#--the long run (at least not full time) is all sorts of uncool

[ashtcnirwin]

💫

[ptergwen]

tastes like cherry

w/c: 2.7k

warnings: swearing, hints of cheating, and suggestive themes

summary: peter is into you, but you’re into mj... and peter

a/n: i love this concept even tho it’s unhealthy? let’s take it as a cautionary tale :D also this is my last full oneshot of the year!! i’ll do something quick tomorrow tho

━━━ ➳❥

“sorry, peter. i’m already going with mj.”

you shut your locker, revealing an oddly unphased peter behind it. he doesn’t understand what you mean.

the two of you make your way through the hall. you’re about to head some so you can get ready for liz’s party later. she told you about it first since you’re good friends. you asked mj to come this morning, which was liz’s idea. she’s been trying to set you two up for a while.

“ok, that’s fine. i’m sure she’ll understand if you-“ you cut him off before he gets too excited. “like, as a couple. she’s my date.” peter’s face falls.

you and mj? no offense to her, but he could never see you liking someone so... dry. he’s always pictured bubbly and sweet people to be more your speed. himself, for example.

“that’s,” peter clears his throat. “that’s cool.” you smile to yourself, thinking about spending the night with mj. he’s thinking about how he can show his support without sounding jealous. “since when did you, um, have a thing for her?” “i don’t know. liz helped me realize, honestly,” you nudge his arm.

“maybe you can hang out with her tonight.” peter turns to look at you like you’ve said the most insane thing ever. you’re already looking at him. it brings a blush to his cheeks, which you take as him liking her. you smirk and stop when you get to the doors.

“i... i don’t think that’s a good idea,” he decides with a nervous smile. “think about it more. see you later.” you push open one of the doors and skip outside. you’re already gone when he responds. “yeah, see you.”

he needs to come up with a plan, fast.

-

“dude, that’s rough,” ned can’t hold back a laugh at the story. peter is at his place, the two of them about to leave for the party. he told him what happened earlier in hopes of getting a second opinion. if he’d known ned would react like this, he would’ve kept it to himself.

“this isn’t funny, ned. i need help,” peter almost whines, flopping back on ned’s bed. ned is fixing his hair last minute. “i’m sorry, bro, but i don’t think y/n likes you that way,” he says sympathetically this time. peter sits up again. they both make eye contact in the mirror. “how do you know that?” “uh, she rejected you?”

puffing some air out of his cheeks, peter watches ned run a comb through his hair. the silence gives him time to reflect on your conversation. he suddenly remembers a key part of it.

“she only said no because she’s taking mj,” peter repeats, ned squinting at his friend’s reflection. “not because she doesn’t like me.” ned puts the comb down, satisfied with his look. he sighs and faces peter again. “it’s too late, dude. try again some other time.”

peter disregards everything he said and keeps plotting. he snaps when an idea comes to him. “all i have to do is get y/n alone for a while.” he looks up at ned with hopeful eyes. that can’t be good.

ned doesn’t approve of messing with your love life. he wishes peter could be just happy for you and move on. that being said, he is supposed to be peter’s wingman. he’d be a pretty terrible one by saying no to whatever he’s about to ask. he mentally apologizes to you before giving in.

“what am i gonna do?”

“can you distract mj for me?”

-

kids are still piling in when peter and ned arrive. they follow the line of people leading the way. it’s easy to forget how popular liz is because she does academic decathlon with all of you, the most uncool club midtown has to offer. this puts it in perspective.

liz is greeting people at the door. another reason she’s not your stereotypical popular girl is that she’s actually nice.

peter heads in first, ned behind him. her face lights up the second they step inside.

“what took you so long?” she playfully questions the two of them. “ned’s hair,” peter answers, earning a laugh from her. ned elbows his side. “it looks great, ned,” liz compliments him and winks at peter. “oh, thank you.” he tries to act humble about it by running a hand through the style.

peter peers over liz’s head to see if he can find you. he’d have to stand on his tiptoes to really make progress, so that’s done. liz still picks up on it.

“looking for someone?” she raises an eyebrow at him. ned shifts from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “um, do you know where y/n is?” peter clenches his jaw. “in the kitchen with mj. she told me you might wanna hang out tonight.” she’s sort of studying his face, widening her eyes. he averts his own to his feet.

“i should really find her. i’ll... i’ll catch up with you later.” his lips press into a forced smile. “come on, ned.” the two of them set off for the kitchen. ned tells her goodbye and follows peter, leaving liz standing there shocked.

“you could’ve been a little nicer, dude,” ned concludes from the encounter. they’re on their way to the kitchen. peter shrugs his shoulders with both eyebrows furrowed. “i wasn’t mean, though. i’m just, you know, busy.” “so is y/n.”

you’re laughing about something mj said, your arms tightening around her waist from behind. one of your hands has a drink in it. the other searches for hers. she laces your fingers together and rolls her eyes, probably calling you a dork. it’s in a loving way, unlike when she uses the same nickname on peter.

ned might be right. it seems like you’re having a really good time. who is peter to take that away from you? he’d rather you be snuggling up to him than mj, but what matters beyond anything is that you’re enjoying yourself. he should listen to you and spend some time with liz. she’s at least interested in him.

he completely changes his mind when your lips brush mj’s cheek. back to his plan.

“you’re here!” you announce as peter and ned enter the kitchen. mj nods her head at them. “thing one. thing two,” she greets, holding out her free hand to fistbump ned. “hey.” peter grins at you, then gives mj a slightly smaller one. she notices. he sticks his hands in his pockets.

“did you say hi to liz?” you check with your eyebrows raised in anticipation. ned answers for peter, who bites down on his lip. “they’re gonna hang out later.” mj snorts at the idea. “why would she ever wanna do that?” “because i told her to,” you sigh and glance at peter. he’s so stiff.

“and why would you do that?” mj deadpans, looking peter over. he glares back. he hates being talked about like he’s not there. ned forces out a laugh to clear some of the tension between them. you don’t realize any of this is happening.

“i mean, she set me up with you. i wanted to return the favor,” you explain and rest your chin on mj’s shoulder. her face softens. she tilts her head back to look at you with a smile. “aw,” ned coos and draws a heart around you two with his fingers.

he’s secretly rooting for you and mj.

peter points at the snack table, his eyes going from mj to you. “i’m gonna... get a drink.” “ooh, fun. i picked them out,” you beam at him. mj pulls you closer to her before he comes over. she’s not happy with the way he keeps looking at you. you’re not completely oblivious to it either. you just don’t know what to think of it.

you pick up your cup to take a sip of soda. peter has to pass by you to get his own. right as you bring yours to your lips, peter ‘accidentally’ knocks into you. the drink spills down the side of your dress. this is all part of his plan. you squeal and step away from mj.

mj hits peter’s arm with the back of her hand. “idiot. look what you did to my date.” she only refers to you as her date so he’ll take the hint and back off. he ignores her and tends to you instead, a frown on his lips.

“i’m so sorry, y/n. i didn’t mean to-“ “it’s fine. ned, can you hand me a napkin?” you do your best not to let your frustration show.

he goes to get one off the counter. peter turns to him and mouthes ‘don’t’ before he gets the chance. ned mouthes ‘why not?’ back. peter says ‘because i said so.’ their silent conversation doesn’t go unnoticed by mj. she huffs and pushes past peter. “what the fuck, i’ll get it.”

peter gives him a look that says to do something. panicking, ned pushes the stack of napkins onto the floor. they all end up scattered around.

everyone waits for him to address it. “oops,” he chokes out. “you’re both idiots,” mj grumbles, getting onto the floor to pick them up. this should keep her distracted for a while. things are falling into place.

“i’m gonna see if i can borrow something from liz,” you tell the three of them in an exhale. peter rushes to your side. “do you need help with your dress?”

not sure what to say, you look over at mj. her and ned are busy cleaning up. she probably won’t mind. “this is my fault. i feel bad,” peter continues on.

you leave your empty cup on the snack table and nod. “come with me.”

-

you bring peter up to liz’s room and shut the door behind you. he has to bite back a smile while you search through her drawers for new clothes. sorry to liz, looks like the two of you are spending the night together now.

your change of clothes ends up on the bed. it’s only a t-shirt and jeans. you’re actually kind of bummed about your dress because you bought it specifically for tonight. not that mj would ever care what you wear, but you felt like dressing up. a few compliments from her wouldn’t hurt, though. she’s not the best in that area.

“can you unzip me?” you ask peter, eyeing him over your shoulder. he’s quick to come up behind you. he puts a hand on your lower back. his other slowly tugs the zipper down. “this is cute,” he murmurs, swiping his thumb over the material of your dress. the feeling and his words give you goosebumps.

“sorry i kind of ruined it.” “are you?” you’re only teasing. peter answers seriously, his voice lower than usual. “no.” you take a step forward when he finishes with the zipper. “it did feel pretty staged to me. you’re not that clumsy.” there’s emphasis on ‘that.’ he hums in a rather suggestive way. you face him again.

the back of your dress gets left open. peter’s eyes trail down your body, his hands not quite leaving it yet.

you’ve always seen him as this harmless, infinitely nice guy. he’s almost too nice for you. it’s why you never considered him as more than a friend. mj has an edge to her, and you like that. peter might have an edge, too.

this new side of him is starting to make you rethink his spot in the friend zone. you feel like you might be rushing into things with mj. should you really have taken liz’s advice? or, should you have came with peter?

“why’d you do it?” your gaze shifts down to his lips. he moves closer to you. that inspires you to take another step back. “i had to get you away from mj.” “she’s my date,” you say unconvincingly and keep walking backwards. peter follows until you end up against the wall.

it’s the perfect spot for him to corner you in. so, he does.

his arms are on either side of the wall behind you. he leans his head down. your faces are dangerously close to each other. your mouths are dangerously close to each other, too.

“you’re... you’re supposed to be with liz,” you breathe out. peter brings a hand up to caress your cheek. “she probably has better things to do.”

it’s almost impossible not to give in to his touch. his fingers run over your skin gently, contradicting the intense way his eyes stare into yours. you lean your cheek in the palm of his hand. you’re still having doubts.

“well, i’m supposed to be with mj,” you try to remind the both of you.

peter considers it for a moment. you two definitely shouldn’t be doing this. the selfish side of his brain takes over then. it’s not like you and mj made it official yet.

“supposed to be doesn’t mean you want to,” he rasps, his thumb moving down to your lower lip. he runs it across. you watch him with hooded eyes. as much as you crave his lips on yours, it wouldn’t be fair to mj. you care about them both.

“what if she’s looking for me?” your voice is just above a whisper. “ned has it covered,” he reassures you. “we’re okay.” we. you really like the way that sounds.

you’re not sure what’s going on with your head or your heart right now. all you know is that you want, no, need peter to kiss you. you’d never forgive yourself if you let the chance pass you by.

“you thought of everything,” you remark, winding one of your arms around his neck. peter’s breath fans over your face. he grabs your waist, you pushing your body flush against his. there isn’t an inch of space between you two. “because i like you, y/n.”

“i like you, too,” you finally admit to yourself and peter. your lips are so close to his they’re ghosting. “but, i also like mj.” his fingers press into your side. “can we worry about that after we kiss?” a grin crosses your face. “good idea.”

peter lets his lips land properly on yours, both of you melting into the kiss. this already feels so right even though it isn’t. he sighs in content and drops a hand down to your hip. you use your hand on his neck to deepen the kiss, your head against the wall.

he pulls you up by your hips, signaling for you to jump. your legs wrap around his middle while he snakes his around your waist again. he’s easily holding you while his lips attack yours.

“shit, you’re so strong,” you giggle into his mouth, an airy laugh escaping him. “think so?” peter kisses over to your cheek. one of your dress straps falls down your shoulder. you leave it. his lips kiss their way back to yours, getting messier with each one. you give him a lazy smile. he pecks your lips one more time, softly.

“you taste like cherry,” peter mumbles, now moving down to your chin. it’s shiny from where your lip gloss smeared. “cherry coke. the one you spilled on me,” you explain with a scoff. he keeps kissing down the center of your neck, his fingers tugging at the end of your dress.

“wonder what else tastes like cherry.” he’s half joking and half serious. actually, more serious. you gasp and tilt your head to the side more. you can feel him smirking while his lips dance across your skin. “peter, i can’t believe you of all people would say that.” “i’m full of surprises,” he hums, sucking a little too hard on one spot.

it’s hot having him take control like this, but this isn’t the time or place for a hickey.

“wait, i don’t want mj to see.” that’s the least of your problems. still, it’s a very big one. it comes right after choosing between which one of your friends you like more. you’re so screwed.

“alright. let’s do something else,” peter suggests, tightening his grip around your waist. he carries you over to liz’s bed. you giggle into his ear and throw your other arm around his neck. he drops you right next to your change of clothes, which you forgot about. they’re the whole reason you’re up here.

there’s a lot to unpack in this situation. you’re in your best friend’s room making out with her crush, while your sort of girlfriend has no fucking clue where you went.

good thing peter and his kisses are here to distract you from it all.

[motownfiction]

ringing bells

Sam’s favorite part of the school day is whenever the bell rings from class to class.

Before, he used to like those moments because it meant another boring class was over. Even though he knew he had to go to another boring class, at least it would be a different one, with different people and different jokes to make. But that was before. That was junior high. Now that he’s in high school, he loves the moments between the ringing bells because it means he gets to pass Steph Armstrong in the hall.

His favorite time to pass Steph is in between first and second period. While he’s on his way out of theology, head full of Catholic propaganda, he sees her coming out of her art class just around the corner. They walk right past each other to get to their lockers and grab their books. Some days, Sam almost forgets he’s supposed to be getting his books. He just gets so caught up in Steph. Her hair, her smile, her walk. There’s something about her eyes when she’s leaving art class – her favorite hour in the day, as he learned during their ice breaker in English on the first day of school. Her whole face lights up, but there’s something extra beautiful about her eyes. It’s love and passion and everything that most kids in ninth grade think is uncool. Sam loves it. Nothing worse than being cool, he thinks, especially when art is on the line.

Today, as Sam passes Steph in the hallway, he has the bright idea to say something. He doesn’t usually talk to her unless it’s convenient – doesn’t want to have to associate with Kim, Vicky, or Gina by proximity if he can avoid it, since all they care about is cool – but today, something comes over him. He doesn’t want her to pass him by anymore. He’s tired of the sweet silent glances. Who cares if he has to associate with Kim, Vicky, or Gina? It could be worse than that, especially when Steph Armstrong is on the line.

“Hey!” Sam says.

Steph stops in her tracks. Her eyes go wide, but that passion from art class is still there. It is still beautiful.

“Me?” she asks.

“Yeah. Do you … do you wanna sit with us at lunch today?”

Steph turns bright pink, right there in the middle of the hall. This invitation has been a long time coming. They both know it. Last year, at the eighth-grade graduation dance, they swayed back and forth in time with “This Is for the Lover in You.” Years from now, Sam will laugh about how ridiculous it is for two fourteen-year-old kids to dance to a song about getting married. But now, when he’s still fourteen, it feels like the most important thing that’s ever happened. That, and the For Those about to Rock tour next month.

“Sure,” she says.

Sam shouldn’t be surprised. This invitation was a long time coming. And by the way he catches Steph looking at him in the middle of their English class, he’s sort of gotten the feeling she thinks about their dance, too. He coolly nods his approval and runs off to pre-algebra.

On the inside, though, he’s a disco ball.

And he loves every minute of it.

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Prompt My Own Damn Self # :He’s Not the Guy You Marry, But He Is The Guy You [REDACTED] in the Night Club Bathroom at Two O’Clock in the Morning, Which is Also Important

Summary: Literally what it says in the title, except we find out what [REDACTED] means, which is very fun and exciting. That’s right, everybody, we’re 👏 going 👏 there 👏

Warnings: ‼️18+‼️ Extremely Explicit Sexual Content. Do NOT be uncool and read it if you’re not of age. Otherwise, there’s alcohol involved here (wow what a surprise 🙄), like one mention of drugs, and smoking. Aside from that, it’s pretty straightforward.

Genre: Mediocre Smut

Pairing: Hatter/Fem!Reader

Notes: There are two types of people in this world: people who are very attracted to the weird sexy hat guy who started a death-game pyramid scheme, and LIARS.

Real talk, though: this is pretty explicit. More explicit than I’ve gone in a very long time, so I’m a little rusty. It veers into “hate sex” territory, which was kind of fun to write, honestly. I live for the banter. (Also, the “you” character in this is kind of great? I like her.)

HEY! Just another reminder! This is 18+ so if you’re not of legal age, do yourself a solid and ditch this little thing, okay? Okay.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

It starts with tequila shots.

Salt licked. From your wrist. His chest. The hollow of your throat.

Lime bitten. Held between your fingers. Between his teeth. Between your pushed-together breasts.

Music pulses. Lights flash. He’s got a hand on your ass. You’ve got your lips on his neck.

“Wanna go somewhere?”

“Yes.”

And he leads you, hand on the small of your back, away from the bar. People stare. You like it.

‘Somewhere’ is, apparently, a two-stall women’s restroom, tucked away in a narrow little hallway which runs to the left of the bar. A place for shooting up drugs. A place for scribbling on the walls with permanent marker.

A place for sex. Hot, sweaty, anonymous sex.

...Well, semi-anonymous, anyways. It’s impossible to live at the Beach and not know who the man in red is, the man who sells a shot at salvation for nothing more than a few playing cards.

You lean against the tastefully cream-colored counter which hosts, among other things: a sink stained pink with cheap soap; three forgotten tubes of lipstick; a small mirror, holding an abandoned credit card and two small lines of cocaine; a crumpled up hand towel; a half-finished bottle of Asahi beer; and what was probably once a wedding ring.

“Great ambiance,” you murmur flatly. The harsh light of fluoresent bulbs burn your eyes, diverting your gaze to the white floor, “Been ages since I got fucked in a classy place like this.”

“Ages?” Hatter flicks the lock on the door with a low thunk.

“Hours,” you answer, mournful tone betrayed by a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth, “Had you not come along, my dry spell might’ve gone on through the morning.”

“Perish the thought.”

And he does not so much approach you as he descends upon you, mouth sucking at your collarbone and leg pushing between your thighs.

“Tell me,” he pants into you ear, breath hot and fingers deft as he unties the strings of your bikini top, “How do you want me?”

“Now,” you hiss back, “Don’t care how, just—fuck, just give it to me.”

“Then, if you would be so kind?” He holds a condom between his index and middle fingers.

In truth, you’re glad for it—you’d rather not deal with the mess after all is said and done—but there’s no way you’ll give him the satisfaction of a ‘thank you.’

“Fine,” you huff, snatching the foil square from his grasp, “Don’t suppose you have anything better to—oh!”

Hands on your hips spin you around so you’re facing the mirror. You grip the edge of the counter, knuckles straining, and watch as he reaches around to palm your breast.

“Apologies,” he makes eye contact with you in the mirror, “but I seem to have my hands full at the moment.”

And that’s when you feel fingertips slipping beneath the seam of your bikini bottoms, an insistent press against the slick of your slit.

You spit a curse and fumble with the condom, desperation setting in as his hands continued to dance across your flesh. After some moments (too many for your liking), you’re successful in your endeavor, and pass the unwrapped nuisance over your shoulder.

“Much obliged,” he thanks, removing his hands to sort himself out, “You know, I appreciate—“

“I didn’t come here to talk,” you snap. He laughs in response.

“Ooh, you’re mean!”

And he’s sliding the crotch of your swimsuit bottoms to the side, exposing only what is necessary and lining himself up—and, okay, that’s the kind of semi-impractical hotness you were looking for from this particular encounter. Your muscles clench involuntarily around nothing and you cant your hips back to get him to move it along...but nothing happens.

God, what is this guy’s problem?!

“But, I wonder,” he whispers into your ear, “are you desperate enough to say ‘please?”

Of all the guys to pull for a quick fuck, of course you get the one who’s a total tease. So smug, arrogance blooming as he presses a soft kiss to your left shoulder. There’s no way you’re giving in to this asshole, so you glare at him in the reflection of the mirror.

“Fuck you,” you spit, teeth bared and mouth formed into a malicious smile.

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Close enough.”

You both cry out when he fills you with a single, fluid thrust. And—fuck, fuck, fuck!—that is good. One of his hands curls around the jut of your hip, while the other splays across your collarbone, thumb and forefinger framing the base of your throat in a firm but gentle touch.

Otherwise, he remains still—perhaps he’s being gentlemanly and allowing you time to adjust? No, no, he’s definitely being a tease again.

Seriously, what is his goddamn deal?

Since he seems content to take his merry time, you take matters into your own hands, moving against him in a somewhat-awkward but still satisfying rhythm.

“You,” he says between heavy breaths, “seem eager.”

There’s something in his voice that seems amused, as if he finds your candor endearing. You lean forward a bit, angling your hips so his length is able to sink deeper and, oh, that’s much better.

“Want something done right,” you pant, “gotta do it yourself.”

“You don’t think I’d do it right?”

“Sweetie,” you coo with a condescending smile, “I know you wouldn’t.”

And you’re lucky that guys like him are all the same—arrogant, showy, desperate to prove their sexual prowess—because he finally (finally!) decides to get his sorry ass into gear and make something happen.

The hand that was around your neck gropes at your breasts, the cool metal of that stupid-ugly-tacky ring catching on your skin in an annoyingly tantalizing way. The other shoves its way between you and the edge of the countertop, deft fingertips circling your clitoris in a way that makes your toes curl in your sandals. You bite your lip to keep from crying out as he fucks into you, hips snapping hard but steady against the plush of your ass.

“You know, the people I fuck usually try to be nice to me,” he says, “nicer than you, anyways.”

The hand on your breast pinches your nipple, earning him a sharp gasp.

“Why be nice?” You clench around him, causing his rhythm to falter, “You’re just the means to an end.”

“And here I thought we were making love.”

Teeth scrape down the length of your neck, and fuck—you’re getting close. Your arms are shaking. Your heart is racing. You hate to admit it, but he’s good at this.

“Darling,” he growls into your ear, “I do believe you’re about to come.”

“Shut up,” you snap, trying desperately to sound cool and unaffected despite the fact that your composure is about to shatter and there is not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

“Well, go on then. After all,” he hisses, “I don’t have all night.”

What starts as anger is quickly overtaken by pleasure—white-hot and blinding, enough to make your knees shake and your eyes spring with tears. It’s exactly what you were looking for, exactly what you had been expecting from the most notorious sex fiend at this God-forsaken place.

Apparently, he must’ve come too, because he’s pulling out with a surprising tenderness—gentlemanly in one way, at least. He even makes sure to right your bikini bottoms, making sure that they’re once again covering you completely before turning his attention to himself.

“You know, I didn’t know people could glare their way through an orgasm, but you made it happen.”

“I’m a woman of many talents.”

Before you choose to look in the mirror, you fix the rest of your bathing suit with a tremble in your fingers. You can feel him watching you, and honestly, you’re not sure how you feel about that. Good, mostly, but tinged a bit orange with annoyance. You try not to think about that too much and, with a deep breath, look at your reflection.

The first thing you do to assess the damage of your little liaison is check your makeup—your eyeliner is a bit smudged, but that’s easily fixed with a few swipes of your littlest finger. Your hair, however, is another story, so you set to fixing it with a dissatisfied huff.

You hear the snick of a lighter behind you and the scent of fresh-burning nicotine hits your senses. You turn around to see him leaning against the tile wall with a cigarette between his lips and smoke curling in wisps towards the ceiling.

He raises an eyebrow when you approach him, then chuckles when you snatch the cigarette right out of his mouth and take a long, deep drag. It’s almost as good as the sex.

“You know,” he says, “I think you might be a bit in love with me after my spectacular performance.”

That makes you choke, your lungs switching from laughter to coughing and back again.

“Spectacular?” You quell your sputtering with a gulp, “You were passable. At best.”

“Careful, sweetheart. You’re getting awfully close to giving me a compliment.”

You take a step closer to him, shoulders squared, fingers ashing the cigarette onto the floor.

“Not your sweetheart,” you say, taking one last drag and blowing the smoke directly into his face. You smile when he flinches.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you say, pressing the mostly-smoked cigarette between his lips, “I have somewhere to be.”

You turn on your heel and begin to walk away, making sure to sway your hips just so as you do. There’s no way his eyes aren’t glued to your ass, and the thought makes you smile triumphantly.

“Until next time, then,” he calls—and it’s cute that he sounds so sure that you’ll come crawling back to him.

You exit the bathroom with a self-satisfied smirk, enjoying the thought of him lighting another cigarette and trying not to chase after you.

Three days, tops. That’s how long it’ll take for him to beg.

You can’t wait.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

also just in case you were wondering, he DID leave the sunglasses on—BUT they were on his head kinda holding his hair back because I truly believe he would do that. also the kimono has pockets and he thinks it’s very cool to carry around all his stuff in there (for example he keeps a granola bar on his person at all times because sometimes you just get hungry yknow?)

[hargrove-mayfields]

I haven’t been able to write a whole lot recently so to make up for the little drought here’s a few kegboys hcs!

-Tommy has a big thing for 70s country music, it’s like, all he’ll listen to. Steve’s kind of overexposed to country having grown up in IN so he’s pretty neutral on it even though he prefers pop, but Billy, resident metal head and city boy through and through, tries to poke fun at him for it because like, country music is for uncool hicks, right? But, and this is very much to his dismay, Billy cannot get enough of Dolly. Like he really couldn’t care less about Toms other picks but he is beyond hooked on Dolly to the point that he’s the one buying all her new records when they come out.

-Tommy is absolutely the house husband because the other two are honest to god domestically useless. Billy tries really, really hard to help because Steve goes to work and he feels like he’s lazy for not being able to do much while he’s recovering, so Tommy sticks him with the little jobs because he knows he’s never going to get him to agree to actually resting. It’ll just be little tasks, things like cleaning the lint trap when Tom switches the laundry, but it’s enough to make him feel less useless.

-But! As good as he is at keeping up with the bills and doing chores, Tommy CANNOT cook. Steve will never ever forget the time he came over to his house and caught popcorn on fire in his microwave or when Billy had to swoop in and unplug the toaster like seconds before Tee electrocuted himself trying to use a fork to fish out a piece poptart that broke off in there, so he is very much not allowed anywhere near a stove. Billy is the best cook and even then he’s a little iffy because Neil never let him do it, so to compensate for how collectively awful they are in the kitchen they have like a thousand scribbled in cookbooks in every drawer and pantry.

-They all three have very different sleeping habits. Billy’s the early bird, always gets up at the same time as the sun well-rested no matter what time they went to bed. Steve is a deep sleeper through and through, he’ll pass out at like, 11:00 every night and won’t move again until morning. If nobody were to wake him up he could probably sleep all through an entire day. Tommy’s something of a rough sleeper though, can’t usually get to sleep until at least two in the morning, usually later than that even, and once he gets to sleep it’s very light and he tends to wake up every hour, on the hour. One time when Steve’s at the pharmacy picking up Billy's meds he grabs a little thing of melatonin for Tom because like, it says it boosts sleep and anything’s worth a shot if it means Tommy won’t be so exhausted and sick and frustrated all the time, and it does help! He sort of ends up on about the same sleep schedule as Billy once his rhythm gets a little more regulated.

-When they first started dating, Billy thought Steve was bad when it came to clothes stealing, he lost a few jackets and old t-shirts that way, but when they all three move in together he discovers that Tommy is the true culprit. Neither he nor Steve can keep track of literally any single piece of clothing. Everything, from their hoodies to their jeans to their pjs to their socks, all belong in some part to Tom until eventually they just have one community wardrobe they pick and choose from instead of like, individual clothes.

-They all three overuse the heck out of pet names like baby and babe, which results in Steve calling Tommy babe one and Billy babe two because he was tired of saying like “hey babe” and getting two simultaneous answers.

-Tommy does Billy’s hair for him when he still can’t do too much with his hands, and after that too when it’s convenient because it becomes routine, combing out his curls and putting mousse in it when he wants it done nice, because he wants to be a hairdresser anyways! He’d practiced plenty on Steve ever since they were in middle school, given him tons of hair cuts and even his highlights! It’s for that reason that when Tommy starts doing Billy’s hair, Steve gets the teensiest bit jealous because that used to be him. So everytime they go anywhere and they aren’t crunched for time he has to do both Billy and Steve’s hair and he starts not having time to straighten his own! But! That’s okay because his boys are very fond of his natural curls!

-Steve runs very, very cold always. He’s a type one diabetic so he’s pretty much always anemic and he freezes like 24/7. Even in the summer when Billy and Tommy are like melting into the furniture, he can get away with long sleeves and be just fine. When they’re in bed they keep Steve in the middle because they both run super warm like a heat register and it’d get too hot without having Steve as their ice pack between them.

-More about Steve’s diabetes bc it’s like one of my fav hcs and I wish I could write about it more! It’s really hard to find things for him to eat because he’s gotta worry about his sugar, but also because he has so many food allergies and sensitivities on top of that. Before he had anyone around he just kind of didn’t care about watching himself like, if he wanted to eat something, he would just do it, but he ultimately faced the consequences of that a few times too many, aka being hospitalized twice with DKA and three times with anaphylactic shock. he gets banned from grocery shopping on his own, because he will absolutely buy so much stuff he isn’t supposed to have and ‘lose’ the receipt and just hide the stuff because his boys will not let him eat whatever he wants anymore. Billy is also not allowed to go shopping because he never remembers what brands they use or reads any labels, he just grabs the first of everything he sees and calls it a day. Tommy officially gave up on them and started doing it himself after confiscating a half empty bag of gummy bears off of Steve and having to use the wrong toothpaste for months because Billy refused to pay attention.

-Tommy attracts strays! Cats, dogs, an actual escaped budgie from the neighbors house once, it doesn’t matter, somehow they always find him. If he’s out on the porch there’s like, a ninety percent chance there’s a critter that doesn’t belong to them in his lap. He lets Billy name them all even though they can’t keep them. Tommy personally can’t pick a favorite out of the 20 some odd cats that come and go because they’re all his babies, but Billy and Steve have theirs. B’s favorite is a black and white little fella named Mr. Shrimp and Steve’s is a sweet tabby girl named Meowzers! The rule doesn't only apply to domesticated animals either, raccoons and wild bunnies also tend to lurk around their porch. Billy picks up a raccoon once (he named her Poubelle, but calls her Bella) and Steve yelled at him for hours about how dangerous and irresponsible and gross it was. Him and Tommy get boyfriend grounded for like, weeks after that.

-Steve is like everyone’s Midwestern grandma! He keeps pockets full of butterscotch candies and tissues, he’s got a collection of blow molds and Tiffany lamps, he wears sweatshirts and jackets with weird quotes on them and like, he believes the cure to every ailment is tomato soup, vicks, a wash rag, and a kiss or any combination thereof. It drives Billy completely up the wall, because he’ll cough like once and Steve is like do you need soup? do you need a doctor? please let me help you. But Tommy likes it, being fussed over, cause he grew up with younger siblings and two working parents, so he was always the one doing the fussing.

[buckys-forgotten-plum]

A Witchy Kinda Love

Pairing: Witch!Bucky x Witch!Reader (Magic!AU)

Prompt: The world you lived in was known to be full of magic and strange, otherworldly things... But you knew true love was just an old witch's tale even if your familiar insisted otherwise...

Warnings: swearing, fluff, Bucky in cute outfits, way too much italicization, and also this thing is long as fuck. (10,410 words...oopsies)

A/N: Okay this got wayyyy outta hand but who the fuck cares? not me. I would love to give a HUGE SHOUTOUT to @buckybarney​ who helped a lot in giving me the confidence and drive to finish this fic as well as @smutsonian​ who created this dope as mood board and also helped me edit a lil bit. You guys make me so happy and I love and appreciate you both so much<3

✸ ✴ ✦ 

✸ ✴ ✦ 

“Calcifer will you please come help me with this?” your exasperated voice could be heard from the balcony of your studio apartment as you struggled to balance the hoard of glass bottles in your arms. 

Not a moment later, a small fox came trotting onto the (very overgrown) terrace, “Ya know I have things to do too. I’m not your butler,” 

You scoffed at your familiar's grumbled complaint before handing him a couple bottles to hold in his mouth and wrap his tail around, “I know you’re not my butler Cal. But I got you that essence of toad the other day so the least you could do is help me organize my potion materials for a bit.” 

The fox let out a low growl and walked back into your small apartment while you followed behind him, “You know how hard it is for me to form opposable thumbs lady? It’s gonna take a lot more than essence of toad for me to comply,” 

You glared playfully at the fox before sighing and rolling your eyes, knowing exactly what the sly creature was trying to get you to do, “Calcifer if you want pheasant for dinner just ask,” 

There was no response, just the quiet clinking of bottles rolling to the floor as you and your partner began to sort through everything. You really need to start organizing your stuff better. Last week you mixed up your newt toes with skinks and almost blew up your home, so it’s safe to say that your clutter has hit a breaking point. You left Calcifer to sit on your frameless bed as he sorted your bottles to go back out onto your small terrace, breathing in the scent of all of your plants that had happily covered every inch they possibly could. You figured it was as good a time as any to harvest all the herbs you’d need for the month and bottle them up for safe keeping. Quietly humming to yourself, you went around plucking the healthiest looking leaves, sprigs, and sprouts you could find, setting each pile onto the antique writers desk you had put out there as a space for your potion making. 

“Hey Calcifer do you know where I put my Ever-Writing Quill?” You question, brows furrowing as you dig through the drawers of your desk. 

“You don’t remember? You sat on it last week and snapped it in half!” The fox’s response was followed by a string of cackles and snorts as he laughed to himself about your misfortune. 

You let out a loud groan of frustration, tilting your head to the sky and stomping your foot in a small childish fit. “Why didn’t you put it on my shopping list?” You ask, walking back inside to glare at the creature comfortably sitting on your bed. 

Calcifer smiled widely, his pointy teeth fully on show in a sly grin, “oopsies, my bad!” he raised what would be his paws but are now little hands due to his helpful transfiguration powers, and held them in an innocent shrug. 

You squint your eyes at the reynard but hold your tongue, shoving your feet into a pair of leather boots. “Come on, you’re coming with me to the market so I can get a new quill,” 

It didn’t take too long before you had gathered everything you needed, making sure to grab your sweater as the weather hadn’t gotten much warmer in the past months and you absolutely hated to be cold. It only took a stern glare and a threat to have salad for dinner to convince Calcifer to go with you. Though you didn’t miss the petty and painful nip to your calf as you walked out of your door and into the dank hallway of your apartment building. 

✸ ✴ ✦ 

The sky was colored a dark grey with intimidating clouds, blocking out any chance of sun or warmth as you walked down the streets of your small town. You passed by cute little shops and a restaurant or two as you made your way to the market. Your boots stomped loudly on the cobblestone walkway, echoed by the light clicking of Calcifier’s nails while he trotted beside you. 

Your town didn’t have many witches, but the non-magic residents were still fully supportive of you and all the other witches and warlocks that resided in the small rainy town of Adelaide. You had lived there for years and not once had you come in contact with what your community called “Salamers”, bigoted people who had hate filled vendettas against your kind. Many of your friends who had lived in bigger cities had told you about their horror stories involving bigoted people who had cursed (pun intended) and swore at them. Your friend Peter even told you about a man who had spit on him after finding out he was a witch. 

The thoughts of such hateful actions caused a crease in your brow to form and it didn’t leave until you were at the small stone entrance to Wanda’s Magickal Menagerie, the only entrance to the market for miles. It was one of your favourite things about the magical world. The outside looked like just another building with pretty stone walls and a worn wooden sign displaying the name, but to anyone with a high enough magical presence, it was an entrance to the biggest market in the wiccan world. Hundreds of vendors were beyond that door, hidden away to a different space and time by a carefully constructed spell performed by the most powerful witches in existence. 

You couldn’t help the excited pulse of your heart as you opened the door and stepped into what seemed like an entirely different universe. The hustle and bustle of busy shoppers instantly clouded your vision and ears. The air was warm and lighting low in the crowded alleyway that led to the entrance and exit of the marketplace. You took only a moment to get used to the different surroundings before setting off on your way to the real Wanda’s Magickal Menagerie. 

It only took a few steps before you heard the loud yip of pain from your familiar, instantly making you whip around to see what happened, “I hate it here, Y/n! Everyone steps on my tail, it smells weird, It’s dark, everything is all muted because apparently witches only like the color red and I’m colorblind-” 

“Alright ya baby c’mere,” you interrupted Cal’s whining, bending down and allowing him to jump up and wrap around your shoulders. 

“People have no respect for familiars, it’s so uncool,” he grumbled into your ear, resting his snout on the ridge of your shoulder. 

“I know, buddy. But you know how much I hate going out alone. I really appreciate you coming with me. When we’re done here we can go to the butcher and you can pick out what bird you want for tonight,” Your hand came up to softly scratch your friend behind his ear, soothing his nerves and continuing on your way to your final destination. 

It didn’t take long before you arrived at a small wooden hut, a modest sign with an address hanging out front for advertisement to passersby. You quickly approached the shop and pushed the door open, entering the cozy and familiar atmosphere of Wanda’s business. 

“Hey Y/n! Cally, hi baby!” Your entrance was met immediately with happy greetings from your long time friend. 

“Hey Wanda,” you and Calcifer greet in unison, smiles adorning both your faces. 

The red headed witch skipped towards you, wrapping you in a warm hug and lovingly petting the fox around your shoulders. “How’ve you guys been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” 

“We’ve been trying to declutter the apartment. Y/n’s become such a hoarder.” Calcifer blurts out, letting one of his signature cackles break free. 

“I am not! I’ve just been experimenting with my potions, so I have a lot more ingredients and supplies right now,” You hurriedly explain, not wanting to have your friend think of you as a crazy old witch with a hoarding problem. 

Wanda lets out a quiet giggle at the pair of friends in front of her, finding the relationship between you and your familiar adorable, “What brings you in today? Did you lose your monkey paw again?” 

You playfully roll your eyes at Wanda, “No, I uh... I broke my Ever-Writing Quill,” you admit, trying to fight the warmth that crept up your neck and cheeks. 

Wanda let out a quick burst of laughter before turning around and leading you through the many shelves and tables of her shop, “Come on, I just got a fresh shipment in,”

✸ ✴ ✦ 

“Thanks Wanda! I’ll see you and Vis for brunch on Sunday,” You smile and give your friend a kiss on the cheek goodbye before exiting her shop. 

“Alright Cal, is there anything else you need before we go? Do you want me to get you more fur oil? Are you good on that incense you like?” 

“Yeah I think I’m okay, at this point I just want food,” He grumbled, lifting his head up from your shoulder and sniffing the air. 

You nodded your head in understanding and began the trip back to where you first entered the marketplace. The walkways were absolutely packed; it was nearly impossible to keep from bumping into other shoppers. Calcifer could be heard grumbling profanities every time someone brushed or bumped against him. You couldn’t blame the poor creature, he was naturally anxious and didn’t like strangers, so making trips like these were never too fun for him. You were trying your best to avoid people, but luck was against you and as you were ducking out of the way of one man who looked exactly like Merlin, you ended up running right into someone else. 

You fell right to the floor, Calcifer tumbling from your shoulder and sliding a few feet away due to the force, “Ah! Calcifer? Cal are you okay?” 

“Shit! are you okay? I didn’t see you, I am so sorry,”

Ignoring the stranger above, you frantically look around for your lost friend and spot him a few feet away from you, curling up into a scared orange ball and shoving his snout under his hind leg to hide. You scramble over to him, scooping his small body into your arms and holding onto him tightly, “Oh Calcifer I’m so sorry! I should have never asked you to come with me, I know you hate it here and now look what happened,” 

You couldn’t help the stress induced tears that welled in your eyes as you pet the shaking fox in your arms, “I’m okay, Y/n. Just a little shaken,” His voice was quiet and you knew he wasn’t being completely honest but you knew getting out of the crowded place was more important at that point. 

A tall figure suddenly shadowed over you, making you cower out of instinct and scoot back a few paces, “Hey are you and your fox okay? Really, I didn’t see you. I should have been paying more attention, let me help you up,” A hand comes down offering to lift you from the dirty concrete. 

With one arm tightly holding onto Calcifer, you use your other hand to grab onto the strangers and lift yourself up. “Thanks,” You mumble out quickly, keeping your head down and immediately walking away, your mind completely focused on getting the hell out of these cursed alleyways. 

Once you had fallen out of the exit and back onto the cobblestone streets of Adelaide, you could finally take a deep breath. Leaning up against the cold stone wall near the entrance, you closed your eyes, sucking in the fresh air and gently petting the creature still firmly gripped in your arms. 

A choked cry escapes you suddenly, “I am so sorry Calcifer,” You absolutely hated that you had caused your friend such a terrible experience. He could’ve gotten hurt, someone could’ve stolen him away from you, the street was so crowded you would’ve never found him again! Calcifer would’ve never forgiven you! Might not even forgive you now! Just the thought of it- 

“Alright calm down kid... I’m perfectly fine. Paw hurts a little bit but, really, I’m okay,” the fox in your arms looked up at you, a small smile on his snout as he nuzzled into your hair. 

“Are you sure? I can take you to the vet-” Before you can continue to worry about the injured animal, a deep voice sounds from above you. 

“Uh hey...” 

You quickly wipe the tears from your cheeks and look up, eyes widening in surprise as you stare into steely iris’s that seemed to have a mission on copying the sky that day. “H-hello,” 

As you stared at the burly looking man in front of you, you couldn’t help but side eye his stature. Adorning all black with little glints of silver rings and buckles here and there, a few tiny scars marking his well-structured jaw and cheek bones, and good god those boots must be so heavy and-is that a metal hand peeking out from the long sleeve of his leather jacket?! This guy is too scary to be this attractive...

“I uh... I was the one to bump into you earlier. It’s totally my fault and I really didn’t mean for you to drop your fox like that-it’s just that my familiar took off and I just wasn’t paying attention and it seemed like a pretty bad fall and you were so focused on protecting your pet-” “He’s not a pet,” you spit out quickly, a stern glare etched into your features. 

“R-right, right sorry-I just-I was-I misspoke...” he trailed awkwardly, roughly dragging a hand through brunette hair and grimacing at his own failure to compose a sensible response. 

“Are you a witch?” you mumble out quietly, your glare softening into a more apprehensive, yet curious, stare. 

“Uh yeah, yeah I’m only entry level though. My friend Sam helped me get into the market so I could get a few things but then...ya know” 

You stood silently, not exactly sure of what this weirdo wanted from you. If he thought you were going to apologize he was very mistaken. What if he planned to rob you? To take Calcifer and run? The thought made your grip on the animal even more secure, if that were even possible. 

“Is your arm okay?” Worried eyes gazed down at your arm and the man took a small step forward. 

“What?” You try to flinch away from the soft grasp of his hand around your bicep, but only end up pushing yourself against the wall. 

The man inspected the inflamed scrape that burned a path along your forearm and up to your elbow, “That looks pretty bad doll, do you want some medicine? I think I might have a little with me. Hey Sibi!” 

“Holy shit!” A sharp intake of breath forced its way into your lungs as you saw a giant white wolf bound up to the man. Your breathing sped up, heartbeat following along with it as you gazed upon the giant beast. 

“Do you mind? I gotta get into my bag,” He asked gently, the wolf immediately turning to give him easy access to a large pack that was slung over her back, ��Thanks Sibi, can you go find Sam? Tell him I’ll be a bit longer than expected,” The wolf let out a gruff noise of agreement and nodded it’s head before heading back through the magical entrance. 

The man turned back around and walked towards you once more. You didn’t flinch this time when he reached for your arm, careful to make sure you had a good grip on Cal before opening a bottle of light blue gel and tapping some out onto the palm of his hand, “My name is Bucky, by the way,” 

“Okay,” you mumble out awkwardly, your anxious nature getting the best of you and blocking any form of friendly communication to come across while Bucky covers your wound with the gel.

“Her name is Y/n, I’m Calcifer,” You stare down incredulously at the fox, not expecting him to introduce you to this stranger. 

Bucky smiled up at you and the fox, shiny white teeth on display, “Pretty name for a pretty girl,” 

The comment instantly made your face heat up in embarrassment. “Thank y-you...” 

Bucky straightened up after he was done dressing your wound, thankfully taking a step back to give you some space. Why wasn’t he leaving? Why did he care so much about some rando he ran into at the market? Maybe this was just a front to try and rob you...

“Well uh... I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed real spooked back there and I could tell you hurt your arm so I just wanted to check up on ya,” Bucky’s eyes shined brightly as he explained himself. A pink tint colored his cheeks and neck as he sheepishly stared down at the ground. 

His shy nature made your lips tilt into a small smile of your own and you couldn’t help thinking about how cute he looked like that, “thank you, that’s very kind,” you mumbled out.

There was a beat of silence as you and Bucky avoided each other's eye contact before a familiar patronizing voice interrupted, “Hey kid if you’re done flirtin’ with this guy can we go home? I’m starvin’ right now,” 

“Calcifer!” you scold immediately, the familiar burn of pure embarrassment instantly appearing across your face. 

Bucky, however, didn’t seem to be bothered by the fox’s comment and burst out into a fit of deep chuckles, running his metal hand through the long tresses of rich brown hair. 

“Your fox is cute,” 

The comment made Calcifer let out a gruff murmur of disagreement, making you join Bucky in his laughter, “Yeah, I’m really happy he chose to stay with me. Um... I should probably go. Cal hasn’t eaten since breakfast and I still need to go to the butcher-” “There’s a butcher in this town?” The pure curiosity on Bucky’s face made your smile grow that much more as he finally took in his surroundings. 

“Yeah, it’s about two blocks down from here, it’s Calcifer's favorite place,” You say, backing up a few steps to signal your exit. 

“A-alright! well, uh it was nice meeting you! Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?” The male witch fumbles with his words as he realizes the conversation is ending. 

“Sure, maybe,” you nod in agreement, fully turning around and beginning the walk towards your destination. 

As you walked away you couldn’t help but let the small smile on your face grow. What a dork he was... Almost as awkward as you were, the way he kept messing with his hair- ”He’s still lookin’ at ya... And what was all that stuff you were thinking about getting robbed? Why were you so fixated on gettin’ robbed?” 

“Calcifer for christ’s sake!” Your voice was filled with exasperation, rolling your eyes at the familiar's comments and ignoring the fact that the cute witch was still watching you walk away.

“Are you seriously thinking about how him staring at you is cute? Humans are so weird...” 

“Stop reading my thoughts you creep!” 

✸ ✴ ✦ 

A groan echoed throughout your apartment as a streak of the bright morning sun landed on your eyes and woke you from your slumber. Clapping a hand down onto your eyes to block the light, you roughly slide it down in hopes of wiping the fatigue that plagued you. Slowly but surely, you untangled yourself from your sheets, stretching your waking limbs and yawning with an over dramatic sound. You blindly felt around for your phone that was lying on the floor directly by your mattress. Once you located the small device, you tapped it on and read the time. 10:47 am, Sunday...Fantastic. 

You laid on your mattress for a bit, unaware of anything but your tired bones. The only reason you didn’t fall back asleep right then and there was the light buzz that came from your phone. You lazily picked it back up and stared at the too bright screen, taking a moment to comprehend the text that popped up on your home screen. 

Wanda Maxi: Hey! Are you on your way?

What? On my way...

“OH FUCK” You bolt out of bed, slipping on part of your sheet that was draped onto your wooden flooring and almost face planting. 

“Calcifer wake up we gotta have brunch with Wanda and Vis!” you scream out to nothing specific, unaware of where your familiar was. 

As quickly as possible, you gathered an outfit, shoved a toothbrush into your mouth to brush it a little too harshly, got your hair ready, and threw your clothes on. It’s not until you’re almost done getting ready before you see the bright fox bolt in from the balcony, “How could you forget about brunch? This happens every week for fucks sake!” 

“This isn’t entirely my fault! You knew about it too!” you argue while lathering deodorant onto your underarms, already sweating from the stress of the situation. 

“I’m a fox! You think I keep alarms?” he yells back at you, not bothering to stop and look at you as he gathers your things while you hurriedly tried to shove your foot into a shoe. 

Once your shoes were on and Calcifer had given you everything you’d need, you ran to your door and swung it open, “You wanna run with me or do you want me to carry you?” 

“Oh please you can barely run by yourself. You couldn’t handle the weight,” Calcifer scoffs, running between your legs and out of the apartment. 

You immediately lock your door and run after him, “So rude...” you huff to yourself and catch up to the fox. 

✸ ✴ ✦

It only took you about five minutes to sprint across town and make it to the small clay cottage that your friends had lived in for years now. The mossy dark brown Terracotta roof and grey wooden door that had ivy vining in and out of it gave a lovely natural look to the house and you couldn’t help but admire the wonderful home the couple had built. 

Calcifer’s quiet pants mixed with your wheezing as you stumbled up to the door and knocked loudly to signal your arrival. The door swung open, revealing a smirking Wanda. 

“You woke up late again didn’t you?” 

Still catching your breath, you nodded and followed her into her home. Wanda looked gorgeous, as always, wearing a light and flowing yellow sundress with matching shoes and a pretty white ribbon that was tied into her hair. 

“I’m so sorry Wanda, neither of us set an alarm,” you breathed out, following her towards the kitchen. 

“It’s okay sweetie, we didn’t have to wait or anything, all of us were busy talking about the latest man who was admitted into the Grand Council,” she smiled back at you, warm eyes shining from the sunlight that was coming through the glass doors that led to their garden. 

You tilt your head in confusion when you realize her phrasing, “All of us?” 

Wanda gently put a fist to her temple, her face twisting into a slight grimace, “I’m sorry sweetie I completely forgot to mention I invited some friends today! Don’t worry, they’re both great and I’m sure you’ll get along just fine,” 

You nod your head hesitantly, not entirely believing your friend. You wondered who she had invited... Many times over Wanda and Vision have told stories about their old friends who they had met throughout their lives. From your understanding, they had built a wonderful family together and had helped and cared for each other for years so you had no doubt they would be friendly. 

Before you had time to voice whatever worries you had, you were interrupted by the fall of multiple pairs of footsteps. It didn’t take long for three men to walk into the room, all talking enthusiastically over each other. You automatically recognized the slim man walking over to Wanda as Vision, his bright eyes greeting you as he wrapped his arms around Wanda’s slim waist. 

You turn to the other two guests and are unable to hold in an audible gasp when you recognize one of them. Those chilling eyes copied yours as they widened to an almost comical size. 

“Y/n...” The sound of your name coming from his full, pink lips made your hands clam up. 

He was dressed much more formal today with a navy blue sweater over a button up shirt, dark jeans and the cutest wing-tipped shoes you’d ever seen. He looked like he had just gotten out of church with his grandmother. 

“H-hello..” you mutter back, a heavy cloud of confusion and stress surrounding itself around you. 

“Oh...Do you-do you guys know each other already?” Wanda tilts her head a curious finger flickering between the two of you as her squinting eyes try to find the connection. 

Bucky glances at you, then Wanda, then back at you, as if to ask the question of who would be telling the tale of your meeting. You however settled for staring up at the ceiling, handing that responsibility off to Bucky. 

“We um, bumped into each other at the market the other day,” his answer comes after a slight moment of hesitation. 

You held back a scoff at his choice of words... More like you ran over me and almost killed my familiar. 

“Oh great! So then you’ll only have to meet Sam,” Wanda smiles and gestures to the stranger who had refrained from speaking up until now. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Sam Wilson,” he greets you with a bright smile, a charming gap between his two front teeth and a warm glow emanating from rich brown eyes that winked mischievously. 

He was quite handsome and his automatic charm caused the fog of awkward shyness to thicken in your mind, “Nice to meet you too,” you smile politely and shove your hand out for him to shake. 

A deep chuckle sounds from within his muscular chest as he grasps your hand and gives a firm shake. You quickly tell him your name before stepping back and allowing a new conversation to start. It was hard to focus on what everyone was saying as you felt the obvious gaze of Bucky peering at you from across the kitchen. You found the best way to keep yourself from staring back at him was to focus on the small amount of dirt that you could see hidden underneath your nails. You really needed to get them done again... Although it gets pretty difficult to achieve correct measurements with the long pointy acrylics that seem to be your go-to choice. 

“I dunno man, I just have really bad vibes about that Pierce guy... Steve agrees with me,” Sam’s comment brings you back to the conversation which you had apparently zoned out of. 

“Where is Steven? I thought he said he would be able to attend today?” Vision, always the formal talker, had a questioning glint to his eyes as he switched his focus from Sam to Bucky, then back. 

“Liberty wasn’t feeling too good so he had to take her to a vet,” Bucky was the one to answer.

“Liberty?” a questioning tilt to your head signals your confusion.

Bucky smiles at you before answering, “Yeah, she’s Steve’s pet. Super cute golden retriever that he picked up at the pound a couple years back,”

“Oh... Is he not a witch like you guys?” it surprised you that there was someone amongst their group that wasn’t practicing magic. 

Bucky subconsciously takes a step towards you, his body language changing to signal he was now solely focused on you, “Yeah he tried a few years ago but, it didn’t really go too well,” 

As Bucky answered he held up his metal prosthetic and wiggled his fingers, “Are you serious?! Your friend did that to you?” you gasp in shock, your eyes widening in amazement as you reach out to touch his arm without thinking. 

The metal was smooth and you were so enamored by the new information as well as the mechanical appendage that you failed to notice how tense Bucky got and how multiple pairs of eyes were staring at you. Your fingertips gently ran over the cool ridges of metal sections, “Wow... Did he turn your arm metal or did... did something else happen?” you glance between pretty blue eyes and steely metal. 

Bucky slowly reaches his arm out so you have a better view of what it’s like, “Actually that was kind of a joke,” he stutters, an awkward smile gracing his lips, “The real story is way more depressing,” he mumbles.

You halt your movements and stare up at him, the familiar yet heavy weight of embarrassment settling itself deep within your chest, “O-oh... I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to overstep-” You pull your hands away, folding them tightly against your chest. 

“No it’s okay! Really I’ve had a lot worse interactions,” he chuckles and reassures you once again that you didn’t overstep any boundaries. 

You nod in understanding but inevitably go back into your default of shy silence. Bucky stares down at you with a kind smile in hopes of making you feel a little less like an ass. It doesn’t work. 

After a few moments of deafening silence, Wanda makes a move over to the oven, “Alright everyone, quiche time!” 

“Aren’t you vegan?” Bucky mumbles, walking over to the table and preparing to sit down. As Wanda gives her response and mentions the fake eggs she found at the market, you walk over to the table as well. Bucky pulls out the seat closest to you and gives you a reassuring nod. You give a thankful smile and sit down, allowing him to help you push it back towards the table. 

“Thank you,” your quiet voice has Bucky grinning as he sits down next to you.

“Of course, doll” 

Brunch goes off without any more awkward spells and with the help of Wanda’s amazing skills in the kitchen, you begin to feel yourself relax with each bite you take. The afternoon goes on with the others telling you about how they met, silly stories about their friendly adventures, and at some point the conversation turned to you and what it had been like growing up a witch. It was a unique characteristic that none of your friends, new or old, had experienced. 

“Well, my dad is the one who originally got me into it... He was an aura reader like Wanda, and my mom focused more on spell casting and potions,” a warm grin on your lips signal the fondness your memories bring as you tell about your childhood, everyone was completely invested. 

“especially Bucky” Calcifer pointed out silently, giving you a knowing smirk from where he sat on the floor next to you. 

oh fuck off you stupid fox

✸ ✴ ✦ 

With full stomachs and a few full containers of leftovers, you, Sam, and Bucky stood gathered outside of Wanda’s front door as you all belted out a chorus of goodbye’s and excellent days. 

“It was really nice meeting you Y/n, make sure to keep in touch! I’ll be waiting for a carrier owl,” Sam winks at you as he begins to walk down the path towards the sidewalk, effectively leaving you and Bucky by yourselves. 

“He didn’t even let me say goodbye back...” you mumble out, staring at the confident figure that now waited at the property line by a pretty bush of hydrangeas. 

“Yeah... He’s weird like that,” Bucky agrees, glancing at his friend before fully turning his attention to you, “um so I’ve been meaning to maybe like... um maybe get your contact info? I just... I was maybe thinking we could grab like, tea or something sometime?”

As you take in Bucky’s words, you can’t help but notice the awkward and anxious movements he had started, reminding you of the first day you had met him. It made your lips twitch up just slightly. 

“Oh? like, my phone number?” the dumb answer almost had you on your knees with how hard you cringed. 

Bucky let out a breathy chuckle, “Uh yeah, yeah or like maybe an address? Or ugh that’s probably too personal-” “No! no it’s um it’s not,” you answer a little too quickly, discreetly pinching the skin on the back of your hand as punishment for your blatant lack of social skills. 

After a quick beat of neither of you knowing what to do, you finally speak back up, “You could come over tomorrow if you’d like,” 

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why would he want to come over so- “Yeah I’d love to!” Bucky answers enthusiastically, pulling his phone out from his back pocket and holding it out to you, “Just give me your number and I'll text you, we can figure out the details later, K?” 

You gingerly take the smartphone in your hands and type in your number, forgetting to put a name in for yourself before handing it back to him. Bucky’s hand slightly brushes yours as he takes it back and you’re too busy focusing on the lingering feeling on your hand that you miss the cheeky grin on Bucky’s face as he types in a contact name. 

“Hey tin soldier! You ready yet?” Sam’s smooth voice has you turning around with a start at his unexpected call. 

Bucky nods towards his friend, waving him off and turning back to you, “So I’ll uh, see you tomorrow,” 

“Tomorrow,” You confirm with a nod of your own.

Bucky’s smile grows tenfold and he takes a small step towards you, hesitating for only a moment before he leans in and gives a chaste kiss to the apple of your cheek. He doesn’t wait around to see your reaction, jogging over to Sam and slapping him on the shoulder before walking off down the cobblestone streets. 

Standing with your eyes the size of the moon and your face as hot as the goddamn sun, you don’t fail to catch the string of comments that your sleazy little fox makes. 

“Oh Bucky please just take me away! I’m too shy and socially inept to even speak to you properly, please I just love you sooooo much!” Calcifer’s high pitched mocking made your blood boil as he wheezed with laughter. 

“Shut up you stupid fox!” you yell at him, hooking your foot underneath his belly and pushing up and forward to flip him on his side. 

The reynard continued to cackle hysterically as you walked away from him. You could hear the broken comments he made as Calcifer continued to berate you on the bumpy interactions you always seemed to have with the handsome witch. 

“You’re sleeping outside tonight!” you call back to him, a smug tilt to your lips.

The laughing stopped immediately and was replaced by the clicking of little nails on mossy stone. 

✸ ✴ ✦ 

Calcifer’s eyes were glued to your figure as you made a mad dash around your apartment to make sure everything was clean and properly put away. Your socks allowed you to slide across the wooden floors as you shoved the rest of your freshly cleaned towels into a closet and slam it shut. Quickly turning the other way to sprint then slide the rest of the way to your little kitchenette where an almost comically small oven bakes banana nut muffins. 

“You are a nervous wreck right now kid,” Cal points out, a hint of worry in his mostly humorous tone. 

You look over at him, cringing at the realization that, yeah, you probably do look like a nervous wreck...

“It’s just that... No one has been over in a while and the last person that did come over was Wanda and I know she doesn’t care all that much about my tidiness so it was okay but I have no clue as to how Bucky is going to react and it's not like I don’t want to impress him, I mean I don’t need to impress him like my life doesn’t depend on what he thinks but,” “Christ’s sake kid-” “I mean for gods sake my bed is on the floor! He’ll probably think I’m some broke slob who-” Knock Knock 

“Oh my gods,” you whisper scream, no doubt did your aura radiate pure panic...

You shuffle over to the door, shoving your face up against it to look through the peephole and make sure it was the only person you were expecting. Taking a deep breath, you try and center yourself, then open the door. 

“Good morning, Bucky!” you greet, a bright smile on your face as you take in your guest’s appearance. 

Bucky is looking extra handsome today as he wears a dark grey cardigan over a white shirt, dark fitted jeans and, to your extreme surprise, black Converse.

“Hey, Doll” he smiles back softly at you, quickly taking in your simple outfit of a cute yellow crop top and black shorts, “T-these are for you,”  he mutters quickly and pulls a pretty bouquet of wildflowers out from behind his back. 

You beam at the thoughtful gesture and Calcifer doesn’t miss the sense of pride that Bucky gives off at your excited reaction, “Wow, Bucky these are so cute! I love them, thank you very much,” gingerly taking the bundle of fragrant colors, you invite your guest inside and immediately go to your kitchenette to find a receptacle for them.  

Once you find a nice little vase to put them in you spin back around to find Bucky looking around your small apartment, “Um...It’s not much-but the rent is really good and since it’s just me and Cal it works out pretty nice. If you aren’t comfortable we can always-” “I love it, Y/n. It’s really... you,” he glances back towards you, the look in his eyes warming you from deep within your chest. 

“Hey, tin man” the both of you jump slightly as Calcifer interrupts the thoughtful interaction. 

Bucky crouches down and reaches his hand out to the fox, “Hey... Nice to see you again Calcifer” 

“Where’s your dog?” completely ignoring Bucky’s polite greeting, Calcifer passes by him. 

“Oh uh... Sibi is still in training so I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to bring her into someone else’s home just yet,” the man answers awkwardly, dropping his hand and standing back up to his full height. 

Calcifer be nice you little skeez.

I’m just tryin’ get to know the guy, alright? 

You roll your eyes at the red animal and tell him to go onto the balcony. He thankfully listens, giving you and Bucky some privacy. 

“Sorry about him... He can be a little difficult sometimes,” you apologize quickly, nervously rubbing your clammy hands on the front of your shorts. 

Bucky chuckles and shakes his head, “It’s alright, I understand,” 

You give a questioning look at his phrasing and he quickly moves to elaborate, “Well, uh I guess-Ya know- since you guys are really close... I can understand why he would be protective because um, well since I’m like I’m trying to-” “Trying to what?” 

Bucky’s face was beet red as he tried and failed to explain himself to you, who had absolutely no idea what he was going on about, “In any case, I’m sure he’ll warm up to you soon,” you smile warmly at him and turn towards your oven. 

The embarrassed man watches as you take out the piping hot tray of muffins and set them out on the counter to cool. His stomach growls low as the deliciously sweet smell hits his nostrils. 

“How about we go sit down while those cool off?” you suggest and lead Bucky over to the small sofa that sat against the only free wall. 

You tuck yourself into one corner, folding your legs so they were pressed against your chest as you tried to give Buck as much room as possible. It was quite adorable to see the tall, beefy guy try and squeeze himself onto your small couch. A quiet laugh escapes you and he glances towards you, his cheeks tinged pink, “Guess M’not really made for studio apartment sized things,” he chuckles. 

Glad to see he isn’t upset about the cramped seating arrangement, you relax a little bit and start asking Bucky about his life. The two of you fall into easy conversation, talking about your childhood, past and current friends, how Bucky got into magic, your familiars and anything else that came to your minds. 

By the time there was a slight lull in conversation, it was already mid afternoon and you couldn’t help the growls that sounded from your stomach. 

“Um, do you want me to make us some lunch? I have like, sandwich stuff or mac n cheese?” you ask, swinging your legs off the couch and standing up to stretch. 

“Yeah that sounds good, you want me to help?” Bucky follows your movements and you shake your head. 

“S’okay, if you want you can go onto the balcony and I’ll be right out,” You smile up at him, turning to your little kitchen and focusing on making lunch. 

Bucky makes his way out onto your balcony covered in vining plants and hanging bottles filled with god knows what. Calcifer was asleep on a slightly rusted chair in the corner, his tail and legs curled into his body, making him look like a furry ball of orange. Bucky had never seen a work space quite like it. Sam was more of a trader so there wasn’t much potion making in the home they shared together. As he stared in wonder at all of the bottles covering the antique desk and a good part of the floor, curiosity got the best of him and Bucky couldn’t help but to start picking them up and exploring what was inside. 

Most of the bottles were labelled so he didn’t need to worry about those ones, the curious man was more interested in the unmarked ones. Popping off the cork to a green glass bottle filled with a powder, he brought his nose up to sniff and immediately gagged at the overpowering scent. 

“What is that?” he grumbled quietly to himself, closing that one and picking up a new one. 

This bottle did in fact have a label, but it was chicken scratch and for the life of him, Bucky couldn’t tell what the hell it meant as he picked up the murky glass bottle filled with what seemed to be a bright purple fog and opened it, taking in a quick whiff. 

Almost immediately Bucky felt the effects of the mystery potion and he had to steady himself on the desk so he wouldn’t fall over. Blinking a few times, he gathered his wits and slowly stood straight up. 

“Whaaat are you doing?” Your curious voice from the sliding door made Bucky jump and spin around, hiding the bottle behind his back. 

Your eyes quickly shift from the chilling blue irises of your guest to the suspicious amount of movement happening behind his large frame. Bucky lets out a quick scoff before answering, “What? Nothing, just checkin stuff out ya know,” 

His poor attempt at a casual demeanor was lost on you and it was quite evident in the suspicious squint of your eyes as you continued to stare at the man in front of you. 

“Which bottle did you sniff?” you ask flatly, sticking your hand out expectantly, the other hand making its way onto your hip.

“I-I didn’t sniff any bottle,” Bucky mutters out, metal hand going up to scratch the back of his neck awkwardly.

You waited only a moment before he spoke again, seemingly unable to hold back his comment, “That’s a lie I sniffed this bottle,”

He immediately took a bottle out from behind his back and placed it in your still awaiting palm. You knew what it was as soon as you saw the color of the substance inside and began to laugh. It was the hardest you had laughed all day and the resounding noise of your joyous fit surely made its way down to the cobblestone streets below. Your right hand left its initial place on your hip and placed itself over the left side of your chest as you bent over to steady yourself. 

“Y-you just inhaled a shit ton of Truth-Be-Told Smoke” You cackled out loudly. 

Bucky, though entirely confused, couldn’t help the smile that painted itself onto his pink lips as he stared at your beautiful figure shaking from the prettiest laughing fit he had ever heard, “Your laugh is really pretty,” he blurted out, immediately slapping his hand over his mouth afterwards. 

The compliment startled you enough to calm your laughter and straighten your posture back out, “Thank you, Buck. So I’m just gonna assume you’re wondering what’s happening right now,” He answered you by quickly nodding his head.

You giggled and continued on, “Basically, this stuff is used mainly as a partial ingredient in other potions, but by itself, especially undiluted, it’s a high performing truth serum. You won’t be able to say anything except for what comes to your mind for quite some time,” 

“That makes me really nervous,” Bucky’s voice sounds strained as the hand that was covering his mouth moves to wipe down his face in stress.

“Well don’t go sniffin’ a girl’s potions next time!” you giggle out, walking over to return the potion to its proper place. 

“You smell really good,” before you have a chance to react bucky groans in frustration, “Fuck I am so sorry,” 

A light laugh escapes your lips and you look up at Bucky’s grimacing face, “It’s okay, I don’t mind. Plus it’s nice to know I made the right decision on what body wash to buy,” 

You motion Bucky to follow you back inside, ensuring there would be no more accidental roofying. Two sandwiches sit side by side on the small sofa, a little pile of chips next to each one. 

“This is really kind of you, Y/n” Bucky smiles, lifting up both plates of food and waiting for you to get comfy next to him before handing you one. 

“It’s no problem Bucky, you’re my friend now and-” “I don't want to be your friend,” he bursts out, making you frown.

Bucky quickly fixes his mistake, “No sorry- I uhm- I misspoke I-I don’t want to just be your friend.” another grimace makes its way onto his face, “That’s embarrassing for me to say, I’m embarrassed,” 

If you weren’t already sweating nervously, you were now. Clammy hands grip at the paper plate on your lap as you try and will your face to extinguish the fire that has engulfed it. “B-Bucky, I um…” 

“I’m sorry I said that… It probably makes you never want to see me again,” Bucky mutters out, anxiously playing with the small pile of potato chips.

“Actually…” you begin, taking a deep breath and continuing, “It doesn’t bother me at all,”

Bucky lets out a long breath of air, “Holy shit really? That’s fucking awesome because I wasn’t gonna tell ya that today but then I smelt that thing and I’m sweating real bad right now with how nervous I am-I should not have said that, but now that you said what you just said-” 

You put your hand up, signaling for the witch to stop his word vomit and laughed, “Bucky you don’t need to worry… Honestly, I am just as nervous as you,” 

Maybe it was because of the state Bucky was currently in, maybe it was because of something completely unrelated, but it made you feel brave enough to admit more than what you would’ve ever imagined. Bucky somehow willed himself into eating his sandwich, stopping every once in a while to blurt out a random compliment about you, the food, your apartment, anything. He even complimented how adorable it was that your mattress was on the floor, saying it just made everything feel so much comfier and he wished his apartment was like this. You took the comments in stride on the outside, though on the inside you were dying out of embarrassment. No one had ever said such nice things about you, and to the volume that Bucky was going, even if it was against his will, it still shocked you a bit.

By the time you were both done eating, the effects of the smoke seemed to slow down a bit, which allowed the nervous man beside you to withhold all of his thoughts, though it did keep him from lying still. As you stood to clean up the plates and napkins used during lunch, Bucky mimicked you, following you to the kitchen. 

“Today was really nice Bucky...Thank you for coming over,” you smile up at the tall man beside you and try not to swoon when he returns the warm smile.

There wasn’t a beat of hesitation before Bucky responded, “It was my pleasure, sweetheart,”

The term of endearment had your face aflame, something that has become a recurring struggle whenever you were around Bucky and his stupid compliments that always got to you. 

“Ya know, you’re quite the sweet talker when there’s nothing holding you back,” you tease playfully, making Bucky let out a quick bark of laughter. 

“Was I not a sweet talker before? I must have had some kinda skill since ya let me spend the whole day here,” a sly smirk is pulling at the corners of his lips as Bucky leans down closer to you in a mocking way.

You roll your eyes and put a hand to his shoulder, effectively pushing him away and giving yourself some much needed space. If you didn’t breathe properly soon, you were gonna pass out.

Bucky stayed at your place for a bit longer until he got a text from Sam saying that Sibi was getting anxious and that she missed him. You couldn’t help the grin that made its way onto your face when he explained why he had to leave, thinking it was absolutely adorable that Bucky was the only one who was able to calm that gigantic wolf. When it was time for him to go, it became a waiting game of who was going to initiate the final goodbye. 

Standing by your front door, leaning on the trim, you stared into the piercing blue eyes of the man opposite of you, completely unsure of what to say. In all honesty, you didn’t think it’d go this well. For Bucky to spend the entire day cramped up in your apartment with you, eating snacks and joking around as if you had known each other for years… It shocked you a bit when you truly thought about it. 

Bucky sighed, leaning against the opposite frame of the door as he stared back down at you, “So…” a nervous hand came up to subconsciously tangle into the hairs on the nape of his neck, the Truth Be Told must be wearing off, “I um… Today was really great,”

You nod your head in agreement, “Yeah it uh-it was,” your fingers begin to tangle and pull at each other. 

“Do you...Maybe wanna...Do it again? Soon?” he mumbles out, breaking eye contact as he begins to focus on his shoes. 

A little pinch to the back of your hand ensures that what you just heard was real and you nod, “yes, that’d be awesome! I um… Whenever you’re free of course,” 

Y/n and Tin Man sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!

You quickly turn around to see Calcifer prancing in a circle in the middle of your apartment, a sly grin on his face. 

Gods what are you Five? Shut up you stupid fox! I’m gonna throw you off the balcony!

“Doll? You okay?” Bucky chuckles lightly as he sees your face scrunched up into a cute little scowl that makes him want to squish your face between his hands. 

Calcifer's annoying cackles were heard echoing in your apartment as you turned back around to face Bucky, “Yeah, yeah no I’m good… You were saying?” 

“Just that I was free on Thursday, if you maybe wanted to get coffee with me… But it’s really no big deal if you don’t want to, I would understa-” “No! Er-I mean yes! Yes. I would love to get coffee with you on Thursday,” You cringe at your awkward response and bite the inside of your lip to keep yourself from screaming in embarrassment. 

The bright smile on Bucky’s face grounds you a little bit and gives you the courage to meet his pretty blue irises, “So Doll, I uh was thinking-” Before he can finish his thought, Bucky’s phone pings loudly, making you jump a little, “Sorry” He murmurs.

Snatching it from the pocket of his jeans, Bucky takes a look then immediately lets out a quiet sigh, “That’s Sam, I really gotta go,” 

Trying not to let the disappointment show, you nod your head and straighten up, silently wishing he could stay longer, “Okay...Um I’ll see you on Thursday then…” 

Bucky’s head tilts to the left as he considers your shy demeanor and he can’t help but reach out with his right hand and lightly grasps yours, “I’ll see you on Thursday, pretty girl,” 

You suck in a breath, feeling Bucky lightly tug on your hand and willingly following his lead. Taking a tiny step forward, which was really all you could take with how close the two of you were all ready, the breath your holding tightens in your chest as Bucky leans down closer to you. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek, the brush of his long eyelashes ghosting over your temples, and the light squeeze on your wrist from his large hand. Bucky’s lips were soft as they pressed against the corner of your mouth in a light kiss that made you feel like you were in the clouds.

It didn’t last as long as you’d like and once he pulled away, you were able to let out the painful breath that stayed in your lungs for way too long. Bucky gave a quick wave before backing up a few paces, turning around, and walked the rest of the way down the hall. Leaving you to stand there breathless with the lingering feeling of his soft touches. 

“You two are gross,” The floaty feeling that had fallen over you evaporated as you heard the familiar’s voice from behind you. 

“I’m gonna hit you so hard,” You yell over your shoulder, turning around and slamming the door behind you. You pick up a slipper by your door and make your way over to the cackling fox. 

“W-wait wait! OW” 

“Stupid fox”

✸ ✴ ✦ 

-3 Months Later-

“Steve c’mon, stop interrogating my girl and come help set the tent up!” Steve turns his attention from you to his best friend, a smile on his face as he gets up to help Bucky set up the large canvas tent. 

“We will continue this later,” the blonde says pointedly before leaving you by yourself at the wooden picnic table. 

It had only been a little over three months since you had met Bucky Barnes, exactly two since he had worked up the courage to officially ask you to be “his girl” as he put it, and two hours since you had properly met Steven Rogers. How you had gone so long without meeting Bucky’s platonic other half was beyond you, but apparently the guy was a busy bee, and since your little potion shop out of your apartment had taken off, you didn’t exactly have much free time on your hands either. Fortunately, with a little luck and a lot of asking around for favors and covers for work, You, Bucky, Steve, Sam, Wanda, Vis, and all of your respective animals were able to take a long weekend to go camping. 

“Are you guys ready to eat? These sandwiches won’t keep for much longer,” Wanda stands up from the green metal cooler, hands full of deli sandwiches that she had made for the trip. 

A chorus of agreeance sounded across the cozy little site you had booked as you all gathered around the redhead. Bucky came up beside you, wrapping his metal arm around your waist and placing a soft kiss to the crown of your hair. 

“You excited for the weekend, doll?” he murmurs into your hair sweetly before placing a few more kisses there. 

You laugh lightly at his endearing behavior and smile up at him, “Of course I am Buck. I may never get the chance to spend this much time outside of my apartment again,” you joke, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss your boyfriend on the sharp line of his jaw. 

After everyone had gotten a sandwich, along with whatever they wanted to drink or eat with it, you all squeezed onto the benches of the picnic table and began to chow down. Everyone talked animatedly about what the plans were for the rest of the weekend. Swimming, fishing, “Building a bomb ass fire” as Sam gracefully put it, all of it sounded like a blast to you. If you were being honest, you were just excited to be out of your apartment for more than a few hours at a time. 

“So, you’re a potion maker huh?” Steve asks, mouth half full of potato chips. 

Bucky lets out a groan and rolls his eyes, “Stevie let the girl breathe for fucks sake,” 

The group laughs at Bucky’s annoyance, but then looks at you, “Well, uh yeah… I um was taught at a young age, so it’s something I’m really good at and I know it’s not the best job or anything-” ''It’s an awesome job, kid. I think you’re doing real good. Our own little entrepreneurial witch!” Sam interrupts your babbling, a bright smile on his face as he pats your back just a little too forcefully.

“I mean… I’m not a witch so I obviously don’t really get it like everyone else does, but you seem to be doing really well,” Steve assures you, sending a sense of pride into your chest. 

You had managed to impress Steve Rogers… Not bad, Y/n.

The guy is actin’ like he’s Tin Man's father… The hell is that about?

You turn your head over to where Calcifer is curled up on a dark blue camping chair, bright yellow eyes trained on the blonde man who was still stuffing his mouth with food. 

Calcifer they’ve been friends for ages, it’s normal.

The fox lets out a quiet snuff in response before getting up from the chair and trotting over to the table. 

“Cal do you want some of my turkey?” Bucky asks, taking a few pieces of turkey from his sandwich and setting it beside him on the table. 

Calcifer doesn’t answer, just hops up on the bench and silently eats the portion of meat. It’s taken a while for Calcifer to warm up to Bucky… And though progress if few and far between, the two have definitely gotten closer in the past couple of weeks. The biggest issue at first was how crazy Sibi acted around other familiars, but after a while and a good amount of training from you and Bucky, the hyperactive wolf finally settled and was on track to be a wonderful helper for her witch in training. 

“So… Do you guys have any plans of moving in together soon?” Wanda hesitates as she not so sneakily takes a chip from Vis’s plate. 

You and Bucky look to each other for only a moment before responding, “We’ve been looking at places to go. It’s hard cause we wanna stay in Adelaide but without buyin’ a whole house, there aren’t many options for apartments,” Bucky explains, a small shrug to his shoulders. 

“And there’s no way all four of us could fit in my apartment,” you add, copying Bucky’s shrug. 

Neither of you were in too much of a hurry to find a place of your own, as you were both content in the homes you were in now. The idea of living with Bucky was quite appealing but you knew the more realistic thing to do would be to wait, save, and research to make sure you both lived in a comfortable environment. 

“You guys are so cute it makes me wanna die! Who knew you’d be the ultimate witchy power couple?” Wanda’s swooning caused you to laugh a little as Vision looked at her with mock hurt in his eyes as if to say ‘what are we then?’

Before anyone had a chance to add on, an unexpected voice responded, “I did,” 

Your laughter immediately ceased and your attention snapped over to the other side of Bucky’s large frame. Calcifer sat proudly on his haunches as he gazed back at your shocked face. 

“W-what do you mean you knew?” Bucky stuttered, equally as shocked as you were. 

“I just knew. From the first day you guys met, it was obvious it was that true love bullshit you humans talk about,” the fox brushes off both yours and Bucky’s shock as if it was nothing. 

The rest of the group laughs as the pair of you stutter out broken objections to Calcifer’s claim, “A-are you kidding me Cal? That stuff is like… a myth or something,” 

“Yeah, I mean I’m in love with Y/n n’ all but-” “You’re in love with me?” 

All of the banter around the table halts as five pairs of eyes stare at a now tomato faced Bucky Barnes. “U-um, yes. Yeah-I um, yeah I’m in love with you…” Bucky’s voice is quiet and you’re not sure if he actually said what you heard, but that thought is soon wiped from your mind as an eruption of cheers sounds from your friends. 

A grin makes its way onto your face as you stare up at those pretty blue eyes that you really never got tired of looking at, and you can’t help but bring your hand up to run along the stubble of Bucky’s jaw, “I’m in love with you, Buck” 

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief and immediately leans down to press his lips against yours in a passionate kiss, both of his large hands framing each side of your face to pull you closer to him. 

“Told ya so” 

“Shut up you stupid fox!”

[theflashdriver]

Light Reading

This is the second part of my Sonamy Week catch up! This fic was written for the diary prompt though, arguably, it could fit with movie night as well! It’s a little over 5.2k words long, I hope you will enjoy!

Sonic gets caught in a storm and, with few other options available, takes shelter in Amy's apartment. It's an awkward situation, one he's thoroughly unprepared for, but the discovery of a little blue book will turn the whole situation on its head. 

The rain was falling in sheets, lashing against the frosted glass of the bathroom window. Sonic was shivering, both at that sound and the frigid dampness locked deep in his fur. Try as he might, dragging a soft, pink, towel through his spines time and time again; dryness seemed just out of reach. A groan slipped his throat; hanging that towel back on the radiator-rack he reached for another only to find it warm but damp. Despite his pouting, he still opted to take it; brushing his spines in an attempt to use it for all it was worth. If only he had space to run, to simply shake the water from his fur. Alas, Amy's apartment was much too tiny and that storm wasn't going to let up any time soon.

He'd been out late running, what a surprise, when the rain started. There was a flash of lightning, a crack of thunder and before the dark skies opened and rain poured freely. For what felt like hours he'd been stuck dashing from bus stop to bus stop, lingering under bridges and hiding literally anywhere that would keep him safe from the torrential downpour. But his mind wouldn't let him linger in any of those places, as much as he hated the rain he needed something to do, so when he happened to arrive outside Amy's apartment building he wasn't in a position to refuse.

She'd been overjoyed to see him of course, insisting he come in to dry himself before he could even ask and proclaiming he could stay the night before that thought had even dawned on him. The moment he agreed, to the former at least, she'd dragged him inside without hesitation; surely soaking herself in the process, but smiling and openly scheming without a care in the world. Talk of a movie had come up, something distracting enough to kill time till either the storm died down or they managed to doze off. Sonic knew he had more than enough excuses to stay, he was a long way from Tail's workshop and the rain didn't look like it'd be letting up any time soon, but wasn't this all more than a little roman…

The blue blur caught himself, he brought the soaked towel up to his already dry muzzle in an attempt to relieve his blush. Sonic didn't like thinking; that was why he ran. If he went a mile a minute, he wasn't forced to consider these things. Whenever he was stranded, be it beneath a bridge or within a cramped bathroom, he knew his mind would start to question what he really wanted and where he truly wanted to be.

Was it really any wonder he'd ended up outside her house? He'd been thinking way too much, thinking about her in particular way too much. Yet, it was because of that thinking he doubted he could bring himself to leave; seeing the smile his arrival had caused…

Feeling thoroughly uncool, yet paradoxically wet, Sonic quickly returned the towel to the drying rack. There had to be a quicker way to get dry and, more importantly, he had to get out of this room. Much of his fur still matted, he managed to push his way out of the bathroom and down her apartment's short hallway.

"Amy, do you have a hairdryer or somethin'? I'm still soaked." He padded his way into her living/dining room, surely trekking water all the way.

The room was split by a black countertop; on one side a small kitchen area while the outside was a more general living space. He had no idea how long he'd been in there, but it'd been long enough for her to prepare quite the spread. A wide selection of movies had been laid out, ranging from the romantic comedies he'd expected to the musicals he'd somewhat anticipated to a surprising array of horror and action movies. Her couch wasn't just for sitting anymore, a pink duvet and additional pillows had been added to it. Assumedly they were for both the movie and him to sleep with afterwards. It was embarrassing but, in truth, he'd expected that the two of them would end up bundled together beneath a blanket of some sort. Well, they wouldn't if he couldn't get dry. A glance toward the kitchen showed him that there was a large bag of microwaveable popcorn lounging in an open microwave, prepared for popping.

Still, despite all the signs that she was around; Amy was nowhere to be seen. A glance to her front door proved the chain-latch was still on, she was in the apartment but not this room? Stranger still, she was in the apartment but hadn't heard him? Her pad was small, consisting of only the room he stood in, the bathroom and two more rooms he'd never actually entered. One had to be her bedroom, despite the blankets and pillows he knew she didn't sleep on the couch, while the last was maybe… storage?

Sonic turned around, dark navy carpet still underfoot, and made his way back up the hallway. One mystery door was opposite the bathroom, the other the very end of the hallway. Unsure what to do, he called out again. "Amy, you're still here, right?"

Again, there was no answer. He arrived at the first door and gave it a knock, trying not to be too light but (at the same time) not too heavy-handed.

Finally, he heard something; the dull thud of falling books coupled with a squeal. "Oh, Sonic!" Stomps followed the outcry, her bedroom door was quickly thrown open and a garish (very pink) room was exposed. The walls were a subdued shade of magenta, even in its stripped state the pink bedposts characterised the bed, he couldn't help noticing coloured her closet doors were painted a sunset hue and even her room's light bulb was tinted. The only exceptions to this pink rule were the blue picture frames that hung above her bed. Books were splayed across the floor, having fallen from the shelf above her desk. He was struggling to make out their names but, more importantly; Sonic was trying to do anything but stare at Amy.

When he arrived she'd been in her usual garb, but somehow (between pushing him into the bathroom and preparing the living room spread) she'd found the time to change into a set of pyjamas. The first thing he noticed was her quills, rather than being pushed back by a hairband she'd pulled them into a small, messy, braid. He didn't know such a thing was even possible, but soon his eyes drifted lower. Amy was wearing a white t-shirt with tiny pink roses embroidered into what looked to be a soft cotton material. This would have been fine, perfectly fine, were it not for the shirt's cut. It looked baggy and comfortable but at the same time, somehow, small? It was as though the shirt was hanging on her shoulders rather than simply covering them; as if it would pass beyond her midriff if she stretched too far. Sonic heaved his eyes away before he could fully take in her pink pyjama bottoms, trying to stare literally anywhere else.

The blue blur's heart was pounding and the butterflies in his chest were flapping in time. He'd felt this many times before, but never so strongly and certainly never without some kind of contact. He tried to swallow his blush as best he could.

She was trying her best to smile, trying to look natural, but even in his current state he knew something was wrong. "Sonic, nice of you to drop by. Do you want the full tour?" She'd clearly caught his scanning, matching it with her own wit despite her clear puzzlement.

"Long time no see." He choked out, still trying to focus on her open room rather than her garb. "I-I was just looking for a hairdryer? The towels weren't quite enough."

"Oh, right, that makes sense. Just…" Her mind seemed to be elsewhere but she quickly caught herself. "Give me a second." Amy quickly returned to her room, glancing at the book pile as she sidestepped it, before turning and opening the bottom drawer of her bedside cabinet. He attempted to pin his gaze to the book pile as best he could, hearing a brief shuffling of plastic before catching her eye again upon her return. "Sorry for leaving you out there."

"I'm just surprised you weren't waitin' for me." Did that sound possessive? He was trying to show some kind of confidence. "Is everything alright?

"Oh, everything's fine. I'm just looking for something. It's not really important," She insisted, eyes already darting from him to scan the room. "Just a little part of my evening rituals, the final thing I do to sign the day off."

Sonic wanted to pry, he truly did, but the heat on his face was simply too much. If he couldn't stand next to her for five minutes, help her search for whatever this was, how was he going to manage one movie let alone the whole night? Did she have to dress like that? More importantly, why did he have to care that she was dressed like that?

"Y-Yeah, no sweat. Take all the time you need!" He wanted to ask what she was looking for, try to be of some help, but the best he could manage was. "Thanks for the drier."

"No problem, there's popcorn in the microwave if you want to start it?" Amy recommended, "I set out some movies on the coffee table too, you can go ahead and pick. I'm happy watching whatever, as long as it's with you." Usually he could handle flirts like that, but with her being dressed like that Sonic found himself blushing brighter.

A particularly loud thunder-crack punctuated the momentary silence between them. The rumble gave him a moment to consider his next move but it was much too brief for him to come up with anything of worth. He couldn't muster the gall to hold eye contact, let alone offer his assistance.

Well, if he couldn't do that, he could at least be encouraging. He shot her a thumbs up and a small grin. "Like I said, take all the time you need, Ames. The storm ain't goin' anywhere so neither am I."

"Still, I'll try to be quick. I've got you here all to myself, you think I wanna miss a moment?" She promised and joked, still managing a more genuine smile. "I'll be through as soon as possible."

Their vow made, the pair went their separate ways. Sonic was just happy he could look directly ahead of himself again without blushing. He felt uncool, very uncool, but at least his heartbeat was gradually slowing. Was her dress choice intentional? He assumed not but that didn't reduce its embarrassing effect. Perhaps when they started watching films it would be better, she'd surely try to snuggle up against him at some point but at least his attention would be drawn elsewhere.

Well, hopefully, it would be…

Finding his way back into the kitchen, Sonic quickly scanned the popcorn bag; four minutes at full power, easy enough to prepare. He turned the dial and slammed the door; soon a combination of humming and popping filled the room. Food like this made up more of his diet than it probably should have, not that he really cared; he could run on just about anything. Come to think of it, Amy had reprimanded his diet a number of times; dragging him off to restaurants for what she'd insist were gourmet chilli dogs.

The moment she re-entered his mind the image of that outfit did too, as did the fact he'd so thoroughly failed to offer his assistance. This whole situation was just so embarrassing, so uncool. He usually let his heart decided where he'd wander, it was to be expected that it would lead him to her every so often. But did it have to do that today? Tonight especially? He'd been unable to refuse himself so, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't place the blame solely on his hatred of water.

Turning his attention back to the microwave, Sonic found only ten seconds had passed. Evidently, the world was moving much slower than his chaotic mind. Four minutes, just four whole minutes to microwave… four minutes. He needed to distract himself and stop thinking about Amy for four whole minutes…

Oh, right; he'd gone to her for a hairdryer. Sonic quickly found an outlet, the extension cable connected to her TV had an empty socket, and set about drying himself. The wheeze of the device was added to the crackle of thunder and roar of the microwave. Naturally, his quills were still the wettest part of his body but his spines and tail still felt rather waterlogged too. It would take time for him to dry and, with time, his thoughts would surely return to her. He wanted to be cool by the time she came back, that was his top priority. If he could find something to focus on, something to invest himself in, he might stand a chance.

Searching desperately for another distraction, Sonic found himself taking a closer look at the various movies she'd laid out. She'd asked him to choose and, even if he did plan to let her have the final say, it was worth knowing what he was getting into. None of the names were familiar, but then he didn't often have the patience to sit through most films; they had to hold his interest constantly, any lull and he risked dozing off. Running his hand through his quills, parting them to dry nearer their base, he noticed an outlier in the pile. Among the boxes, placed just slightly askew, was a blue book; small, like a storybook, and a size thicker than the disk boxes.

There was no blurb on the back, no way to determine what kind of book it was without flipping it to see the cover. Freeing his hand from his quills he reached out and picked up the book, wiping his hand on a drier section of his fur beforehand, but turning it over didn't cure his curiosity. The cover of the book was entirely bare, marked neither by words nor pictures; there wasn't even a title on the spine. Now this was a distraction, he was interested already! He flicked the book open, rather than starting at the beginning opting to let the chose where he would start reading.

This immediately proved to be a mistake.

His eyes were drawn to the upper left corner, rather than an opening line they fell upon a date; June 12th, as he looked to the rest of the page Sonic realised what he was holding. It was handwritten, this book was handwritten; it wasn't even really a book. This was a diary and by its position in this house, not to mention its lightly cursive font and the hearts that dotted every i, he knew it to be Amy's. This must have been what she was looking for, for a moment he was tempted to return it… but then he realised, if she caught him with it, the pink hedgehog might destroy him. She'd assume he'd taken it, that he'd read it too, wouldn't she?

A cacophonous rumble jump-started his panic, on a reflex he threw the book across the room. Before it could even land the world was cast in darkness, the breath of the hairdryer died and the hum of the microwave came to an abrupt halt. In what couldn't have been more than four seconds everything that could have gone wrong had, he didn't think such awful luck was even possible.

A cry sounded from Amy's room, more a groan of annoyance than a panicked scream; he heard stomp into the hallway. "Sonic! I think the power's out!"

"I-I've noticed!" He managed to call back. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine just… feeling my way to the utility room, I know I've got a torch or two in there. I'll be through in a second!" She answered. That meant he had time, Sonic blindly rushed forward… and immediately banged his knee on the coffee table. "It sounds like the storm is getting even worse!"

Sonic grabbed his knee, biting back a yelp. "Y-Yeah! Sounds like it's getting pretty wild out there!"

Turning around, he managed to bumble his way to the curtains; pulling them open and allowing the streetlight to filter inside. It wasn't much help, Amy's flat was far above the streetlights, but it was the best he could manage. Squinting as his eyes adjusted, he managed to round the table and fumble his way toward the far wall. Once there, he knew the book had to be nearby; he dropped to all fours and spread his fingers wide, running them along the carpet. With the thunder ringing in his ears, he wasn't sure if the book had hit the wall but he knew he'd thrown it hard enough that it should have. Just as his eyes started to adjust, a flash of lightning illuminated the room; but he was ill-prepared to capitalise on the vision it granted. All it told him for certain was that the diary wasn't in front of him. Turning around, head toward the hallway now, he continued to search.

Lightning struck again, before the rumble could even arrive Sonic sighted the book just beyond this reach. He lunged forward, grasping it as the clap came, but in the wake of that rumbling another light arrived and managed to fully blind him. For as quick as he'd been, he hadn't been fast enough. Amy had found a torch and he'd fallen in the immediate path of its light. She could surely see him and that meant she could undoubtedly see the blue book in his hand. The blue book that had fallen in an open position and been picked up open, albeit its text was facing the ground.

The rain's continuous spit still rapped against the windowpanes, no thunder broke the silence this time. He squinted to see through the torchlight in an attempt to read her face, but he was too blind to properly meet her eyes. She wouldn't be having the same problem.

"I…" He started, still flubbing for what to say. "Swear this isn't as bad as it looks and that I didn't read anything?" It was blunt, honest, but he feared it wasn't enough. Before he could finish that statement, he started another. "And I would have just brought it to you but I only just found it when the power went out, it was on the table with the movies, and I panicked so I threw it and-

"Sonic." She halted him, approaching down the hallway. "Are you alright?"

The blue blur blinked in confusion, was he alright? Was she only asking because he was on the ground? Did she think he'd fallen? In an attempt to calm her he rose to his feet, but as he did Sonic recognised what had worried her. He felt a stinging sensation, no further than half an inch beneath his knee there was a throbbing patch. The light was angled down; he blinked to clear his vision and discovered he'd gone into the table quite a bit harder than he'd thought. The gash wasn't huge by any stretch of the imagination, but blood was running down his leg. Atop that he'd knocked many of the movies from the table, panic had clearly overridden all of his other functions.

"I thought that was more thunder, I didn't realise you'd gone over the table." Amy fretted. "Give me a moment."

Sonic just stood there, awestruck. She hadn't taken her diary from him, it was like she hadn't even seen it; she'd clearly been flustered looking for the book… hadn't she? This was what she'd been looking for, wasn't it? The blue blur knew Amy's wrath when she was angry, her heart was always clearly bared to him, for her to act like this dumbfounded him.

He could only watch, helpless and useless, as she went to one of the cabinets and pulled out a roll of bandages, gauze, antiseptic and a sponge pad before quickly approaching him. Lightning cracked and thunder crashed behind him but, stupefied, he didn't even flinch. He finally reacted upon her full arrival, standing directly in front of him, opening his mouth but not finding the right words to say.

She tilted her head, confusion had spread over her brow; but her tone was chipper as ever. "Take a seat so I can bandage you up."

Despite being able to see he stumbled like he was blind, slowly making his way around the table to sit atop the duvet; his remaining dampness fully slipping his mind. She quickly knelt down in front of him, passing him up the torch to free her hands and let her work. The injury was tiny, hardly even worth the effort she was putting in, but Amy was treating it incredibly seriously.

Finally having, almost, come to his senses, Sonic managed a few words; "So… this is your diary, isn't it? I didn't read it but I opened it and saw the dates and your writing so I assumed…"

"Well yeah." She quickly responded. She was very much focused on her task, but she managed to loose a quick quip. "Who else is it going to belong to?"

"You're not gonna freak out? You're just gonna believe me? I figured reading a girl's diary was just about the worst thing you could do, I thought it'd take a little more than that to convince you I hadn't read it." He grimaced, in hindsight, more than a little too quickly. He was forced to keep staring at her so as to provide the light.

"There's nothing in there you don't already know about." Her mischievous smile was bared plainly to him, she looked from her work up to him. "Of course, a girl has her secrets to keep and if you did read it that's very rude of you. Clearly content with her mocking, she tied off the bandage. "But I wouldn't love you unless I trusted you my darling Sonic, isn't that obvious?"

"Well yeah, but…" He started, not sure where he planned to stop.

"Awww, you don't want me to think you'd do that; you're worried about what I think of you. Do I need to make it even clearer that I love you?" He knew she was only half kidding.

"Th-That's not it." Was that it? That might have been it. He had to think of a comeback or some kind of quip. "I just figured, with you losing it and all, you're lucky I showed up today and not someone else. You need to take better care of this stuff."

Well, that was lame but, regardless; Amy responded with a chide of her own. "I just feel so much safer around you my dear, you put me at such ease. I can't contain my deepest secrets around you." Her job done, the pink hedgehog jumped up to sit beside him and finally took back her diary. "I wanted to write my entry before we had our movie night… but I suppose that won't be happening at all now. Who knows when the power will come back on…"

There was some genuine sadness in her voice, his hand found itself in his almost-dry quills. What was he supposed to say, what could he say? "Well, even if we can't watch a movie we shouldn't waste the evening. At least half of that popcorn's gotta have popped, how's that for a start?"

Emerald eyes connected through the dark, "A start?"

"I said I'd stay as long as the storm was around, didn't I? I've gotta keep us entertained somehow." Taking the torch, though his eyes had almost fully adjusted, Sonic made his way to the kitchen; pulling open the microwave door and retrieving the salty snack. A quick shaped confirmed that many of its occupants were still in their seed form, but bursting it open and sniffing he was sure there was some good grub in there.

Returning to her side, he pulled back the duvet. "Ladies first." Perhaps it was a little flirty, but it was the closest he'd managed to a successful quip in hours.

"Bundled up on the couch with the hero of my dreams." Amy chuckled. "Huddled together in a storm, so romantic. Just try to keep your damper spots away from me?"

The pink hedgehog slipped beneath the covers before, embarrassed as he was, Sonic followed suit. He planted the torch between the couch cushions, allowing for its use as a makeshift lamp, before holding the bag out to her. As she claimed a handful he noticed the diary was open in her lap, a pencil lain down its centre.

Her handful collected her turned the bag back to himself. Picking through the kernels, he managed to collect a good handful. "So, what kinda stuff do you write in there?"

"Oh, just typical stuff. What I did over the day, any interesting thoughts I had and future plans." Amy recounted. "There's a lot about you in here, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"Well, seeing as I already know its contents…" He popped a piece in his mouth, making sure to carefully watch Amy's disposition. "Are there any highlights you wanna share?"

She hummed for a moment, beginning to flick back through the pages. "I suppose I could read you a page if you're really that curious. It'll help to kill a little time." She proposed. "But nothing on it leaves this room, alright?"

"Ow, that hurts; you just said you trusted me, Ames. Is our love a lie?" He mocked being wounded, clasping his hands over his heart.

"Trust is one thing Sonic, but we both know that if I give you an inch you'll run a mile. That's why I hug you so close." She half sang, seeming to finally settle on an entry. "Do you promise?"

"Of course I do Ames, I know what'd happen to me if I didn't." Her stare told him that was too casual, he reaffirmed his words. "I promise."

It was with that Amy began to share her written history, holding the book so he could see. Back and forth they'd take over this impromptu narration of Amy's past life, open laughing and blushing soon a commonality.

What started as just one page soon became just a few and from there somehow slipped to take up a good hour's worth of entries; all with minimal prodding from Sonic. The two hedgehogs would gradually come to shuffle closer, the book eventually shifted from Amy's lap to reside in the duvet between them. Every so often hands would brush as they reached into the nigh-empty popcorn packet. She'd started with a rather simple entry, a rather basic day consisting of little more than shopping with Cream, but Amy's descriptors could liven any story; hyperbole seemed to be her speciality. What should have been a simple chocolate cake stain on her dress was described as 'a dark betrayal by one she'd though so lovely and sweet' and a scary old man who'd offered her his umbrella was dubbed 'a frighteningly wizened gentleman with a heart ten times what his chest could possibly carry.'

This being the diary of Amy Rose, the self-proclaimed lover of Sonic, the blue blur himself was mentioned quite a lot. Descriptions ranged from calling him 'her hero' and 'the love of her life' to 'the apple of her eye, the one who drives her every thought and causes her heart to soar.' One entry, in particular, she'd caught herself midway through reading, quickly trying to insist the day was plain and boring when he recognised it for what it was; mainly because he was there. Teasing her, he'd managed to reach his initial description and read it; "It was then that my darling arrived. His cocky, suave, attitude was so freely exposed; windswept quills and the slight sweat on his brow cementing his place in my heart more and more with each passing second. With a single look, he'd blindingly brightened what'd already been a sunny Summer's day!"

It was strange to think, for as plainly as her heart was bared to him at all hours of the day; Amy Rose' infatuation had a depth even he hadn't comprehended.

It was after countless pages, giggles and a seemingly endless amount of ribbing that the power finally flickered back on.

"Th-That clearly signals enough for now." Amy insisted, quickly flipping forward to today's blank page. "It's better to leave you wanting more rather than show my full hand."

Even blinded by the returned light, Sonic could see the red tint to her cheeks. Her little diary had rather reversed their positions; though it was embarrassing to hear about himself she clearly had the stronger blush. Even if she hadn't intended to embarrass him so much, he was finally going to get his own back!

"Come on Ames, I wanna see what else you've written about me." He nudged just a little closer, draping a soggy arm around her shoulder and finally allowing himself a proper smirk. Having endured so much embarrassment, it was nice to see her just a little flustered. "It's more interesting than any of these movies would be, I'm sure of that. Let's just keep goin'."

"You'll get to a read them in the future, you're lucky I showed you any in the first place." She insisted, twisting to face away from him. "There's a handful of secrets that even you can't see yet." Sonic tossed another handful of popcorn in his mouth, prepared to sit back and enjoy the rare sight of a truly flustered Amy. It was, however, foolish of him to assume she wouldn't push back. "After all, I keep our wedding plans in here."

Sonic almost choked to death then and there, saved only by a well-placed whack on the back by Amy; almost throwing him from the couch. Be it from the rain or his own embarrassment, she was always there to save him when he needed her most.

[ethospathoslogan]

“Are you fucking insane?!” (For the ask thing lmao I don’t think you’re crazy)

catch me being uhhh terrible and responding to this incredibly late

it’s been a couple weeks since i saw this but i appreciate you specifying that you don’t think i’m batshit bc omg when i first saw this, i just saw “are you fuckiing insane?” and immediately thought “oh god what did i do”

i also haven’t written sanders sides in……….. a really long time, so go easy on me

–

pairing: logince

tw(s): injuries, blood, some angst/hurt-comfort, happy end

–

Sometimes things got… rough in Roman’s realm. Which was expected. Roman’s realm was the realm of Creativity, something that was obviously Roman’s specialty and, with that, Roman had control over it.

And, well, with how… theatrical Roman could be, sometimes he lost control over his own control. Which was an odd thing to think. He was Creativity, after all, so he should be able to maintain his hold on how he commanded his specialty.

God, he sounded like Logan, so analytical and nerdy and thinking.

Well, perhaps it was because Roman had a deep slash down his arm that was bleeding profusely, and he was trying to channel Logan’s sciency mind to see what he could do to, possibly, stop the bleeding.

But, still, if he wasn’t in enough pain to be fearing that his arm might be permanately severed, he would laugh at how deeply he was thinking about his place in the Mindscape.

Sides couldn’t die. They weren’t actual people. No matter how real they all seemed, physically or mentally manifested, they didn’t have beating hearts. Logan made that clear to all of them. Something inside of them, perhaps their very being, pulsed, and, yes, they bled, and they did perhaps live, but they weren’t human. They couldn’t bleed out and die. They could bleed out and weaken, perhaps actually proving Logan’s theory that they were just made of power, but they couldn’t die. Logan’s theory as to whether they could be lost to the Mindscape was still debatable. Sides could “duck out,” but could they be forgotten? 

If Roman fell in his realm, could he be found? Or would he just be lost among the grass and the flowers and the Witch’s Tower that loomed behind him?

He caught himself again. So much thinking, pondering, guesstimating, if you will. He really wanted to laugh at himself. Obviously, he spent too much time with his boyfriend if he was thinking this existentially. Logan with his theories that made Roman think too much and his expertise in science even though Thomas hadn’t been in science classes in years and his stupid face that Roman couldn’t stop thinking about and-

… He really wanted to see Logan. Not even just because Logan would know what to do, but because it was… Logan.

His arm pulsed with pain, and blood seeped further into his white jacket, and he swallowed thickly and gritted his teeth.

Logan would know what to do.

The castle which he came from was now in his line of sight. If he squinted, he could see the rift that parted his realm from the Mindscape. He just had to get a little further, and then shout his lungs out for Logan. Partially to be dramatic, partially because Roman would be bullshitting if he said he wasn’t at least sort of terrified.

He’d been injured before. That came with being a dashing, knightly prince, of course!

But… not like this before. He had had some bad run-ins before, what with some bruises and even a broken arm once or twice, but- yep, he was definitely losing feeling in his right arm and- yeah, his ribs felt like they were stabbing him when he breathed too deeply. And maybe it was the blood or the exhaustion but his head felt like it was swimming.

So, perhaps, Roman was a bit fucked.

When he finally stumbled through the rift -yes, he was pathetically stumbling now- he came out into his room. It was a shame his carpet was white. The blood would stain. If only the red velvet curtains replaced the carpet, because then-

As if his exhaustion was tired of hearing about the curtains and the carpet, his knees buckled beneath him, and he fell to them. Despite being cushioned, the force still wracked a sudden burst of pain throughout his entire body, and now Roman was thinking that perhaps something was wrong with him besides his arm and his ribs and his head. Maybe this was his power seeping from him.

Maybe Sides really could die. No, no they couldn’t. Fuck that. Roman wasn’t about that.

He hadn’t even realized he let out a cry of pain when he fell until Roman’s door flew open, gracelessly smacking into his wall, and Logan stood, wide-eyed, in the door.

Roman, tiredly and trying to muster up as much charisma as possible, smiled up at him. “Perfect timing, Specs.”

Logan gaped at him, his eyes blown wide behind his glasses. Roman noted that he, just for a moment, looked lost for what to do. Like the sight of Roman in front of him was something unknown to him.

Maybe it was. Logan hadn’t ever seen Roman like this.

And then the moment broke and Logan was rushing over to him. Logan actually slid on his carpet over to him.

“Roman, you have to tell me what happened.” Logan’s voice was tight, like he was trying to keep the panic out of it. “What happened? Tell me, okay? You need to tell me what happened, okay? You need-”

“To tell you what happened, yeah,” Roman interrupted, smirking through his pain. “Broken record, much?”

Logan stared at him and whatever sarcasm or snark that Roman expected wasn’t there.

Shit, Logan was actually concerned, and it probably looked like Roman was going to keel over, and here Roman was, being an asshole.

Roman’s smile dropped. “Please help,” he whispered, giving himself over to the vulnerability and pain that he felt.

“What hurts, Roman?” Logan asked, his voice just as quiet. “I don’t know what I can or can’t do that won’t hurt you.”

Roman’s body felt like it was on fire. His arm was heavy and numb. His head hurt. His ribs and chest ached. He was exhausted.

His eyes burned. “Everything,” he said with a watery laugh. “Fucking everything hurts. My ribs, my head, my arm might fucking fall off, and-”

At that, it was like Logan was seeing Roman’s arm for the first time, or perhaps the shock of the situation was finally settling and Logan could finally face what was infront of him again.

Before Logan could rush out a string of questions, Roman said, forcing his tone to be light, “Did you know that the Dragon Witch got a new dragon? Crazy, right? A new familiar. Puts up one hell of a fight.”

Logan, who had been moving his hands to start unbuttoning Roman’s jacket, froze. His eyes flitted back up to Roman’s. “Are you fucking insane?” he asked, his voice barely filling the room. “Why would you- Roman, you’re one person- oh my- holy shit, I need to look at your arm and your- your everything and- and stay here! Don’t move, Roman, don’t move, or I’ll-I’ll-”

“You’ll finish me off?” Roman asked with a smirk.

Logan was already rushing out of his room. “Don’t tempt me,” he was shouting back.

Sides couldn’t die but, alone, it sure felt like it.

When Logan came back in, a giant med-kit clutched in his arms, Roman had finally managed to take off his jacket and was now holding it against the gash in his arm. It was ruined anyway, might as well put it to good use.

Logan was already tearing out disinfectants and bandages from the kit. “So stupid, so reckless,” he was muttering, shaking his head. No heat was in his voice and, instead, it was full of concern. “Just because you’re a prince doesn’t mean that you actually need to go out and fight a dragon! What if you couldn’t get back here? What then, Roman?”

During his rant, Logan had taken away Roman’s jacket and, to puncuate his final question, he quickly wiped over the wound, and Roman hissed at the sudden increase of burning.

“Sorry,” Logan muttered.

It wasn’t until Logan started bandaging his arm that Roman spoke again. “You know,” he said, “I expected a grander reaction from you for seeing your boyfriend on his knees in front of you. Not even in a cool sexual way. In a very uncool, painful way.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Logan said with an eyeroll. “You can’t die. You would- regenerate, or just come back to us. You can’t die. These wounds will heal within the day. I’m not losing you.” And, then, he looked back up to Roman, and held his gaze. “I’m not losing you, Roman.”

Roman swallowed thickly and nodded. “You’re not,” he agreed.

When Logan finished bandaging Roman’s arm (and he had been right; just with the bandages, Roman’s arm had already stopped pouring out blood), he cut Roman’s shirt off to examine his chest. Roman looked down, too, and winced at the ugly green bruising that had already begun.

“Trees hurt when you’re thrown against them,” Roman expained.

Logan glared at him. “It’s good that you can’t die” he said, “Because I would kill you just for that comment.”

Roman noted that Logan kept specifying that Roman couldn’t die. Like it was more than just a fact they all knew; like it was a comfort blanket.

Roman smiled. “How else am I supposed to stop our Mindscape from being terrorized by dragons?”

“By not thinking of them,” Logan said, turning back to the med-kit.

He took out an icepack and, cracking it, handed it to Roman. “Sit back,” he ordered, and Roman did. He carefully shifted so that his legs were crossed, failing to hide the wincing, but broken ribs would probably do that. Hurt. With his uninjured arm, Roman held the icepack to the worst of the brusing. “I should probably go get more, so-”

“Wait,” Roman said and Logan, about to get up, stilled. “Stay.” Logan arched an eyebrow and Roman took a deep breath. “You said it yourself: I can’t die, and these wounds will be healed by tomorrow. It hurts, yes, but… stay. One icepack is fine. Stay.” He worried his bottom lip. “Please?”

Logan nodded slowly and sat back down, crossing his own legs. “You’re a very stressful boyfriend,” he said. “Going out and fighting all the time is reckless, no matter the actual severity of your wounds.”

“Well, then it’s good that I have you,” Roman said with a smile. “With your nerd skills and all, I practically have a doctor.”

Logan glared at Roman and Roman’s smile turned to a grin. “Please try to be more careful,” Logan said. “I… I know I can’t, but even the thought of losing you is… rather distressing.”

“Aw, you love me.”

Logan’s glare hardered and Roman’s smile softened. “I’m not going anywhere, Specs,” he said. “You couldn’t even get rid of me if you tried. I’ll always be your Prince Charming, your knight in shining armor, your-”

“Reckless idiot sitting shirtless on a bloodstained carpet?” Logan interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

Roman sighed and let out a slight laugh before wincing again. “That too,” he said once the pain subsided.

Logan ran his eyes over Roman. “You’re going to be okay, Roman,” he said. It sounded like an assurance for both of them.

“Oh, definitely,” Roman agreed. It was a promise to the both of them.

He was Creativity, after all. If he could think of dragons and witches and dragon witches, he could think of ways to be okay.

“And I do,” Logan said, averting his eyes for a moment before looking back to Roman. “Love you, that is.”

Roman smiled. “Such a romantic,” he said. “I love you, too, you beautiful nerd.”

[bnhascribbles]

Bakugo, Midoriya, and Todoroki as band/orchestra instrumentalists

Ayyyyyy, where my instrumentalists at?  Admittedly, I’m just a smidge partial to wind instruments, so...yeah.  Enjoy some totally self-indulgent headcanons.

Bakugo:

-Trumpet player.  Easy

-Two words: Ego and talent.

-His mom forced him into it.  It was either band or extra English classes.

-He hated it at first–sitting in silence, just listening while some old guy talk at him like he was stupid.  

-At least he got solos.

-Homeboy is a child prodigy.  Never used to practice, but always ended up first chair.  When he actually starts practicing, he’s untouchable.

-Before he knows what’s happened, he’s a band kid.  Like, a legit band kid, flaking out on plans to practice or perform at a gig.  All by choice.

-Absolutely did drum corp.  It becomes his obsession–it gives him an outlet for all of that pent up energy.  Both physical and emotional.

-I totally imagine him as a lead trumpet.  A screamer.

-The year that he turns 21 and ages out, everyone better back the fuck off.  He’s irritable and pissed and unbearable, even before the season ends.  

-I mean, corp was a lifestyle for him.  Bakugo isn’t the sort to half-ass anything, so he’s gonna need to get involved in something else pretty quick.

-“Something else” ends up being wind band.

-Not orchestra.  He’ll pack up and leave before he counts more than 30 bars of rest at a time.  

-The exception is when he’s being featured in a concerto. Or if he decides to make music his career–then he’ll suck it up and do what he has to to get paid.

-Will absolutely refuse to teach lessons as his career.  If he goes into music, he’s gonna be a musician.  Not a babysitter.

-Might still tech for a marching band though as a way of making some extra money.  It’s the closest thing he can get to drum corp without packing up and traveling with a group, so leaps at the opportunity.  

-Getting paid to scream and act like a complete ass is just an added side benefit.

-“Center snare!  Drop that stick again and you’re gonna be running after it when I hurl it across the lot.”

-“You call that an arc?!”

-“Frack another note trumpets.  I dare you.”

-As much as his students like to complain, their improvement is unbelievable.  They dominate at their next competition, all thanks to their overbearing instructor.

Midoriya:

-Clarinet player because this child works harder than people give him credit for.

-Starts out okay at his instrument.  But what he lacks in talent he makes up for it in sheer willpower.  

-You can’t convince me that this boy practices any less than four hours a day.  And when he’s not playing, he’s definitely doing score study.

-Totally has perfect pitch.

-A music theory/history god.  If anyone needs anything transposed or has no idea what’s going on in a piece, he’ll have this whole lecture prepared on the proper tuning of yada yada yada as it relates to Baroque era whoozit whatzit.

-He’s still a flake, albeit a much more apologetic one than Bakugo is.  Midoriya at least tries to reschedule with people.

-His gig bag is like magic.  He calls it being “prepared for anything,” but there is so much extra junk in there that everyone wonders how he even carries it around.

-And it’s not just normal clarinet stuff like cork grease or extra reeds either.

-I’m talking trumpet mutes.  Rosin.  Valve oil.  How he acquired these things and why he has them is a mystery.  But the less-prepared musicians are thankful either way.

-Likes band and orchestra.  No real preference between the two.

-Will not play jazz though.  He understands the chords and stuff, but the thought of improv terrifies him.  

-Not that he can’t do it.  He just prefers stuff that’s less spontaneous–more planned out.  And for some reason, writing out each and every solo he plays doesn’t feel right.  It feels like cheating.  So he just says “nope.”

-Probably the most likely of his class to grow up and become a band/orchestra director.  

-His passion is so infectious that some of it has to rub off on his students.  And growing up around Bakugo, he’s definitely learned more than a couple things about dealing with problem children.

-He’s a total dork and his students know it.  They think he’s uncool in the best way–like a geeky sort of parental figure.

-But my god, when they hear him play for the first time, they are shooketh.  

-He takes out his clarinet to demonstrate the phrasing on one super technical line.  And he’s just so casual about it, playing sixty-fourth notes at mad-quick tempos like it’s no big deal.

-Their jaws are on the floor.  Suddenly, Midoriya-sensei seems a whole lot cooler.

Todoroki:

-An oboe player.  Because you never know if he’s quiet, or completely unhinged.

-Started playing in middle school because the band director literally had no oboes, and Todoroki, being a quiet kid, seemed the least bothered by the idea.

-When his playing still sounds like a demon being summoned from the abyss after three months, he asks to switch to the french horn.  

-His parents, already having spent, like, $200 on reeds and even more on lessons, refuse to let him.

-Eventually, he gets better.  Heavy emphasis on eventually.  It’s at least a year or two before he stops squawking. 

-But once it clicks for him, holy hell, he is good.  He’s got dozens of conservatories fighting over him, offering him full rides if he’ll study music with them.

-With an instrument as desirable as his is, he gets a lot of gig offers too.

-Has extremely low standards as far as the ones he takes.  Will play in literally anything as long as it means he gets a) money, or b) free food.

-Outright refuses to teach though.  Even if he ends up living the “starving musician” stereotype.  Only takes performance jobs.

-Orchestral player all the way.  Doesn’t like band because he thinks marches are too boring to sit through.  Being doubled with the trumpet is also unbearable.

-Has a habit of pulling out his reed knives at very odd times.

-Like, there are better places to make reeds than at a bus stop.  Or in the middle of having lunch out at an actual, dine-in restaurant.  

-The first time he does it, Midoriya thinks it’s because he’s finally snapped and is about to go on a rampage.

-“I have a concert tonight,” Todoroki will say, totally deadpan.  “I need a good reed.”

-In college, he’s the sort of person that goes into a practice room with the intention of practicing.  Someone will find him napping behind the piano four hours later.

-Sucks at music history.  And music theory.  And piano.  Needless to say, he visits Midoriya for tutoring.  A lot.

-Him and Iida are buddies.  They stay up later than they should, making reeds for hours. 

-Iida kinda mothers him, even though they don’t even play the same instrument.  Like, Todoroki is a capable, functioning adult 99% of the time.  But Iida checks on him to make sure he’s on it for the other 1%.

-Seeing him play though, most people would never guess how much of a disaster this boy actually is.  When he shows up, he shows up and plays his heart out.  

-Even when he’s running on two hours of sleep, he’s one of the most musical people in the whole orchestra.  

[tjkiahgb]

Episode Recap: 2.20, “For the Last Time”

The GHC gathers at The Spoon for a final meal. The mood is low. Buffy asks everyone to be cool. Or, at least, just don’t be uncool.

But I think it’s really unfair of Buffy to ask Cyrus to do something so against his nature on their last day. (Boom. Cyrus burn.)

The finality of everything they’re doing is taking an emotional toll, so Buffy suggests they try to lighten the mood. She tries to get Cyrus and Andi to sing “For the last time.” It doesn’t really work, but she keeps trying and on attempt three, they actually get into it and sing along.

I think it’s like that principle where you start fake laughing and keep doing it and eventually the craziness of the fake laugh makes you laugh for real. You fake sing until it becomes a real song.

Over at Bex’s house, we get Ham!

Where have you been you old so-and-so?

Ham is over to help Bex with some pipes. He asks Bex how she’s been and says they haven’t seen her around the house much. But, honestly, Bex has been around the house quite a bit. Where was Ham is the real question.

Bex says she’s been busy at work. She calls it “booking faces” but then admits she made that term up and Ham laughs.

(This screencap is just to capture the phrase “Ham laughs” for posterity because, seriously, how many times has that sentence ever been written out?)

Bex says she’s mad at Celia for buying The Fringe.

Hey, remember last episode recap when I was like: where is Ham and is he ok and how does he feel about buying The Fringe? Well, turns out the answers are: he’s around, he seems fine, and no one told him.

Ham is pretty upset to have learned about all this just now while underneath a sink.

Back at The Spoon, which I want to point out is again populated entirely by loose children...

...Cyrus tells a story about his grandma for the last time. Then Andi dives into her boy situation for the last time.

Andi finds herself confused by the Jonah and Walker situation, even after kissing Jonah last... night? I have no idea. I can’t keep up with this timeline.

This might be an important lesson for her to learn: you may like more than one person at a time. In fact, you may like several people at the same time. You may even be in a relationship and find yourself liking another person. It happens. We’re only human. But sooner or later, for the sake of all parties involved, you have to pick a lane. Now, normally, if you kiss someone, that’s a pretty good indication you’ve picked a lane, especially to the person you’ve kissed. (And even more especially if he’s an emotionally fragile child who was looking for that sort of validation after making a grand romantic gesture.)

But I guess Andi doesn’t entirely see it that way. Seems things are still sort of in limbo for her with regards to the two guys wooing her. And that’s cool. That’s fine. I see no way that could all go wrong and end up hurting people.

Cyrus asks if there’s time for one last performance of Tater Theater. He goes for the taters and finds it’s the last one.

Buffy wants to fight for it, for the last time, but Cyrus and Andi don’t. It’s a sacred potato and must be preserved.

But, must that also mean no Tater Theater? There are quite a few good Shakespearean soliloquies I’d like to see acted out by this potato first.

The finality of everything comes crashing back down on top of Cyrus and Andi and everyone is sad again.

Meanwhile, Celia shows up at Bex’s place looking for Ham. Bex wants to know why Celia didn’t tell Ham she bought The Fringe. Celia learns Bex told him and that’s why he’s been avoiding her: he’s mad at her.

Hey, remember last week when I also said Celia and Ham were my favorite relationship on the show and I hope nothing bad ever happens to them? Well, it’s the very next episode and Celia and Ham are in a fight. My brain. It’s the opposite of so powerful.

Celia says if everyone’s so against this idea, she can still cancel it. Bex tells her to do it, so Celia calls it off. Celia says she was just hoping to discuss the plan with Bex first before telling Ham. This talk of a plan is news to Bex. Celia says she was going to turn The Fringe into a boutique salon and make Bex the star makeup artist of the town.

To which Bex is like:

She’s super in to that plan. Celia is like, “Of course that was the plan. You didn’t think I was going to invest my retirement savings into the garbage The Fringe sells, did you?”

Celia says the investment isn’t in The Fringe, it’s in Bex, which, aww. I’ll never not be a sucker for a sweet Celia moment.

In that way, I’m very much like Bex, who responds to Celia saying that like:

They call the plan back on, but Bex says they have to tell Ham this time. And Celia is like, “Oh yeah, right.”

The GHC approach Buffy’s house. The move is in full effect. The movers are out front, moving and everything, as you do.

Cyrus says it’s like a solar eclipse: you can’t look directly at it. But I say that rule is really only for cowards who value being able to see. I haven’t lost a staring contest in 7 years and I’m not about to lose one to the Sun of all people.

The GHC hug. Buffy says the deal is they don’t say goodbye, especially because she’s just moving to Phoenix, which isn’t the Moon. And she’s right. Phoenix is not the Moon. It’s the Sun.

Here’s your weather forecast for next week, Phoenix:

You know what the temperature is going to be in Phoenix tonight, at midnight? A cool, brisk, 91 degrees!

But enough about the weather. The GHC talk about how they’ll still keep in touch.

Buffy says how much she loves her friends and wishes she could put the moment in a time capsule, which sets off an idea in Cyrus’s head: Let’s rob a bank! Just kidding. Let’s make a time capsule.

Andi is in, but Buffy isn’t. She just wants a normal day and a no-frills goodbye. Andi and Cyrus persist, but Buffy’s starting to feel like this is her funeral, which she says she will not be going to. Unfortunately, Buffy, one’s funeral is one of the few events by definition you really must attend.

Buffy runs off and slams the door behind her.

And this mover’s like, “Oh. We, uh, actually, still have a lot of stuff to load from inside there-- ok, then.”

Cyrus and Andi realize that might’ve been goodbye.

Later, Andi and Jonah talk at Red Rooster Records. Andi says she doesn’t want to have their last conversation with Buffy be that argument. Jonah notes that as hard as it is for Andi, it must be even harder for Buffy. Jonah thinks they should still do the time capsule, but instead of burying it, give it to Buffy as a going away gift for her to open whenever she wants. Andi realizes that’s a good idea.

Whoa. Was Jonah actually lucid in this scene? Did he actually have good ideas of his own? This is like the first time in months!

I’m so proud of him.

Andi and Cyrus sneak off to Buffy’s house and rendezvous with Buffy’s mom, Pat. Cyrus is dressed for a duck hunt and has binoculars.

Andi says she regrets giving him those for his seventh birthday. Is it just me or has season 2B been chock full of references to how long the GHC have known each other and gifts they’ve given each other in the past and memories from childhood and all that? They’re really trying to drive home how sad this breakup is going to be.

Andi presents Pat with a list of things they want to put in the time capsule. Pat opens it up and sees “flat iron” and “prison jumpsuit.” Andi and Cyrus exchange giggles about these memories and Pat realizes she’s missed some stuff in Buffy’s life.

I kind of wish the list kept going and getting weirder. “Six fingered glove? Big Mouth Billy Bass? Fake leg? Old Lady Thompson’s rose bush? A 1994 Mazda Miata? Buffy has all this stuff?!” And after every one, Cyrus and Andi just giggle and never explain what all this means.

Pat agrees to put the stuff she finds in a box for Andi and Cyrus.

Celia and Bex look for Ham around the house.

Andi comes in asking for a time capsule. Celia, sensing an opportunity to use her granddaughter as bait, tells her to text Ham to bring her one quickly.

At Buffy’s house, Buffy packs old photos when she comes across one of Marty from the Party.

A Marty shoutout! I’m glad he got a reference here. I miss Marty. It’s too bad he died when his plane was shot down over the Sea of Japan. (This is a reference to the show “M*A*S*H,” which is a really old reference even by my standards. Ask your parents to ask their parents about it.)

Pat wants to know who he is. Buffy tells her they don’t talk anymore.

Pat then asks about Cyrus. “Ever go out with him?” Buffy laughs and says, “Pretty much every day.”

Which, what a weird exchange that was. I mean, first off, that’s not an answer to that question. Pat was asking it off the back of talking about possibly dating Marty, so she wanted to know if there was a romantic thing there. But Buffy says “Pretty much every day” like, “Of course, we’re best friends!” And then Pat never follows up. This feels like such an obvious setup to talk about Cyrus’s gayness. Or just mention it at least. Like, “Sassy ___ friend” from last week. It’s like they want to throw those of us who understand the subtext of both of these exchanges a bone while still keeping it subtle enough that the youngest viewers don’t realize there’s a gay reference being made?

Anyhoo, Pat says she wants to take some of the pictures, but Buffy realizes she’s being weird and hiding something. Pat says Andi and Cyrus are making the time capsule. Buffy doesn’t want it because she doesn’t want a goodbye. She doesn’t feel she’s strong enough to handle it without crying and she doesn’t want that to be the last image her friends have of her.

Buffy wishes she was as strong as her mother, but Pat talks about how she cried, too, every time she had to leave. She tries to let Buffy know it’s ok to cry.

It’s a really nice moment. Great job by both actresses in this scene, too, by the way.

Back at Celia’s, Ham comes in with a container from THE TIME CAPSULE COMPANY!(!!!)

I love this so much. What in the holy hell is the Time Capsule Company? They just make time capsules?! How can that even be a business?

When Andi was texting Ham that she needed a time capsule, I was thinking, “Oh, sure, Ham will just pop on down to the ol’ time capsule store and pick one up.” AND. THEN. HE. DID! WHAT?! How did he know where to go? How did he know such a place even exists? Pull up Google Maps on your phone right now and search for a time capsule store. I bet you there isn’t one just down the street from your house. I live in Los Angeles and I get no results for that search. And all we have living here are the artsy type of people who would make time capsules.

Ham even asks Andi if this is what she wanted. Like, she asked for a time capsule. You couldn’t have nailed it any better than that, Ham.

Andi takes her shiny new time capsule and leaves.

Celia tells Ham she called off the deal. Ham says that’s good and that Celia can’t be doing this, again. Whoa. Is that a reference to something we know or what? Has Celia made big time decisions like this before without talking to Ham about it? Ruh-roh.

Celia promises she’ll talk to him next time. Celia and Bex then present Ham with a business plan and say he can say no to it, but Ham already knows he’s not going to turn them down. He really just wants the illusion of choice.

At Bex’s, Cyrus and Andi put together the time capsule.

Cyrus puts in the #thegoodhaircrew shirt he ordered forever ago.

He clearly didn’t splurge for overnight or even 3 day shipping. He must have gone with the free, get-here-whenever option that takes 6 months to a year to arrive.

He also puts in his Buffy basketball sign and a megaphone.

Andi puts in the JMS student handbook they all changed, a picture of them from sixth grade, and a belt made of the wristbands from Dr. Metcalf’s insanely expensive social experiment.

Cyrus pulls out a box that’s from Marty. It’s shoelaces and a nice note.

It’s cool to have one final thing from Marty, but I might’ve actually preferred they just left it at referencing the picture in the earlier scene and have Marty not know about Buffy leaving. This gift really reminds you they didn’t have access to Marty’s actor. It’s weird that Marty would learn Buffy’s leaving, take the time to go buy her laces and write the note, but not try to stop by and say goodbye to her after all their shared history. At least to clear the air between them. His note even makes it seem like he’s not in a bad place with her. It’s jokey and friendly. Like, he’s happy, but not so happy he’d could be bothered to show his face again? Alright then.

Bex shows up and wants to contribute. She adds the DVD set of Buffy The Vampire Slayer: Season 3. Why season 3? It’s Buffy’s favorite and it features the character Faith.

Cyrus and Andi add the glass encased final tater to the capsule, too.

Jonah shows up with basketball stuff. He got a basketball signed by the entire team, including one TJ Kippen himself.

Off-screen hashtag good boi behavior? I’ll take it!

You know what else is special about this basketball? Somewhere on the ball is the answer to the question:

WHAT IS THIS GUY’S NAME?!

Someone else go over footage of the names on the basketball like it’s the Zapruder film and let me know which one we decide is his.

Jonah says everyone’s going to miss Buffy. Even her nemesis. And Bex pops in and says TJ is to Buffy as Faith is to, well, also Buffy. The other Buffy. The vampire slayer. (Little bit more on that here, if you want.)

They add the basketball and Buffy’s jersey to the capsule and take it over to Buffy’s house.

Guys, can I just say, I was shocked when they walked up to the house and it was dark. I got right away what had happened. I really thought, given the talk from Pat about it being ok to cry, Buffy was going to give in and have that emotional goodbye.

But nope. Andi, Cyrus, and Jonah find Buffy and her family are gone. No goodbyes. Just moved out of town under the cover of darkness, like Robert Irsay taking the Colts out of Baltimore (you know the deal: ask your parents... provided they’re sports fans who lived in Baltimore in the mid-80s).

Cyrus, Andi, and Jonah console each other as the episode ends.

I have to say, the image of these three sad kids standing in the cold, looking for their already gone friend, is heartbreaking.

Credit to the writers for always doing a good job of getting there emotionally. Even if they have issues with the plotting every now and then, they’re very consistent with how they hit their mark with the emotional beats.

Also, credit to the kind editor of the scenes from the next episode for giving us a half a second of TJ and Cyrus, like a little cherry on top of an already good episode.

I’ll take it!

[haiky-u-lously]

Haikyuu: Reporter/First year/Newbie

Chapter 1: Introduction                Chapter 2

You didn’t know what it was about this new school and the love they obviously felt towards their Boys’ Volleyball team, but seeing as you had only been attending for less than a week and your first assignment as a member of the School Newspaper Club was to get an exclusive with one of its members, there was only one thought going through your head…

“I hope they’ll make this easier for me.”

You should not have been as nervous as you were, standing in front of the doors to the gymnasium. You were a great reporter. The clubs you had been a part of at your old school always prioritized your pieces. Your writing teachers always gave you high marks, even when you bull sh**ed your way through your assignments. This piece would be no different...or so you hoped.

It was hard being asked to write about something you didn’t know anything about. Which is why you spent all of lunch that day looking up as many volleyball terms that popped into any national articles you read.

You avoided reading any news about Karasuno’s team because you were afraid it would give you a bias opinion. Which was the reason the editor gave you this assignment over your seniors in the club.

“Unfortunately for me…” You found yourself thinking before you could stop it. “Whelp! It’s now or never,” You verbally psyched yourself up and pushed open the doors in front of you.

You heard the quick squeaking of sneakers against the floors, before realizing you had opened the door with your eyes shut. In fear of accidentally being hit with a flying ball. You slowly opened one of your eyes and let out a sigh of relief when you saw that a completely full ball bag stood on the opposite side of the gym from where the team had stopped running.

Bowing your head, you introduced yourself, “Sorry for the interruption! I’m (L/N) (F/N), from the School Newspaper Club.” You stood up straight with a smile on your face, hoping beyond all hopes that at least one of your seniors had kept their word and informed someone on the team you’d be dropping by today.

No one moved. It was almost quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

“Uh...I-I’m sor--” You started but was cut off by someone slamming their hands on the doors behind you.

Panting, and trying to catch his breath, someone you could only assume was the academic advisor slowly straightened his posture. “Boys! Sometime tonight, the Newspaper Club is going to send someone over to interview our team! Isn’t that exciting?!” The teacher practically yelled.

Giggling at his antics, and drawing his attention to you, you smiled nervously at him and waved. Bowing again, you reintroduced yourself.

The boys on the other side of the room began laughing at their instructor and walked towards the pair of you by the gym doors.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell them before you got here!” The professor explained he had a faculty meeting and lost track of time. “I’m the team’s advisor, please call me Takeda-sensei.”

Respectfully bowing, you managed to comfort the teacher in front of you. Claiming that it was your own fault for not being patient enough to wait later into the evening.

Takeda faced his team with a warm smile, but his eyes danced with a warning to the boys, “This is a wonderful thing for the volleyball team. Make sure you all are on your best behavior, and show our school exactly why they should keep cheering us on.”

You thanked the professor for his time as he explained to you and the team how he wanted the night to run. Giving ample time for you to conduct personal interviews, group ones, and to see the team in action.

With one last look to the team of boys, Takeda excused himself to grading, and closed the gym doors behind himself.

“Well, before you begin asking us all whatever you need to, could we maybe get to know you a bit better?” A tall, short-black-haired individual began, “I’m positive it would put some of our more timid members at ease.” He added.

You felt like giggling, and hid a smile behind the back of your hand. Pulling your favorite pencil from behind your ear, you nodded consent towards him, “What would you like to know?”

A shorter, orange haired boy quickly jumped in front of you, “What year are you? Have you always been here? What class are you in? How’d you get into-”

“Hinata-kun, that’s enough. Try two at a time?” A silver haired individual said, cutting off the shorter one and seemingly asking you if his suggestion was okay. You nodded again, and he smiled an ear-splitting grin. The beauty mark under his eye being emphasized.

“Sorry, (L/N)-san.” The orange haired boy, Hinata-kun, said sheepishly, “What class are you in?”

You smiled at him, “I’m in class 1-5, but that’s mostly because of my work in writing and English.”

He nodded his thanks and stepped back to talk to someone else in the group.

“Did you just move here?” A larger...man...asked. His haired was pulled back, but you could tell it was long. His size sort of intimidated you, but the way he spoke made you think he was like a giant teddy bear.

This time when you smiled, you head tilted to the side. “Yes, this past week actually!”

When seemingly the whole team started throwing questions at you, you became startled. Not used to being this much the center of attention, your smile faltered and you took a cautious step back.

“Shut up, morons.” You heard someone say. Looking up, you noticed everyone had listened and were all looking at a tall blond boy who wore a nice pair of sport-glasses. “It’s so uncool to scare someone who is trying to make you look cool to the idiots at this school.”

You thought the boy’s tone was harsh, but appreciated that the screaming in your direction was put to an end. “Thank you.” You whispered in his direction. The boy only tsk’d in response, before turning away from you.

“W-Where did you move here fro-rom?” A timid looking boy covered in freckles stuttered.

“(Hometown/place you wish was your ht). It was really great at times, but I’m having fun here at Karasuno so far!” You clapped your hands together, twirling your pencil out of the way, between the fingers on one hand. “Anything else?”

Two boys, one with practically a buzz-cut and the other with spiky-hair and a blonde patch smiled at one another, “You got a boyfriend?”

You turned beat-red at the question, and stuttered over responding in the negative.

While you were going to another side of the gym to set up a small interview area, the boy’s team crowded around one another.

“You heard her boys,” Tanaka began, “She’s a free agent.”

Nishinoya winked at his friend’s comment, “And, hopefully that’ll change after tonight.”

A couple member groaned at their obnoxiousness, but didn’t disagree with the team libero.

“What should we do captain?” Ennoshita asked, turning all the boy’s attention to Daichi.

The third year mumbled about how is he supposed to know, and asked, “Are all of us seriously about to be after the same girl? If anyone is not going to try to get her number tonight, please SLIGHTLY raise your hand now.”

When no one made any indication to move, the captain released a heavy sigh and dropped his head. “Okay,” He took a deep breath, “Okay. We will not make her uncomfortable. That is the first and foremost important matter.”

Looking to his co-captain, Daichi pleaded with his eyes for Sugawara to add more. Luckily, his friend conceded, “Tonight is about helping her write this article for the school paper. Not about getting her to possibly choose one of us. That is important to keep focused on as well.”

Suga looked towards the other third year in the group, hoping he would have another piece of information for the group. Another regulation to hopefully keep their rambunctious kouhais in check. Asahi nodded, drawing attention to himself.

“Don’t try to make her choose tonight. Let her get to know us, maybe she’ll ask for our numbers maybe she won’t. Don’t force her to take them. Don’t force her to give hers. She’s in charge.” He said, before relaxing at his own tentious-ness.

The whole team agreed to what their seniors declared. Straightened their postures and silently challenging each other. All thinking the exact same thought…

“Let the best man win!”

[acehotel]

Interview: Justin Strauss with Todd Terje

Oslo, Norway

Norwegian DJ, songwriter and brains behind Olsen Records, Todd Terje came to early dance floor fame with his orgiastic disco edits. For this episode of the Just/Talk series, Ace friend, legendary DJ and music producer Justin Strauss talked to Todd about early musical influences, the surprising turn in designing men’s underwear and why he can’t stop buying “non-playing” music.

Justin Strauss: This is my third trip to Oslo, and I’ve always been fascinated by how small this city is, and yet, there’s such a big music scene that has had an influence over dance music culture the last ten years or so. There’s you, (Hans-Peter) Lindstrøm, Prins Thomas, the Sunkissed Collective and a lot of other people doing great things in this relatively small city. Was there a time you felt that something was happening? 

Todd Terje: I don’t really have a good answer for that. I mean that’s the most typical question journalists ask, because they think there’s some kind of link. I don’t think there is, to be honest. You’re probably aware of that movie Northern Disco Light or something like that.

JS: I haven’t seen it. Have you? 

TT: No, but I hear it’s supposed to be good. That’s covering the Norwegian scene back to Belle Canto in the 80s, Röyksopp, Biosphere and Strangefruit, who had this early radio station that I was inspired by — but where did he come from? Where did Prins Thomas come from? They were in the same city. I think the answer is that inspiration came from the UK. We’ve been looking over to the UK for so long. We heard about the Idjut Boys. Now Dan is my neighbor. Dan Tyler from Idjut Boys is my neighbor, so he’s not so mythical anymore.

If anything, I would say that it comes from and inspired by UK dance styles and the ability to mix up genres like they do over there. I guess specifically who we looked at was Idjut Boys, Ashley Beedle and DJ Harvey — all the original UK “nu disco” guys.

I think that’s at least what inspired me, and of course Strangefruit here in Norway. If you ask me where his inspiration comes from, I have no idea.

JS: Were you a DJ before you started making your own music, or were you in bands? How did it start for you? Any early inspirations?

TT: My first inspiration was a Strangefruit CD from 1996. I can see if I actually have it — it’s rare now.

This shows the eclecticism that I was inspired by. It has Nuyorican Soul, Street Corner Symphony and Persuasion, which are the Harvey project, all in the same track, because he mixes all them together at the same time.

Gino Soccio “Dancer,” which for me sounded like the future at that time because I didn’t know that was a disco track.

JS: Really?

TT: Yeah, I was 16 or something. No, I was 15. 

JS: It still sounds amazing. 

TT: Yes, now it sounds retro, but with a futuristic vibe. Back then when I heard it, I was like, “Wow! Shit! This sounds incredible… Now this is music!” You know, because it sounded so different from everything else. 

JS: What were you listening to growing up, were you listening to non-dance music? Were there any bands that you were into, or did you start hearing dance music and light bulb went off in your head? 

TT: Yeah, this came from my sister. She’s three years older than me, so she was clubbing a lot earlier than me. I came from a tiny, tiny place where nothing really happens. There was no inspiration there to be found for me, except the radio station, the Strangefruit thing; but I hadn’t really discovered it yet. At the time, I was doing various things. I started playing piano when I was seven. I played the trombone when I was six. 

JS: You had music lessons at school? 

TT: Yes, and then I played the piano in a choir, actually, like a gospel choir. A lot of people do that when you come from nowhere. It seems to be a very good way to entertain people. I learned a lot of chords and voicing. I think I was 13 then. At the same time (I think I was 13), I started working with computers. I have been fond of computers since I was ten or something. Then I started programming a little bit. 

JS: Did you have your own computer back then?

TT: My mother had that. I just borrowed it. There was a program called, or program type, called a “tracker,” which is just a four-track matrix with a timeline running down. You could just have four tracks on at the same time, so if you wanted to have a kick drum, then you couldn’t have a snare drum with the track. You would have to have track number two as a snare drum. When I think about it now, it’s a bit like what Beatles did, recording and bouncing things down.

I learned very quickly to organize sounds in a mathematical manner, which is what music is all about. It’s all in sixteenths, and it’s all divided by or multiplied by two, or four, or whatever integer. 

JS: Were you DJing at the same time as this was happening?

TT: That came later. I didn’t start DJing until I was maybe 18, 19, or something. Maybe 17, actually. I think that was my first gig. We had a friend at the school ball when I was 15, I think. I played a track that I made. Actually, I sampled one of the drums from a track on the Strangefruit CD. 

JS: When did you become aware of the New York dance music scene? 

TT: Because of Larry Levan’s CD that Strut Records put out. Before then… Obviously, I knew about the big house names in New York like Masters At Work, but I didn’t probably know about Dance Mania or all the stuff that you need to know. I’d seen, of course, the funky house, Latin house music that was coming out at the time, on Strictly Rhythm Records.

It wasn’t until I bought that Larry Levan CD that I properly got into both disco and the New York house.  I just started digging in, putting the connections together.

JS: Because you seem very knowledgeable and sort of obsessive about a lot of that era and the music from that time. Seem to really resonate with what you do and what you’ve done. 

TT: Definitely. 

JS: Had you been to New York, or to the States at all at that point?

TT: Not at that point. I didn’t go to New York until the first gig I played with Emanuel Harris from Supreme Records, which was at the club Apt.

JS: That was a great place. So many great people played there over the years. It had a special vibe that is really missed in New York right now. 

TT: Yeah, I know. I didn’t really get it at the time. I came back later when Dixon played. 

JS: What were your first impressions of New York? Was it what you imagined it to be?

TT: I was, of course, very impressed. In the beginning, I was impressed by everything. Everything was exciting. I went record shopping for the most part. I had read Last Night A DJ Saved My Life and all those books.  I’d also learned a lot of information from Bill Brewster’s DJhistory.com, a message board from the UK. I got a lot of information in a very short time. I knew that most of that stuff, of course, was gone by the time I got there. So nothing came as a total surprise when I came to New York really.

JS: Speaking of the Internet, you became quite well known for doing edits. You put them up to share with people and they exploded. You gained a great reputation all over the world. Every DJ I knew or heard had one or more of your edits in their sets. Where you just making them for yourself to play in your DJ sets, or was there a plan in mind? 

TT: I feel I was lucky to be able to exploit the edits when it wasn’t uncool to do so.  Back then, I did that mainly to have something unique to play as a DJ, because I did play a lot of disco originals. That was the stuff that I was most inspired by, as I said, because of the Larry Levan compilations and the Disco Spectrum compilation on BBE Records. That was the kind of disco that I really liked, but of course it was difficult to mix it. It was difficult to bridge the gap between house and disco in a good enough way, so I started just editing. 

JS: You were also finding tracks that weren’t thought of as club records and making them club-friendly as well. Like the track by Double, “Woman of the World.” 

TT: That was sort of inspired by the Sarcastic mix by DJ Harvey. That’s probably one of those tracks that don’t really fit in a full-on dance music sense.

I wasn’t too experienced as a DJ back then, so I couldn’t fully exploit that music and play it in my DJ sets. It was inspiring for me to try to pick songs that didn’t have a massive 909 kick drum it. The Balearic thing, that was big for me to be able to pick songs that weren’t made for dance floors and just force it into being a dance floor track. Even if it wasn’t edited — most of the tracks that I played in my sets weren’t edited, of course. The tracks were just songs that I found that I thought were great. I just realized if you play it loud and with some kind of, I don’t know, aura and in a convincing way, you can get away with anything, I think; but that was just inspiring for me to just try to find stuff that wasn’t regular house music. 

JS: Some of them were released on vinyl by Supreme Records label, like the Chic “I Want Your Love” which was a massive hit here in New York. 

TT: Yes, and also with the DJ History guys, which I was usually booked very often with, because most were traveling and playing every weekend at that point. Traveling every weekend. For instance, I went to the Garden Festival in Croatia and I heard it at all the parties. 

JS: It was one of those records that got played at so many different kinds of clubs.

TT: Now it sounds like it’s bigger than it was. 

JS: No, it was pretty big. There were certain tracks that you would go and hear in whatever club you were in, and that was one of them. Are you still doing edits for yourself? 

TT: I’ve stopped DJing, so I don’t have that incentive to make edits, but it’s starting to itch a little bit.

JS: Do you miss DJing? And why did you stop? 

TT: I don’t miss big-room DJing, I don’t. I don’t even miss little room DJing. I don’t miss any kind of setting where you’re expected to play continuous dance music for two hours, like peak hour or two hours, and then you’re supposed to play this. None of that stuff inspires me anymore.

As soon as I stopped DJing, and I left all my big-room dance floor tunes and put them in the basement, I just started listening to albums again. I realized I actually did love music because I was afraid that I didn’t and had fallen out of love with listening to music. Now I’m consuming much more music than I did as a DJ. Of course, it’s a very different type, and now it’s coming back again, because when I started DJing during the DJ History times, I wanted to be a different kind of DJ; I wanted to be that guy who could play Arthur Russell in front of 10,000 people and make that work. Obviously, that’s not going to work… 

JS: I think you can. 

TT: Yes, but I didn’t want to do remixes of it. I didn’t want to change it in any way. You can’t play “Let’s Go Swimming” and automatically make that work. It has worked, of course. I have played it, and I’ve heard Prins Thomas play it, and it can work.

When you play a curveball like that, it’s a very rare moment in a DJ set. I would just like a DJ set to be 95 percent those tracks instead of being 1 percentage of those tracks. Instead of being the climax of a set, the whole DJ set should be just interesting music from start to finish. 

JS: I think if you have confidence in yourself as a DJ, you can play anything and make it work. 

TT: It’s not like I hate that sort of music. 

JS: That’s good to hear. 

TT: I just hate playing it myself. I mean when I go out someplace and hear Gerd Janson or Prins Thomas play it, I love it. I love listening to them play it. I would rather be dead than play that stuff myself.  But I love going out and feeling the energy from it, but it’s like I can’t say it with my own voice. I can’t enjoy it if it comes from me. 

JS: I know that one of your passions is vintage keyboards and audio gear.

TT: Yeah, very true. 

JS: Was that just part of the organic process when you started making music?

TT: No, when I started it was all “in the box.” I didn’t have anything. For instance, “Eurodans,” which was my first solo hit, well not hit, but it was a door opener for me. That was just Cubase and the internal synthesizers, like VST that came with the program. We had a default setting, and I moved the track. Some beats from the Change “A Lovers Holiday” track, some hi-hats from the DJ Harvey remix of Billy Paul’s “East,” which was an unlikely source for a hi-hat sample, and some sound effects by Idjut Boys and that was the whole track. Five or so sounds mashed into Cubase. It’s perfectly doable to make interesting music with just stock sounds and stolen sounds.

Then later when I started hearing about more professional people having fancy pre-amps or fancy microphones, fancy this and fancy everything, I started to slowly get small pieces of gear. Like first a proper sound card and a slightly fancy mic. My first synth that I bought was the ARP Odyssey, and that was fairly recently. That was maybe five years ago. From that moment on, I started buying just loads of gear. 

JS: Did you find the gear was inspiring you to make music? 

TT: It was actually this one, the ARP 2600, that inspired the “Inspector Norse.” By then, I’d learned a lot more. When I first had the ARP Odyssey, I didn’t really understand much. When I got the ARP 2600, I just learned subtracted synthesis in the same day, or the same week, or something like that, a very short timeframe. After that, I started buying synthesizers on a large scale. 

JS: You have quite a lot of outboard equipment in your studio here. 

TT: Now I have, yeah, but that’s sort of like when you make money in music, that’s where the money goes, there. You read magazines when you’re in the airport and like, “Oh, I need that. That’s going to help me get creative.” No, it’s not. It’s just going to empty your bank account.

JS: Do you find that, when you get a new synth, there’s a burst of creativity that comes along with it? 

TT: No, but all stuff will get me inspired — but not all stuff inspires me for a long time. I don’t get rid of stuff because I know that if I just sit down with any kind of gear, at some point I will force myself to use it and something always comes out in a session. If I sit down one hour with something, more or less, something always comes out of it. 

JS: When you finished the “Inspector Norse” track, did you think that it would have the effect it did on your career? 

TT: Not at all. When I made “Inspector Norse,” the rough sketch was made with the Jupiter IV and Lexicon delay. I had listened to Loui$’ “Pink Footpath” You know that track? It’s an Italo track from 1985. The B-side mix is very stripped down, very moody, and very sad in a way; but it’s got this energy.

I was just trying to recreate that, but of course it didn’t take long before I ditched that idea and started playing something else and I made a rough sketch. I had just the gotten the ARP 2600, so I just thought, “Okay. Why not just use that to recreate everything I played?” Because it was just four melodies and a bass line. That’s easy to do with that. 

JS: Were you still using samples, or is that just totally original? 

TT: I was using samples before that, but when I did “Inspector Norse” I decided to do everything with the ARP 2600, so everything comes from that, even the claps. It’s more like a dogma that I decided after I’d figured out how the music should be. Then it’s just a matter of, “Okay, I’ve locked down the bass and the chords and how it’s going to be. Now I just need to spice it up with all the sounds that I can find,” so all the ring modulation, and all the sound effects just…you just play around. 

JS: When the record blew up, was that a big surprise to you? 

TT: It blew up gradually, so of course I saw it coming. I remember the first U.S. tour that I did after I made it. That was before it came out. It came out in 2012. I think I toured in May 2011. I remember every time I played it in Atlanta, in Boston and all those places that I played… 

I just started testing it, and Gerd Janson — who I often times send music to — he would give me thumbs up almost daily, like, “this is the best track.” I started thinking it could do well, but I thought it was just going to be big with the DJs. I never aimed any higher than that. It’s great if the DJs like it, of course, but I never expected to be a mainstream artist, which I’m still not.             

JS: Did it crossover to the pop charts? 

TT: No, not the charts, but it crossed over to the extent that promoters in festivals would start to pay attention, and that was a new thing for me, of course. 

JS: You did a video for it that was pretty popular.

TT: Yeah, that helped a lot, I think. That was not my work, though. That was purely the genius of Kristoffer Borgli, the guy who made it. He just had this idea. I was really skeptical at first, because he didn’t sell the pitch in a very convincing way. It’s not really about anything. It’s just about a guy who has this Internet avatar called “Inspector Norse,” who makes drugs at home and lives in a suburb, being slightly disappointed in life. That was his pitch. Like, “Yeah? Are you sure?” He said he was sure and I said “Okay, well, whatever you think.”

JS: You weren’t directly involved with that? 

TT: No, not at all. 

JS: You run your own record label now, Olsen Records. You have full control over everything: the artwork, packaging, mixes… 

TT: Nowadays, yeah. 

JS: Yeah, everything’s got a very strong identity now. 

TT: Yeah, the visual images, of course, are by Bendik because he helps out a lot on that end. 

JS: Yeah, I think it’s super important. For me… I’m still… When I go into a record store, it’s just so nice, especially nowadays when you’re spending $15 to $20 on a 12-inch, that you have something that’s really attractive to go along with the actual music. 

TT: Yes. 

JS: After you have a huge hit like that, did you feel any pressure to follow it up with the next one? Was there the feeling of: there’s this expectation now and everyone’s looking to see what you’ll do next? 

TT: I felt that in the beginning. I don’t feel so much about that now. Obviously, I know that if I would’ve gotten another “Inspector Norse” that would have, of course, keep me floating in a better way than if I’m making an album with just the rest of the album material because “Inspector Norse” was quite different from the rest of the other tracks. I think it’s obvious that I’m going to make music that’s not just for the dance floor from now on because there were some tracks on the album that were pretty different. A lot of DJs will think that some of the music is difficult as well, but that’s the stuff that inspires me.

JS: Do you think about DJs when you’re making a track, or think about a dance floor anymore? 

TT: No. I’ve gotten worse at that because I stopped DJing. I guess earlier, it could be a good thing that I was also DJing because then I could test out tracks and see if I got the reaction that I wanted to have. As I said, I don’t really make music for DJs anymore. I used to before when I just did 12-inches, ‘cause that’s just the nature of the 12-inch is to have DJs play it. With the albums, it was very nice to not have to think about how it’s going to be used and just be free and make my album. Then again, if I just do interesting music without thinking about the dance floor, if I do that for a long while, I will want to get back to making just simple house again as well. I can’t really lose one or the other. I have to do both for the rest of my life, I guess. And just hope I don’t lose too many fans on the way because they will get… they do get confused, especially if it’s “Alfonso Muskeunder,” a track on the album which is in a 7/8 time signature. 

JS: Have you played it out? 

TT: Not as a DJ, though. I’ve played it out with a band, which makes much more sense. You see people move in a very surprising way to that song. 

JS: In what way did your life change after the success of “Inspector Norse” and the It’s Album Time LP?

TT: It changed things economically, I have to say. Maybe not that song alone, though, but the album did. The album made it much easier to go for festivals rather than clubs and, combined with me wanting to play fewer clubs, it was a good match. 

JS: You played Coachella. Did you feel like that was a turning point for you? 

TT: I think the biggest turning point for me was the Oya festival in Oslo in 2014. That was the first time we showed the whole band, and that was when everything just rocketed. Then Coachella came a few months after that. Actually, the following year, so the time after that, maybe.

JS: You had Bryan Ferry come out to play with you.

TT: He was also there in Oslo in August 2014. We did “Johnny & Mary,” the track we made together.

JS: Is this new album that you’re working on, is it going to be the band album? Or is it a solo album? 

TT: No. It’s a solo album, but it’s going to be featuring various artists along the way, including the band. 

JS: Is there a full band album that will be made at some point? 

TT: Hopefully, but I think that depends on how my studio situation is going. Right now, you can’t really record a band in here, so I’ve been looking for a new studio for ages, it seems. I still haven’t found the right place, really, but of course would like to.  We’re pregnant with our next baby, so that of course means that I have to make some music quickly, solo. As soon as I get the right place, I think things are going to go pretty fast with a band project album. 

JS: The Olsen Records label has kind of led into Olsen branching out into some other areas like clothes, or underwear and socks. I’ve been seeing them in the shops around town here in Oslo. How did that come about?

TT: It’s not like I’m going to do this now for now. It’s more like a side project. 

JS: Did someone approach you, or you just came up with the idea for it?

TT: It’s a collaboration with Eskimo Records in Belgium. Their clothes brand is called Original Eskimo and they have been making briefs, which I’ve been buying myself the last five years, and I just liked them a lot. Then I saw that they had stopped doing those briefs. I asked them… I knew that we had some mutual friends, so I just asked, “What’s happening with that old model?”

“Oh, we discontinued it.”

“What?”

Then I just had the idea to ask if I could collaborate. We both put our names on it and branded it as a collaboration. The graphics are designed by Bendik, but the shape is their classic brief. It’s just a side thing just for fun. I think it turned out really good. It looks really professional I think.

JS: It is only underwear, socks and T-shirts so far? 

TT: Yeah. Everything feels like it’s left-hand work, though, because I’m doing music. That’s what I do, and the merchandise was just like, “Yeah, whatever.” It just needs to be fun. Design-wise, I know we can always make something that is funny, but quality-wise, of course it requires a lot of attention if you want it to be really good. The socks, they were okay, but the underwear…it was really good so I was happy about that. T-shirts, of course, is just off-the-shelf stuff, so that’s easy.

JS: Any other new projects other than music?

TT: Yes, I just made 20 of these.

JS: Record weights? 

TT: Yeah, they were quite expensive to make, so we’re not going to continue with this line we did with Mastersounds. I think they are a bit too light. It needs to be heavier for the DJ’s.  We are going to make ones more inspired by the Audio-Technica ones. That’s going to take some time. We’re just calculating density. We know the density of steel and aluminum. We just need to find out what’s the best shape versus weight — harder than I thought.

JS: What do you think about the situation with vinyl when it comes to DJing these days?

TT: I don’t care, as you would imagine. Of course, it’s good for sales that more people are buying it, but that’s not DJs, DJs aren’t responsible for the sales. That’s regular people. DJ’s are playing less vinyl.

I don’t know many DJs who play vinyl. The only DJs who play vinyl now are people who probably got into it recently and wanted to be hip, because working DJs, they realize that clubs are in a terrible condition. Needles do not work. Feedback is not dealt with. When CDJ 2000s came out, they of course made our life shitloads easier. I don’t think many DJ’s are going to go back to that. The people who play vinyl now are people who are doing it at home because it still sucks to play vinyl in clubs unless it’s really, really well done. That’s rare, as you know.

JS: I still bring a bag with me pretty much wherever I go and I try and play it, and there are some clubs that really care and do it right, but yes those are rare. But you’ll still be making vinyl with Olsen Records?

TT: That’s mainly because of my love for vinyl.

JS: Do you still go record shopping?

TT: More now than ever. I don’t buy the same stuff that I did earlier. I used to just buy 12-inches that I could play, and now I almost exclusively buy non-playable music, which is the stuff that inspires me.

[philly-osopher]

Macaroniverse headcanons, Angelica edition

So after I posted the last installment of the Macaroniverse, @herowndeliverance​ asked if there would ever be an Angelica/ Maria Cosway side-story, and that’s where these headcanons were born from :)

Available here on Ao3, if you’d prefer that format. Warnings for sexual content.

Part I

Look, normally it’s not Angelica’s style to publicly eviscerate the arguments of people who disagree with her in class. At least, it hasn’t been since sophomore year, when a professor actually took her aside and said, look, you’re brilliant, everybody knows you’re brilliant, but just… please let the other students breathe. So she had, and she’d kept the peace for a long time. But there Angelica was, a senior in this upper div policy course, and a younger girl, one she had tutored last year, no less, sort of stumbled over her point, and this obnoxious know-it-all boy had pointed out her error and gone on this long speech about all the reasons why this was the better idea and Angelica. Flayed. Him. Alive.

So when he cornered her in the dining hall the next day, she wasn’t expecting him to be actually pretty charming. And sheepish, once she’d pointed out to him that he’d been an obnoxious dick. Certainly she wasn’t expecting him to beg for more correction. He'd reread the text and refined his point. Still wrong, but wrong in an actually interesting way. They'd stayed and argued until the cafeteria closed and then returned to her dorm room and ended the encounter with his face between her thighs.

Aaaaand he was a freshman. Whoops.

Still, he was an adult, and he was not only talented but willing to take instruction, and as far as the sex went he seemed to prefer taking care of himself, which… maybe had some hangups, maybe he was some rare subcategory of ace, who knew. Angelica wasn’t about to look a gift fuck in the mouth, so to speak. Except Herc started giving her dirty looks everywhere and Herc got along with everyone and Angelica wasn't really used to the idea of making a faux pas without knowing it, so she'd gotten all worked up about it and asked him, except he'd said he couldn't tell her and she should ask Alex and... and well...

Yeah, she really, really should have asked earlier, because at that point Alex accused her of pitying him (true), of not even being attracted to him (false!), of using him (... true, she supposes, although she hadn’t really known it, had she? Hadn’t he had some responsibility to communicate?). And then when she'd tried to work it out he'd picked up his wounded pride and stormed out.

She'd written him a letter. A careful but heartfelt apology, after half a bottle of wine, with Eliza consulting by phone from an ocean away, that had boiled down to, I want to make this work. Eliza kept Angelica from veering off into either wallowing self-flagellation (her first instinct) or point-by-point rehashing and complete denial of responsibility (her second).

He answered her long letter with his own long letter, and she’d cried reading it, how hurt this boy was, not so much by her as by the world, and they’d gotten back together and didn’t really talk about it all that much again. And they'd never were exclusive with one another, but were so mutually obsessed that the question didn't arise. Like, usually Angelica is so intense she has to spread it across multiple people, but not with Alex. She loved showing off all her ideas to him, arguing and blowing off steam until early in the morning, taking it straight into the bedroom. It was glorious, for a couple months.

She knows deep down that what they’ve got going—good friends, nice benefits—isn’t going to be enough for him. She finds herself rereading his letter, feeling his loneliness and all his sharp edges, feeling a deep compulsion to make it better, to make him a Project. She could do that, maybe, could refine his heart the same way she’s refining his mind with every argument he comes this much closer to winning. But that’s not her strong suit—that’s Eliza’s, maybe, but now that Angelica’s had Alex, that would just feel… weird. She’s not really the type to share, and nor is Eliza, for that matter.

Still, she might be able to grow her relationship with Alex, if she just puts in enough time, and effort, and worry, except—except she's going to law school in New York next year, damnit, she's going to need every advantage, and Alex is taking so much of her time and her worry already, this boy has already become a Project for her and that's not fair, it's not her job to be his fucking… refiner and it's not his fault he needs refining but she can't afford to be slowed down. She’s already a black woman in America, does she really want to stack the deck against herself further? Why can’t she just get back together with Church and have a slick, safe boyfriend who will look great on Christmas cards?

And maybe she's worried deep down, too, that if she spends all her time polishing this boy up one day he might outshine her. Alex is that brilliant. That's a mark of respect, she tells herself, that she's started to see him as a rival and not an interesting intellectual toy. That's a mark of the work that she's already put in, all those nights of long debates and subtle corrections and just-right follow-ups. This, she tells herself, as she breaks up with him, two months before the end of her senior year, is the mark of a job well-done.

She was ready for him to be sad, but she wasn’t ready for the heartbreak that flooded into his eyes the minute she told him. He has to turn away for a moment. She doesn’t follow him, doesn’t put a hand on his shoulder. Pretends she has no idea what’s happening. It’s better that way—she doesn’t want to hurt his pride, when she’s already hurt so much else.

“I thought—I mean, I knew… law school, but I thought we had… I thought we had another couple months, I didn’t—”

“I need to get used to being by myself,” Angelica says, simply. “Stand on my own. Independence is really important.” Those reasons, at least, he’ll understand. All the others she’ll keep for herself.

“Yeah,” Alex rasps. Angelica wants to take his hand, turn him around, give him a hug, but their relationship was never all that huggy, anyway, and anyway, he's not her project anymore. It's a relief, to absolve herself of responsibility for Alex's emotions. She walks away, texting Herc as she goes. Hey, if you don’t see Alex at dinner tonight you should grab him something, okay? Herc will figure out what happened from that alone.

After they break up Alex seems to bounce back pretty fast. The first time they do lunch it’s weird, the careful deference they have for each other, never letting fingers touch, like even that would send them flying back over the edge. But gradually they learn to be comfortable in each others’ company again. After she moves to New York they Skype every so often. Angelica still really enjoys talking to him. That spark is still there, ready to be fanned into a flame. But she leaves confident that he'll return to her circle soon enough, refined by life and his own hard work. The question is whether she's willing to wait that long—or whether she'll find someone else in the interim.

Part II

Angelica's law firm had been getting their portraits done by Rick Cosway ever since his dad died a few years back and he inherited the business. She'd just made partner—youngest ever by about ten years, first woman, first person of color, no big deal—and she was so, so ready to have that portrait looming imposingly over everyone walking in the door. Yeah, that's Angelica Schuyler. No, she's not here to take your lunch order, she's a motherfucking partner, now show some goddamn respect.

Rick Cosway's studio is unexpectedly hip, in this strange shared makerspace warehouse in Brooklyn. His stodgy traditional half-done portraits look really out of place compared to... well... everything else in there. Angelica steps over a lot of extension cords in her Louboutins to get to the chair for her sitting.

Halfway through her sitting the guy gets up to take a fucking phone call. Well, that's unacceptable. Angelica had just wanted to send him a photograph anyway, but he'd insisted on her coming down to sit for the portrait and all the old white dudes at the firm had said it was a rite of passage and she'd wanted the full partner experience but whatever, this is bullshit. She gets up.

Literally as she's in the middle of walking imperiously out in her heels she sees something that makes her gasp. Makes her come to a full stop like she’s run into a fucking wall, and just stare. It's a painting, probably twelve feet high, of a woman, and she's smirking straight down at Angelica, arms crossed over her chest. She looks like a sailor, covered in old tattoos—but her body is also painted in the tattoo style, and the tattoos continue straight off her body, and as Angelica looks it's almost like she's reading a story of all the shit this Nasty Woman has overcome to get where she is and Angelica's just fucking. Blown away. This titanic figure is on her level, this is someone who gets her—

At the foot of the painting is a Latina woman very much covered in tattoos and Angelica realizes this is a self-portrait and feels like she's been struck by a fucking lightning bolt.

Just then Rick Cosway comes trotting up with an apologetic smile. "Sorry," he says, "important client. You know how it is." The woman with the tats is listening, Angelica can tell.

"First, I am an important client. Second, I don't need your services anymore," she says coldly. "I'm commissioning her."

Something in the unhurried way the woman turns around spooks Angelica. "... if she'll have me," she finishes, suddenly self-conscious. What if she's too corporate, too alpha-bitch, too uncool for this clearly very cool very creative very strong-willed woman?

"I dunno, Ricky, should I let her buy me a drink? Treat me real nice?" the woman asks.

Later—at the bar, in fact—Angelica learns that the two of them are married for tax and immigration purposes. She also learns that Maria works half as a painter, mostly portraits, and half as a tattoo artist, and has been profiled on 60 Minutes and gotten a goddamn genius grant and a shitton of awards.

Maria's not at all modest about any of these things, which is a relief because that way Angelica doesn't have to figure out a way to be subtle about working the fact that she was the first black female president of the Harvard Law Review into the conversation.

And when Maria raises an eyebrow and asks "wasn't that Obama's job once? Are you planning on following in his footsteps?" Angelica doesn't do her usual cute laugh and change the subject routine. She doesn't turn down any of the intensity in her voice when she says, "Absolutely."

[clockworkmoose]

mmmmnnnnnyh personal work related fuckery

I function best when I can make repetitive schedules or plan for events far in advance. I’ve got agendas and notebooks and calendars and agendas and notebooks... to the point where if something is sprung on me and I’m not given enough time to properly draft a resolution to modify the plans, take it to the council, put the motion to a vote...

my snap response is to get really testy and panicky and I default to this thirty second breakdown of COOL! GREAT! WHY DON’T WE JUST CANCEL ALL THE PLANS!!! WIPE THE BOARD CLEAN! NOBODY NEEDS TO KNOW WHAT’S HAPPENING! TIME IS A CONSTRUCT AND THE FUTURE IS CHAOS! I’M THRIVING!!!!!!! before I can wrestle myself back to “no, we can do this now, this other thing can be moved to tomorrow, it’s no problem, just pencil it in.”

And I know I do this and that it really stresses me out so I really try my best to, first, plan things out properly in advance so I know what’s upcoming and it’s not a surprise, and then, second, also be communicative with people about what events and plans might get tossed at me so that it’s not a total surprise when it’s tossed at me.

So I’m sitting here today, trying to make the schedule for the second half of March for my two employees and myself.

One of my employees has a full time (30+ hours) job, and is a part time student. Last semester, she worked Monday-Wednesday-Friday evenings after her classes, and then Saturdays (10 hours a week). And she liked this schedule, so for an entire semester the schedule was consistent for her, me, and my other part time employee.

This semester, in early January, she informed me she was going to have a late class on Tuesday and Thursday, and requests Wednesdays off. So the first two weeks of January pass with her working Monday-Friday-Saturday (8 hours), and then she comes to me and says she’d like her Saturdays off so she has a day for homework, and can she work Tuesday or Thursday instead of Monday and Friday so she has time for extracurriculars at school?

But here’s the thing. She is in class until 7:45, we close at 9 on Tuesday-Thursday. After driving, she would have a 1 hour shift, and I would have 10 hours. And with the way she arrives to her shift and then immediately launches into stories and she does not shut up even if you rudely tell her you need her to be quiet you’re literally on the phone with a customer and can’t listen to her jabbering on about writing a screenplay (that is already so good hollywood’s going to be salivating to turn it into a blockbuster) about a giant colonial era cotton plantation and also someone gets murdered while her brilliant centuries-ahead-of-her-time self insert that everyone calls “yum yum dog food” makes references to the modern year and takes over running the plantation, but there’s no slaves in this story because she doesn’t want to deal with writing about slavery as it would ““““““put a damper””””” on the story?????......... Rant-ception, sorry.

It takes me so long to tell her what needs doing that I would end up being there almost until 9 anyways trying to disengage from her and get out. And I do not want to. I tell her that’s not going to work. She understands, so she asks if instead I can schedule her only 2 days a week.

So for the next two weeks, I schedule her Friday-Saturday only, and I work a 9 hour day on Wednesdays so that my other part time employee isn’t working Sunday-Thursday every evening in a row. And then she comes back and says that 6 hours? Not enough paycheck. Can she also work Wednesdays? And Fridays?

So. 10 hours. Her original schedule. More than the 8 that was “too much.” I schedule her that for ONE week, anticipating it’s going to be “too much” and SURE ENOUGH yes it is. And she comes back to me asking if I can give her less hours again. Either week days or week ends, but not both. She is officially dubbed wishywashy.

At the same time, my other employee who has thus far not caused me any problems has requested Saturdays off (she has since she began working for me and it’s been fine) and maybe some weekday morning shifts instead of evening shifts so she can spend time with her girlfriend in the evenings. And so far this employee hasn’t caused me any stress or grief and although I don’t really want to work evenings either (I hired both of them for nights and weekends specifically!) I’ve already been working evenings to cover other employee’s too-many-hours-not-enough-hours wishywashyness, so sure, I can work on accommodating that.

So now I’m looking at the schedule for March I’m trying to make. 

I’m obligated to work on Saturdays, that’s part of my position.  And if I give wishywashy employee just weekends, that means I don’t get a day off during the week, I work 6 days straight, and my good employee has to work every single weekday, 4 out of five being evening shifts. And she loses her Sunday shift that she enjoys working. If I give wishywashy employee just week day shifts, she can only work Monday-Wednesday-Friday (which was “too much”), and good employee has to work Sundays, evenings on Tuesday-Thursday, and Saturdays which she would prefer not to work. And either way, this is ringing a little too much like punishing the employee who does a good job to reward the employee that does a bad job, and that doesn’t sit right with me. (Found out from last job the reason I never got the backup help I asked for was that I was too good at my job, and the lazy person who took over my position immediately got backup to make the job easier, so wtf! Uncool!)

So I’m sitting here stressing out over how I’m going to juggle the schedule to appease someone who just CAN’T be appeased and changes her mind every single week about what she wants... and I’m realizing I haven’t had a consistent weekly schedule at any point in January or February. I’ve had to work on what should have been days off and I’ve been working anywhere between 3 and 11 hour days, and right now, working 14 days in a row without a day off.

Which is explaining a lot???

I haven’t been able to properly plan out anything or anticipate my schedule and have just been in a general sense of anxiety for weeks now and did not realize just how much battery power it takes just to be stressed. I haven’t had the social energy to chat with or hang out with with anyone since the holidays because I’ve been dancing around what’s going to work for a part time employee so much I’ve completely neglected what’s going to work for me? I think I’ve logged into discord maybe five times? Haven’t drawn since December, haven’t done fantrolls or RP in as long, and pushed back three of our weekly dnd games just because I wasn’t feeling up to DMing or talking to friends? And was debating just straight up not going to our weekly trivia game because time is a construct and the future is chaos who even cares that trivia has been well established and consistent for almost 2 years, fuck the whole system!!!

And holy shit, now realizing the cause of my general withdrawing from everyone and everything that’s supposed to be stress RELIEVING is a huge relief in of itself? I still don’t have any sort of consistency going in to March, but at least now I know why I am struggling and failing and can properly attribute it to a cause rather than just feeling like I’ve fucked up somewhere and can’t function properly as a human being.

And for the second half of March, I’m going to start scheduling what’s best for me, and if wishywashy can’t handle her shifts, that’s going to be her problem to solve, not mine.

4 more weeks of this though.... fuck me for making the schedule in advance so my employees can plan their lives out in advance rather than throwing it up the day before the week begins lmao!!!!!!!

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOU GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS

Computers are a familiar example. If you want people to see their merits. It's a good thing eBay bought Paypal, for example, there is no secret cabal making it all work. If you go back and look at this list you'll see it's basically a simple recipe with a lot of air in the straw. In theory this sort of essay I describe, you'll probably still be aggressive when you're big. In a startup you would do well to remember that. When you refuse to meet an investor because you're not in fundraising mode, or slow down your interactions with them. At the moment, there is no external opponent, so the kids become one another's opponents.

Universities with x departments will subscribe to the journals. Starting a startup to do? But by the time everyone else realized how important search was, Google was entrenched. That wouldn't seem nearly as uncool. Beware valuation sensitive investors. The big danger is that you'll dismiss your startup yourself. With Web-based software assumes nothing about the client, it will be the money burning a hole in your pocket, but I promise you, Microsoft is scared of you.

You want the deal to close, and if Microsoft doesn't control the client, they can't get that mad, because they grow into the trees of the economy. Instead of starting each quarter with a blank slate, you have to resort to lowering your price, this means 200 additional shares. The pipes are narrow and twisty, and there was a lot of hand-wringing now about declining market share. For a big company. For users, Web-based software, most of which now seem to be a search for truth. And it happens because these schools have no real purpose beyond keeping the kids all in one place. Because Web-based applications is to that extent outsourcing IT. So long as you're a product company, and it is no fun to be at the bottom.

At most colleges you can find and fix most bugs as soon as they appear. And since the customer is always right, that's a sure sign that something is missing. The word venture capitalist is sometimes used loosely for any venture investor, but there is a strong correlation between being a nerd and being popular. It's the same with acquisitions. They could grow the company gradually, by iterating through several versions they sold to real users, they'd have learned pretty quickly that people looked stupid riding them. That's fundraising in one sentence. Don't listen to them. What big companies do instead of implementing features is plan them. I have never once seen a startup lured down a blind alley. Some investors are known for deciding quickly, and those who aren't don't.

It was one of many unforeseen advantages of the YC model and specifically of making YC big that B2B startups now have an instant market of hundreds of other startups ready at hand. At first it was just an artifact of the way through the server market; Yahoo's servers, which deal with loads as high as 50%. It's often mistakenly believed that medieval universities were mostly seminaries. Yes, because they get the wrong answers on tests. The mercurial Spaniard himself declared: After Altamira, all is decadence. Most adults, likewise, deliberately give kids a misleading view of the world. And why did one want to do that? The PR campaign leading up to Netscape's IPO was running full blast then, and there was a good deal for everyone. There's no practical difficulty. Some angels might balk at this surreal cocktail, they're called misfits. We invest when the company is making little profit.

Now you could get all three for nothing. Getting the first substantial offer can be half the total difficulty of fundraising. Promising new startups are often discovered by developers. I've written elsewhere, by using Lisp, which many people still consider a research language, we could make the Viaweb editor behave more like desktop software. Assume the money you need, so you can get a critical mass of users quickly. They're like a mountain that can walk. But if you get a call from a VC firm, you shouldn't meet even if you are, you should on the whole tend to increase it. Unless they want to have still more of their growth. NET turns out to be good, because it taught us how it would feel to call a support line and be treated as jokes, or at least, kept students busy; it introduced students to cultures quite different from their own; and its very uselessness made it function like white gloves as a social bulwark. A fundraising is when you do finally automate yourself out of the blocks, and spend the rest of the race slowing down.

An experienced CFO I know said flatly: I would not want to be CFO of a public company now. Graduates of elite colleges have evolved to prey upon the weaknesses of large organizations the way enterprise software companies have. You should expect to take heroic measures at first. Otherwise everyone's writing would sound like them talking. You can't let how much you want an investor influence your estimate of how much they want you. When we started Viaweb, hardly anyone understood what we meant when we said that the imagination of man, he meant that if you give someone a copy of your deck or executive summary, which should be less vulnerable to viruses. Certainly the fact that they value open-mindedness.

8 different publications, with embargoes. If you don't, you're hosed. If some investor isn't returning your emails, or wants to have lots of worries, but you may have found something surprisingly valuable. I bet users will start to want this in most applications once they realize it's possible. Why did desktop computers take over? And I lost more than books. An essay doesn't begin with a thesis, because you don't want to make it plain that you don't have that feeling that your life is flying by like you do in a big company is in theory worth $200,000 a year. But the fact is, the world.

Thanks to Ken Anderson, Justin Kan, Joel Rainey, Paul Buchheit, Paul Watson, Sam Altman, Sarah Harlin, and David Hornik for inviting me to speak.