelia, who was looking at Frank Sinatra. "Anyone seen Cece?" he asked, hands still shaky. 

"Swooning over swoonatra." Midge laughed, 

"I see..." he sighed as Denise heard the jealous tone in his voice, "Ah...ah... Green is not your color, dear." She smirked, "Think of it as a schoolgirl crush. After all, she's engaged to you." Denise mentioned, 

"If you really wanna woo her, introduce her to him. He's like her childhood crush."

"Fine, but I doubt I'm gonna like what happens next."

"Hey, doll..."

"Hey, honeypie." Cecelia smiled, "You were amazing up there."

"Me...Please now you, you were breathtaking." he smiled, "But speakin' of that... How'd you like to meet Mr. Blue Eyes himself." 

"El, you wouldn't... " she gasped, "He's like my childhood crush!" she grinned, 

"Then, of course, you came along an-" 

"Presley!" Frank Sinatra smiled, "Welcome back."

"Thank you, sir. Uh, have you met Cecelia Valmos?" 

"No, Denise's little girl!" Frank Sinatra smiled, "You've grown up to be a beautiful young lady." he winked as Cecelia turned bright red, 

"Th-Thank you." 

"You know if you two aren't together. Then you should, You two make a cute couple, after all." He winked, and Frank took her hand as he kissed it, "Ms. Valmos, Presley." Cecelia froze as Elvis and Frank laughed, 

"I still got it, Denise. Thanks again for the favor." 

"Are we that obvious?" Elvis asked as Cecelia looked at him,

"Well... there were those instances back in the '50s." she laughed, giving him a quick peck.

"I guess you're right."

Memphis, Tennessee, April, 1960

The sweet sounds of the violin came from the recording studio as Cecelia played, "Rock N Roll and Violin?" Midge said from the other side of the booth, 

"It's for a movie, Midge." She took a deep breath, "Movies, you're doing movies again..." Midge chuckled, 

"Yes, I'm working on a soundtrack first, but it's a romance about a showgirl, who falls in love with this lounge singer... and he's from a dangerous crime family and-"

"Elvis is the love interest..." Midge playfully asked,

"If I can pitch it to a studio, and they take interest." she smiled, 

"Honey, it's 1960..."

"Exactly, times are changing." Cecelia smiled, "And besides, I'm tired of hiding that I'm with my babydoll..." she grumbled, "Of course, we've been planning the wedding and whatnot." She grinned, 

" I want the world to know Midge."

"The world to know what Darlin." Elvis walked into the recording booth. 

"That I'm in love with you." She kissed him. Elvis kissed her back as he held her close to him.

 "What brings you by Mr. Presley..." 

"Hello to you too, Midge." he laughed, 

"Well, I have news."

"Tell me." 

"I'm filming another movie in Hollywood," he smiled as Midge laughed, "Oh God, this is great. I can finally stop watching King Creole!" 

"Don't mind her El," Cecelia smiled,

"Well, I won't, but I was wondering if you'd come to Hollywood with me. I know you've been workin on something, and maybe this could be your chance." He smiled at her.

"How did you know?"

"You left the script on the table... and I read it, well, I couldn't put it down." he grinned, 

"Oh, El..." she blushed hard, "It's true,I think you've got somethin good, and I wanna support your dream the best I can."

"You already are by marrying me."

[wonderlandleighleigh]

Joel watching Lenny being “roasted” about in Midges set and Lenny loving it.

Joel sighs heavily as he carries the small slip of paper to the green room. He's not thrilled about passing love notes (because that's definitely what this is) between his ex and her boyfriend, but she's performing tonight at the Button Club, and when that happens, he really does try to treat her like any other act.

He taps on the door softly, and when she tells him to come in, he steps inside, waving the note. "Lenny wanted me to give you this," he says.

Midge beams and takes it, opening it quickly and reading it over. She smiles slowly and looks up at Joel. "Thanks."

"What's it say?"

"You'll find out," Midge promises.

Joel huffs. "Okay. Break a leg, Midge."

"Thanks."

He wanders back out and Lenny nods a think you at him when he gets back to the main club, and Joel nods back before heading for the doorway between the bar and the main room.

Soon enough, Midge steps on stage, greeting the audience, and then she's proceeds to sit on the floor.

"You know I don't normally sit for my sets but I need to today," Midge tells the audience, fanning herself with a hand. "Because I just got the most romantic, schmatziest note from my boyfriend."

The audience laughs and Joel rolls his eyes.

"Lenny Bruce. Sicknick. Degenerate. Pervert. Reprobate. Whatever Walter Cronkite is calling him these days?" Midge shakes her head. "Hand wrote a Jane Austin quote on a little slip of paper and had it sent back to my dressing room."

She pauses.

"Jane fucking Austin!" She cries, bewildered, making the audience laugh. "Turns out Mr. Arrested every other night for telling dirty pope jokes on stage is the softest, gooiest man a-fucking-live!"

"You know what? The next time I have to bail him out, I'm taking this with me," she tells them. "'Do you see this, Officer? Lenny couldn't possibly have told that joke about fucking his sister, he writes ooey-gooey love notes and has them hand-delivered to me by my ex-husband! How could that have been the same man?!"

Joel has to laugh at that, and when he sees Lenny, he realizes the man is laughing too. There's not a trace of annoyance or embarrassment on his face, and that's...

perplexing to say the least.

She shakes her head. "It's a quote from Emma, by the way. 'If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.' I should sue for this. 'Your honor, this man hijacked my entire set with romance! J'accuse!'"

She gets a good laugh out of that.

"You're not the only one who can be litigious, you know. I was planning to come out here and talk about my mother's attempts to find a husband for a girl who has six toes on each foot, but here I am, waving around this love note like a sixteen-year-old who's just been pinned. And not against a tree with my skirt up. that's fun, too, come to think of it. But here I am rambling about my boyfriend writing me a love note with a 147-year-old quote."

Midge shakes her head and glowers at Lenny in the audience, who is still laughing. "Just for this I'm not sleeping with you tonight."

She sighs heavily as the audience laughs hard and shakes her head. "No one has ever written me a love note before. My ex, who is standing in the back? Can't write his way out of a paper bag."

Joel rolls his eyes, gritting his teeth a little, and hoping she won't go on.

"Ex-boyfriend? Only knew how to fill out medical charts. And checks. He was really good at signing checks," Midge ponders as the audience laughs. "This one?" She gestures to Lenny. "The dick jokes were fine. I'm fine with dick jokes. But this? Austin quotes? Everyone warned me about him. 'Dating Lenny is dangerous. He's gonna get you into so much trouble!' I didn't believe it until now. Fuck. Fuck!"

Joel shakes his head, laughing along with everyone else as Midge rants a little more before wrapping up her set to a healthy, loud round of applause, including Lenny, who is still laughing his ass off.

And Joel...

Still has no idea how anyone could be okay with being laid out so thoroughly for an entire audience, and he doesn't think he ever will.

[timeless-hollywood-classics]

Gene Eliza Tierney (November 19, 1920 – November 6, 1991) was an American film and stage actress. Acclaimed as a great beauty, she became established as a leading lady. Tierney was best known for her portrayal of the title character in the film Laura (1944), and was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actress for her performance as Ellen Berent Harland in Leave Her to Heaven (1945).

Tierney's other roles include Martha Strable Van Cleve in Heaven Can Wait (1943), Isabel Bradley Maturin in The Razor's Edge (1946), Lucy Muir in The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947), Ann Sutton in Whirlpool (1949), Maggie Carleton McNulty in The Mating Season (1951), and Anne Scott in The Left Hand of God (1955).

I Gene Eliza Tierney was born on November 19, 1920 in Brooklyn, New York, the daughter of Howard Sherwood Tierney and Belle Lavinia Taylor. She was named after a beloved uncle, who died young.[4][page needed] She had an elder brother, Howard Sherwood "Butch" Tierney Jr., and a younger sister, Patricia "Pat" Tierney. Their father was a successful insurance broker of Irish descent, their mother a former physical education instructor.[4][page needed]

Tierney was raised in Westport, Connecticut. She attended St. Margaret's School in Waterbury, Connecticut, and the Unquowa School in Fairfield. She published her first poem, entitled "Night", in the school magazine and wrote poetry occasionally throughout her life. Tierney played Jo in a student production of Little Women, based on the novel by Louisa May Alcott.

Tierney spent two years in Europe, attending Brillantmont International School in Lausanne, Switzerland, where she learned to speak fluent French. She returned to the US in 1938 and attended Miss Porter's School in Farmington, Connecticut. On a family trip to the West Coast, she visited Warner Bros. studios, where a cousin worked as a producer of historical short films. Director Anatole Litvak, taken by the 17-year-old's beauty, told Tierney that she should become an actress. Warner Bros. wanted to sign her to a contract, but her parents advised against it because of the relatively low salary; they also wanted her to take her position in society.

Tierney's society debut occurred on September 24, 1938, when she was 17 years old. page needed] Soon bored with society life, she decided to pursue an acting career. Her father said, "If Gene is to be an actress, it should be in the legitimate theatre." Tierney studied acting at a small Greenwich Village acting studio in New York with Yiddish and Broadway actor/director Benno Schneider. She became a protégée of Broadway producer-director George Abbott.

In Tierney's first role on Broadway, she carried a bucket of water across the stage in What a Life! (1938). A Variety magazine critic declared, "Miss Tierney is certainly the most beautiful water carrier I've ever seen!" She also worked as an understudy in The Primrose Path (1938).

The following year, she appeared in the role of Molly O'Day in the Broadway production Mrs. O'Brien Entertains (1939). The New York Times critic Brooks Atkinson wrote, "As an Irish maiden fresh from the old country, Gene Tierney in her first stage performance is very pretty and refreshingly modest." That same year, Tierney appeared as Peggy Carr in Ring Two (1939) to favorable reviews. Theater critic Richard Watts Jr. of the New York Herald Tribune wrote, "I see no reason why Miss Tierney should not have an interesting theatrical career – that is, if cinema does not kidnap her away."

Tierney's father set up a corporation, Belle-Tier, to fund and promote her acting career. Columbia Pictures signed her to a six-month contract in 1939. She met Howard Hughes, who tried unsuccessfully to seduce her. From a well-to-do family herself, she was not impressed by his wealth. Hughes eventually became a lifelong friend.

After a cameraman advised Tierney to lose a little weight, she wrote to Harper's Bazaar magazine for a diet, which she followed for the next 25 years. Tierney was initially offered the lead role in National Velvet, but production was delayed. page needed] When Columbia Pictures failed to find Tierney a project, she returned to Broadway and starred as Patricia Stanley to critical and commercial success in The Male Animal (1940). In The New York Times, Brooks Atkinson wrote, "Tierney blazes with animation in the best performance she has yet given". She was the toast of Broadway before her 20th birthday. The Male Animal was a hit, and Tierney was featured in Life magazine. She was also photographed by Harper's Bazaar, Vogue, and Collier's Weekly.

Two weeks after The Male Animal opened, Darryl F. Zanuck, the head of 20th Century Fox, was rumored to have been in the audience. During the performance, he told an assistant to note Tierney's name. Later that night, Zanuck dropped by the Stork Club, where he saw a young lady on the dance floor. He told his assistant, "Forget the girl from the play. See if you can sign that one." It was Tierney. At first, Zanuck did not think she was the actress he had seen. Tierney was quoted (after the fact), saying: "I always had several different 'looks', a quality that proved useful in my career."

Tierney signed with 20th Century-Fox[4][page needed] and her motion picture debut was in a supporting role as Eleanor Stone in Fritz Lang's western The Return of Frank James (1940), opposite Henry Fonda.

A small role as Barbara Hall followed in Hudson's Bay (1941) with Paul Muni and she co-starred as Ellie Mae Lester in John Ford's comedy Tobacco Road (also 1941), and played the title role in Belle Starr alongside co-star Randolph Scott, Zia in Sundown, and Victoria Charteris (Poppy Smith) in The Shanghai Gesture. She played Eve in Son of Fury: The Story of Benjamin Blake (1942), as well as the dual role of Susan Miller (Linda Worthington) in Rouben Mamoulian's screwball comedy Rings on Her Fingers, and roles as Kay Saunders in Thunder Birds, and Miss Young in China Girl (all 1942).

Receiving top billing in Ernst Lubitsch's comedy Heaven Can Wait (1943), as Martha Strable Van Cleve, signaled an upward turn in Tierney's career. Tierney recalled during the production of Heaven Can Wait:

Lubitsch was a tyrant on the set, the most demanding of directors. After one scene, which took from noon until five to get, I was almost in tears from listening to Lubitsch shout at me. The next day I sought him out, looked him in the eye, and said, 'Mr. Lubitsch, I'm willing to do my best but I just can't go on working on this picture if you're going to keep shouting at me.' 'I'm paid to shout at you', he bellowed. 'Yes', I said, 'and I'm paid to take it – but not enough.' After a tense pause, Lubitsch broke out laughing. From then on we got along famously.

Tierney starred in what became her best-remembered role: the title role in Otto Preminger's film noir Laura (1944), opposite Dana Andrews. After playing Tina Tomasino in A Bell for Adano (1945), she played the jealous, narcissistic femme fatale Ellen Berent Harland in Leave Her to Heaven (1945), adapted from a best selling novel by Ben Ames Williams. Appearing with Cornel Wilde, Tierney won an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress. This was 20th Century-Fox' most successful film of the 1940s. It was cited by director Martin Scorsese as one of his favorite films of all time, and he assessed Tierney as one of the most underrated actresses of the Golden Era.

Tierney then starred as Miranda Wells in Dragonwyck (1946), along with Walter Huston and Vincent Price. It was Joseph L. Mankiewicz' debut film as a director, In the same period, she starred as Isabel Bradley, opposite Tyrone Power, in The Razor's Edge (also 1946), an adaptation of W. Somerset Maugham's novel of the same name. Her performance was critically praised.

Tierney played Lucy Muir in Mankiewicz's The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947), opposite Rex Harrison. The following year, she co-starred again with Power, this time as Sara Farley in the successful screwball comedy That Wonderful Urge (1948). As the decade came to a close, Tierney reunited with Laura director Preminger to star as Ann Sutton in the classic film noir Whirlpool (1949), co-starring Richard Conte and José Ferrer. She appeared in two other film noirs: Jules Dassin's Night and the City, shot in London, and Otto Preminger's Where the Sidewalk Ends (both 1950), reunited with both Preminger and leading man Dana Andrews, who she appeared with in five movies total.

Tierney was loaned to Paramount Pictures, giving a comic turn as Maggie Carleton in Mitchell Leisen's ensemble farce, The Mating Season (1951), with John Lund, Thelma Ritter, and Miriam Hopkins. She gave a tender performance as Midge Sheridan in the Warner Bros. film, Close to My Heart (1951), with Ray Milland. The film is about a couple trying to adopt a child. Later in her career, she was reunited with Milland in Daughter of the Mind (1969).

After Tierney appeared opposite Rory Calhoun as Teresa in Way of a Gaucho (1952), her contract at 20th Century-Fox expired. That same year, she starred as Dorothy Bradford in Plymouth Adventure, opposite Spencer Tracy at MGM. She and Tracy had a brief affair during this time.[10] Tierney played Marya Lamarkina opposite Clark Gable in Never Let Me Go (1953), filmed in England.

In the course of the 1940s, she reached a pinnacle of fame as a beautiful leading lady, on a par with "fellow sirens Rita Hayworth, Lana Turner and Ava Gardner". She was "called the most beautiful woman in movie history" and many of her movies in the 1940s became classic films.

Tierney remained in Europe to play Kay Barlow in United Artists' Personal Affair (1953). While in Europe, she began a romance with Prince Aly Khan, but their marriage plans met with fierce opposition from his father Aga Khan III. Early in 1953, Tierney returned to the U.S. to co-star in the film noir Black Widow (1954) as Iris Denver, with Ginger Rogers and Van Heflin.

Tierney had reportedly started smoking after a screening of her first movie to lower her voice, because she felt, "I sound like an angry Minnie Mouse." She subsequently became a heavy smoker.

With difficult events in her personal life, Tierney struggled for years with episodes of manic depression. In 1943, she gave birth to a daughter, Daria, who was deaf and mentally disabled, the result of a fan breaking a rubella quarantine and infecting the pregnant Tierney while she volunteered at the Hollywood Canteen. In 1953, she suffered problems with concentration, which affected her film appearances. She dropped out of Mogambo and was replaced by Grace Kelly.[4][page needed] While playing Anne Scott in The Left Hand of God (1955), opposite Humphrey Bogart, Tierney became ill. Bogart's sister Frances (known as Pat) had suffered from mental illness, so he showed Tierney great sympathy, feeding her lines during the production and encouraging her to seek help.

Tierney consulted a psychiatrist and was admitted to Harkness Pavilion in New York. Later, she went to the Institute of Living in Hartford, Connecticut. After some 27 shock treatments, intended to alleviate severe depression, Tierney fled the facility, but was caught and returned. She later became an outspoken opponent of shock treatment therapy, claiming it had destroyed significant portions of her memory.

In late December 1957, Tierney, from her mother's apartment in Manhattan, stepped onto a ledge 14 stories above ground and remained for about 20 minutes in what was considered a suicide attempt. Police were called, and afterwards Tierney's family arranged for her to be admitted to the Menninger Clinic in Topeka, Kansas. The following year, after treatment for depression, she was discharged. Afterwards, she worked as a sales girl in a local dress shop with hopes of integrating back into society, but she was recognized by a customer, resulting in sensational newspaper headlines.

Later in 1958, 20th Century-Fox offered Tierney a lead role in Holiday for Lovers (1959), but the stress upon her proved too great, so only days into production, she dropped out of the film and returned to Menninger for a time.

Tierney made a screen comeback in Advise and Consent (1962), co-starring with Franchot Tone and reuniting with director Otto Preminger.[4][page needed] Soon afterwards, she played Albertine Prine in Toys in the Attic (1963), based on the play by Lillian Hellman. This was followed by the international production of Las cuatro noches de la luna llena, (Four Nights of the Full Moon - 1963), in which she starred with Dan Dailey. She received critical praise overall for her performances.

Tierney's career as a solid character actress seemed to be back on track as she played Jane Barton in The Pleasure Seekers (1964), but then she suddenly retired. She returned to star in the television movie Daughter of the Mind (1969) with Don Murray and Ray Milland. Her final performance was in the TV miniseries Scruples (1980).

Tierney married two men: the first was Oleg Cassini, a costume and fashion designer, on June 1, 1941, with whom she eloped. She was 20 years old. Her parents opposed the marriage, as he was from a Russian-Italian family and born in France. She had two daughters, Antoinette Daria Cassini (October 15, 1943 – September 11, 2010) and Christina "Tina" Cassini (November 19, 1948 – March 31, 2015).

In June 1943, while pregnant with Daria, Tierney contracted rubella (German measles), likely from a fan ill with the disease. Antoinette Daria Cassini was born prematurely in Washington, DC, weighing three pounds, two ounces (1.42 kg) and requiring a total blood transfusion. The rubella caused congenital damage: Daria was deaf, partially blind with cataracts, and severely mentally disabled. She was institutionalized for much of her life. This entire incident was inspiration for a plot point in the 1962 Agatha Christie novel The Mirror Crack'd from Side to Side.

It is claimed that she had an affair with Mohammad Reza Shah of Iran during the late 1940s.

Tierney's friend Howard Hughes paid for Daria's medical expenses, ensuring the girl received the best care. Tierney never forgot his acts of kindness. Daria Cassini died in 2010, at the age of 66.

Tierney and Cassini separated October 20, 1946, and entered into a property settlement agreement on November 10. Periodicals during this period record Tierney with Charles K. Feldman, including articles related to her "twosoming" with Feldman, her "current best beau". The divorce was to be finalized in March 1948, but they reconciled before then.

During their separation, Tierney met John F. Kennedy, a young World War II veteran, who was visiting the set of Dragonwyck in 1946. They began a romance that she ended the following year after Kennedy told her he could never marry her because of his political ambitions. In 1960, Tierney sent Kennedy a note of congratulations on his victory in the presidential election. During this time, newspapers documented Tierney's other romantic relationships, including Kirk Douglas.

While filming for Personal Affair in Europe, she began a romance with Prince Aly Khan. They became engaged in 1952, while Khan was going through a divorce from Rita Hayworth. Their marriage plans, however, met with fierce opposition from his father, Aga Khan III.

Cassini later bequeathed $500,000 in trust to Daria and $1,000,000 to Christina. Cassini and Tierney remained friends until her death in November 1991.

In 1958, Tierney met Texas oil baron W. Howard Lee, who had been married to actress Hedy Lamarr since 1953. Lee and Lamarr divorced in 1960 after a long battle over alimony, then Lee and Tierney married in Aspen, Colorado, on July 11, 1960. They lived quietly in Houston, Texas, and Delray Beach, Florida until his death in 1981.

Despite her self-imposed exile in Texas, Tierney received work offers from Hollywood, prompting her to a comeback. She appeared in a November 1960 broadcast of General Electric Theater, during which time she discovered that she was pregnant. Shortly after, 20th Century Fox announced Tierney would play the lead role in Return to Peyton Place, but she withdrew from the production after suffering a miscarriage.

Tierney's autobiography, Self-Portrait, in which she candidly discusses her life, career, and mental illness, was published in 1979.

Tierney's second husband, W. Howard Lee, died on February 17, 1981 after a long illness.[24]

In 1986, Tierney was honored alongside actor Gregory Peck with the first Donostia Lifetime Achievement Award at the San Sebastian Film Festival in Spain.

Tierney has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 6125 Hollywood Boulevard.

Tierney died of emphysema on November 6, 1991, in Houston, thirteen days before her 71st birthday. She is interred in Glenwood Cemetery in Houston.

Certain documents of Tierney's film-related material, personal papers, letters, etc., are held in the Wesleyan University Cinema Archives, though her papers are closed to the public.

[seanhtaylor]

Erosion

The breeze that blew the dust around seemed to whisper rumors that a storm was on its way. I’d only swept off about half of the porch, and I wasn’t even close to being finished yet; after the porch came the back storage room. Since I was just a few feet away the from the open doorway, I could hear Pa whistling, but the wall hid him from me. He’d done a lot of counting in there all week.

Big Bull stood silently on the porch, and watched intently as I worked. His stare never left. Never turned. Never stopped. It was as eternal as the thin flat frown the woodworker had given him. He had skin like rust mixed with mud, and his outfit was a rainbow montage of feathers and animal skins. The man who made him was an Indian too.

Three years ago, Pa had finally bought that store he’d always dreamed of owning. Nettle’s General Store was to Pa the culmination of years of hopes, and the end of the elusive vision that never materialized, yet had continued to tease him me mercilessly. Most of his time, free or otherwise, was spent in that store. Neither my mother, sister, nor I saw much of him after that, except sometimes for supper. Meticulously he’d walk each aisle of the small store and stoop to check every bin of merchandise, neglecting nothing at all. Every yarn or straw doll, knitted scarf, Mr. Goodbar, everything was accounted for and inventoried.

Dust flew and danced around me in the breeze while I swept. Every few minutes, whenever his counting brought him to where he could see me out front, Pa would yell out to me to get on with it, or to tell me that I missed a spot. He wasn’t a big man, but he had a big voice. Most of the time he just kept to himself, staying busy with his inventory list.

“Hey, Pa! You need any help counting them yarn dolls?” I yelled, hoping my words would sneak around the doorway to get his attention. “Miss Barnes says my adding’s about the best in the whole class.” I gave him a few seconds to show. “Hey, Pa! “

“What you yelling about now, Midge?” Midge was the nickname given to me by most of the other kids at the schoolhouse. Short for midget, it never let me forget that I was less, at least in stature, than my peers. It was the only name by which most folks in town knew me. “Say, you ain’t done with this porch yet? Dang, son... Quit fooling around with that Indian, and finish the porch.”

“Yes, sir.”

The wind played tag with the dust, and kept me sweeping twice as much as I should’ve just to get done. When I did finish, I gave my broom to Big Bull, leaning it beside his spear. He was surely a sight, that proud warrior, carrying a war spear firm and ready to fight, and there propped up was against him a ramshackle excuse for a broom. If only a real heart beat underneath that chest of oak, it would’ve burst wide open of humiliation.

“So... Who are we gonna get after today, Big Bull? Billy the Kid?”

Indian eyes gazed straight ahead, seeming to point visibly at a victim for the day. Up main street, like the naked emperor in that Hans Christian Anderson story, walked Kyle Lovett.

“Good idea...” I told Big Bull, “Good idea...”

* * *

“Hey Mee-uhge,” Kyle teased, dragging the nickname into two syllables, “You and your Indian chased any rustlers out of town today?”

Kyle stopped in the middle of the street to make sure I didn’t ignore the remark. He looked different than usual. Clean. Dressed in his Sunday suit. Even his brown, mangled hair was combed. He didn’t look like the same Kyle who had bloodied my nose two years ago.

I knew it was stupid to provoke him again, but I couldn’t help it. Besides, Big Bull was with me. “Kyle? Hey, Kyle? What you all dressed up for? Today ain’t Sunday, and there ain’t a funeral in town or nothing.”

“Look here, Midge,” he shook a fist at me, “What I wear is my own business, not yours, runt.”

That was the Kyle I was used to, no matter how he looked. That was the bully who had been responsible for getting me and Big Bull together in the first place. When he had pounded my nose, Pa had been busy in the back of the store, and my mother had been up visiting my aunt and uncle in Missouri, so where else had I to go but to the Indian? He didn’t tell me to hush up my racket, or that I was too big to cry. He had just listened and let me wet his feet and legs with my tears and the blood from my nose. By the time I’d finished, the swelling had gone down, and most of the bruises weren’t sore anymore. Pa had sure been mad though; the blood wouldn’t wash out, so my shirt had been pretty much ruined, and it was a gift from my cousins.

“I just wanted to know. Didn’t mean to make nothing of it.”

“Well, it ain’t none of your business anyhow... but if go telling everybody, I’ll get you like last time.” Satisfied, he spun around, facing away from the big Windham house at the edge of Chattville, and strutted off like the only rooster in a house full of hens.

* * *

Sometimes Big Bull and I would pass the afternoon hoping for a new General Motors’ car to drive by. Most people who owned a car had an older Model T from ten or twelve years ago. The Windhams owned the only General Motors’ vehicle in town, but they only got it out when they went out to another town. Mostly everybody walked since Chattville was so small.

Before Kyle’s dust could get a chance to settle, Molly Windham came skipping up the street, her red hair pulled off to the sides of her head in pigtails, each one bouncing without rhythm, beating softly on her neck.

“That you, Midge?”

Molly was fourteen, three and a half years older than I was, but it didn’t matter much. Especially standing there in her green party dress, made up like she was grown, not just a girl.

“Sure is.”

She bounced right up to the porch, grinning like the cat from Wonderland.

“Midge...”

“Uh-uh.”

“I just got the best news in the world.” Her lips were painted with bright red; they were two roses, growing on her face. “And I’m so excited I feel like kissing somebody.”

And she did. Molly Windham leaned over and stuck her two roses right on my forehead, and puckered like a fish.

I thought the stars had fallen from heaven, and were dancing around me.

While the stars danced, Molly twirled off the porch, and straight over to the dress-maker’s shop. She jangled the bell beside his door a few times, spinning and jangling, jangling and spinning, until Sam Miller finally came out and yelled something I couldn’t make out before pulling her inside. The echo from the bell drifted toward me and Big Bull.

“Did you see that!?”

The Indian didn’t answer, but I knew he was listening, and that he hadn’t missed any of it.

“Pa... Pa... Guess what!”

* * *

“You done with that porch yet?” Pa had come out to the screen door, tapping his pencil hard against that list of his. “There’s plenty more sweeping to be done inside.”

“Pa...”

He slipped his pencil into the front pocket of his work apron, and pulled his watch and chain from out of his pocket. As he flipped it open, he nodded, “Now, don’t ‘Pa’ me. You know it takes a lot of work to keep this place going. That means all of us.”

“But Lucy doesn’t have to.”

“Your sister’s busy enough taking care of your mother. She don’t have the time.”

“But...”

Pa was starting to get mad. His eyes narrowed like an Oriental man, and his ears began to turn a little red under where his hair was cut. “No excuses. First the back room, where the feed is. After that, we’ll see about letting you play some more with that Indian.”

He held the screen door open until I got the broom and drudged inside, dragging it with me. His eyes didn’t leave me until the door to the back room slammed shut behind me. I know. I peeked back out as he turned.

* * *

My wooden friend waited patiently while I swept out the back room. He hadn’t changed a single expression while I’d been gone. Just like always. He was there waiting.

“How much do you think flowers cost, Big Bull?”

I kept watching for Molly to leave Sam Miller’s shop. After a while nobody went in or came out anymore, but there was still no sign of Molly.

“Special flowers, I mean. Something better than I could pick out of somebody’s yard.”

Directly, Sam left the shop too, and locked the door behind him. He left two empty buckets outside the shop’s door like he always did, just in case anybody needed to borrow one late in the day. His brown suit pulled tight over his round frame making him look like a sausage with a lump in the middle.

“What kind of flowers do girls like now, anyway? They’re always so hard to please. That’s what Pa says. He ought to know... he’s known my mother a long time and all.”

Sam had to walk down by the store to get to his house, and as he waddled by, I waved to him and said hello.

“Well, if it ain’t little Midge. Say, you got you a girl for the dance next month? Surely your Pa and...” He made a face like he’d swallowed a horse. “Surely he’s gonna let you and your sister get out to it.”

“We ain’t so good at dancing, Mr. Miller.”

“I ain’t so good myself...” he said, and he was right. Round men who bounce when they walk looked twice as silly dancing. Even though he waltzed like a bag of potatoes, he always went. The girls said he made the best dancing gowns in the state. “But I wouldn’t miss seeing all the pretty girls in their new dresses I’ve made for them. Just today Molly Windham ordered one of the most difficult gowns I’ve ever had to put together. Old Man Windham said not to worry about how much it costs. It’s a dress-maker’s dream, Midge.”

“What color is it, Mr. Miller?”

“Color? It ain’t just any color, Midge. I’ve gotta order the cloth clean out of St. Louis.”

“They got different colors in St. Louis than here in Chattville?”

“No. Now don’t fool with an old man’s funny bone. It’s red, except it’s the same color red as Molly’s hair, lighter in spots, and shiny when the sun hits it right.” Sam pulled on a gold chain that disappeared into the fold-over of flesh and suit where his pocket should have been. Out flopped a gold pocketwatch. He opened it. “Mrs. Miller will be wondering were I am soon. Hope you get to go.”

I waved goodbye, and then when he was gone. “Roses. Red roses. The reddest we can find.”

I knew Big Bull approved.

* * *

Pa said no when I asked him about the flowers. I told him I’d work harder, and even stay away from the gumballs, but he still said no. That he was spending too much on the store already, and with my mother’s fever still not breaking, even though it had been two weeks.

* * *

The wind was picking up, turning a calm kiss-like breeze into a cold slap. Some papers announcing the dance floated across town in short hops, then flew on, bullet-like, when the stronger drafts got a hold of them.

The porch was warm underneath my weight, but when I touched it in a new place the wood was cold. The moisture on my hands would chill and then thaw in a fluid motion. I looked back at Big Bull.

“Sure was nice of old Joe to let me work for the flowers.”

I held the two flowers, roses, red as Molly’s fiery hair and the lips that had kissed me. They had cost me every cent I had plus a promise to work down at Old Joe’s flower shop once a week when I wasn’t helping Pa at the store. It was a high price, but worth it to see the look I knew would be on Molly’s face when I asked her to the dance.

It had seemed like hours until dusk came. Now that it was here, I could hardly wait. But the timing had to be perfect. I had to show up right after the dishes were put away. If I arrived early, the surprise would get lost in the clean-up shuffle; if I was too late, the effect would be interrupted by the family time around the radio listening to Amos and Andy.

“Wish me luck,” I said, and dashed from the porch.

Roses firmly in hand, I hurried down to the house at the edge of Chattville where Molly and her father lived (Her mother had died of tuberculosis when Molly was a baby). I could think only of my dream, my vision, waiting for me there in her red party dress, the fringes dancing in the evening breeze. My heart seemed not only to beat, but to pound with a steady, driving, big jazz rhythm like Benny Goodman or Louis Armstrong was directing its music. Time hardly passed at all, it seemed before I was there, suddenly staring at the heavy oak door.

Mr. Windham answered the door quickly after my small closed hand gathered the resolve to knock. His herringbone suit hung comfortably loose off of his tall thin frame. When he recognized me, his small mustache twitched and his eyes focused down onto mine.

“Why Midge, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?”

“Is Molly in, sir? I’d sure like to see her. I’ve got something for her.”

“Sure she is. Right in the den with...”

Kyle Lovett. Mr. Windham didn’t have to say it. I knew it the minute I walked in. He was sitting on the couch with Molly, holding her hand. How could she!? Didn’t she know what he was like? Kyle Lovett.

The roses were trampled underfoot as I choked on the anger rising in my throat, and ran away to Pa, dragging a cracked and tender heart behind me.

* * *

“Pa! Pa!” I pounded at the door with my small fists, knowing he would be locked away in the back office, listening to the clickety-clacks of the adding machine.

The sky had blackened while I had left Molly’s, and had given its first few drops to warn me that a big storm was coming. Rumbles sounded in the distance, but grew a little louder each time. If I’d had sense enough, I’d have let the winds blow me straight up the street to my house, safe from the weather.

“Pa! Please let me in. There’s a storm coming, Pa. Pa!”

As if it had waited for my announcement, the thunder and rain let loose on the earth like God was trying to punish us the way the Pastor down at the Missionary Church had said. The rain began to pelt down, soaking the dirt of the road, and beating it into a shallow layer of mud almost instantly. The papers that had been blown all over town were drenched and wrenched apart by the combined power of the wind and water.

Across the street was the wall of clay we all climbed on in the summer. At least we tried to climb it. It went about sixteen feet straight up, smooth as a polished stone. The only way to make it to the top was to take two pocket knives, and edge your way up, one jab at a time. Only the oldest and strongest boys ever made it all the way. The rest of us could hardly even stick the knives in the wall, since the clay was so hard and set.

Only, the storm washed it down to sixteen feet of mush pretty quickly. Anyone who tried to climb it now would probably drown in the river of wet clay eroding down the face of the wall.

The wind lifted Sam Miller’s two buckets, and sent one through the candy store window, and the other into the outside wall, where it dented and fell, waiting for another flight.

Although the porch kept me safe from most of the wind, it offered me no protection from the worst of the storm. The rain invaded in solid bullets of water, spreading out and joining together to make lakes and reservoirs that ran down between the cracks, only to be replaced by the new puddles that continued to build.

“Pa!” I yelled, but the thunder swallowed my cries. Big Bull stood firm. Since he was so heavy, the wind couldn’t shake him, not even a quiver. The rain soaked into the wood, but that only made him heavier, more secure. It also darkened the colors, and brought him closer to life.

Through the curtain of water, I saw every cut, every strain of artistry on Big Bull’s frame. In each carefully carved inch of his face, pain rested. His eyes were deep- set and sunken a little in sorrow, but somehow friendly in their darkness. The mouth was closed in an eternal silence, and the wrinkled carvings surrounding the flattened frown revealed a subdued bitterness that flamed, no doubt, beneath the painted exterior. Though he held only a single spear, his muscles were tensed and rigid, ready to answer the call to fight, eager. Big Bull captured well not only the hurt and anger of his people, but their strength as well.

So I hid from the storm.

The Indian’s figure kept me dry for the most part. Patches of rain managed every now and then to sneak around his legs and hit me, but I was separated from the worst part of the weather.

In time, the fury of the storm faded away. Its terrible threats and banshee screams died into quiet darkness. The sun had abandoned its post during the attack, leaving Chattville lighted only by the incandescent glow of random windows. Sleep, like a desire for death, found me, and I curled around Big Bull’s wooden feet.

* * *

“Midge... Midge... Get up. You’ll catch a death of cold out here.”

The blackness lifted from behind my mind and eyes, and I saw Pa trying to help me up.

“Pa...”

“Yeah, it’s me. What were you doing out here in the middle of that storm anyway? I thought you were home with your mother and sister.”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I reached for the handle of Big Bull’s spear, and used it to pull my worn-out body to a sluggish stance. Pa immediately reached out to keep me from falling again to the porch, but the spear supported me well enough.

“Let’s get you inside. I’ve got some hot cider going if you want some. It’ll sure help warm up your inards.”

I felt Pa’s overcoat as it was put around me to keep me from shivering. I expected it to engulf me, but it barely spread across my shoulders. He was a much smaller man than I had imagined.

© Sean Taylor

[artificialqueens]

From Under Liquid Glass (1)(Branjie)- Ortega

a/n: in the words of Malcolm Tucker, i’m on turbo! i’m sorry to disappoint u all and say that no, this is not part 3 to Your Move, although the good news is that a) re-reading it when i had to resubmit gave me all the feels and made me fall in love with the universe all over again and b) i finish work for 6 weeks so so soon, so i’ll soon have lots of time to get a part 3 constructed. yay! in the meantime, please enjoy this. as always…of course it’s a lesbian au. what else would u expect from me. it’s a completely self-indulgent almost-autobiographical thing that i began a while ago and i never submitted, so if people enjoy it then i’ll write some more. lots of love, bye!

p.s. the pin number line is stolen from a film. i think it’s called Employee of the Month. i watched it so long ago that i cannot remember.

p.p.s. i promise i’ll make my author’s notes short one day

Trigger Warning: lots of discussion around anxiety so avoid if u don’t want to face that

Summary: Brooke Lynn Hytes was always told she’d have it all. She was never told that “all” would include crippling anxiety. Signed off from work at 27, Brooke moves back to her childhood home and has to get her head around her fall from grace.

Vanessa “Vanjie” Mateo has no job, no degree, and -£32.65 to her name, but she prides herself on keeping a level head. That all changes when a certain high school crush moves back into town and back into her life.

***

“Brooke?”

Brooke’s eyes sharply darted up to her colleague, her friend, and the only person she could trust in this godforsaken hellscape of a workplace. She felt like a small, trapped animal.

Nina’s eyes were kind, but worried. “Should you even be here today?”

Brooke blinked one, twice, three times. In an effort to keep her breathing steady she took a big gulp of air, which was restricted somewhat by the pressure on her ribcage. Was she about to have a panic attack? No, she could reign it in. She wished she could stop crying, though, the tears falling in a steady stream from her eyes which hadn’t stopped since Nina had entered the dance studio and asked her how she was. It wasn’t a secret that Brooke was having a tough time of it at work- the pressure of a chaotic management to get as many children as possible into the most prestigious dance schools in the country was tearing her mental health apart, but she’d always been able to cope with tough things, been able to push on and get through it. Although now, it was looking increasingly difficult.

Remembering Nina’s question, Brooke looked up at her. She tried to push a smile onto her mouth as she shook her head, more tears rolling down her cheeks in the process. Brooke almost wanted to laugh. She must have looked horrifying.

“Oh, baby. It’s okay. I think you just need some time away,” Nina sighed, putting a comforting hand on Brooke’s arm and letting it rest there. Brooke’s heart broke when she realised that Nina’s own eyes were tearful. “God, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you how you were, it’s just made things worse-”

“Nina, the wind blows and I cry,” Brooke deadpanned, rolling her eyes at herself and causing her friend to laugh. She took a deep breath. “But no. Yeah. I…can’t be here just now.”

Nina nodded. “Do you want me to go and tell Michelle?”

Brooke exhaled loudly. She didn’t want to have to actively seek out her head of department in the state she was currently in. She thought about it for roughly three seconds, but in that time about fifty thoughts managed to run through her head like the end credits of a film played at double speed. “Yes please.”

Nina said some other vaguely comforting things. Brooke couldn’t process them. Her mind was replaying the scene from only four days ago over and over in her head- she had been at the doctor’s, sitting all scrunched up in the chair in front of her.

“I would really like to sign you off, because it’s your work that’s causing you stress. But if you’d rather give it a couple of weeks to see how you feel and make another appointment then we can definitely do that.”

Brooke wanted to laugh at the memory. Even in the fucking doctor’s surgery, a shell of her former self, in a literal appointment she’d made to try and repair her fractured mind, she had still been too afraid to say the words- yes, do it, sign me off- as that would have meant it really was completely over. Instead, she was here at work, hands shaking, mouth bone dry, and she was still typing at her computer in an attempt to get her reports finished.

Eventually, Michelle appeared. They spoke, and Brooke still hadn’t been able to stop her tears falling. Michelle had been supportive if not sympathetic, and Brooke had apologised for causing them all inconvenience once, twice, three times. Eventually, Michelle told her to phone her doctor and go home, and took her into her office to make the necessary calls. Brooke had taken some deep, shuddery breaths that felt as if she was trapped under ice.

She hit call seven consecutive times before there was any answer.

“Hey, Mum. Um. Can you come and pick me up from work?”

***

It was sort of entirely ridiculous, the fact that Brooke had reached the age of twenty seven and had never learnt to drive, but the moment that she saw her Mum’s white, midge-splattered family car roll up outside reception she had never been so glad of having not had a license. It had taken roughly 45 minutes for her to reach the school that Brooke taught in, and on the drive back to her house Brooke listened to her chatting away about how she’d had to take her cat to the vet’s for his injections that morning so she’d had to drop him off back home before she could come for Brooke. Brooke had been worried about phoning her Mum, and she knew she worried about her, but she reasoned that she was probably just glad Brooke was coming to be at home with her.

Brooke had thought about going back to her own flat and resting up there, but she knew all she had waiting for her there were some slightly withered potted plants. She needed to spend at least a day back home with her parents, be treated as if she was back in high school all over again. As pathetic as it sounded, she just needed looked after.

As the cars sped by on the motorway, Brooke looked at her reflection in the wing mirror, running her fingers through her hair and noticing her dark roots coming through in dismay. Brooke had always had a long, thick head of platinum hair, but various escapades in highlights and lowlights over the years had cause roots to begin to appear every so often. She’d always been organised enough to get it sorted before it ever got too bad, however as she looked at herself now she realised she must have slipped up. She noticed her Mum looking over at her from her position behind the wheel.

“I’ll treat you to a haircut while you’re off,” she said quietly, her tone cheerful and making Brooke’s heart hurt more. “And we can make a nice dinner tonight. How does fajitas sound?”

“If you’re nice to me I’ll cry,” Brooke said dryly, sighing deeply and sinking further down into her seat. She saw the sides of her Mum’s mouth jerk up quickly into a suppressed smile, the corners of her eyes crinkle and deepening her crows’ feet.

“I think there’s some bubble bath in the bathroom cupboard, and I’ve still got some of that Liz Earle face mask your Dad got me at Christmas. You can get a nice relax when we get home.”

“You are queen of serotonin,” Brooke gave a small smile, rubbing at her tired eyes.

It was hard feeling like she’d let people down. She’d forever been seen as a success in her family- the hard-working, quiet, well-behaved little girl, the head girl of her high school with straight As, a solo seal ballet dancer with an offer from Cambridge and eventually a First Class Honours degree in Education. A well-respected dance teacher at the last school she’d worked at, with staff who all loved her and children who respected her. The move to her current school should have been a great development opportunity- a private, fee-paying secondary school well-known for its excellence in the expressive arts. Instead all that had come with it was pressure, scrutiny, and absolutely zero support from any member of management. It was hard for Brooke to admit she was struggling, and it was even harder to accept that she’d lost her battle with work- she was going home. She wouldn’t be returning for weeks. She knew that several of the girls she taught had exams coming up in the near future, and her competition group had finals in a month. The thought of all of this made her stomach sink and her heart thud deeply, fight-or-flight impulse kicking in although instead of telling her to run away, it was telling her to run back. But she couldn’t of course- she was trapped in her Mum’s car rolling down the motorway back to the house she grew up in, back to the town she grew up in, and back to mundanity and quiet.        

Eventually, Brooke arrived home. She shuffled, numb and dazed, through the doorway, being brought back to earth with a bump by her family pet Henry, still a little tired from his vaccines and rubbing against her legs. She tuned in and out as she listened to her Mum explain that she’d have to go back to work until the evening (despite being sixty-eight, her Mum insisted she would never be able to retire) so Brooke had to be in the house on her own for a while. She had looked worriedly at her as she broke the news, as if Brooke had been about to break down sobbing, but she was strangely comforted in the fact that it would just be her and the cat and her house full of memories. It would be like spending time with an old friend.

So once her Mum left for work, Brooke tried to push her own work out of her mind. She took a long, hot bath and then found some cosy sweatpants and a huge black hoodie in one of the closets in her old bedroom, mixed up with old clothes she’d brought back from uni before she’d started her first job. It was funny to be back in her little pink-painted microcosm that she’d spent so many years in, really where she first began her struggle with anxiety. Brooke frowned at herself as she thought. She shouldn’t use the word struggle- she should use the word relationship, or battle, or coping, but if the very fact that she was back living with her Mum after a complete work-related mental breakdown didn’t indicate a fucking struggle, then what did?

Brooke then knelt down on her old white carpet and opened her wardrobe, the bottom of which contained a bunch of sentimental items that she had never gotten round to throwing away- old programmes from dance shows, certificates from exams, photos, her old high school yearbook. Opening it, she found the photos from her leavers’ prom and her eyes fell on one of her and her friends all standing lined up on Brooke’s staircase. She smiled as she remembered her girlfriends- Plastique, who she hadn’t spoken to in months, now working as an air hostess for Emirates. Yvie, who had moved to New York and was touring with some acrobatics company- she exchanged the odd half-arsed catchup Facebook messenger message with her now and again. Scarlet, who she’d fallen out with before uni over some childish thing- she couldn’t remember what, but they hadn’t spoken since. Bianca, who only lived then next town over but could never make their schedules match up for a coffee, so busy was she with her job at a fashion editorial. Detox, who she’d fallen out of contact with. It was so fucking sad. Everybody else seemed to have a little group of school friends they still spoke to, at least if she went by what instagram showed. Looking at the photo, Brooke felt a million miles away from the girl with her hair swept up in a bun wearing a blue satin ballgown, and she couldn’t quite believe it had once been her.

Pushing the yearbook to one side, she finally found what she was looking for- some mindfulness colouring-in book her Mum had once bought her for Christmas full of different patterns. At the time, Brooke had wanted to make some comment about how it was cheaper than therapy, and the memory made her snort an ironic laugh. She sat gently on her old bed, all freshly made up with white sheets and pillowslips although still with its old mattress that sagged in the middle. She coloured for an hour or so, and then decided to listen to some relaxation tape she’d found through an anti-anxiety app she’d once downloaded in a vain attempt at self-care. It was hard to switch off. Every time she finally felt as if her mind was clear, some thought from work would hit her out of nowhere with a start, like a car crashing into her. So it was a welcome relief when she eventually drifted off into a nap, her mind finally at peace from its self-inflicted torture.

Brooke woke to find it was still light outside, her Mum perched gently on the edge of the bed and her eyes crinkled up in a smile.

“Good sleep?” she asked, her voice quiet. Brooke stretched in response. “I need to take a walk to the shop to grab stuff to make fajitas. You want to come with me?”

Every fibre of Brooke’s being wanted to stay curled up in the bed, but she found herself saying yes.

That was how twenty minutes later she found herself staring with glazed eyes at a crate full of red onions, as her Mum tried to find the one that was the least bashed. Brooke took a deep breath and tried not to grow irritated with her as she watched her pick up and put down onion after onion.

“Mum, you’re not quality control. Just get one in there,” she said weakly, reaching over herself and putting one in the shopping basket her Mum had slung over her arm. As they traipsed the aisles, Brooke found her heart hammering in her chest as she realised- here she was in her home town, wearing black baggy sweatpants and a black shapeless hoodie, Birkenstocks on her feet, with black roots poking out through her hair. She was a complete sight, but her saving grace was that most of the people she’d known from school had moved out, and that it was a relatively big town. She wasn’t really likely to bump into anyone she knew. At least, that’s what the logical part of her brain told her. The part captained by anxiety had convinced herself that the supermarket was a front and that the aisles were all about to peel away to reveal her standing on stage as part of Ant and Dec’s Saturday Night Takeaway in front of an audience of millions.

Eventually, they had completed their circuit of the shop and Brooke was helping load everything onto the conveyor belt when her Mum suddenly gave a small cry. “Shit! I need cat food.”

“I’ll get it,” Brooke said, trying her best not to sound downtrodden as she strode slowly away from the checkout desks. On the rare occasions she’d spoken today she’d either been on the brink of tears or she’d given her best impression of Eeyore on beta blockers, and it was a million miles away from the voice she knew she was able to speak with. It frustrated her.

Reaching the pet food aisle a couple of metres away, she marvelled at the astronomical price of ground up pieces of animals that humans didn’t want in sauce, picked up four little gold foil trays and was about to turn around when the unthinkable happened.

She heard her name.

At least, she thought she had. It sounded as if it was being said in a girls’ voice, perhaps her age or slightly younger. Either way, that wasn’t good news. Frozen in place, she decided to turn back to the tills when the voice stopped her again. This time, it was clearer, distinctive, and it hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Brooke Lynn?”

Brooke slowly turned around, trying to mask the confusion on her face when she locked eyes with the girl who had spoken her name. She was small, with tanned caramel skin, dark hair and perfect makeup, and Brooke didn’t recognise her at all. What she did recognise, however, was the voice.

The girl took a couple more steps towards her, putting down her bags full of stuff from other shops and giving an awkward wave. “Hey! It is Brooke Lynn, right? Shit, sorry, you just really look like a girl I knew in high school-”

“No, yeah, it’s me…” Brooke began, then trailed off, embarrassed because she looked exactly like someone that was failing at life and because she still had no idea who the fuck this girl was. “Um sorry, this is embarrassing, I actually don’t remember you.”

To her credit, the girl gave a blush and a loud laugh. “Aw no, shit, no, of course you don’t. I mean, why would you, right? I’m Vanjie, remember? We went to the same high school? When you were in sixth form you helped out with the Year 7 dance club? I went to that.”

A brief flash of memory shattered through Brooke’s already very crowded mind- Vanessa Mateo, a small, slightly chubby girl with braces and a big attitude, who answered her dance teacher, her friends and Brooke back, who had a lot of potential and a fiery temper. Brooke did remember her. She was very different to the girl in front of her just now.

“Oh, God, yeah, no, I remember you,” Brooke stammered out, trying and failing to cover up her disbelief. “No, yeah, shit. I didn’t recognise you at all, you look so different!”

“How so?” Vanessa raised an eyebrow, as if she was daring Brooke to start digging.

“Well, um, obviously everyone looks so different back in high school. You got the braces off, obviously. And you lost weight, right? You look so good. Not that you were needing to lose weight, I mean you were what, fourteen? And there’s nothing wrong with being bigger, obviously. I’m not saying you were big at any point, just-”

“Jesus, are you havin’ a stroke?” Vanessa suddenly let out a peal of laughter, her eyes at once mocking but kind. It was a funny gaze to be regarded under, but not an altogether unpleasant one. Brooke found herself letting out the first genuine laugh she’d omitted in days. “Girl, it’s fine. I was ugly. We all were in high school. Except you. You always looked fine.”

Brooke gave a humourless laugh, gesturing down at her clothes. “‘Looked’ being the operative word. I usually don’t go out like this, honestly.”

Vanessa gave her a once-over with her eyes and shrugged. “You don’t look so bad. Could wear a bin bag and your face’d still look the same.”

Brooke felt a sting of blush prick at her cheeks, not used to being flattered. Vanessa frowned, clearly sensing Brooke’s embarrassment and quickly changing the subject.

“So what brings you back here? I know you didn’t stay when you left high school. What’re you up to now?”

“Oh, uh,” Brooke felt her heart tightening. It would be so easy to lie- it’s not like she’d ever see this girl again after their chance meeting in a supermarket cat food aisle- but if she was being honest, Brooke didn’t even have the energy to come up with a simple lie. So she felt herself jumping straight into deep, freezing cold conversational waters, and her heart froze up as she spoke. “I’m just back home for a visit. I actually got signed off work today. So. Yeah. I was a dance teacher at one of the private schools through in the city. I mean, I guess I still am, I’ll have to go back at some point. But, yeah. That’s where I’ve ended up. I bet that’s the glamorous life you would have expected the head girl to end up living when you were sat in assembly all those years ago.”

Vanessa gave a sympathetic smile. “Damn, that sucks. I’m sorry. Still, it’s good you’re taking time out and being open about it and stuff.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t go around telling every fucker all my problems. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Here’s all my emotional baggage. Hope you enjoy it.”

Vanessa’s face lit up as she laughed again, and Brooke felt something in her heart warm up. Maybe it was because Vanessa’s reaction had been so blissfully unremarkable, as if Brooke had told her it was going to rain tomorrow. Maybe it was the way they were talking like old friends, despite the fact that Brooke’s only claim to knowing this girl was through teaching at a dance club she went to twice a week ten years ago. Brooke often forgot, however, that she’d always been under the spotlight being head girl in sixth form. The year sevens, straight out of primary school, had all looked up to her, and that was exactly the year group Vanessa had been in. It felt weird seeing her as an adult, quickly working out in her head that she had to be twenty-something by now.

“So, uh. What did you end up doing yourself? Do you still dance?”

“Dance? God, no, I can barely even walk in a straight line these days. Uh, no, I do nothing. I’m professionally unemployed at the minute,” Vanessa’s foghorn voice grew quieter, rubbing her neck as she spoke. “I apply for jobs, they reject me because I have no experience and no A Levels, the cycle begins again. It’s a great job. I’m lovin’ life.”

Brooke smiled at her and shook her head. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it. Job hunting is a full-time job in itself, you need to be kind to yourself about it.”

Vanessa smiled shyly as Brooke spoke, which made a little bubble inside Brooke pop. She’d so rarely seen Vanessa smile before, since most things she’d said to her in dance club had been met with a defiant scowl or a frown. She looked nice when she smiled.

Brooke was suddenly pulled out of her thoughts by her Mum shouting over from the till. “Brooke! What’s my pin number?”

“5280, Mum. Now we’ve gotta change it again,” Brooke shouted back, delighting as she turned back round and saw Vanessa laughing at the exchange. Brooke realised she was still holding the cat food. “Well, I’d better go before my Mum gets frauded. But it was nice seeing you, Vanjie.”

“You too, Brooke Lynn. Take care, okay? Hey,” she said suddenly, reaching into her shopping bag and holding out a bouquet of pink lilies. "Here. I bought them to brighten my flat up, but I think you need ‘em more than me.”

Brooke blushed in spite of herself, and she watched as Vanessa smiled shyly back at her. “Oh. Thank you, that’s sweet.”

Brooke could’ve sworn Vanessa blushed back at her as she shrugged. “Well. I’ll maybe see you around.”

“Yeah, see you,” Brooke stuttered out, as Vanessa picked up her shopping bags and passed by her with a little wave. Dazed and confused, almost as if she’d felt something land on her but couldn’t feel what it was, she made her way back to her Mum and handed over the cat food to the girl at the till wordlessly. Her Mum raised an eyebrow.

“Ooh, who was that? A gorgeous girl giving you flowers?”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “Mum that’s not…no. It was a girl from high school, we were just catching up.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I know I always give flowers to whoever I catch up with from high school,” her Mum said dryly, avoiding Brooke’s eyes as she packed up her bags. “Come on, then. These fajitas won’t cook themselves!”

Brooke nodded and absent-mindedly sniffed the flowers in her arms, a smile forming on her face that she wasn’t aware of until it was firmly planted there.

[madelainesvixens]

AFTER MATCH SURPRISE |  JOAVIN

This is a repost from a prompt I received back in November...and accidently got deleted a few minutes ago. Why am I allowed on a computer again?

It’s been a few months since Joaquin had been back to Riverdale and the young Serpent hadn’t left the campsite more than five times. School had started again but Joaquin didn’t sign up. He thought about it, returning to school and attending Riverdale High with Toni, Sweet Pea and Fangs but that meant possibly crossing paths with Kevin in the halls and he couldn’t face Kevin after what he did.

So he spent his days by the river, guarding the campsite alongside his fellow Serpents. Now that the Ghoulies had claimed the majority of their territories, they had to watch their back closely.

As the weeks went by, Sweet Pea and Fangs became more and more worried about him. He looked thinner and not in a healthy way. He was quieter too and isolated himself a lot. His friends had a doubt Kevin was the center of Joaquin’s depression but neither of them dared bringing up the topic the touchy subject that was Kevin Keller.

Until Monday night.

“I think you should talk to Kevin.”

Panic flashed on Joaquin’s face. “I can’t.”

“Why’s that?” Fangs asked.

They were sitting on one of the old couches on the campsite, talking about everything and nothing around a beer when Fangs dove into the one-who-shouldn’t-be-named subject. He, Toni and Sweet Pea had drawn straws and Fangs had been the lucky one to draw the short straw.

“He’s mad at me and he has a new boyfriend.”

Joaquin took a sip of his beer, obviously biter about the new boyfriend situation. While it hurt to see Kevin ben happy and love-y with someone else, he couldn’t  blame him. After all, Joaquin had told the Northsider he would never come back to Riverdale. It wouldn’t have been unfair to tell Kevin to wait for him in case he’d come back.

Fangs shrugged. “So what?”

“He’s in a relationship with someone, I can’t waltz into his life like a ghost from his past and ask to take me back.” Joaquin shook his head, scoffing. “And, he hates me.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.”

On Thursday, Joaquin went to Kevin’s wrestling match and waited for him outside the door of the locker room after the match. It took a lot of convincing from Fangs but he got Joaquin to leave the campsite and go talk to Kevin.

Hood over his head and hands buried in his hoodie’s pocket, Joaquin stood nervously, bright eyes hopeful every time someone would open the door and come out.

Minutes passed and soon Joaquin realized it had been an hour since the match had ended yet Kevin still hadn’t come out. For a moment, he wondered if he had missed his exit but then, the door opened and Joaquin’s mouth was suddenly dry and his heart was pounding so hard in his chest it seems like it was in his ears, and he found himself holding his breath. Kevin froze and waited there for a moment, surprised.

The two teenagers stared at each other for a few seconds, unable to speak.

“Hey.” Out of all the things he could’ve said, ‘hey’, while appropriate to say greet people, was a bit too formal considering how they left off last fall.

“Joaquin.” Kevin’s voice was thick and you could feel the pain in it. He wasn’t expecting to see the Serpent ever again so it was a hell of a shock to come face to face with him after his wrestling match. “How long have you been back?”

Joaquin looked down, knowing Kevin wouldn’t take his answer too well. “The riots.”

Kevin’s eyes widen. The riots? Those happened months ago.

The brunet furrowed his eyebrows, adjusting his bag’s strap over his shoulder. “You said you were never coming back.”

“I know. But, I got a call from FP saying he needed my help to make Fangs disappear after he was accused of murder.”

Kevin almost scoffed. Of course FP was behind Joaquin’s return. The raven haired boy obeyed to his every wishes and commands.  He might be their King of whatever but that doesn’t mean Joaquin had to jeopardize his life for him - again.

“Midge,” Kevin informed.

“What?”

“The girl who died. Her name was Midge.”

The locker room door opened behind them, another wrestler leaving, and they paused. He patted Kevin on the shoulder, congratulating for putting that asshole Joffrey to the floor before leaving.  

“Can we talk?” Joaquin looked around. “In private,” he added, still not comfortable being out in public.

“I told Moose I’d be meeting him at Pop’s-”

Joaquin didn’t come all the way from the Serpent’s campsite to be brushed off by Kevin. He came here to talk to him so he will talk to him.

“It’ll take a few minutes. Please, Kev.” He looked up at Kevin trough his dark lashes and Kevin couldn’t say no to those pretty, pleading eyes.

A buzzing noise came from Kevin’s pocket. Kevin pulled it out and saw a text from Moose saying he had to reschedule because he was meeting with his RROTC buddies instead. He swallowed thickly and sighed. Moose was allowed to see  his friends, the rbunet didn’t have a problem with that. The things it, it wasn’t the first time Moose chose his RROTC buddies over him and although Kevin always say it’s fine, he was hurting inside.

“Okay.”

The two left Riverdale High in Kevin’s truck and went to Kevin’s house. His dad wasn’t home so no one would bother them, it was safe. Instead of heading up to Kevin’s bedroom, they sat in the living room.

The Keller’s couch was small so they were sitting very close to each other which made Joaquin more nervous. He had this whole speech planned but now, being so close to Kevin, all words seemed to have vanished from his mind and he didn’t know what to say.

Joaquin held his breath, apprehending what he was going to say, knowing it would bring up horrible memories. “I know what I did was fucked up but I got caught into it. I didn’t willingly participate cleaning up the murder. I had already seen the body on the floor, ditching FP would’ve costed me my jacket and the Serpents are the only family I have. When we found Mustang, I was terrified. FP was behind the bars and I was on my own. I didn’t know what to do. So I fled to save my ass.”

Pausing, the Serpent looked up at Kevin, trying to gauge his facial expression but the brunet’s face was difficult to decrypt.

“While I was away in San Junipero, there wasn’t a single day where I didn’t think about you. There wasn’t a day where I didn’t pick up the phone and almost called you. I dialled your number once and you picked up but, the second I heard your voice I hung up because I couldn’t do this to you. While it would’ve pacified my loneliness and warmed my heart to hear your voice, it would’ve caused you pain and I couldn’t do that to you. I caused you enough pain. I remember the hurt on your face when I got into the bus. I’ll remember that look for the rest of my life. I never wanted to hurt you, Kevin. I swear it wasn’t my intention.”  

While Joaquin was talking, Kevin had to look away in order to stay emotionless. Although he was mad at Joaquin, his heart was still weak for him. He hadn’t healed perfectly from their breakup, it would be so easy to fall back into the Serpent’s arms but Kevin had to resist the the charm of the snake.  

“When I first touched here my first thought was you. I wanted to go to your house and run back into your arms because I missed you so fucking much when I was away. But, I couldn’t. I had obligations elsewhere. Fangs is my best friend and he needed me. I had to control my impulses. Then, there was this big fight with the Ghoulies and the Serpents needed my help dealing with the aftermath and the fall down of the gang so I stayed.”

Minutes passed and Kevin was still quiet. He hadn’t said a words since they left the school and it was starting to kill Joaquin. “Now, you know everything. Love me. Or, hate me. But, please, say something.”    

“And, it never crossed your mind to tell me you were back,” Kevin said bitterly.

Guilt settled in the raven haired boy’s stomach and he looked down. “I saw you during the riots. When you and those Northsiders punctured the Serpents’s tires at the Wyrm. I almost went to you but I decided it was best for me to stay out of your life.”

Right now, Joaquin reminded him of Betty. He’ll admit that it dangerous and reckless to go into the woods at night when there was a killer on the loose but she had no right to go to his dad behind his back and tell him about the night cruising. He get that she was scared for his safety but he wasn’t a child who needed protection anymore.

“I’m perfectly capable of making my own decision, Joaquin.”

“That’s not what I said-” he defended but Kevin cut him off.

“Then why did you chose for me!” Kevin yelled in frustration, standing up from the couch. “So what if I get hurt in the way? I’ll pick up the pieces and deal with the consequences.”

His outburst took his ex boyfriend by surprise; he had never seen Kevin acting like that. The brunet closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths to compose himself and sat back down next to Joaquin.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out at you,” Kevin apologized. “I understand that you were trying to save me from another heartbreak but have you ever thought that maybe being away from you was causing me pain too? I know it’s been months but I can’t forget about you, Joaquin. I don’t think I ever will.”

Then, Kevin moved his hand over Joaquin’s and the older boy was shook for a second. Joaquin glanced down at their hands, a small smile tugging at his lips as he flipped his hand over, lacing his fingers with Kevin’s. Was this Kevin’s way to say he accepted his apologies? Before he could say anything, Kevin squeezed Joaquin’s hand, clearing his doubts.

[soyforramen]

Fall AU - In a world where Jason never died and Riverdale never fell into chaos, Jughead and Betty come across a palm-reading who will change their perspectives on life and bring them closer than they ever were before, or ever wanted to be. 

Cross posted on AO3.

xxxxx

Jughead was irritated and out of place once more.  Only this time it wasn’t at school. No, today he was irritable at Riverdale’s traditional Fall Faire, a place full of screaming school children, carts filled with aromatic foods he couldn’t afford, and rides guaranteed to make a PI lawyer salivate.  With his dark clothes and scowl he was the rain on the otherwise brightly colored parade around him.

Archie elbowed him, dropping kettle corn on the ground.  “Cheer up, Jug. At least we’re not in math.”

Reggie ran through them, almost knocking Jughead down, as he and Moose threw around a stuffed Tweety bird the football players had collectively won for Midge.  (They’d been trying for a stuffed animal for their own girlfriends, but Moose being Moose had gotten his way in the end.)

“I’d rather be in math than here,” Jughead muttered.  He grabbed a handful of kettle corn from Archie, saving it from it’s miserable fate on the leaf littered ground.  “At least there I can get a nap in.”

“Hey boys,” Veronica called to them from the booth they were passing.  Archie’s head whipped around, a goofy grin on his face at the sound of her voice.

“Down boy, the succubus isn’t going anywhere,” Jughead said.  

Archie ignored him and went to Veronica, a moth to the proverbial flame.  Having nothing better to do, Jughead followed Archie over to the construction paper covered booth.  The sign on top proclaimed ‘Kissing Booth: Help send the Vixens to Finals!’. Crude cut outs were strewn across the booth.  Jughead figured they were supposed to be lips, but to him they looked like slugs locked in a battle to the death. Then again, that’s also what he imagined kissing to be like.

Veronica perched on a stool behind the booth, dressed in orange and brown plaids for the season.  She grinned at him, a new little grin she’d perfected in the Hampton’s over the summer. It screamed ‘I don’t care enough to tell anyone all your secrets, but we both know that I know them.’  “Care to buy a kiss, Juggie? Or would you rather wait until Betty comes along for the second shift?”

Archie’s brows furrowed as he glanced between Veronica and Jughead.  “You and Betty are -

“There is no Betty and I,” Jughead said flatly.  In lieu of blushing (a Jones was never soft enough to blush) he glared at the dark-haired vixen.  

Veronica’s grin slipped into a sly smile.  “C’mon Juggie, I’ve seen the way you look at her.  Isn’t there something nice you can say about her?”

He narrowed his eyes and glanced behind him to make sure the blonde in question wasn’t walking up behind him.  One didn’t hover around Veronica Lodge’s inner circle without becoming wise to her machinations. “There’s lots of nice things I could say about Betty.  And Archie and Ethel and Toni. And there’s lots of things I could say about you.”

Veronica’s smile settled back into her usual Cheshire smile.  “You flatter me,” she shot back with a flutter of her eyelashes.  “Now, Archie, about that kiss?” Archie smoothed his hair and tugged at his jacket.  “One ticket, one kiss,” she reminded him.

Archie held out a ticket and Veronica slipped it somewhere under the counter.  She presented her cheek, and Archie gave it a quick peck.

“Aren’t you supposed to kiss him?” Jughead asked.

“If that’s the way it worked we’d all get mono, Creature from the Bowels of Hot Topic,” Cheryl said as she came to take her turn at the kissing booth.  “Now shoo, you’re in the way of paying customers.”

Jughead looked around and found no one else near the booth.  He was tempted to stand around to irritate Cheryl further, but it was soon apparent that the Kissing Booth would quickly become the Cat Fight booth if Cheryl kept asking Archie if he’d like a kiss on the house.  He saw the dark look in Veronica’s eye and knew from experience it was best to let his old pal Archie figure out his own female troubles.

As Jughead walked away, his eyes landed on a bright orange ticket laying on the dirt in front of him.  He picked it up and looked around. The closest Faire attendee was over at the duck fishing pond, and no one appeared to be looking for a spare ticket.  His civic duty attempted, Jughead curled his fingers around the ticket. The last time he’d had a ticket at the Fall Faire was in elementary school, when life was happier and simpler.  

Jughead shook that thought off.  After all, it was a faire to celebrate the bounty of the harvest, a time to eat, drink, and be merry.  With this ticket he’d be able to accomplish one of those things. He spent the next ten minutes wandering through the booths as he tried to decide what he wanted to spend his one ticket on.  The smell of kettle corn was tempting, but he’d already eaten most of Archie’s and he had a taste for something different. Something sweeter.

He wandered through the fairgrounds, watching people mill about in groups and making mental notes about how they moved and spoke on the off chance he might remember the next time he was struck by the writing bug.  If he was ever struck by the writing bug again.

It wasn’t until he spotted the caramel apple stand tucked away on the edge of the festivities that he knew what the ticket was meant for.  The gloomy fall clouds above him opened to allow a bit of sunshine to fall on the apple stand. The bright reds and browns of the sign were a neon sign to his hungry stomach.  Drawn like a jock to a cheerleader, a nerd to Gryphons & Gargoyles, Jughead made a beeline towards the stand. As he drew closer he could make out a dancing apple, eerily happy despite the large bite that had been taken out of it.  The words ‘1 Apple = 1 Ticket were written on the side. A happy coincidence indeed.

The fate of his ticket, though, wasn’t so easily sorted.  As he passed by the line of booths, a voice called out to him, crooked with age and rough with experience.

“Palm reading.  Know your true self.”

Jughead barely spared a glance at the old woman and her threadbare tent.  But that small gesture proved to be his undoing. He’d broken the number one rule of all fairs and carnivals: never make eye contact with people trying to take your hard-earned money.  

“You there.  Boy with the hat.  You look like you need some guidance in this world.”  

He stopped and squinted to get a good a good look at the woman standing in the tent’s shadow.  She was an old crone, or dressed as one, complete with the crooked back and wonky eye. He’d always held a healthy suspicion of adults, particularly of those who sold the type of things no one really needed, and this woman was the most suspicious on the fairgrounds.  The woman squinted back, waiting for his response. There was an unspoken social contract to these types of things. Once you’d acknowledged someone’s existence there was an expectation that you’d respond. It was a social contract Jughead despised, and it was the one he most often broke.

So instead of responding, he continued his trek towards the apple booth, his mouth already salivating at the memory of the sharp crispness of the apple mixing with the sticky sweet caramel.  His back teeth were sticking together in anticipation as he stepped in line.

“They say to write what you know, but if you don’t know yourself, what can you write?” The old woman’s voice held a note of amusement.  

His stomach told him the old women was only trying to get one more ticket, one more payout.  His inner voice, the one Toni called his super-ego, was intrigued by her promises. He’d been stuck on his novel for weeks, chasing down red-herrings into dead-ends of his own creation.  The investigation by the noir detective Monica Posh had long since fizzled into nothing more than another tragic accident. At this rate, the murder of the town’s Golden Boy would never be solved.

For what might be the first time in his life, Jughead listened to something other than his stomach.  It was an event that Fangs might even label ‘Growth’. Only Fangs would make sure it was accompanied by at least three memes and four gifs.  

Against his own nature, Jughead walked to the front of the tent.  In the coming days, he’d wonder why he’d ever gone over to the old woman.  He didn’t recall leaving the line, didn’t recall walking towards the woman.  It was almost as if some supernatural draw had pulled him to this place and to this woman.  

“I don’t believe in this kind of thing,” Jughead said.

The woman laughed.  “You’d be surprised how many people tell me that.  Come, come.” She beckoned him inside with a finger crooked with arthritis.

Jughead followed her inside and found it just as bare as the outside.  The only light came from a weak Coleman lantern set on the corner of a table. A faint smell of lavender hung in the air.  Jughead took a seat at the card table, the woman already seated on the side. They sat there, looking at one another, until the woman barked, “Hand.”

Too startled to do anything else, Jughead put his hand on the table.  The woman took his hand and peered at it. Her face came close enough to his hand he could have reached out and touched her cheek.

“Mmm,” the woman intoned.  

Jughead quashed his desire to crane his neck to look at his own hand.  He’d had it since birth and it was a pretty good hand, even if the fingers were long enough to get caught in the occasional door.  The old woman seemed to disagree.

“You are independent.  You follow your brain and ignore all matters of the heart,” she said.  The woman clicked her tongue. “Too independent, it seems. You are suspicious of everyone around you, and that makes you miss everything important in life.”

The way she said it reminded Jughead of his father haggling over ‘used’ parts at Mustang’s auto shop.  ‘Never buy at a mark-up,’ his father would tell them on the way over. ‘If you hem and haw a little, if you make them feel like their parts are inferior, that’s how you get a deal.’  At this moment, Jughead felt as if he were a mostly-new carburetor with all of it’s dents and dings on display.

“Your love life,” the old woman croaked, “is very sad.  Tragic!”

This was what he’d spent a ticket for?  Commentary he received every day, entirely unsolicited, from Reggie Mantle? The only ticket he had, the ticket that could have gotten him a candied apple, sure to last at least until they had to board the buses home.  And he’s wasted it on this?

“I want a refund,” he said in a flat tone.

The old woman looked up at him, and in the same flat tone, said “No refunds.”  She pointed over his shoulder and he turned to find a sign above the tent flap that said in bright red letters, “No Refunds, No Exceptions.”  She yanked his hand closer and peered at it in the dim light.

“You live in your head.  That’s what this line here means.”  She jabbed at the line under his fingers and he winced.  “Live in the moment. Learn to listen with your heart, boy.”

“And if I don’t?” he challenged.

The woman threw up her hands.  “Fine. Be a miserable old man by the time you're twenty-three.  But don’t come complaining to me when things drastically change for you.”

Jughead stared at her.  “Aren’t you supposed to tell me how to avoid that?  That next week the stars will align and things will look up if I only I wear pink?”

“I’m not a fortune cookie.  I read palms. Palms only show me who you are.  What you were raised to be.”

He scoffed, disappointed with her response.  He knew he was acting the petulant child, refused a toy he didn’t want in the first place only to throw a fit when it was taken away.

“Fine.  Thanks, I guess,” he muttered.  He stood and walked out of the tent.  It wasn’t until he’d rounded the corner that he realized the woman had never asked for his ticket.  In a surge of happiness, he checked his jacket pocket where he’d put it for safe-keeping. He came up empty.  Checking all the other pockets, he came up empty again.

With a scowl, he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stalked off to find Archie. 

On the other side of the fair, Betty just finished her turn at the kissing both.  Today had been a big blow to her ego, especially when she saw how many tickets Veronica and Cheryl had received.

“At least you didn’t have to kiss Creepy Chris,” Toni said in her own attempt at consolation.

Betty stared at the toes of her shoes. “I hid behind the booth every time he came by.

Toni stored and sat on the stool to take her turn.  “I wouldn’t worry about it. The only reason Cheryl and Veronica got any tickets is because they’re the biggest flirts in school and bullied every boy into stopping by.”

Betty knew this was true, but it didn’t help the sting of knowing that once again she was in second place.  She glanced to where Archie stood, Veronica on one arm, Cheryl on the other. Both vied for his attention between preening and sniping at each other. 

Toni put a hand on Betty’s arm.  “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.

Her smile was pained and pitiful.  Betty was used to that kind of pity.  After all, Betty had pined for Archie for years, always desperate to catch a minute of his time.  When they were younger, it was a game to see if she could finally pull Archie’s attention away from the other girls in town.  But as they grew up, and Betty grew into real feelings for him, she didn’t want to play the game any longer. She wanted to be the only one.

So she left Archie to the girls who weren’t so careless with their hearts, the girls who knew how to be a hear tbreaker.  And Betty tried to move on.

“I don’t know if it helps any, but I don’t think either of them want him.”  She leaned on her arms and openly watched the pair bicker.

“Oh?  Why’s that?”

Toni pointed to Cheryl, then to Veronica.  “See how all their attention is focused on each other?  The only time they focus on Archie is when the other one has lost interest.  They’ve been like this all the time I’ve known them.”

It was only a year ago that Southside High had closed and reintegrated with Riverdale, bringing with it Toni and Fangs and Jughead, but Toni was right. She had always been an avid people watcher, able to draw information about a person after two minutes that Betty hadn’t been able to figure out in a lifetime. 

Betty watched her best friend and cousin snap at each other through a different lens.  Their bodies were facing each other, not Archie, and they didn’t allow the poor boy to get more than a few words in.

“Maybe they should talk about it?”  she said thoughtfully.

Toni snorted.  “They’re both so in denial I doubt they’d let you get two words out.”  Realizing Betty was content to stand around, Toni gave her a gentle push.  “Go on, enjoy the rest of the fair. I think I can hold down the fort for the next hour.”

“Thanks, Toni.  Hope you have better luck than I did,” Betty said with a genuine smile.

Toni winked.  “I do have the advantage.  You only wanted to play with half the potential customers.”  She slipped a hand into the mason jar Ginger had brought for the tickets and pulled out three.  “Go have fun for me.”

“I can’t take those.”  Betty shook her head and back up.  “They’re for -”

Toni grabbed her wrist and put the tickets in her hand.  “For the new uniforms Cheryl’s been salivating over all year.  We both know the Vixens will never make it to finals. Think of it as hazard pay for having to kiss so many frogs.  And for staying up all night to make this booth happen.”

She hadn’t stayed up all night.  But Toni had a point. Betty had been the only one to show up yesterday, and she’d spent hours cutting out the letters and lips.  And it wasn’t her fault her mother refused to send her with any money for the fair. (It was a surprise Alice had even left her go after hearing that the Vixens were doing a kissing booth as a fundraiser.)

The kettle corn did look really good.  And if she still felt bad about it later she could always pay the cost of the tickets at the next fundraiser.

“Thanks, Toni.”  Betty placed the tickets in the front pocket of her purse.

“Bring me back some funnel cake, Cooper,” Toni said as Betty walked away.

Having the tickets was a minor thrill, a small rebellion against the iron-grip of societal expectations her mother had hammered into her head growing up.  This was the sort of thing that would keep her up at night, that would wind her stomach into a Gordian knot not even Alka Seltzer could cure. But she was hungry and the idea of funnel cake smelled too good to pass up. 

With her step lightened by her reasoning, Betty wandered through the Faire.  Most people, if asked, would say Betty Cooper was a spring girl, the kind who loved the budding flowers and baby animals, the promises of a new beginning wrapped in May showers.  But those who knew her, knew that she had always been a fall girl. There was something about the cooler air, the cozy sweaters, the hot chocolate. Her day was brightened by carved pumpkins and changing leaves.  It made her feel alive to be surrounded by so much color and activity. Fall meant the return of school and her friends, the return of football games and pep rallies, the return of another year in Riverdale.

“Such a beautiful smile,” a woman’s voice said to her right.  “I’m sure your palm is just as lovely.”

Confused, Betty turned to find a young woman with chestnut curls and deep grey eyes smiling at her.  “Palm reading. Only one ticket,” the woman told her.

Betty paused.  It had always been something she’d want to try, along with tarot readings and crystal balls. It was the type of thing her mother always warned her about.  Snake-oil salesmen and con-men who made their money by preying on people’s insecurities. Rationally Betty knew it only meant what you wanted it to mean, but the idea of doing something her mother would hate intrigued her, so Betty followed the palm reader into the tent.

Inside, the walls were draped with thick maroon cloth trimmed with gold.  The decor matched the palm reader’s outfit. Fairy lights illuminated the tent, and a diffuser in the corner threw the comforting scent of lavender into the air. 

The palm reader held out her hand to one of the cushions littering the ground, and Betty choose a deep purple pillow.  She held out her hand and the woman took it.

“Do you see this line here?” the palm reader asked after a few minutes.  “Do you see how long it is?”

Betty peered at her hand and nodded.  It ran the width of her hand. “Does that mean something?”

“You overthink.  And this line here, where that breaks?  It means you put others’ needs in front of your own.  You should learn how to say no every now and then.”

The woman hummed, and Betty sat up a bit straighter.  She craned her neck, trying to figure out what it was that had caught the woman’s eye.  “What? What is it?”

“Here.”  The palm reader pointed to a gap in one of the lines that crossed Betty’s palm.  “It is very odd. Do you see how it jumps? How the lines break between your second and first finger?  That means that an important love has passed through your life, from childhood until now. That break means that the love has left your life.  It is not longer the center of it. But,” the woman peered closer. There was a dramatic pause that that pulled a shiver of tension down Betty’s spine.  “Here. Something important will happen to you, much sooner than you think. Something life changing.”

Betty took in a deep breath.  The woman probably told every client the same thing, but to Betty it felt real.  She’d been waiting for important and life-changing for a while. “Do you have any advice for when it happens?”

The woman smiled.  “Think with your heart.  Don’t let your anxiety and fear get the better of you.  And put yourself first.”

Betty thanked her and handed over the ticket.  A grin stretched her face as she walked out into the cool fall air.  When she turned around to get her bearings, the tent was dark and the woman was nowhere to be found. \  As odd as that was, Riverdale had long since been a place of oddity, and the encounter didn’t sound out too her. 

With the other two tickets, Betty bought two funnel cakes and returned to the booth to keep Toni company.

To both Betty and Jughead, the palm reading was nothing more than a carnival game, another sentence in the novel of their lives.  Nothing was amiss that day, nothing had changed. They both went to sleep in their respective beds, the fair already forgotten.

[inverted-sheep]

Have you ever heard of Graemsay? If I was a gambling woman I’d put good money down to bet that the majority of you hadn’t.

It’s such a gem of an island, especially on a sunny day, that if it were further south or more easily accessible there would be hordes of people visiting.

As it is, it’s a tiny island off the coast of Mainland Orkney, which itself is an island off the very north coast of Scotland. A ferry goes every day, but the timetable means you have to be prepared to spend the whole day. This is great on a nice day, but as it doesn’t take long to walk round the whole island, and apart from the ferry waiting room there isn’t anywhere to get indoors, this might be a bit daunting on a miserable day.

Leaving Stromness behind

The ferry is a small boat with some indoor seating as well as seating on the deck. Most people who catch the ferry are going to Hoy, a bigger island on which can be found a famous sea stack called the Old Man of Hoy. The ferry stops on Hoy at a convenient place for people to start the hike to the Old Man and this is what most of the passengers on the ferry were planning to do. A few passengers got on at Hoy, but they were all going back to Stromness. Hardly anyone was going to Graemsay. Not surprising really considering Graemsay only has 24 residents!

The Graemsay ferry

When the ferry docked three older women got off with me. They were planning to do a short walk and then catch up with a friend they buy sheep fleeces from. For the first hour we kept catching up with each other, but after that I barely saw anyone for the rest of the day.

There was a pretty good tourist map of the island on the waiting room wall. I snapped a photo on my phone so I could keep referring to it during my walk. I hadn’t bothered with my OS map as I knew there wasn’t much chance of getting lost! There are toilets and plug sockets in the waiting room, but not much else. If the weather turned bad at least you could sit inside, but unless you had a good book it would soon get boring. You can also fill up your water bottles here, but note that there is nowhere to buy food on the island so bring enough for the day plus a flask if you want coffee.

Graemsay is only 4.09 km² so I knew I wasn’t going to get lost.

My walk started with a bit of uphill which soon levelled out. I decided to walk anti-clockwise as that way I’d get to see the things I wanted to see most first, just in case the weather turned later on. This far north you have to always plan for changeable weather no matter how the day starts out.

Gramesay has two lighthouses. I came across the first one – Hoy Sound High Lighthouse – soon after I’d started walking and began to realise just how small this island really is. If I didn’t slow down I’d have walked all the way round it and be back at the ferry pier six hours early!

Hoy Sound High Lighthouse – that’s Stromness in the background

Just past the lighthouse is a beach I was really interested to see. Sandside beach is, as you might expect from the name, very sandy. But … it’s also covered in shells and coral. The fine white sand is covered with so many shells and so much coral (called maerl) that in parts I couldn’t see the sand at all.

Can you spot the chunks of maerl amongst the shells?

I hadn’t heard of maerl before, but the text on the map I’d photographed explained it to me:

Maerl is a chalky encrustation, laid down on pebbles by some species of red algae. Maerl beds like the one offshore here are rare and fragile habitats, but once washed onto the beach the calcium rich maerl was used as a good lime fertiliser for the island’s acid soils.

The three ladies from the boat were at the beach, collecting shells or sitting along the concrete pier having coffee. I chatted for a while and then spent quite a bit of time looking for perfect shells and bits of maerl and drinking my own coffee. There was no point in rushing after all.

Sandside beach

Next  I walked along a lane enclosed by high grasses and dunes. When I came out the other side I was alongside another beach with views looking back towards the beach I’d just been on and the lighthouse. I could also see across the water to Stromness, the small town on Mainland Orkney from where I’d caught the ferry.

The three ladies from the boat are walking ahead of me near Hoy Sound High Lighthouse.

I’d already noticed that there were picnic benches placed regularly around the island and there was another one here. As I’d only just had coffee I carried on walking. The lane took me slightly uphill and past the small shack that is the community centre. There are toilets round the back, but no access to the building itself. The waiting room at the pier really is the only place to get inside or fill up your water if need be.

How white is that sand? And how dramatic do the hills of Hoy look in the background?

In hardly any time at all I came to the second lighthouse – Hoy Sound Low Lighthouse. Both lighthouses are private houses and so you can’t access the grounds, but can still get up to the gates and see them quite well.

Hoy Sound Low Lighthouse – in case you haven’t worked it out, the High lighthouse is tall and the Low lighthouse is short.

It was when I spotted the lighthouse I realised I’d missed the turnoff for the coastal path I’d been hoping to pick up. There were several rough tracks leading down to crofts and houses so I assume one of these was the access path to get to the coast. Later on as I walked further round the island I did spot signs pointing out the ways to the coastal path, so maybe there was one here too and I just missed it. It wasn’t a problem as the lane goes so close to the coast anyway it wasn’t as though I was missing out on anything.

Just behind this lighthouse is the Point of Oxan. It was here, on New Year’s Day in 1866 the sailing ship Albion was wrecked. She was on her way to New York from Liverpool and had 43 passengers on board as well as 24 crew. Eleven people were drowned, but with help from people on the island, the rest were able to survive. One island man, Joseph Mowat, was drowned whilst trying to help. He is buried in the local churchyard. Apparently you can still find broken pottery from the boat on the beach. I didn’t find any, but I may not have been looking in quite the right place.

WWII lookout tower behind Hoy Sound Low Lighthouse at the Point of Oxan. I wonder if they turned the lighthouse off during the war?

In more recent history, the Point of Oxan was used for a coastal battery during WWII. I spent a bit of time poking around them – having recently visit Ness Battery and HMS Tern on the Orkney Mainland and having guided tours at both, I felt I knew a bit about what I was looking at and what the building remains would have been used for.

WWII gun placement at the Point of Oxan

I followed a sign and tried to pick up the coastal path here, but the ground was so uneven and full of bumps and hollows I gave up and went back to the lane. The path only went a short way anyway, before turning back to the lane so again I hadn’t really missed out on anything.

Graemsay doesn’t have peat so has a different look to the other islands. It seems much greener and has grass rather than moorland. It also has plenty of picturesque roofless old croft cottages.

I had been told before coming to Graemsay (and it was mentioned on the map) that although there are coastal paths round some of the island, they’re not maintained and so can be quite difficult to use.

It was still really early and I’d already walked round half of the island and seen most of what I wanted to. Time to slow down a bit more. I walked up the lane to a slightly higher point, found a picnic bench and sat down to eat my lunch whilst gazing across at the hills, coves and beaches of Hoy. Hoy is the only really hilly island in Orkney. From where I was sitting the dark peaty hills made a dramatic backdrop whilst the Hoy Sound ran a deep blue in the foreground. Bright green grass rolled down to the sea and the few small beaches formed splashes of white in amongst the rocks.

Coffee time. That white speck near the horizon is the Hamnavoe – the ferry that sails between Scrabster in Scotland and Stromness.

After my lunch, I got my flask out again and poured a coffee to drink whilst reading my Kindle and enjoying the view. It was so calm and tranquil, warm enough to be in short sleeves. I spotted the Hamnavoe making it’s way across from Scrabster in Scotland to Stromness in Orkney. This is the car ferry that makes the journey a couple of times a day and that evening I would be on it.

Had I mentioned this was my last day in Orkney? I was so lucky to get a lovely day. There weren’t even any midges! Coming to Graemsay on my last day would have been special no matter the circumstances, but it was actually even more special than just my last day. Graemsay was the last inhabited island I had to visit on both Orkney and Shetland. Now that I’d made it to Graemsay I’d seen them all. At least that was what I believed until I got back on the ferry and the three ladies from earlier pointed out that there are a few islands that have one couple or one family living on them. As they have no ferry links and you need your own boat to get to them, I hadn’t thought to count them. But I suppose I should. So I’ll change my boast to ‘I’ve visited every inhabited island that has a ferry link in Orkney and Shetland’. I’m still pretty proud of it!

The old kirk (church) and graveyard and some dark clouds forming over Hoy.

After a while I continued walking and turned off towards the old church and graveyard. The church is derelict and not safe to enter and the graveyard is very small, so it didn’t take me long to see both.

I found another bench and sat with a different view of Hoy. A car came down the lane with two older ladies in it. They’d come to visit the graves. As they arrived I was getting up to leave and they were concerned they’d disturbed me. I assured them that it wasn’t them that had disturbed, but the heavy black cloud that had appeared over Hoy and seemed to be heading in my direction.

This was a part of the island where I did want to walk along the coast as the road climbs and goes across the centre rather than sticking close to the coast. But although the path was marked it seemed to be blocked off. I thought maybe erosion had made it unsafe and I’d better not try it especially with those heavy clouds speeding towards me.

Walking over the top of the island back towards the High Lighthouse

Instead I headed across the top of the island and ended up near the first lighthouse again. As I knew I wasn’t that far from the ferry waiting room if it did start to rain, I took the opportunity to sit on the bench I’d passed earlier. The clouds were now behind me and seemed to have changed their mind about coming to Graemsay anyway.

Sandside beach looking towards Hoy

I sat looking out on the most perfect view. A gorgeous house with a white beach and crumbling old stone barns to the side and the lighthouse behind. I could live here. Apparently there’re also usually seals on the beach, though I hadn’t seen any. I actually think they’ve all been eaten by orcas this year as I haven’t seen nearly so many as I usually do and there have been several pods of orcas spending a lot of time around Shetland and Orkney.

The perfect house by the perfect beach with the perfect lighthouse behind it. All on the perfect island. What’s not to like?

I tried to think of disadvantages of living in the perfect house. I suppose the lighthouse flashing and the seals barking all night could create quite a bit of disturbance, but you know what? I wouldn’t care.

I sat on the bench gazing at the view for quite a long time until I felt the sun really start to burn the back of my neck. Then I slowly wandered back to the pier to take shelter in the waiting room, not from the rain, but from the sun!

You know a place must get windy when the telephone box door has to be tied shut!

On my way past the perfect house, the same car as had been at the graveyard drove past me, with only one lady in it this time. She stopped to chat for a while. She had been born on the island, and without any prompting, told me it was a pretty perfect place to live.

“We’ve got peace and quiet, but Stromness is only over there and there are ferries, so when we need something we can just go over. We don’t feel isolated at all.”

I noticed near the ferry terminal in Stromness that there is a special parking area reserved for residents of Graemsay so they can leave their cars there to use when they visit Mainland rather than having to pay to take them on the ferry each time. The cars that I saw on Graemsay tended to be ‘island cars’.  These are cars that anywhere else would be condemned. They don’t need an MOT or tax (or at least no-one bothers with it) and have wing mirrors and doors hanging off and bonnets held down with string. As long as it still moves then it’s good enough to be an island car.

I still had about an hour to wait for the ferry. I filled my water bottle, drank it all and refilled it. I’d not realised how thirsty I was. I also took my boots off and peeled my socks off letting my feet cool down on the cold floor tiles. Then I sat and read some more until the three ladies reappeared. I went outside to chat to them whilst we watched the ferry chug over from Stromness. Once we were on board we had to go over to Hoy to pick up the hikers before heading back to Stromness.

Sailing back to Stromness. The clouds over Hoy looked so foreboding, but the rain held off.

As all the hikers got back on board at Hoy they all seemed pretty happy. I knew they would have had a great day because I did that walk myself last year and it really is well worth doing. However, I couldn’t help feeling a little smug because I’d also had a great day visiting an island that really is special and yet hardly anyone knows about it, let alone gets to visit. And I’d ticked off my last inhabited island in Shetland and Orkney (that has a ferry link).

Have you ever been to a little-known and seldom-visited island? Would you like to visit Graemsay if you’re ever in Orkney? Share your thoughts in the comments below. 

Like this? Read this:

Starring the Whaligoe Steps Cute Houses of Scalloway Shopping and Eating in Lerwick

Pin it

New post: Exploring #Graemsay #Orkney - A Perfect Day on a Perfect Island Have you ever heard of Graemsay? If I was a gambling woman I'd put good money down to bet that the majority of you hadn't.

[ladeeda1237]

Introduction- Midge Peirce

It’s been seven years since Shelby and Sol found me, or as they like me to refer to them as, “mom and dad.” Not that I don’t mind. I remember when I was younger and use to ask them questions like “why do I stay indoors and not out to play outside” or “why can’t I got to a real school, why do I have to be homeschooled?” They always knew the answer, they just didn’t have the heart to tell me I wasn’t like the other children. That I couldn’t just walk outside or be myself. I was younger then. As I grew older though, I finally understood. I was different. My parents said “special” or “unique”, but I didn’t want to be those words. They all meant nothing. I knew I was different either way. By age 9 I asked them the same question I’ve asked for years. All my life I’ve wanted to know. Well, all my life I’ve been here. “Why am I so different?” Their faces are always the same. That look of worry and guilt from keeping it from me. But that night I overheard them talking. “We should tell her…” “Sol, it’s too much for her, SHE’S JUST A CHILD!” “We can’t keep it from her, Shelby.” He says it calmly. “Tonights the night. If we don’t tell her now…what will happen in the future?” I don’t know what he meant by that, but that night they finally sat me down to talk. “Sweety,” my mother pauses a moment, “ I know you’ve been waiting for so long to understand. But what we are about to tell you…” her voice trails off. Tears form in her pleading eyes looking for a sign of weakness. I felt the urge to break away from her contact, but I didn’t. I couldn’t stop now. I needed to know. “What your mother is trying to say…is…” my father takes a deep breath, “your not from around here…not this Earth.” He exhales in relief. “I…well I think we all know I know that already,” I laugh nervously trying to hold back the tears. Why did I feel like crying? My mother smiles weakly, “Yes sweety…but I don’t mean another planet like in those silly comic books you read…I mean a place more…realistic.” I stared in confusion. “I don’t under- I don’t get- what are you…saying?” I couldn’t find the right words. They stayed quiet and looked at one another. My dad shook his head. Finally my tears came. “NO!” I stood up. “Sweety plea-” “NO! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” I interrupted my dad. Tears clouded my vision and anger swept over me. I wanted to punch something, a wall maybe, but I knew I was to old for silly tantrums. Plus my parents had enough holes when I was growing up already. “YOU CAN’T SHUT ME OUT AGAIN! YOU CAN’T!” My voice grew quiter and quieter with each shriek. “You…you c-can’t!” I’m crying uncontrollably now. My mom hugs me and says in a soothing voice “it’s okay” like it would make any differnce. I knew what I was. I was a monster. “Mom…w-why am I so DIFFERENT!” I bury my face into her jacket. She hugs me tightly and my tears stain the fabric. But she doesn’t care. “I just…i just want to be like…” Her hand is now under my chin. She lifts my face up so I could look into her green eyes staring back into my brown ones. She was crying too, but managed to say these words. “Because…God…made you this way.” That’s all. Because God made me this way. I never understood what she meant. It’s been seven years and I STILL have no idea. Well, that is, till I came to Lock Heart Middle School. Whoever my parents were…they brought a new beginning. And I was that beginning.

DUN! DUN! DUN! Lol hope you you guyz enjoyed. It’s finally here…the introduction. When I get back from Boston I will post Chapter one and meanwhile I’ll keep the updates coming. And feel free to ask some questions to the people (characters) I’ve shown you so far. But just so you know, some asks won’t be answered fully (I don’t want to spoil anything.) Your asks affect what happens to the characters so be creative. Anyways byeeee! 😜

EDIT: okay guys I edited the intro a bit so it could run through more smoothly. So, if you want, read it over and I will post my Cover and Chapter soon. Okay guys that’s all for now. Byeee.