i smell like pine needles

So I have this headcanon.

That Lance smells like sunshine, like freshly cut grass and heat flooding into concrete. The way a city smells midday in the middle of July. He’s all hot heat that burns your lungs, his skin always warm to the touch, running just a little too hot.

Whilst Keith smells like pine trees and fresh snow. That first gulp of winter wind, that you feel straight down to your bones. He’s always a little cooler, not cold, just cooler to touch. 

Which is strange since Keith’s lion is the guardian of fire, and Lance’s lion is guardian of water. But in the middle of a battle, Keith is red hot anger and pure force of will. And Lance is cool flow or crashing waterfalls of power. And nothing gets Keith as flushed and warm as an argument with Lance. And nothing makes Lance as cool and calm as when he’s doling out shitty one liners to make Keith blush.

And this headcanon got away from me. It was mostly about the way I think they smell. Ah well.

The one memory that never fades of my childhood years is spending time at Aunt Dot’s and Uncle Stan’s house. To a 4-yr-old little girl, it was the equivalent of going to Disneyland. To me, it seemed, that home was a never- ending party. It could have been that they had a dog, or a pool, or a yard that always smelled like pine needles after rain. I remember every barbecue, every badminton game, every time I fell asleep under the pool table as the party continued. But mostly, I remember my seven cousins, who never treated me like a cousin, but like a kid sister.

There was Betsy, who sang with me and let me in her room to play records (even when my sister didn’t want me there). There was Jimmy, who liked to show me how to catch the frogs in the pool…Al, who gave me my swimming test before I was allowed to go into the deep end. Peggy, who was always studying…Jack, who always made me laugh and (with Peggy’s encouragement) convinced me I could fly)…Starr, who I would watch in amazement as she ironed her hair, and Stan, the eldest. The grownup. The man with the quiet reserve and the shy smile.

I remember when he brought his bride-to-be, Phyllis, to one of the noisy (and I’m certain overwhelming to anyone with introvert tendencies) parties. He was tall and thin, towering over her, and she was petite and pretty with the most beautiful red hair I had ever seen–like my Stacey doll. They both were quiet and smiling, as though they were absorbing all the energy in the room. And when they looked at each other, I knew what love looked like.

As years passed, we all grew up and our lives twisted and turned in different directions. But throughout it all, my cousins held a very special place in my heart. All of them always lended support when it was needed and laughs just for the hell of it. And the family grew, together and apart, but always connected.

We owe that feeling of connectedness in large part to Stan and Phyllis. They decided that we had all gotten too busy with our lives to remember what was important, that connection, that common bond…and the infamous Cousins’ Party was born. Every year, they’d welcome us into their home, and we’d celebrate who we were, who we are, and who we were becoming. Every year we’d see the family grow and change as new members came and older members disappeared. But in all its variations and in all the changes, we were always the Descendants of the Cranes. Despite the ups and downs, the gains and losses, what held true was our family. It was clear in the spirit of that one evening that some things are unbreakable. That’s the amazing gift Stan and Phyllis gave to us.

So what I’ll remember most about that quiet gentleman who will be so sorely missed among so many people for so many reasons, isn’t the horrible tasting family shot he invented (just because it looked good–because for the record: grenadine, baileys Irish cream, and green creme de menthe do NOT mix well), or the long and emotional toast he gave before that awful shot, it’s that gift: The reminder that no matter where we are, who we are with, what direction our lives lead us, one thing is certain and indivisible: we are family.

Although I will miss his strength and his tremendous capacity for love, I will keep in my heart the words he wrote in his last Christmas greeting: “Stay close.”

Rest easy, my dear cousin. We will.

lilhex  asked:

oh shit these are good: 2-5 and 10!


Yay! ♥

  • 2. the ideal person to you, what three things would they smell of?

    Bergamot, woodsmoke and pine needles. If someone smelled like that I’d marry them.
  • 3. what type of fairy creature would you think lived in your house?

    A pixie who likes to hide my stuff, clearly.

  • 4. what is your most otherworldly feature?

    Must be my eyes, though my Targaryen hair will probably be a good contender once it’s fully white. 
  • 5. if you were a monarch, what would your crown be crafted of?

    I’m digging that ‘tarnished silver’ vibe, I think. Though a wooden crown would be awesome too.

    10. what three items will you need when your family waves goodbye to you and sends you into the sea?

    Into the sea or to the sea? I’m assuming to. Anyway, everything an adventurer needs: a rucksack, good boots and a magic compass (not Jack’s though, I think).
"Winter Night & Firelight" – NIALL (a "Night Changes" blurb)

The wind howled on and on outside the living room window, snow being blown in all directions. The glass was frosty from the cold, but I felt nothing but warmth encompassing me. The room smelled like pine needles, and warm cinnamon. A fire cracked and popped in the corner fireplace, casting it’s dancing light upon every surface of the cozy living room. As I stared out at the blustering winter where it  wreaked havoc on the surrounding trees, I thought back to the first date Niall and I ever shared. It was winter then too, and a storm, not unlike this one, caused us to be snowed into my tiny apartment. We spent the entire evening on my worn leather sofa, drinking beer, and using the coffee table as our dining area. A movie played on the TV screen, but neither of our eyes left the others face. Our hands became one, fingers entwined like the threads of a woven basket. Not even a second of time that passed that night, felt anything less than comfortable. It was as though we’d known each other our whole lives. Conversation was effortless, and we left nothing unshared.  Niall entered the room, startling me from my reminiscent day dreams as he hummed, “I made us some hot cocoa.” He held the mugs in the air triumphantly, letting out a hearty chuckle. His lips were still pulled into a massive grin as he set the two steaming mugs on the wooden coffee table. Our empty dinner plates had been forgotten hours ago, neither one of us in the mood to deal with responsibilities. Instead, we were caught up in our own personal world. A private world, made just for the two of us, hidden within the four walls of this house. Padding over to where Niall sat on the sofa, my sock covered feet gliding easily on the hardwood, I cuddled into him with a content sigh.  Taking a careful sip of his chocolatey beverage, he wiggled his eyebrows at me over the rim before pulling me in close for a sweet kiss. I grinned like an idiot, the feeling he ignited inside of me still brought a warm blush to my cheeks. His smile and laughter still making me feel weak in the knees, even after all these years. Most days my heart still felt like it was falling so fast.  “You warm enough, love?” Niall questioned, grabbing a blanket from the back of the sofa, and tossing it over our laps, “can you feel the fire?"  I giggled softly, studying his face as he scrunched his eyebrows in concern, loving how thoughtful he always was.  "The temperature’s perfect, Niall,” I assured him, forcing him to relax with a gentle touch to his scruffy cheek, “but you know what I would like..?"  He cocked his head to the side, training those ice blue eyes on me, “a rematch?” he quipped, picking up the forgotten game pieces from the place I’d earlier discarded them. Losing twice in a row may have made me a sore loser, but all I really cared about was being here with Niall. So, I shook my head at him with a sweet laugh.     "No… I was hoping you’d play me a song,” I purred, quirking the corner of my lips in a girlish smirk. I forced my eyes into two round spheres, giving him the puppy dog pout I knew he could never resist. The room filled with his happy laughter, head falling back against the couch cushions before he quickly bounded across the room to fetch his guitar.  “Any special requests?” he chimed in curiosity. Returning in an instant, to reclaim his place near the end of the sofa. First tucking the blanket in securely around my ankles, he expertly positioned the wooden guitar across his lap.  “Hmm… Surprise me,” I quipped, getting comfy by settling in against the throw pillows dotting the couch. With a satisfied grin, and a nod of his head, he began to strum softly on the guitar. His voice was gentle, and soothing, every familiar lyric that slipped from his lips sending me into a whole other world. A blissful, happy existence. All I could see was Niall. All I needed, was Niall. “I wish this weekend never had to end,” I whispered as he sang his last note.  “Me too, princess. Me too,” he sighed, sliding in close to wrap one arm securely around my waist while he held me close.
Swan Queen Week: Warm Bodies/SQ crossover.

Title: How the Trees Wept 

Rating: M (I think, for gore)

Pairing: Emma and Regina

I’ve managed to retain much of my beauty since my death. It’s funny how important that is to me. It’s even funnier to think of the times that I’ve worried over it. Times like this. As warm living bodies enter our ‘home’ to send us to our shuffling demise.

 

Keep reading

This is on a bus back from camp. I’m thirteen and so are you. Before I left for camp I imagined it would be me and three or four other dudes I hadn’t met yet, running around all summer, getting into trouble. It turned out it would be me and just one girl. That’s you. And we’re still at camp as long as we’re on the bus and not at the pickup point where our parents would be waiting for us. We’re still wearing our orange camp t-shirts. We still smell like pine needles. I like you and you like me and I more-than-like you, but I don’t know if you do or don’t more-than-like me. You’ve never said, so I haven’t been saying anything all summer, content to enjoy the small miracle of a girl choosing to talk to me and choosing to do so again the next day and so on. A girl who’s smart and funny and who, if I say something dumb for a laugh, is willing to say something two or three times as dumb to make me laugh, but who also gets weird and wise sometimes in a way I could never be. A girl who reads books that no one’s assigned to her, whose curly brown hair has a line running through it from where she put a tie to hold it up while it was still wet

Back in the real world we don’t go to the same school, and unless one of our families moves to a dramatically different neighborhood, we won’t go to the same high school. So, this is kind of it for us. Unless I say something. And it might especially be it for us if I actually do say something. The sun’s gone down and the bus is quiet. A lot of kids are asleep. We’re talking in whispers about a tree we saw at a rest stop that looks like a kid we know. And then I’m like, “Can I tell you something?” And all of a sudden I’m telling you. And I keep telling you and it all comes out of me and it keeps coming and your face is there and gone and there and gone as we pass underneath the orange lamps that line the sides of the highway. And there’s no expression on it. And I think just after a point I’m just talking to lengthen the time where we live in a world where you haven’t said “yes” or “no” yet. And regrettably I end up using the word “destiny.” I don’t remember in what context. Doesn’t really matter. Before long I’m out of stuff to say and you smile and say, “okay.” I don’t know exactly what you mean by it, but it seems vaguely positive and I would leave in order not to spoil the moment, but there’s nowhere to go because we’re are on a bus. So I pretend like I’m asleep and before long, I really am.

I wake up, the bus isn’t moving anymore. The domed lights that line the center aisle are all on. I turn and you’re not there. Then again a lot of kids aren’t in their seats anymore. We’re parked at the pick-up point, which is in the parking lot of a Methodist church. The bus is half empty. You might be in your dad’s car by now, your bags and things piled high in the trunk. The girls in the back of the bus are shrieking and laughing and taking their sweet time disembarking as I swing my legs out into the aisle to get up off the bus, just as one of them reaches my row. It used to be our row, on our way off. It’s Michelle, a girl who got suspended from third grade for a week after throwing rocks at my head. Adolescence is doing her a ton of favors body-wise. She stops and looks down at me. And her head is blasted from behind by the dome light, so I can’t really see her face, but I can see her smile. And she says one word: “destiny.” Then her and the girls clogging the aisles behind her all laugh and then she turns and leads them off the bus. I didn’t know you were friends with them.

I find my dad in the parking lot. He drives me back to our house and camp is over. So is summer, even though there’s two weeks until school starts. This isn’t a story about how girls are evil or how love is bad, this is a story about how I learned something and I’m not saying this thing is true or not, I’m just saying it’s what I learned. I told you something. It was just for you and you told everybody. So I learned cut out the middle man, make it all for everybody, always. Everybody can’t turn around and tell everybody, everybody already knows, I told them. But this means there isn’t a place in my life for you or someone like you. Is it sad? Sure. But it’s a sadness I chose. I wish I could say this was a story about how I got on the bus a boy and got off a man more cynical, hardened, and mature and shit. But that’s not true. The truth is I got on the bus a boy. And I never got off the bus. I still haven’t.

—  Childish Gambino - That Power (2011)

This is on a bus back from camp. I’m thirteen and so are you. Before I left for camp I imagined it would be me and three or four other dudes I hadn’t met yet, running around all summer, getting into trouble. It turned out it would be me and just one girl. That’s you. And we’re still at camp as long as we’re on the bus and not at the pickup point where our parents would be waiting for us. We’re still wearing our orange camp t-shirts. We still smell like pine-needles. I like you and you like me and I more-than-like you, but I don’t know if you do or don’t more-than-like me. You’ve never said, so I haven’t been saying anything all summer, content to enjoy the small miracle of a girl choosing to talk to me and choosing to do so again the next day and so on. A girl who’s smart and funny and who, if I say something dumb for a laugh, is willing to say something two or three times as dumb to make me laugh, but who also gets weird and wise sometimes in a way I could never be. A girl who reads books that no one’s assigned to her, whose curly brown hair has a line running through it from where she put a tie to hold it up while it was still wet

Back in the real world we don’t go to the same school, and unless one of our families moves to a dramatically different neighborhood, we won’t go to the same high school. So, this is kind of it for us. Unless I say something. And it might especially be it for us if I actually do say something. The sun’s gone down and the bus is quiet. A lot of kids are asleep. We’re talking in whispers about a tree we saw at a rest stop that looks like a kid we know. And then I’m like, “Can I tell you something?” And all of a sudden I’m telling you. And I keep telling you and it all comes out of me and it keeps coming and your face is there and gone and there and gone as we pass underneath the orange lamps that line the sides of the highway. And there’s no expression on it. And I think just after a point I’m just talking to lengthen the time where we live in a world where you haven’t said “yes” or “no” yet. And regrettably I end up using the word “destiny.” I don’t remember in what context. Doesn’t really matter. Before long I’m out of stuff to say and you smile and say, “okay.” I don’t know exactly what you mean by it, but it seems vaguely positive and I would leave in order not to spoil the moment, but there’s nowhere to go because we’re are on a bus. So I pretend like I’m asleep and before long, I really am

I wake up, the bus isn’t moving anymore. The domed lights that line the center aisle are all on. I turn and you’re not there. Then again a lot of kids aren’t in their seats anymore. We’re parked at the pick-up point, which is in the parking lot of a Methodist church. The bus is half empty. You might be in your dad’s car by now, your bags and things piled high in the trunk. The girls in the back of the bus are shrieking and laughing and taking their sweet time disembarking as I swing my legs out into the aisle to get up off the bus, just as one of them reaches my row. It used to be our row, on our way off. It’s Michelle, a girl who got suspended from third grade for a week after throwing rocks at my head. Adolescence is doing her a ton of favors body-wise. She stops and looks down at me. And her head is blasted from behind by the dome light, so I can’t really see her face, but I can see her smile. And she says one word: “destiny.” Then her and the girls clogging the aisles behind her all laugh and then she turns and leads them off the bus. I didn’t know you were friends with them

I find my dad in the parking lot. He drives me back to our house and camp is over. So is summer, even though there’s two weeks until school starts. This isn’t a story about how girls are evil or how love is bad, this is a story about how I learned something and I’m not saying this thing is true or not, I’m just saying it’s what I learned. I told you something. It was just for you and you told everybody. So I learned cut out the middle man, make it all for everybody, always. Everybody can’t turn around and tell everybody, everybody already knows, I told them. But this means there isn’t a place in my life for you or someone like you. Is it sad? Sure. But it’s a sadness I chose. I wish I could say this was a story about how I got on the bus a boy and got off a man more cynical, hardened, and mature and shit. But that’s not true. The truth is I got on the bus a boy. And I never got off the bus. I still haven’t…

—  Childish Gambino (Donald Glover), “That Power”