#Engagement rings in Philadelphia

[downtown-angel333]

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 9: Wedding Bells or Gong of Destruction?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter nine of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 3.3K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (a few times), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC, pining, fluff, some angst.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Philadelphia 1941

You paced at the foot of your bed, wringing your hands together, heartbeat frantic against your ribcage as your world seemed to spin to a stop. You didn't know whether you wanted to laugh or cry, scream or sob, throw up or have a stroke. Your entire body was electrified with your nerves, popping and crackling loud in your ears as the impulses jumped from synapse to synapse with ease.

And it was Howard's fault.

After three years of courting, of you trying to make up excuses to lengthen the distance between you two, of trying to find a way out, of trying to find a way to tell Ben that you loved him, it had finally happened, Howard had proposed. It wasn't out of the blue, you had been courting long enough and you were well past the age of usual engagement, something your mother continued to point out, but that didn't make any of this any easier.

Your eyes drop to the offensive chunk of jewelry on your left hand. Not only was it the ugliest ring you’d ever seen, but it was from the wrong man. You knew that deep down in your bones, knew it the second Howard came to Sunday night dinner and dropped to one knee in front of you. Hell, you knew it the second you met Howard for the first time. He was nothing compared to Ben, no one was.

You had looked Howard in the eye stunned, unable to speak, then raised your eyes to your father and mother hoping to find your voice and a plausible excuse, but before you could give him the honest answer you knew in your heart to be true, your mother had shouted "Of course she will!"

Because she's controlled everything else about my life, of course she'd do this as well.

Your tried again not to think about how ugly the ring and how it was utterly wrong for you in every way. When Howard dropped to one knee and opened the velvet box, all you could think of was Ben. You wondered what ring Ben would have chosen for you and wondered if the ring from him would have been right.  He knew you better than anyone else.

Which begged the question: shouldn't your fiancé?

You tried not to compare your best friend to Howard, because you knew who would win. Every time you began to compare them, Ben had more pros than Howard did. But you couldn't keep waiting for Ben, didn't want to. Howard was promising you a future, a family, marriage-

A loveless one. The thought is immediate and makes your heart seize in your chest.

You knew that a marriage with Ben would be different, filled with passion, romance, love-

But he doesn't love you. So basically if Ben married you it would be the same for him as you marrying Howard. A one-sided love.

Despite dating Howard, you still allowed Ben in your life. Ben stayed over whenever he wished, walked with you to the park, stole you away for drinks in the bar down the street where Howard wouldn't be caught dead in, and took you to the occasional baseball game. Howard didn't drink and he didn't like being outside. Those moments with Ben made you feel more alive than you'd ever felt and then you'd meet Howard later and try to summon the enthusiasm to sit with him at dinner, all the while you were still buzzing with happiness from seeing Ben.

It made you feel like a traitor, feeling that good and thinking about another person while Howard tried to be everything you wanted.

Whenever Howard would kiss you goodnight, it made you feel like you were kissing a statue, cold, unfeeling, and despite his attempts to slide his tongue in your mouth it was passionless. And it made you think about what Ben said about Howard's name and what he would be like in bed, as improper as it was. You think back to all the moments you and Ben had been pressed against one another when you woke up in the morning, how perfectly you fit against him. Whenever Howard tried to hug you or hold you close it was all wrong. He wasn't tall enough or broad enough, not to mention sometimes you thought if he'd even be able to pick you up. Howard was more lanky than muscular, certainly not as strong as Ben, who picked you up one time on a dare from Adam when you were all really drunk.

Howard didn’t make you feel warm when he touched you accidently, he didn’t make you feel brave whenever your mother was around, and he certainly didn’t make you feel as happy as you did when you were with Ben. Not to mention he never let you draw him, said that there were more important things that he could be doing rather than siting there posing for you.

Howard wasn’t spontaneous. He’d show up exactly on time, call when he said he would, time every single minute of your dates and he certainly never tried to surprise you the way Ben did. The only time Howard ever seemed excited about anything was when he was talking about the fiscal progress of the United States in comparison to Europe, which he weaseled into every conversation you had together.

Even when he asked you to marry him it sounded more like a business proposal than a happy moment. You always thought that when you got engaged the other person would make at least some confession of love. He hadn’t done that. Howard successfully sucked the life out of a moment you thought you would remember forever. You couldn’t even remember what he said before he got on one knee, just the awkward silence and the feeling of dread that clamped tight around your heart when he asked you the question that ruined your life.

Legally am I bound to this, because technically my mother said yes for me?

You wondered if Howard proposed because the U.S was finally joining in the war or if he genuinely loved you. He brought by flowers often, roses even though you liked lavender more, brought by caramels even though you liked chocolates, and sent you books on the financial history of the United States that were helpful when you couldn't sleep at night, they sent you right off, not to mention you'd started sketching street scenes in the pages making them much more interesting, but you weren't going to show Howard that. His head would probably explode.

You sigh again, pacing faster at the end of your bed.

Howard wanted a quick wedding within the week before he shipped out to military training on Friday, and maybe you should be scared about your fiancé going to war, but the only person you were worried about was Ben. He'd probably also join the military to prove something to his father and take your heart with him when he left. You knew that Ben was the only one you wanted to hold your heart in his hands.

You look back down at the ring on your finger, filled with dread and thoughts about a passionless future.

How am I going to tell Ben?

The tap on your window is familiar, but frightens you, because you didn't know how to tell him or how he'd react. Each time you brought up Howard around him, Ben would make a sarcastic comment and change the subject. You think about the night you danced together, when Ben said that you couldn't be Howard's and also his friend.

Does that mean he'll never want to be apart of my life when we get married?

The thought makes your heart break. You couldn't imagine a life without Ben and you didn't want to, but you could image a life without Howard.

Ben is crouched in the window, a wide smile on his face,  but this time he doesn't wait for you to let him in, he rolls up the window himself and he crosses the room to hug you.

The hug surprises you. You were usually the one that initiated them, but the hug breaks something in your chest and you hug him back tighter than you ever had to stop the tears from falling, pressing your face into his rumpled suit.

"Hey Sweetheart." Ben pulls back, but frowns when he looks at your face. "What's wrong?" Ben's hand gently cups your cheek, trailing warmth where his fingertips touch. You're surprised at the boldness of his touch, but you ascribe it to the alcohol, given the sharp tang of whiskey that floats through the air between you.

"Nothing." You clear your throat, stepping back so his hand falls and covering your ring finger on your left hand with your right nonchalantly. "How are you?"

Ben frowns for a minute at your reaction, but then shakes it off. "I've got great news." He smiles so wide that it makes the urge to cry rise in the back of your throat again.

You knew that as soon as you married Howard he would forbid you from seeing Ben. He already had after the night at the dance hall, but you didn't pay attention to him. Unfortunately, you knew that once you were married you wouldn’t be able to defy his wishes. You respected what marriage represented far too much to cross that line.

"Um me too." You smile tightly, your heartbeat so loud you wonder if Ben can hear it.

"Oh. Well-" Ben begins to say, wanting to let you talk.

"No. Please, you go first."

He won't tell me what news he has if I say my piece about Howard.

"Well, I've been thinking about what you said to me the other day about trying to figure out what I want-"

You remembered the conversation clearly. It was another day at Fairmount Park and it was an attempt to get Ben to start thinking about his future, though when you had told him to figure out what he wanted you hoped that it meant he would consider you, consider turning your friendship into something more. Your heart surges, hoping that this is it, this is Ben finally saying that loves you, that he wants to be with you.

"And I'm finally going to make something of myself." Ben's green eyes shine brightly with his excitement.

"Huh?" Your heart sinks.

"I talked to my dad." You don't miss the way Ben's jaw tightens when he says it. "And I've decided to enlist-"

"Enlist! Ben-" It takes all you have to beg him not to go, not to leave you here. Because you knew that you couldn't live without him and the thought that he would die overseas in a war destroyed you.

"Wait, listen." Ben smiles wider, confusing you. "My dad has friends in the war department, friends that are looking for volunteers for a military project."

"A military project?"

"It's a serum or an injection that's supposed to make us stronger, better-"

"What do you mean?" You ask mildly confused. You hadn't heard of the government announcing any kind of experiments or projects in the newspapers. Surely Howard would have told you about it, he was always boring you with things like that.

"I'm a not a scientist" Ben shakes his head. "But all I know is that they're looking for volunteers and they want men and women."

Surprise flits through your mind. It was odd that they were also asking for women. Although you knew that the military was beginning to accept women in their ranks, it was still surprising that they wanted female volunteers for a government project. Especially if they were experimenting on them.

Like lab rats?

"What are you saying?" You're still confused as to what he's trying to tell you, unusual given the fact that you were usually very good at reading him.

"I want you come with me." Ben can hardly contain his excitement, his smile is so wide it nearly splits his face.

It was the last thing you expected him to ask. "What?" You blink.

"I don't want to do this without you." He says in a tone that makes your heartbeat stop. "And I want you to come with me." He repeats.

Your immediate reaction is to scream yes, let him take you away from all of this, but then you remember Howard, and your mother and feel the weight begin to settle on your shoulders again.

"Ben I can't." It breaks your heart to say it to him, to watch how his face falls.

“Why not?”

"Howard is-"

"Come on, you really think things are going to work out with that son of a bitch?" Ben shouts so loud you're afraid that he'll wake up your parents.

"He loves me-" You begin to say, the urge to cry coming back strong, burning against your eyes. Because now it was that you were choosing Howard over him, even though you didn't want to, it was what your mother wanted. The future she laid out for you.

"You don't know that." Ben snaps, rolling his eyes.

"Ben, he-" You struggle to find your words, taking in a deep breath to strengthen your voice. "He- he proposed. I mean it's been three years, we're both of age-"

Ben's eyes drop to your left hand and this time you uncover your hand so he can see the engagement ring. His shoulders tense and the muscle in his jaw clenches and unclenches.

"When did he ask you?" Ben says in almost a growl.

"Tonight. He came to dinner, my mother is so excited-" You successfully keep the tremor from your voice, but it quickly feels like you're running out of air.

"But you're not." Ben mutters

"Of course I am-" Your voice cracks with emotion.

"No you're not." Ben raises his gaze to look at you.  "I know you." The look in his eyes is unfamiliar, almost afraid.

But Ben isn't scared of anything. You try to remember a moment that he acted afraid, the only time is the memory of when you first met, when his father was looking for him and you lied to help him hide. Ben was fearless, it was something that you admired about him. You could always rely on him to have your back, be strong when you knew that you couldn’t be. To see him afraid was different.

"Ben-" You try again.

"Please." His jaw clenches together. "Don't marry him. Come with me."

"What?" You blink a few times to comprehend what he's asking.

Is he saying that he wants me to marry him? To run away with him?

"You're worth a hundred of him and I don't want to do this without you."

"Ben you're asking me to give up my future, my life-" You say trying to strengthen your resolve.

As unwelcome as Howard's proposal was, it was a future of sorts, what Ben was asking you was to dive into the unknown and you weren't sure if you were strong enough to do that. To leave everything you knew behind you and go with him. But apart of you was thrilled. Maybe it meant that Ben cared for you, needed you and this was the only way that he knew how to tell you. The three little words jump to the tip of your tongue again, the words you wanted to say when you danced together under the twinkling lights all those nights ago.

"You mean the future your mother wants for you." Ben sighs.

"Ben-"

"You’ve been trying to please her your whole life. Please don’t do this for her. Don’t marry him for her." Ben says, trying to catch your gaze, but you look down at his chest for a minute.

"But-"

"You are worth more y/n. And even if she can’t see your worth I can."

"Ben-"  You look back up at him, trying to find the courage to tell him that you love him.

He stares back at you, green eyes wide and honest before he takes your hands. They're warm and rough, familiar in the best way. "Tell me that you want him. You’ve never lied to me before and I don’t think you’ll start now."

Your words die on your tongue, because you know that you can't lie to him, you never could.

"Is that really what you want? To spend the rest of your life with him? If it is I'll leave, but I want to hear you say it." His eyes are filled with promises that make your voice catch in your throat, like two blazing green fires that see through you. Ben might have acted aloof with other people, but he always paid attention to you and knew what you were thinking.  No one knew you as well as he did, well except for the most obvious thing.

No it's not what I want. All I want is to be with you. The thought is immediate.

"But what about my mother-" You say, squeezing his hands.

"If you come with me, you'll never have to worry about her ever again." He says. By now tears are trickling down your cheeks, frustration and confusion building in your chest. Ben was promising you a future with him, but you couldn't understand if he was doing it because he wanted to be more or if he wanted you with him because you were his friend.

He drops your hands and instead brushes away your tears from your eyes. "I know you don't want to marry him."

"I don't." You whisper. "But I don’t know if I'm strong enough for this-"

“Do you trust me?”

Your hands come up to the front of his chest before you can stop yourself, feeling the warmth that surges underneath your palms. “Of course I do.”

His eyes are inviting, pleading, filled with emotion. "I swear that I will be strong enough for the both of us." His hands cup your cheeks. "I swear that I will look out for you like I always have.  I swear that I will never leave you. And I don't want to leave you behind. Please y/n. Come with me." The earnest look in Ben's eyes makes you cry harder, but you know that all you want is to go with him.

You don't want him to go and leave you here, where no one understands and the future that you see is cold, emotionless, and the path dark. You see the coming years with Howard, living together, having children, lunching with other women you hardly know and talking about nothing that mattered.

When you were with Ben everything you talked about seemed important, every moment with him was fused with wonder and expectation, you were never disappointed and were always excited about what you would do together even if it was something as mundane as sitting on a bench with Ben talking while you painted. You could imagine spending the rest of your life with him.

But could he imagine the same thing with you?

The future you see with Ben is warm, inviting, filled with promises you know that he’ll keep because he’s never broken a promise to you no matter what.

But you wonder if it's the promise that you want.

You stand there in the silence of his plea, hearing the ticking of the clock on your bedside table, the sound of cars outside your window, and the sounds of the night vibrate through you bones.

He wasn’t saying that he loved you. He wasn’t confessing his love. He wasn’t making a promise to marry you.

But maybe this was his way. Ben had never been the best at expressing what he was feeling, but the look in his eyes, the way his fingers hold your face to his-

It spoke volumes.

“Yes.” You whisper. “I’ll come with you.”

Ben’s smile breaks your heart as he pulls you tightly against him, laying his head on top of yours as he hugs you and sets every nerve ending on fire. Because the hug is different. It’s filled with the unspoken words between you, the memories you’ve shared, and the great unknown that stretches beyond both of you.

And you cling tight to him, the only part of your future that’s certain.

Or so you thought.

a/n: I know, I know there's a lot of unresolved tension.😂 I promise it will all make sense and that it is going somewhere. But I will say the next few chapters are kinda... rough and are painful to write, but I can't wait for y'all to read them.

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303

@deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs

@bughill126, @simplyfixated @sleepjam, @tiredstrangerr @freefallthoughts

@onlyangel-444

[kumkaniudaku]

Requesting sadness 15: “I can’t do this anymore.” w/ Terry Richmond but it could be an unrequited love story that maybe was reciprocated idk

@pocketsizedpanther put NFL!Terry in my mind and this is what came up.

Silence. Unusual, unbearable silence. The kind of silence that hung in the air thick like humidity in Georgia, choking the life out of every living being in its vicinity. 

Silver forks scratched porcelain plates while two lovers sat across from each other trying to salvage a romantic dinner gone awry before it could ever start. Terry sensed the discomfort when he flew into town with no welcoming hug at the end of the tarmac. She left no text, no call, not even an insight into her whereabouts via Instagram stories. Only an empty space where her pretty red BMV usually sat awaiting his return. 

She hadn’t been in the stands lately either. From the cloudless skies of Los Angeles to the bitter chill of Philadelphia, she was a mainstay on the sidelines, wearing his last name on her back like a badge of honor. But tickets had gone unclaimed here and there. Not enough to raise alarms, but enough for him to bring it up as they dug into the night’s dinner. 

“If you wasn’t trynna be in the cold, that’s cool too. It’s just…you know. I wanted you to be there to see us win the conference. It’s kind of a big deal. First time in like six seasons or something like that. I don’t know. I just got here.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’d rather make sure you’re good than get tight over a game. Football isn’t more important than you. You straight?” He shoveled a forkful of branzino into his mouth, looking across the table for a response that she never provided. “Tia, what’s up? You feeling alright?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Did I forget something?” 

“No.” 

“Somebody DM you something crazy? Fans bothering you again? Let me know something.” 

Her distant stare slowly drifted to his face with tears welling in her waterline. “I-Terrence, I can’t do this anymore?” 

“Do what? What you mean?” He knew. He’d seen the text messages and how she rushed out of the room to answer phone calls. The rumor mills and blind item reports never missed a beat. Atlanta wasn’t a city for secrets. But, he prayed that they’d been mistaken. Taking a sip of his water, he took a deep breath and repeated himself. “What can’t you do anymore? Sneak around like I can’t see you? Lie? Cheat? What is it, Tia?” 

Each question came out louder than the one before, making Tia wince in her seat. 

She knew he’d never put his hands on her. Terry was too sweet for that. So sweet that it made life boring. Being a kept trophy wife wasn’t her speed, but she allowed him to woo her in the VIP section of a club in Las Vegas and drag her back to a slow life full of WAG meetings and nosey neighbors. The thrill of being All Star tight end Terrence Richmond’s girlfriend lost its luster the moment engagement rings and wedding dresses became the topic of every conversation. 

One-night stands turned into sneaking around during long road trips until feelings and another life threw a wrench in what was supposed to be a quick fling with someone far too stupid to be a long-term beau. She’d fucked up. 

“It’s not you,” she choked out, trying to offer him some solace. “He was around when you weren’t and I-”

“Bro, don’t explain that shit to me! You don’t think I’m lonely sometimes? That I don’t meet women ready to fill a void if I snap my fingers? C’mon, Tia. This me you talkin’ to right now! Stop playing in my face!” 

He was fuming and fighting to keep his emotions at bay as he paced across the lavish dining room. 

Tia drew in a deep breath to calm the tears forcing a painful lump into her throat. “I’m sorry, Terry. I know I messed up. I embarrassed you and I’m so fucking sorry for that.” 

“Did you fuck him?” Dread attacked their bellies simultaneously. Seconds passed so slowly that he looked over at the wall clock to make sure time wasn’t standing still. Her silence became confirmation. 

She swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m pregnant. Yesterday makes eight weeks. Terry...”

“The Houston game, wasn’t it. When you said you got sick halfway through and had to leave early. You lied in front of my mama and got pregnant while she was worried about you. You fuckin’ sick in the head, Tia, what the fuck!”

Any explanation Tia intended to offer became lost in a swirl of profanity and angry shouting. Betrayed was the prevailing sentiment. All of his hopes for a family smiling back at him before pre-game intros were dashed, leaving him grieving in real-time. He blamed himself for believing that she was ready for something serious and ignoring the warnings. Now, all he had to show for his blind optimism was a broken heart. 

Tia watched Terry dissolve into a near rage with tears ruining her foundation as they poured without ceasing. All of the trust, all of the love they’d built in two years together was washed away by her selfishness. 

“You gotta go,” he finally managed to grit through clenched teeth. “Get the fuck out. Nah, fuck it. I’ll go. You stay until I can get some shit figured out, but you can’t stay here past the weekend.”

“Terrence! I don’t have anywhere to go!” 

“That’s not my fuckin’ problem! Call your sister or that nigga or some shit, I don’t care. All I’ve ever done is take care of you. If you think you can keep makin’ a fool outta me, you got the wrong motherfucka. This shit is over. Forreal this time!”

“But, I can’t -” 

“What the fuck are you fighting for, Tia? You made your decision. Deal with that shit!”

Sobbing and pleas to rethink his decision hit the condo’s walls like bricks, likely fueling a noise complaint that would be slapped on the door come morning. Tia listened to Terry rifle through drawers and closets on the hunt for enough to get him through a few nights at the Four Seasons. 

He just needed to blow off some steam. They’d been in this place before, angry and screaming at the top of their lungs behind her indiscretions, only to come back together and push the pain of the past to the far recesses of their mind. But, as he stomped his way out of the front door and into the night without so much as a second look, the future became more clear. 

He was gone. For good this time.

[bradshawssugarbaby]

The Coronado Story - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Your marriage to Bradley was fraught with issues -- you married far too young to a man who was far too immature. Several years have passed, and now, you're engaged to the perfect gentleman. Everything is going wonderfully in the days leading up to your wedding - until Bradley reappears into your life.

A/N: this is an AU fic I've been wanting to write for a really long time, based loosely on the plot of one of my all-time favourite movies, The Philadelphia Story. I was really nervous about this one because it's the longest fic I've ever written, and it's completely self-indulgent, but I love it.

pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader / Bob Floyd x Reader / Bradley Bradshaw x Reader / Bob Floyd x OC (sort of?)

warnings/content: divorce, mentions of children, affairs/cheating (briefly mentioned), Bradley being a shitty husband, heartbreak, angst, fluff, love triangles, female reader but no description (I think?), named side OC side characters.

word count: 9.2k

The time to make up your mind about people is never.

As the morning sunlight poured in through the bay window of your bedroom, you squinted and groaned, covering your eyes with your comforter, refusing to get up and out of bed at this hour. Turning to face your alarm clock, you were dismayed to see that it was only just 7 AM, far too early for any normal person to be awake and functioning as of yet. You knew that your definition of normal was skewed - you were sheltered your whole life, the only controversy you’d ever faced was your divorce from your ex-husband, Bradley Bradshaw that took place eight years prior, and even then, it was only scandalous for the reasoning behind it. 

You and Bradley were simply young, dumb and in love - the biggest mistake anyone could make, in your mind. No sane person would get married under those circumstances, you were sure of it, and certainly not when they’ve only known their spouse for six months - but you and Bradley were anything but sane when it came to one another. 

Smitten and head over heels in love, unable to focus on anything outside of one another - you were crazy for him, and he was crazy for you. However, the romance was fleeting, and no sooner than it had burned strong and bright, did the fire fizzle out on you both. Your marriage lasted all of 12 months, no children produced as a result, and nothing to show for it other than a piece of paper and a simple surname change on your part. 

In fact, children were one of the sore spots in your relationship - while you wanted them, sooner rather than later, Bradley was unconvinced. Having been orphaned by his sixteenth birthday, and now serving as an aviator in the US Navy, Bradley wasn’t sure how to be a parent. He was barely sure about marriage for that matter. He wanted it - he wanted it with you more than anything, he thought - but when it came down to it, he got scared. Terrified of leaving behind a family the same way his dad had when he was a toddler. 

Bradley hadn’t even been toilet trained when his father died - his memories of him were whatever was relayed to him through stories from his mother and his father’s friends, news clippings from his time in the Navy and his medals and ribbons received during his service. Otherwise? The man was a stranger to him, and that was something that scared Bradley more than anything. However much you loved him, you couldn’t stay in a marriage that had no future, and Bradley felt the same. Bradley had enjoyed partying and having fun far more than being a husband, and it showed.

Your phone buzzed on your nightstand, and you held your breath, hoping and praying it was just a text message that you could easily ignore and respond to later. However, it continued to ring, spasming against the hard wooden top of the table, causing more noise than necessary. You sleepily extended your arm out to grab it, cursing under your breath at whoever in their right mind would call you this early in the morning. That was, until you saw the caller ID, and realized it was your new beau, Jake.

“Good mornin’ beautiful!” Jake drawled out, his Texan accent thick and velvety smooth as he spoke. 

“Good morning,” you hummed sleepily, rubbing your eye with one of your hands before letting out a yawn and sighing. 

“Sorry, honey, did I wake you?” 

“Mhmm? No, no, I was already getting up.”

“Listen, baby, I just wanted to call and say I can’t wait to marry you. You’re the love of my life, you know that?”

“I think you may have mentioned it once or twice.”

“Good, I’m not gonna stop mentioning it to you.”

You shook your head and giggled softly, a happy sigh escaping your lips as you thought about your upcoming nuptials to Jake. You were going to be Mrs. Jake Seresin in a matter of days - hours in fact - and you were excited to finally move on from your time as Mrs. Bradley Bradshaw, a chapter of your life that you tried desperately to hide. 

You’d hoped that moving back to your family home in California would help you escape it - your family’s sprawling beachfront home in Coronado, dating back to the 1920s, complete with all the historic art deco era charms and graces, was welcoming and inviting when you returned from your failed marriage in Virginia. 

No sooner than you had moved home did Jake cross your path. Another aviator - a type you’d apparently developed without realizing it - but this time, confident and cocksure, not needing a reminder of your existence, or forgetting how to be in love, never wavering on his stance on your future, or the idea of having children - Jake was, well, perfect. Or as close to perfect as a person could be, anyways. 

With his broad shoulders, Southern charm, piercing green eyes and perfectly styled golden blonde hair, Jake was maybe the most handsome man you’d ever seen. Sure, Bradley was gorgeous - a stark contrast to Jake’s perfect appearance, with dark curly hair, sunkissed with honey coloured highlights scattered throughout, amber coloured eyes that changed depending on his mood, and a neatly trimmed mustache that looked fresh out of 1984 - but he was no Jake. No one was Jake. 

“I’ll be home from this mission soon enough, ok darlin’? Then I’ll come runnin’ right over there to marry your pretty little self.” “I expect nothing less, Lieutenant Seresin. In full dress whites, too, I hope.”

“Of course, nothing but the best for my girl.”

My girl. The way he said it felt so melodic, so beautiful. Bradley had called you that once in a while, and at first when Jake did, it stung. You’d almost convinced yourself not to let him use it as his term of affection for you because of it, yet, the way he said it was so different. You felt compelled to let him continue using it. Now, it only made you think of Bradley occasionally, a slight twinge of melancholy when you heard it, but nothing enough to trigger an unwanted memory or feeling of longing for your ex- husband. 

After your conversation with Jake, you took your time getting dressed, paying special attention to your hair as you got ready for the day. You wanted everything to be perfect - your wedding wasn’t for another two days, but you couldn’t help but stress over every minute detail. If you didn’t take care of preserving your hair’s silky smooth feeling today, you’d run the risk of compromising it’s styling ability in two days - a risk you couldn’t afford to take. Not when your wedding had become somewhat of a mild celebration in the San Diego Bay area. 

Your family was wealthy, to put it incredibly mildly. Your father had started his own investment firm back in the 1980s, just before meeting your mother, and his success had grown exponentially over the years. He now stood as one of the richest men in the country, and since you were one of only two children - you’d become quite the celebrity as soon as you turned 16. Your sweet sixteen party rivaled those seen on MTV - you’d declined any prodding from your friends to televise your party, your father had assured you that only families who were insecure about their financial situation felt the need to flaunt it so tastelessly on television. 

When you’d met Bradley, he had no idea. You’d moved out to Virginia to get away from your life in California, having been accepted into Old Dominon University, entering into their Journalism studies program. You were looking for something, anything to give you some semblance of normalcy in your early twenties, desperate to feel the same way your friends from high school did about going off to start their higher education and studies. You didn’t like being left out, and college life was no exception. 

It was your second year when Bradley wandered into your life. You opted to hit the beach with a couple of friends, making the half-hour drive out to Virginia Beach to sunbathe and enjoy the seasonably warm spring that had descended upon you. There, he caught your eye. 

He was tall and lean, broad shouldered and wearing tight-fitting denim shorts that sat low on his hips, showing off his sleek, toned abdomen. His skin was olive-toned, you could tell he spent a lot of time at the beach, and without a shirt. He looked to be a few years older than you, but it was almost impossible to tell, he looked like an adonis of sorts. Aviator sunglasses perched just slightly askew on a slightly crooked nose - the signature bump to his nose a tell-tale sign of a previous break, yet somehow, you found it made him even more attractive. A rogue volleyball sent him your way - and his charming smile and sense of humour had you ready to exchange your phone number with him within a matter of seconds. 

Bradley had been stationed at NAS Norfolk, and, like most people, wanted to enjoy his day off away from work. He and a couple of his naval buddies had headed to the beach for the day, similarly to you, and the rest was history. To a 21 year old, the prospect of dating a 32 year old seemed so appealing - so rebellious and thrilling. Bradley was immature for his age, a side effect of growing up way too quickly as a young teenager, needing to care for his mother when she became sick, and doing so until her unfortunate passing four years later. He was only fifteen at the time, and suddenly was left relatively on his own - moving in with his grandmother while he finished high school, but venturing out on his own by the time he reached his eighteenth birthday. 

Your thoughts of your time with Bradley would come and go, especially now as your wedding to Jake approached. It made sense to you, the reminders of a failed marriage encroaching in on you as you prepared for another marriage to begin. You just continued to push them aside, reminding yourself that Jake was not Bradley, and Bradley would never be Jake. They were two completely opposite people - Jake was better at treating you like a princess, the way you were always accustomed to growing up, while Bradley was better at the silly little things, the affectionate kisses stolen whenever no one was around to see, a protective hand on your hip at all times. Jake excelled where Bradley had lacked, but the same could be said the other way around too. Not that you wanted to even think about that. Bradley was the last thing you wanted to think about. 

You bounded down the winding staircase to find your parents seated at the breakfast table, your younger sister, Kylie tucking into a bowl of cereal as she sat next to your empty seat. Your father’s stern expression as he read the paper, something you tried to tell him that no one did anymore since the advent of tablets and e-readers, was a sign to you that he too was stressed. You knew he worried about your marriage to Jake being another waste of money and resources, but this time you were sure, you told yourself. You assured him that history wouldn’t repeat itself. 

“Good morning, darling,” your mother’s voice rang out in a sing-song fashion, “have a good conversation with Jake this morning?”

“We heard you gushing to him over the phone up there,” Kylie quipped, grinning as she spooned some more cereal into her mouth.

“I wasn’t gushing. I was simply returning the affection he was giving.”

“You and Jake make me sick,” Kylie scoffed, shaking her head, “I don’t remember Bradley being this nauseating.”

“Bradley,” you snapped, “wasn’t good at anything when it came to matters of the heart. All he cared about was flying planes and having a good time. What kind of a husband is that?”

“A fun one,” Kylie muttered as she avoided your mother’s death glare. 

“Jake’s wonderful to your sister, Kylie. You know that. He’s just wonderful.”

“Yeah, yeah, the sun shines out of his ass and everything,” your fifteen year old sister piped up, grinning. 

“Mom, please tell me why you decided to give me a sibling when I was 15. I didn’t need it. I was fine being an only child.”

“Will you two just cut it out? You both sound like incessant children,” Your father grumbled as he finished the last dregs of coffee from his cup.

“I gotta go,” Kylie said before standing abruptly and dropping her bowl into the sink with a thud, “Meeting my friends at the ferry port. We’re going shopping for the day.”

Your father nodded his head in approval, an incoherent mumble coming from his direction as he continued to read the paper. Your mother waved Kylie off, smiling as she sent her on her way, as if she’d just dropped her off at school for her first day of kindergarten. The attention then turned back to you, something you were dreading, because it felt like all anyone in your family wanted to talk about anymore to you was…

“I want to talk about Bradley, darling.”

Shit.

“What about him?”

“You should know, we saw him the other day.”

“Oh? How lovely for you.”

“He’s grown into quite the responsible young man.”

“That’s fantastic, mother. Is that why Kylie’s so in love? Tell her to wait three years, I’m sure he’d be open to dating her when she turns eighteen.”

Your mother scolded you almost immediately for your comment, and you had to admit, as soon as it left your mouth, you regretted saying it. In fact, Bradley had been so nervous about the eleven year gap that you and him had shared, that you were almost positive he’d never date someone under thirty now. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just on edge.”

“Well, Jake’ll be home soon enough.”

“On our wedding day, yeah. I’ll see him then.”

“Exactly! Bradley wished you well. He said he’s glad you’re happy now.”

“I’m sure he is, Mom.”

You shook your head in disbelief before getting up, setting your unused plate and cup in the sink out of habit. You sighed and grabbed your purse from the hook where it sat by the door, slipping into your shoes.

“I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back.”

“Alright, when you come home we’ll finalize your seating arrangements and the minor details for Saturday!”

You hurried out the door and sighed, taking in a deep breath of the salty ocean breeze as you tried to find some clarity. You hated knowing that Bradley was this close to you, but you knew the odds of seeing him again were close to zero. San Diego was a huge city, and he could be stationed at any number of bases in the area, or none at all. He could be visiting for all you knew. You resolved to not worry about it - whatever Bradley did hadn’t been your business for nearly a decade. He might have been remarried with children by now for all you knew. 

As you headed down the street towards Orange Ave. to check out the shopping district for some retail therapy, you furrowed your brow. Something just didn’t feel right. You couldn’t describe what it was, but something was definitely off. 

Now settled into a booth at the coffee shop in the heart of Coronado, you flipped through your Instagram feed, scrolling past selfie after selfie, accomplishments of your high school and college peers on display with no discretion as to what was shared. So-and-so’s son took their first bowel movement on the potty? It was posted as vital information for anyone interested in her life to know. Your college roommate’s brother’s dog died? Documented for everyone who followed her to see. 

You looked up from your phone when you heard a familiar voice. The voice of someone from your past. You knew that voice anywhere. 

“I’m telling you, she still lives here. I know she does. I checked her social media. If they want me to document her wedding to this poor bastard, I’m going to do it. I’m just going to hate every second of it when I do.”

Bob Floyd, in the flesh. 

Bob had been a classmate of yours at Old Dominion - he was one of the few who entered into the realm of Journalism. His drive and passion for telling the truth was admirable, a quality he always strove to make his best-known trait throughout the four years you’d spent at school together. Bob was sweet towards you, understanding and sympathetic towards your craving for normalcy in a life that was, by most people’s standards, anything but normal. He’d supported your need for an escape from your life in California at the time, which was something you were always grateful to him for. 

“Who lives here?” You piped up, your interest piqued as you overheard Bob’s conversation with his female companion. 

“Hey! Just the gal I was looking for. How have you been?”

“Fine,” you responded bitterly as you sipped your drink, the ice in the plastic cup rattling as your hand moved. 

“I s’pose you overheard all that?”

“I did indeed. I didn’t realize my wedding to Jake was worthy of your attention.”

“It’s not that - I write for a magazine, they sent me here to cover it.”

“They sent you? Despite the fact I’ve requested no media coverage?”

“Your request for no coverage just made a target for you - now everyone wants to cover it. They’re fighting left right and center out there for a chance to even get near the venue. I only got out here because I know the area from when I came to visit that time. And because I follow you on your Instagram. Did you know your posts aren’t all privated?”

“Forgive me for assuming that there was some human decency to be had out there.”

“You studied Journalism. You know better than anyone else that it’s a dying art form.”

“What do you want, Bob?”

“An exclusive story centering on you and your new husband to be, and the luxury of being the only one to cover your wedding. Trust me, I’m the reporter you’d want covering it. I know you already and know how exactly to portray you. And how to avoid a lawsuit for slander or libel, which just becomes messy later down the line.”

You sighed, looking at your cup for a moment before meeting his gaze once again.

“Fine. But only if your little friend here keeps her mouth shut about it outside of a professional scope.”

“Deal,” the brunette standing beside him replied, smiling politely as she nodded her head. You couldn’t help but get the sense that there was more to it than just wanting to advance his career, but you didn’t have time to think about that, or even to care, really.

An hour later, Bob and his female friend, whose name you’d already forgotten, were following you up the marble steps of your family home. You had every intention of living with Jake, as soon as he returned from his deployment. You technically did live with him, but with this most recent shipment out and the memories of your previous marriage flooding back to you, you knew it was in your best interest to stay with your parents for a while, at least until Jake returned home. 

As you headed inside, you heard Kylie babbling from the other room. You could just barely make out the sound of the person she was talking to, the distinct baritone sounds and unique lilt something you know you’ve heard before. Something you’d hoped you’d never have to hear again. 

Bradley.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You spat out angrily, your eyes darting between Kylie and Bradley for some sort of explanation. 

“Your sister invited me,” Bradley shrugged, as if the invitation extended to him by his teenage ex-sister in law was enough of a reason to intrude. 

“Kylie, why the fuck did you invite him?”

“He’s your ex-husband. I thought he should see who you’re marrying now.”

“That’s not how this works, Ky.”

“Listen, I’m just saying, maybe he’d like to meet Jake. Besides, are we really gonna ignore the random guy standing behind you looking like some kind of Clark Kent knockoff?” Kylie quipped, making a vague gesture in Bob’s direction.

“This is Robert Floyd, we went to college together. He’s here to cover the wedding. And…,” you began, once again blanking on the name of his colleague who awkwardly stood in your kitchen, observing the impromptu, uncomfortable reunion.

“Meghan.” She nodded, offering a polite wave, the only non-hostile look currently being exchanged in the room. 

“Right, sorry. Meghan is his colleague. She does the video and photography component to his writing.” 

Kylie raised a skeptic eyebrow as she looked Bob up and down, the lack of trust towards him evident on her face. To Meghan, she gave a sidewards glance, almost as if she was challenging her to ruin the wedding in some way, while also delivering it in the form of an unspoken threat. Bradley cleared his throat as he glanced at you, his amber coloured eyes widened with shock and surprise as he realized what was unfolding in front of him.

“Can I talk to you? In private?” His voice was sheepish and shy as he spoke, a far cry from the Bradley you’d once been married to.

“If you must.”

Bradley excused himself from the group circle that had now formed in your kitchen before politely escorting you into the backyard of your family home. It wasn’t exactly away from prying eyes and eavesdropping friends and sisters, but it offered enough of a shield that Kylie couldn’t interject her own opinions and thoughts into the conversation, as she so often liked to do. 

“What’s his name?”

“Jake.” 

“Last name?”

“What does it matter to you?”

“Just answer.”

“No?”

“Is it Seresin?”

“Why, Bradley? So what if it is?”

Bradley lets out an exhausted sigh, a hint of something that you’d swear was disappointment if you didn’t know any better was evident on his face as he shook his head.

“I know him.”

“Ok, and?”

“You don’t understand. I’m his commanding.”

“Ok…and?”

“So, every time he gets sent off somewhere, you’re going to have one more reason to hate me.”

“I don’t need any more reasons, Bradley. Believe me, our one year of marriage provided me with plenty.”

Bradley rolled his eyes, shaking his head with another sigh before looking up towards the sky. The southern Californian sunshine cascading down on him, creating a halo-like glow over his sun-kissed face. His hair had the slightest hint of age to it, the odd whitish-grey hair scattered throughout his curls, which were considerably less noticeable than they once were. A handful of scars dotted his face, a couple of varying slashes across his chin, neck and cheek, as well as one on his nose, just below the characteristic bump that you’d noticed that first day you met him. He’d aged remarkably well for someone that was fast approaching his fortieth birthday at the end of the month. 

“I never wanted you to hate me, ok?”

“Oh? You did it without even trying then, congratulations.”

“Look, can’t I just be supportive of you and happy for you without an ulterior motive?”

“No. I don’t believe you can.” 

You shook your head furiously before laughing in pure disbelief at what was taking place. Your wedding was in approximately thirty-six hours now, and you felt as though with the return of both Bob and Bradley into your life, everything was beginning to unravel around you, coming undone with every passing second.

“Honey! I’m home!” 

Jake’s cheerful Texas drawl echoed throughout the house. You rounded the staircase, running so fast down the stairs that you were sure you’d fall and land on your ass on your way down if you weren’t careful. You practically leapt into his arms, enveloping him in a hug as he held you tightly, hugging you close. You smiled as you breathed in his scent, using Jake’s presence to drown out any memory or feeling you may have felt for Bradley come creeping back on you.

“You’re early!” 

“I managed to get home a little sooner than anticipated. I still expect you to stay put right here though. Bad luck to see my bride on the wedding day, you know.”

“Please, no one believes in that anymore.” 

“I sure do! I’m not taking any chances, darlin’,” Jake said as he gently pressed his lips to your cheek, his kiss soft and sweet as his lips lingered on your skin.

Bob emerged from the living room, a broad smile on his face as he pushed his glasses up further on his nose, a pen tucked behind his ear neatly. His baby blue polo shirt was perfectly pressed, paired with a neat pair of khaki coloured pants, a look that screamed professional, but also golf course appropriate. He essentially fit in perfect with the other non-military men on Coronado - the wealthy, put-together, business men who spent Fridays out of the home office and out on the golf course, forwarding their calls to an answering machine or their secretary.

“You must be the infamous Lieutenant Seresin, I’m Bob, I’ve been sent by StarGaze to cover the wedding. It’s basically all anyone on social media is talking about,” Bob extended his hand to Jake, offering a firm handshake as he introduced himself.

“Please, call me Jake. I’m only Lieutenant Seresin if I’m in trouble for somethin’, I’m Jacob even less often, my mama only calls me that if I’ve well and truly fucked up. I’ve been Jake my entire life.”

“Right, Jake. Got it.” 

“You two know one another already?” Jake quizzed, raising an eyebrow at how at ease you were around Bob, and at the fact Bob was already in your parents’ house, getting to know your wedding and it’s surrounding background information.

“We went to Old Dominon together.”

“Oh, classmates! Got it. Listen, you don’t mind if I steal her for a sec, do ya? You see, Bob, I haven’t seen my girl here in close to three months. I missed her.”

“Of course not,” Bob offered his hands up in reassurance, “I completely understand. I have some more questions for the bride’s family anyways. Nice meeting you.”

“Nice to meet ya too!” Jake nodded as Bob walked off, gesturing behind him towards Bob with his thumb, “He seems nice, babe.”

“I don’t trust his motives.”

“Now, how come? Not everyone’s out to ruin the big day, darlin’. Maybe just Kylie, but I think her heart’s in the right place. She just doesn’t think I’m good enough for her big sister. And I don’t blame her. I don’t think I’m good enough for her big sister either. But thank the good Lord, Kylie and I are wrong, right?”

“Right,” you agreed with a half-hearted chuckle.

“That’s my girl.”

This time, when Jake called you his girl, you didn’t get the butterflies in your stomach like you usually did. You felt a sting of sadness come over you, as if you were disappointed that you were his girl. Or at least, that part of you was. You tried your best to shove those thoughts aside, chalking it up to the trauma response of seeing Bradley again for the first time in eight years, the whole event sending you into some kind of mental tailspin that you were struggling to pull yourself out of. 

The morning carried on as usual - breakfast at the table as a family, now joined by Jake, Bob and Meghan, with awkward, uncomfortable shifting glances whenever Bradley was mentioned by name. You noticed that Meghan continued to gaze at Bob, long after he’d finished a thought, as if she hung on every syllable of each word that came out of him. You observed how she stole glances at him every few seconds, a look of loving, longingness in her eyes. You could tell that to her, Bob was the only thing that mattered. 

In the garden, after breakfast, you took it upon yourself to head to the venue of your wedding - Hotel Del Coronado, one of the most historic, iconic landmarks in the area, and arguably, in the Southern half of the state. Your entourage of sorts - your mother, Kylie, Bob, Meghan and Jake, followed along with you, each planning to take on a different role when you arrived there. You and Jake planned to oversee the layout of the chairs for the seating plan, ensuring everything was in the correct place, while your mother followed behinded with placecards, neatly folded with each guest’s name embossed in golden script on off-white cardstock. 

Bob made a few notes on his phone, typing furiously whenever he saw something that piqued his interest, while Meghan snapped photos of varying aspects of the day - photos of you and Jake, photos of the placecards, the decorations, the seating plan - anything and everything that could be of use. At this point you almost wondered why your parents were paying for a photographer at all, when Meghan was clearly going to fit the bill without payment from your parents - all for a magazine spread that would go on for a maximum of six pages.

You furrowed your brow as you noticed Kylie approaching Bob, speaking in hushed tones as she looked in your direction, as if she wanted to make you nervous. You didn’t trust your younger sister to stop meddling in your relationships - you were happy with Jake. You were comfortable with Jake. You didn’t want to even entertain the idea of someone else at this point. Jake was it. He was your end game. You were sure of it.

That was, until, Bradley had wandered back into your life yesterday. As much as you hated him, loathed him, in fact, something kept nagging at you. Almost as if it was some part of you trying to reel you back into him. Demanding you to leave Jake before you married him, telling you to give Bradley another chance. You scoffed at the notion - there was no way in hell you’d give Bradley Bradshaw a second chance. He didn’t deserve it. 

Taking a deep breath, you turned to refocus your attention back to the wedding plans that were underway. Jake gave you a soft smile of reassurance, as if he sensed some sort of apprehension on your face as he watched you. Giving your hand a gentle squeeze - God, his hands were able to practically swallow yours whole, making you feel an overwhelming sense of protection - Jake led you towards the head table. He turned you to face the rest of the room, the way you’ll be seated in just 24 hours.

“Well, Darlin’, does this look alright to you?” He pondered, his accent thick as honey as he spoke.

“Yeah, looks good to me,” you started, before something at the back corner of the room caught your eye.

Jake approached Bradley, his eyebrows raised in a mixture of surprise and delight, almost honored that his commanding officer had come to wish him well the day before his impending nuptials. Jake’s grin broadened as he approached, his arms spread wide in a gesture of pleased disbelief as he saw him. 

“Captain Bradshaw? What are you doing here, sir?”

Captain? 

“Oh, I just wanted to come by and wish you all well,” Bradley started, a hint of anxiety in his normally calm, cool and collected composure.

“Well, thank you, sir, we appreciate it!” Jake said as a smile broader than the San Diego Bay appeared on his face, “Where are my manners? This is my beautiful fiancée, and darlin’, this is Captain Bradley Bradshaw, callsign,”

“Rooster,” you interrupted, finishing Jake’s sentence.

“Y’all know each other already?”

“Sort of, yeah. Only met briefly a few times. We lived near one another in Virginia, partied in similar circles, that kinda thing.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Bradley said, trying not to appear crestfallen as you brushed your history together off so easily. 

Jake, ever the crowd-pleaser, but not always the most perceptive of men, smiled, seemingly unaware of the awkward tension that now brewed between you and Bradley. Bob, noticing Bradley’s presence, approached, offering a polite smile, as if he was certain there was no way your ex would possibly remember him, trying to provide gentle distraction from the uncomfortable atmosphere that was now brewing.

“Lieutenant Seresin, could I steal you for a minute? I have a few questions for you about the wedding and would like to get them out of the way now before things become too…chaotic, so to speak.”

“Of course, you alright with that, honey?” Jake said, looking to you for approval.

“Mhmm, go ahead, I’ll be here.”

“I’ll keep her company,” Bradley nodded simply, trying to mask any excitement he might have at the prospect of spending time alone with you. 

Once Jake and Bob had disappeared from earshot, you noticed that your mother and Kylie had gone outside for a coffee break, while Meghan was preoccupied with finding the perfect lighting to capture the romance of the room, fiddling with the drapery and curtains just so to find the balance of sunlight she wanted. You let out a sharp exhale before grabbing Bradley by the collar of his khaki coloured uniform, dragging him off to a secluded corner. Bradley’s eyebrows raised as he smirked at you, giving an uncomfortable chuckle as he watched your cheeks burn red in frustration.

“You’re still cute when you’re frustrated, you know.”

“Shut up. Why the hell are you here, Bradshaw?”

“I wanted to wish Jake good luck on being married to you. Believe me, he’ll need it,” Bradley fired back, a wicked grin forming from his plump lips, “Although, clearly he has no idea.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way, Lieutenant.”

“It’s Captain, actually. I got two promotions while we were apart. I actually could be aiming for Rear Admiral by the end of the year the way I’m going.”

“Congratu-fucking-lations. Should I be dropping my panties for you now?”

“Actually, I-”

“I was being sarcastic. You can get fucked, Bradley. Get lost.”

“If you’d let me finish-”

“Funny, I seem to remember you doing that in about three seconds before. Surprised you haven’t finished yet.”

“You’re such a stubborn bitch, you know that?” Bradley quipped, shaking his head as he threw his hands up in exasperation at you.

“Fuck you.”

“Listen, I came to say I was sorry.”

“You’re what?”

“Sorry. I owe you an apology for how I was as a husband. I hope Jake treats you better than I did.”

“He does, thank you.”

“Kylie told me he wasn’t right for you, I was worried you were going to get yourself hurt again. I’m glad I was wrong.”

“Why the fuck are you listening to anything my fifteen year old sister has to say?”

“Because, like it or not, she was sort of the little sister I never had. You seem to forget I was an only child who was orphaned by the time I was her age. You and your family were the only thing closest to a family I’ve ever had, and I fucked it up.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Well, at least we have that we can agree on.”

Bradley shook his head in frustration and heaved a heavy sigh, looking down at his feet. In this moment, you didn’t see the asshole of an ex-husband that you hated for treating you like an afterthought at every moment. Instead in his place stood the vulnerable aviator you’d fallen in love with - sweet and sensitive, trying to find humour in an otherwise awful situation. His  caramel toned eyes looked to you as if asking for forgiveness, but there was something else about the way he looked at you. 

It was the same way Jake did. Full of love and adoration, admiring everything he saw before him in you. You held your hand up against Bradley’s chest to create space between you both. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t break Jake’s heart like this, and you couldn’t let anything grow between you and Bradley - there was no way. Bradley’s heartbroken stare was all it took for you to leave the room in a hurry, fighting off the tears that now threatened to fall from your eyes.

You ran out of the hotel, making it to the solace and serenity of the beach. You sat on the sand, hugging your knees to your chest as you sobbed, unable to hold up the front you’d created anymore. You couldn’t bear it any longer. Jake was perfect. He was everything you’d ever wanted Bradley to be. But Bradley was Bradley.

Bradley was that perfectly imperfect, impossible to live with because he drove you crazy, asshole. You hated that you still loved him, but you knew part of why you hated him was because you never stopped. Part of you always hoped he’d come after you when you filed for divorce, trying to win you over and get you to call it off. It never happened, but you could only hope that it didn’t happen because you’d made it clear to him that you didn’t want him - a lie that you told yourself to feel better about your world coming crashing down when you were still so young. 

“Are you ok? You ran out of there like your ass was on fire.”

You quickly wiped your eyes with the back of your hand and looked up to see Bob standing beside you. He sat down next to you, gently placing a hand on your shoulder as he sighed softly. His sapphire-blue eyes looked at you, full of concern and worry for the person he once considered his close friend. 

“Bradley left just about as fast as you did. Thankfully I’m the only one who saw. Other than maybe Meghan.”

“God, I just, I’m so, stupid. What am I doing?”

“You mean why are you marrying Jake when Bradley’s clearly still in love with you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“On Bradley’s part? Absolutely. Jake’s not too smart if he hasn’t figured that one out yet.”

“He won’t say anything even if he has. He’s too nice. He’s…he’s perfect.”

“You’re saying that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“It might be? I mean, I think he expects me to be perfect. I think he thinks I’m some angel who’s been Heaven sent to him. I don’t think he knows anything about me.”

“Is that his fault though?”

“No. I haven’t been entirely…honest?”

“You mean he doesn’t know you were married before?”

“Well, he thinks it was an engagement. Doesn’t know it was Bradley.”

“Right,” Bob sighed, shaking his head, “And you think Jake would be upset if he found out?”

“I think he’d pretend he was fine and just let it go but it would always eat away at him.”

“And you think he wouldn’t love you anymore if you told him the truth?”

“I think…I think he would struggle through it.”

“Can I be honest?”

“Please,” you nodded slowly, sniffling as you hoped Bob could provide you with the sense of clarity you so desperately needed right now.

“If you’re that worried about it, Jake isn’t right for you. He’d love you anyways. Unconditionally. Isn’t that what this whole marriage thing is about anyway?”

You sat silently as your mind raced, going over what Bob had just shared with you. You shook your head adamantly and sighed. 

“I can’t break his heart.”

“Then you need to break Bradley’s. You can’t let Bradley keep coming back in.”

“It really has to be one or the other, doesn’t it?”

“‘Fraid so, unless you want the unexpected third option.”

“The what?”, you blinked slowly at Bob, the confusion evident on your face as you slowly raised your eyebrows, “Oh God, not you too, Bob.”

Bob sheepishly laughed, raising his hand in a wave of surrender towards you.

“Seriously?”

“Since college, yeah. I was over it, but then when I saw you again yesterday, it all came flooding back, and…I mean, I know all there is to know about you, and it didn’t scare me off. That counts for something, right?”

“Bobby, I can’t.”

Bob shook his head and sighed softly, He looked behind him, ensuring no one was around to see before placing his hand on your cheek. He gently brushed your hair back off your shoulder, stroking your soft skin as he spoke, his voice just above a whisper. 

“You’re wonderful. You know that? You might be a stubborn pain in the ass who can’t make up her mind about what she wants in life, and you might be in the perfect position to break three men’s hearts tomorrow morning, but I think you’re wonderful anyway.”

Bob’s words were enough to make your head spin, trying to wrap itself around the idea of Bob being unconditionally in love with you. You weren’t sure what you were going to do at this point. That was, until you felt Bob’s lips press against yours in the gentlest, most tender kiss you’d ever received. Your eyes fluttered closed as you kissed him, returning the sweet gentleness he’d given to you. As he pulled away, you bit your bottom lip and shook your head, tears welling in your eyes, threatening to cascade over your cheeks.

“Bobby, I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” he shook his head, laughing slightly to himself as he looked up at you, his deep blue eyes now wet with his own tears. “It was worth a shot, right?”

“You know, I know someone who’d probably be over the moon if you kissed her the way you just kissed me. I can tell by the way she looks at you, it’s…it’s as if you’re the only person in the world who matters.”

“Who?”

“Meghan. She hasn’t been able to take her eyes off you since I met her yesterday. Every time I see her, she’s stealing glances at you and looking to you, hanging on your every word as if you’re the most important person in the world. I think you’d make her really happy. And, I think she’d make you really happy too.”

Bob nodded slowly, looking back towards the hotel. He let out another sigh and raised his eyebrow, chuckling to himself.

“How do we end up in situations like this?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Bob rose to his feet, offering you his hand as he helped you stand up again. He smiled at you again - a genuine, caring smile.

“For what it’s worth, I think Bradley really does still love you. I don’t think he’s dumb enough to make the same mistake twice, if that’s your only reason. On the other hand though, anyone with eyes can tell Jake’s crazy about you. I don’t think he’d turn his back on you if you told him the truth about you and Bradley, but he might put in for a transfer to another base. I know I’d want to if my wife’s ex-husband was my supervisor, you know?”

“Fuck, I wish there was an easy solution to this.”

“There is, isn’t there?”

“What? No matter what I do, someone gets hurt.”

“What solution makes you happiest though? That’s your answer.”

Bob headed back up the sandy beach towards the hotel, leaving you to sit alone with your thoughts, stewing over them as you watched the waves crashing onto the shoreline. You hated this. You hated that you let yourself fall into a position where someone would be devastated by a choice you made, and you hated yourself for still feeling something for Bradley, when you so desperately wanted to feel nothing. You hated how despite how passionately Jake loved you, how deeply and madly infatuated he was with you, you couldn’t help but think that he didn’t love you. He simply loved the idea of you. He loved what he saw you as, what he wanted you to be in his heart of hearts, but not the real person behind it all. You couldn’t help but feel torn as you agonized over the right thing to do.

On one hand, if you choose Jake, life would run smoothly for your family and friends, you and Jake would own a beautiful house somewhere, funded almost entirely by the generous wedding gift from your parents, and you’d raise an army of kids, likely all with Jake’s golden blonde hair and bright, piercing green eyes. Jake would be happy. He’d be ecstatic. You’d be happy too, you were sure of it, even if it didn’t come right away to you.

On the other hand, there was Bradley. Bradley was complicated. He was wild and fun, and he made you feel things you never felt before. He was careless and reckless at times, immature and unable to act the part of the adult he was supposed to be, but you could tell he’d grown into the man you wanted him to be over the last eight years. He’d become the man you needed, whether intentionally or not. You could see yourself giving Bradley another chance, trying this marriage thing all over again with him, despite any fears of history repeating itself. Bradley may not want a family, but you could see yourself being happy even without that now. You knew Bradley had the ability to make you happy, and to love you in a way that no one else could, despite all your fears about being with him again.

You checked your phone, chewing your bottom lip nervously as you noticed the time. In eighteen hours, you were expected to walk down the aisle and marry somebody. And until today, you were so sure of who that somebody was. Now, you were sure of just one thing. You needed to talk. 

Inside, you found Jake, who was throwing his jacket on, a harried expression on his face vanishing when he saw you again. He breathed a sigh of relief, as he pulled you in for a hug. 

“I was worried about you, Meghan said you ran out? Is everything alright?”

“Hmm? Yeah, yeah. I, uh, I just need to talk to you about something.”

Jake’s smile fell as he quietly guided you over to the side of the room, his touch gentle as he grasped at your arm, still gently holding on to your elbow as he waited for you to begin explaining everything. 

“Jake,” you started, trying to avoid eye contact with him, knowing for sure that one look into those sea green eyes of his would be enough to make you go back on everything you’d decided.

“You don’t want to marry me anymore, do you?” He said defeatedly, looking at you for a moment, “God, if you’re going to call it off, please have the decency to look me in the eye when you do it.”

“Jake, it’s not like that, I swear.”

“What’s it like then? Because all I’m seeing is my fiancée calling off our wedding hours before it happens.”

“Look, I’m not the girl you think I am, ok?”

“Is this about Bradley?”

“What?”

“I know about Bradley.”

“You do?”

“He told me everything. Why didn’t you tell me he was your ex? And why did you tell me that nothing happened with you two? You told me you and your ex never made it down the aisle - you were married to Bradley for a full year.”

“I know, I know. I got scared, ok?” You snapped back, shaking your head as hot tears rolled down your face.

“Scared of what?!”

“I was scared you wouldn’t love me anymore if you found out! I was scared you’d leave me and that I’d get my heart broken twice because of Bradley.”

“You seriously thought I wouldn’t love you? Do you hear yourself? Do you even know me at all?”

“Jake, please!” You pleaded, knowing it was no use. You couldn’t blame him for being hurt. He knew all too well what was coming, and he had every right to be upset by it all.

“Jake, I am not the perfect woman you thought I am. I can’t be her. You and I can have the dream house, and adorable children and the perfect wedding, but we’ll never be truly happy. You deserve to be happy. I can’t be the one to do it for you though.”

“So this is it, huh?” Jake sighed, shaking his head as he looked away, wiping his eye with his finger to try and hide his tears.

“I’m so sorry,” was all you could get out of you. 

“Me too,” Jake said as he nodded his head sadly. “I’ll put in for a transfer in the morning. I can’t be here. Not under him anyways.”

As Jake headed for the door, he turned back to you, tears in his now bloodshot eyes.

“I hope he makes you happy. I really do. You deserve it. I’m sorry I couldn’t be it for you.”

With that, the door shut behind Jake. You slumped down into a chair in the empty reception hall, crying heavily as you put your head in your hands, shaking it as you admonished yourself for ruining everything, potentially for a man who might not even love you still after all. As you sat there and cursed yourself for your shortcomings as a prospective wife and human being, you heard the voice of someone behind you.

“Now I hope you don’t mean all that. You and I both know, it wasn’t your fault our marriage fell apart.”

You lifted your head up to see Bradley pulling up a seat beside you. He reached out and swiped a couple of teardrops off of your cheek, stroking your face gently with his thumb in an effort to comfort you. He pulled you in tightly for a hug, holding you close as you fell apart in his arms. You felt Bradley’s hand caressing your hair, his fingers tangling themselves in it with a level of care you never expected to feel from him again. He held you as you cried into his uniform, shaking your head against the fabric of his shirt, a mixture of tears and snot now dampening his shoulder.

“Shhh, it’s ok. I’m here,” Bradley soothed, nodding his head as he pressed his lips to your forehead, “I’m right here.”

“Bradley, I ruined my life.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. You just refused to settle in an unhappy marriage. It’s admirable really. You know what you want out of life, and you don’t settle for less. It’s why you left me, wasn’t it?”

“I wasn’t unhappy.”

“You were, but that’s ok. I was a shitty husband. I didn’t know how to be a good one. I didn’t have much to go off of.” 

“I expected too much of you.”

“No,” Bradley asserted, shaking his head. “I didn’t give you what you deserved. I wasn’t man enough to be a good husband to you, and even worse, I wasn’t man enough to admit when I fucked it up. I made you feel like you were less than perfect, and it wasn’t true.”

“I’m not perfect though, Bradley.”

“You’re perfect for me. You always have been.”

Bradley’s hand guided your face upwards to look at him. His warm caramel coloured eyes met your gaze, and for the first time in the last couple of days, you felt home. You felt at peace for the first time in a long time, because you knew it wasn’t forced. You weren’t forcing yourself to be happy and comfortable and relaxed because you were with someone everyone told you was perfect. You were happy and comfortable and relaxed because you knew you were with someone who was perfect, in his own imperfect little way. 

Bradley’s lips crashed into yours, locking you into a passionate kiss, the kind that sweeps you off your feet, tingles in your toes and sends butterflies fluttering through your stomach. It was electrifying as he held you close, his hand resting on the back of your head as he continued to kiss you with a fervor and passion you hadn’t felt in a long time. When you finally broke apart, coming up for air after what felt like a blissful eternity, your eyes met once again, and Bradley couldn’t help but laugh.

“I swear to you, if you let me remarry you tomorrow, I will do everything I can, I’ll move fucking mountains and Heaven and Earth and all that shit just to prove to you that I can be the husband you need me to be. You want kids? Honey, I’ll give you as many of my babies as you want. You want me to retire from the Navy? I’ll give my notice in immediately after the wedding. Name it and it’s yours, baby girl. Just tell me what I gotta do.”

Your heart swelled at the sound of Bradley’s voice, hearing him offer everything he had and then some in order to make you happy was all you needed. You threw your arms around his neck, smiling to yourself through your tear stained cheeks as you felt Bradley’s hands firmly grip your waist.

“Nothing. I don’t need anything. I’d give all that up if it meant I could have you.”

“Really? All of it, huh? Listen, I just really want you to know how serious I am about this. I’m not about to make the same dumbass mistake twice. I’m not going to let you go again. I’ll do whatever it takes for you to be happy. I promise.”

“I know you will. That’s all I need.”

“I, Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw, take thee, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part. This is my solemn vow.”

“Now, by the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

As Bradley's lips pressed against yours, every doubt and worry seemed to melt away. His embrace felt like home, a place where you belonged completely. In his arms, you found comfort and peace from the tumultuous journey that led you both back to each other. The years of separation and heartache faded into insignificance as you surrendered to the overwhelming love that now enveloped you both. You knew this time would be different, that together you could conquer any obstacle that came your way, that Bradley adored you and loved you with all of his heart, and that he planned on never letting a second go by where you thought otherwise. With renewed faith in your love, you were ready to embrace the future, hand in hand with Bradley, knowing that this time, nothing could tear you apart.

[are-we-really-doing-this]

Pro Wrestling Illustrated, May 2006

The Wrestling Forecaster: C.M. Punk

(@selamat-linting here you go broski)

WHAT’S AHEAD FOR THE REMAINDER OF 2006?

Punk started 2006 with one strike against him. In the summer of 2005, Punk signed a WWE contract and was brought up for a dark match, where he was managed by Alexis (Mickie James) Laree. The promoters had high expectations for Punk, especially since he was coming into WWE after a spectacular run in Ring of Honor. For whatever reason, the WWE front office wasn’t impressed with Punk’s match. Punk was sent down to OVW, cooling him off after the hottest period in his career. That means Punk still has an awful lot to prove in 2006. He has conquered the indy world and won over the legions of Internet fans and tape-traders who constitute the core ROH audience. But that just means he’s a big fish in a small pond. Succeeding in WWE is an entirely different prospect. Punk is leaner and less chiseled than most WWE competitors, and the fans may not know what to make of him at first. That’s why Punk needs to make an immediate impact if he hopes to make it there. After continuing to earn rave reviews in OVW, Punk will be called up to WWE right after WrestleMania. He will have a diva in his corner (either Maria or Candice Michelle) and will sneak-attack Randy Orton. “Everything you have was handed to you on a silver platter,” Punk will scream at the fallen Orton. “I worked my way up from nothing. I fought for every little scrap I have, and that makes me better than you.” Punk will be Orton’s biggest test since The Undertaker. While the feud will be one of the best feuds of the year, Orton will emerge victorious. 

WHERE WILL HE BE IN 2011?

As much as we would love to see Punk win the World title and usher in a new era, we just don’t see it happening. We don’t think Punk is a team player or a big corporate guy. He won’t play politics or suffer in silence when a ridiculous storyline is forced upon him. He’ll be gone from WWE by 2008 and will spend the next few years as ROH’s elder statesman. 

WHERE WILL HE BE IN 2016?

Thoroughly disillusioned with the wrestling scene, Punk will announce a semi-retirement in 2013. He will still wrestle on occasional cards around Philadelphia, but will spend most of his time fronting a new spoken word/hardcore straight-edge band. He’ll develop a hearty audience and will tour with Henry Rollins on speaking engagements and poetry slams.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Survivor Blues

Part Six: Kitchen Scraps

A/N: I feel like every single one of my author's notes begins with me screaming and apologizing for how long it took me to update the story, so pretend that's what this says. I am very excited to share this part of Survivor Blues because even though there's not a lot of action, it sets up a ton of things to come, and we get a lot more background information on Reader. From the bottom of my heart I hope you all enjoy these kitchen scraps. Thank you so much for reading!

Warnings: language, mentions of trauma, death, murder, mentions of illness, some angst but hey that comes with the territory

Word Count: 8,454

Summary: Three months into your new life in Jackson, you start to notice some changes. But how much change, and are you sure you're entirely ready for it?

June - 2037 

With the start of your third month in Jackson came a considerable number of changes. 

Your apartment, for example, began to look like someone actually lived there. 

For the first time in nearly a decade, your pack had been unpacked, your belongings given places of permanence instead of just pockets and pouches. The pair of chipped enamel camp mugs now sat side by side in the cabinet over the kitchen sink. Gavin’s stained and threadbare concert tee was folded and put away with the rest of your clothing. A hook next to the front door held your coat by the hood, the key to your place dangling on another one right beside it. The creased and tattered old envelope you’d carried with you for years that held photos and a handful of notes had been emptied and tossed. The notes, mostly from Gavin but a few from Laura and Kyle, as well as a faded old marker drawing your nephew had done for you when he was six years old, were tucked away in your bedside table.

But the photos you chose to display. 

Because they deserve to be seen. Everyday. 

You’d found some old frames in a box in the hall closet a few days after you moved in, but you weren’t ready to use them then. Now one sat atop your dresser, holding the last picture of you and Gavin taken before the outbreak - incredibly youthful faces smushed cheek to grin-split cheek, Gavin’s inked fingers holding up your wrist as you showed off the diamond ring he’d slipped onto your finger only moments before. Your engagement ring had been sold ages ago, back when you were still in the Philadelphia QZ and people still cared enough about things like diamonds to trade medicine for them. But the photo was worth more to you than a rock ever could be. 

And I still have our bands. Even though we never… 

You were never officially married, and since the bands had been hand-me-downs from Gavin’s grandparents and didn’t fit either of your fingers, you’d only ever worn them on chains around your necks. But you knew that never mattered. Not to you, and not to him. Not since the moment that picture had been taken. Not since you’d joyfully exclaimed the word yes when he asked you to be his wife. 

Another frame sat on the T.V. stand in the living room. That one held a picture of you and Laura from the summer before the outbreak, the two of you sitting on the steps outside her building, cups of brightly colored Italian ice in your hands and Kyle’s father’s arm sticking in from out of sight to add bunny ears to his girlfriend’s head. Both of you were laughing at some long since forgotten joke, but you’d always be able to hear the sound of her laughter when you looked at it. 

There was another picture taken that day, one of just Laura and Dante on those same steps. You’d taken it yourself, with Gavin’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind you as he made faces at his sister to get her to laugh. That one you didn’t have anymore, though. You’d left it with Kyle. It was the only photo you had of both of his parents. It was only right that it stay with him. 

The last two photos that you had in your possession were polaroids taken with a camera you’d found during your time at the farm. One of them was of you, Gavin, Laura and a two year old Kyle, the little boy perched on his uncle’s shoulders, the four of you standing in front of the old oak tree that his family had been taking pictures in front of for generations. Ty had been behind the camera that day, not wanting to be caught on film herself but more than happy to capture moments for the rest of you. The other was a candid she’d snapped of just you and Gavin from the same day, your hands linked together and hanging between your bodies and his face turned in your direction. The expression he wore was one of pure adoration as he watched you watching the sunset. Seconds later he was leaning in to press his lips to your temple, kissing a whisper onto your skin. 

“Love you, Sugar.” 

Memories like those didn’t belong in your backpack anymore. If you were going to build a life here, they deserved to be a part of it. 

Because they’re a part of me. 

Those two, because of their unconventional shape, didn’t fit in the 3x5 frames you’d found. But you had another option in the form of your stark white refrigerator door. Using the plain green circular magnet that had been stuck there when you arrived, you tacked up the photo of you and Gavin. The last thing that you pulled from your pack was what you used to hang the other - the rest stop souvenir magnet that Joel had given you the morning after you’d sewn up his arm. 

It was the first “new” thing you’d brought into the apartment since you moved in. The first new item in your collection of trinkets that tied you to moments and people that mattered to you. It scared the shit out of you to admit, but one of the biggest changes you’d gone through since your arrival in Jackson was allowing things to matter again. When Kyle died you thought your ability to feel anything but emptiness had died with him. You thought life, however much more of it you’d be unlucky enough to endure, would be nothing more than putting one foot in front of the other until you physically couldn’t anymore. No more laughter, no more happiness, no more warmth and certainly no more human connection. Just the hollow feeling in your skull and the involuntary drive to carry on. Left, right, left until you marched yourself into the dirt. Or worse.  

But then Joel and Tommy found you in that split-level not far from town and now here you were, with a refrigerator door decorated with things that mattered. 

You wondered if it would ever be as covered up with kitschy clutter as the one in your and Gavin’s tiny apartment. Photobooth strips and postcards, recipes that you wanted to try, either clipped from magazines or scrawled hastily on scraps of paper, a birthday card you’d gotten one year from your friend Dave that was too funny to take down, the test results from Gavin’s blood work that showed improvement after his surgery which he jokingly slapped up calling it his A+ report card. Magnets from trips you’d taken, a promotional one from your favorite dumpling place, stray letters from one of those colorful alphabet sets, objects you’d simply glued a magnetic strip to to turn into a magnet, like the little plastic stingray you found on the floor in the hallway of your building or the cork from the champagne bottle you popped when you moved in. 

Like a scrapbook. 

That was what Gavin used to call it. A memory pushed its way forward from the back of your mind as you stood there looking at your mostly bare by comparison fridge, a moment you hadn’t thought about in what felt like ages. 

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor as you scurried from the bathroom to the bedroom, fingers deftly fastening an earring before flipping the strap of your dress to lay it flat against your shoulder. The anxiety of running late and nerves about meeting extended members of Gavin’s family for the first time at his cousin’s wedding popped and jumped like corn kernels in your stomach. As a result, your thoughts tripped over themselves in your head as you stuffed your phone and a tube of lip gloss into a small purse. I still have to sign the card and - shit! The card! We need to stop at an ATM and grab cash for the card! Wait, the place is in Germantown, right?  

“Gav? Where’s the invitation? I need to check -” 

“Hung it on the scrapbook.” He followed you from the bedroom down the short, narrow hall to the kitchen as his slender fingers worked to form the knot in his tie. “Slow down, Shug, we’ve got plenty of time.” You plucked the invite from the collage you called a refrigerator door just as he finished his task, those same long digits now curling around your hips to pull you flush against his long, lean frame. When he spoke again, lips close to your ear and breath warm on your skin, you could hear the smile in his voice. “We’re not gonna be late, don’t you worry.” You closed your eyes as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You look gorgeous.” His murmured compliment made you melt, made the nerves that were just exploding inside you go calm. And then he spoke again and made you snort out a laugh. “Gonna upstage the bride.”

You turned in his arms to see the smile still on his face, his eyes shining softly as he looked at you. You rolled yours playfully, smacking his arm with the invitation as you did to draw a chuckle from his throat. “Oh, stop. I’m sure Maya is gonna be a stunning bride.” 

“Yeah.” He nodded, leaning in to nudge the tip of your nose with his. “Just not as stunning as you.” 

You wondered if you would ever again feel even a fraction of what you felt in that nearly forgotten, long buried memory. Like you were floating. Radiating love. Sure of every part of yourself. Safe in the arms and heart of a man who always put you first. Blinking at the expanse of white, powder-coated stamped steel that surrounded the two pictures and two magnets, you decided it was far more likely that you’d fill up that empty space before someone else filled the empty space in your heart. 

But… it’s not entirely impossible. 

Your focus strayed to the Wyoming magnet, a small, soft swell growing in your chest as you remembered the look on Joel’s face when he handed it to you. Maybe it was possible that you could find both here. You scoffed and shook the thought from your head before you took it too far. You knew you were in no shape for anything like that, emotionally speaking. 

The last time you’d been in anything that resembled a relationship had been a little under ten years earlier, just outside the Chicago QZ, and you’d done everything you could to keep it as stunted and strictly physical as possible. A means to an end. A way to release tensions pent up for too long, a way to feel something other than fear or pain or white hot rage or the soul sucking sadness that clawed at your throat most nights. AJ - a tall, muscular smuggler with a deep voice, far away eyes and a teenaged sister he’d shoot you dead to save if it came to that - was happy to agree to those terms. He understood you and your bricked up walls and your need to keep your broken heart behind them. He understood those things without you ever saying them because he was doing the same thing. 

It lasted three months before he ruined it by offering you more. 

“You know, Gia and I are thinkin’ ‘bout leavin’ Chicago,” he told you one night in the upstairs bedroom of the stash house he let you and your family stay in while Laura rested a badly sprained ankle. In exchange, you kept his cache of smuggled goods protected from raiders. The fucking had just been a mutual bonus. “QZ’s goin’ to shit. Think it’s time we get out for good.” 

You balked instantly at the casual way he dropped his future plans on you. Your clothes were still strewn on the floor, your bare skin still pressed to his. You were too exposed for that kind of intimacy. Shifting away from his hold you felt yourself shutdown, an icy flush running through your veins to kill whatever warmth AJ had managed to put there before he spoke. 

“Oh?” Your voice came out flat as you sat up and reached for your shirt. 

The man in the bed behind you cleared the gravel from his throat and sat up, too. “Yeah.” His large palm landed too gently on your shoulder blade, and you knew he felt it when you flinched at the sweep of his thumb, but he kept going anyway. “I was thinking maybe you’d wanna come with us.” He leaned forward and broke another rule, brushing a stubble-studded kiss to your spine. “You and Kyle and Laura, of course.” 

You stood, putting more distance between you so he couldn’t feel the way your heart was banging on your ribs, telling you it was time to pull up stakes and go. Yanking the shirt over your head, you looked at him with empty eyes and a slight shake of your head. “I don’t know why you’d think that.” You arched one eyebrow and shrugged. “That’s not what this is.” You took another step, bending down to pick up the rest of your clothes so that you could seal yourself away from him. 

He let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sigh and you heard the bed springs creak as he got up. “It could be,” he answered, reaching for your wrist in an attempt to slow you down, reel you back in, try to coax you into agreeing to let this thing between you go from bare bones and scraps to something more fleshed out and filling. You shook off his loose grip and finished getting dressed despite the click of his tongue and the low murmur of your name. “You could let it be. We can keep each other safe. I can keep you safe, and-“  

A humorless laugh escaped your lips then. “If you think I need you to keep me safe, then you don’t know a goddamn thing about me.” You shoved your feet into your boots and laced them up tight. 

“I know you don’t need it, but-” 

Wheeling on him, you cut him off. “You know what, AJ? I think this has run its course. Laura’s ankle is healed, so-“ You hardened your features against the way his face fell. “We’ll be out of your hair in the morning.” 

And you were.

AJ had tried one more time to get you to stay. One more time to tell you that he wanted you in his hair, that he wanted you in his life. But that would mean him becoming a part of yours. That would mean Gia becoming a part of yours. That would mean two more people to anchor yourself to. Two more people for you to protect. Two more people to weave themselves into the fabric of your heart, and two more people you could potentially lose, causing that fabric to tear in two more places. You’d already worn yourself ragged with responsibility and loss. You weren’t looking for more. AJ was a good man. He could have been good for you. The timing was just wrong. 

But you were safe now. There was no reason to run from companionship or intimacy now. That didn’t mean it would be easy, though. 

Like that’s ever stopped you before, you could hear Gavin tease, a smirk on his face. 

It hadn’t. You had never been one to back down simply because the task at hand might be difficult. You moved out on your own for the first time with only what you could fit in your car. You took your first kitchen job without a lick of experience. You fell head over heels in love with a man with a heart defect, knowing full and well that any chance at forever with him could be cut short by his condition and diving in anyway. Easy wasn’t really in your playbook. 

Again, it was Joel’s face that came to mind. You had no real idea what his story was when it came to relationships, you only knew that he wasn’t currently in one. And with the way you had heard some women in town speak about him when they thought only their closest friends could hear, you gathered that it was by choice. That it wasn’t something he was looking for. 

And though you were almost afraid to admit it even to yourself, a part of you already hoped that you were wrong about that. 

Another change came in the way that you interacted with people in town. For starters, you’d stopped outright avoiding eye contact and dodging conversation when walking to and from your apartment. When people came into the bakery, you smiled and found yourself chatting about things you used to talk to your customers about before the outbreak. 

“Morning, Heather! How was Kaylee’s birthday? Did she like the cupcakes?” 

“Hi, Marty. Didn’t see you yesterday when they were fresh, but I saved you some corn muffins. I know they’re Carl’s favorite.” 

“Hey Nadia, you live next to Allie and Greg, right? How are they doing with the new baby? Can you drop their order off to them on your way home?”

On patrols and trail sweeps you picked up where you left off on topics you’d previously spoken to your partners about. It was never anything truly personal aside from when you were paired with a woman named Jo who still spoke with an unmistakable Pennsylvanian accent, and you shared that you were from Philly. In an extreme case of it’s a small world afterall, she turned out to be from Glenside, a suburb just a few SEPTA stops away. The two of you had spent that shift - an overnight gate patrol - talking about restaurants, bars and other places you missed in the city. Typically you talked about books or movies or music, trading recommendations or trying to recall lyrics to songs you hadn’t heard in decades. Sometimes, like when you were paired with Jesse or one of the other younger volunteers, you brought up a movie they hadn’t heard of and you ended up summarizing or explaining it to them. Like some kind of post-apocalyptic storytime. The Tale of The Men in Black. The Saga of The Breakfast Club. The Epic of Empire Records. 

It never strayed into “opening up” territory, but you were refamiliarizing yourself with being a person again, and not just trying to stay alive for another 24 hour block of time. You were still hesitant to attend one of the Friday night gatherings at the Tipsy Bison, but you had started to eat one or two meals a week in the communal dining hall. You’d sit with people you knew and felt the most comfortable with - Evelyn from the bakery, Tommy and Maria when you saw them, Eugene or Henrik if they waved you over. You rarely saw Joel there but sometimes you caught a glimpse of Ellie surrounded by some of the other teens. You still spent most of your nights alone in your home - cooking small meals for yourself, reading, sewing patches or buttons onto things as needed - but you were trying, and that was new. 

Despite all that had changed though, some things unfortunately remained the same. The nightmares, for example, had proven far more stubborn than your crumbling resolve to not form attachments. They still woke you up every few nights, your breaths coming in greedy gasps as you worked to convince yourself that you were safe in your bed in Jackson and not tearing through the dark woods with a twelve year old Kyle’s hand clamped in your own, a pack of hunters hot on your trail. Or that Gavin hadn’t met a horrific end at the snapping jaws of a horde of infected. Or that those men hadn’t caught you in that warehouse in Kentucky and kept you chained to a mattress in a back room.

But it wasn’t the close call and what if nightmares that were the worst of them. Not by a long shot. The darkest dreams you fell victim to weren’t conjured by your fears or anxieties. They came straight from your actions and experiences. They weren’t dreams at all, just memories played back in excruciatingly high definition. Memories of the worst things you’d ever done. Reminders that you might not deserve this new lease on life. Portals to places where you’d committed the unthinkable. 

Places like that waterlogged and overgrown Walgreens where you crossed the line for the first time - where you became a murderer, taking the life of a human being who wasn’t infected. Who wasn’t even a threat to you. Your mind would floor with details from that fateful day. The squish of the moss covered floor tiles beneath your boots. The odor of rust and mildew that permeated the air. The rustle of things being knocked off a shelf and the terrified hiss of “oh, shit!” that followed. The tilt of your head as you took in the sight of the bottle gripped tightly in the dirty-fingered grasp of the woman, identifying it as the exact drug that you needed. That Gavin needed to stay alive. The way she pleaded with you on behalf of her sick son. “Please, he’s only twelve. He’ll die without them. I’ll split them with you!” The way you didn’t even blink as you shot her dead. The maraca rattle of the pills as you pried the bottle from her hand. The way that shot rang in your ears until you made it back to the farm. 

It vibrated in your lungs, even in the dreams. And when you handed the medicine to Gavin, it was written on your face clear as day for him to read. You’d told him what you’d done, waves of nausea roiling through your belly and adrenaline coursing through your blood to make your hands shake and your breathing turn to sobs and gasps. “Oh, Sugar,” he’d said, opening his arms to wrap you in them, pulling you closer to the weakening, uneven beat of his heart. “Don’t lose yourself over me.” Your hot tears soaked into the old, stained concert tee that hung baggy and loose on his frame as you clutched fistfuls of material. “It’s not worth the toll.” 

You’d tried to argue with him then, because to you, anything was worth it if it meant more time with him. Another year, another few months, fuck, even if it only bought you mere days there was nothing you weren’t willing to do for Gavin. “We both know you can’t buy me much longer,” he said, speaking calmly as he stroked his long, tattooed fingers up and down your spine. “Don’t turn yourself into something you’re not. Stay you, Sugar. Stay you and stay with me.”

In the end though, it was him that couldn’t stay, and that particular nightmare would always end with you sobbing into your pillow. Alone.  

More recently your nightmares took you to that grimey hotel room where you helped Kyle end his life. Where you killed him, your subconscious would remind you. Details you didn’t even realize you’d absorbed would come leaching out once you were asleep. The feel of the dust encrusted carpet against your sweaty, blood soaked palm. The pocked and peeling paint flaking from the walls and piling up in little heaps. The icy draft that came through the broken window to freeze the tears in your eyes. The way your nephew suddenly became so heavy as you held him. And that nagging, illogical thought that burrowed itself into the center of your brain and slammed every cell like a cymbal - He could have been immune. You don’t know that he wasn’t. 

There had always been rumors about the possibility of natural immunity to the Cordyceps infection. You’d heard the whispers whenever you moved through a place that had or previously had a Firefly presence. Genetic mutations are always possible, they’d posit. You’d always rolled your eyes and called it a hopeless hope, a pipe dream. Just something that desperate people told themselves so they could justify what they’d done or give themselves motivation to keep going. Everyone you’d ever known to be infected had turned within a day or two. You weren’t holding your breath for a miracle mutation. 

And even though it was one of the rules you and your family had written for yourselves decades ago, and even though it was what Kyle wanted, and even though you still thought it was easier than having to see your sweet, smart, funny, thoughtful nephew become a snapping, snarling monster, that thought still reverberated in your mind whenever that dream woke you up. He could have been immune. But now you’ll never know. 

There were others, too, but those were the ones that came most frequently. Those were the ones that the firewalls in your sleeping brain had no chance against, the ones there was no falling back to sleep after. 

On those nights you woke shaken and shaking, pulling yourself from the bed and turning lights on as quickly as possible to banish the things that crept into your mind. On those nights you didn’t try to find sleep again, knowing that the ache in your heart and the spike in your adrenaline wouldn’t let you. Instead you’d pad into the kitchen and do what you’d always done when you couldn’t sleep - open the cabinets and preheat the oven and bake something to take your mind off of whatever had just taken over it. 

In college, before you’d dropped out, it was blueberry muffins to distract yourself from the stress of exams. You’d bake dozens of them and give them to your friends as study fuel. On the nights following Gavin’s open heart surgery it was rye bread and cinnamon buns. You’d take them with you to the hospital when you visited him, giving them - along with your unending gratitude - to the nursing staff and doctors that worked on him. At the farm when you worried that you wouldn’t be able to keep your family safe it was potato rolls. And for the few months that you stayed in the Chicago QZ it was a modified oatmeal cookie recipe that tasted more like sugarless styrofoam due to the lack of certain ingredients, but bless their hearts, Laura and Kyle still told you they were delicious. 

Three months into your stay in Jackson, at six in the morning on your weekly day off, it was sourdough and carrot cake muffins. 

By ten o’clock you’d finished baking three loaves of bread - two of which you were planning to take to the community center to be used for meals that day - and were just getting started peeling carrots for the muffins, when there was a knock at your door. 

And as you crossed the room to answer it, wiping your hands on the dish towel that hung over your shoulder, you noticed another change - you hadn’t reached for the knife in your boot. You hadn’t even put your boots on that morning, your feet still only covered by the socks you yanked on before coming out to the kitchen. Your heart didn’t start to race. Your fingers hadn’t even twitched. You’d just heard the sound and moved to respond to it like it was normal. Like you would have before the outbreak. 

Like I would have back at home. 

Unwilling to have that conversation with yourself while someone stood waiting outside your door, you shook your head to clear your thoughts. Not now. Peeking through the view hole, you actually smiled as you saw who was on the other side. I wonder what… 

You unlocked the door and opened it. “Hey, good morning, Ellie. What are you up to? Everything alright?” 

She groaned in dramatic teenage fashion. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Except for the fact that I’m dying of boredom with these lame shifts Maria put me on this week.” 

Maria tried to keep the younger volunteers busy with tasks in the town or on the walls as often as possible, only sending them out when the schedule demanded it to relieve other patrol members, and it seemed that was what had brought Ellie to your apartment. Good. Boring is good and safe. I’m sure Joel loves boring for you, kid. 

“Oh yeah? What’s she got you doing today that’s so terrible?” 

“Compost duty.” She held up a metal pail that you hadn’t noticed at first, nose wrinkled and top lip curled. “I’m here for your rotten vegetables.”   

You let out a laugh in the form of a snort, pushing the door to open it wider. “Well they’re not rotten yet, which is kind of the point, but they’re all yours. Come on in. I’ll grab the jar, it’s in the fridge.”

Closing the door behind herself, Ellie followed you through the small living room towards the kitchen. “Ugh, it smells fucking amazing in here. Are you baking? Even on your day off? Jesus, what time did you wake up?”

You shrugged and looked back over your shoulder at her. “Yeah. You caught me.” You pointed to the counter where the loaves of sourdough sat cooling, moving aside so she could see them. “That’s what you’re smelling.” 

She groaned and slumped against the doorframe. “Oh my god those look so good. It’s making me hungry.” 

Laughing again, you pulled a serrated knife from the block on the counter. “You want a slice?” 

Her eyes lit up as she stood straight. “Are you kidding? Hell yeah I do!” You smiled and turned to saw off a hunk, the knife’s teeth scraping at the thick outer crust before sinking into the soft center. “You know, nothing against Todd or Evelyn, but the bread from the bakery is so much better now that you’re working there.” 

You chuckled, letting her compliment wash warmly over you. “Thanks, Ellie, I take my bread seriously so that means a lot to me.” You handed over the slice and she immediately took a bite. 

“Fuck,” she groaned through a mouthful, eyes rolling closed as she chewed. “So damn good!” 

“Good.” You wiped the blade off and sheathed it in the block again. “I haven't tried it yet, so thanks for helping out with quality assurance.” 

“Literally anytime,” she said around another bite. 

You smiled and already it was hard to imagine that you’d started that morning shaking and in tears. “Hey, if you’re not in a rush I’ll have even more to throw in your compost bucket if you can wait until I peel these carrots?” Picking up the peeler, you used it to gesture to the pile of vegetables on the cutting board. 

She shrugged. “No rush. Peel away.” You nodded and went to work as Ellie leaned against the countertop on the other side of the sink. “So, can I ask you a question?” 

You took a breath and considered the kind of question she might ask. “Um… sure.” 

“You were a baker, like… before, right? That’s what Joel said, and I mean -” She held up the remainder of the sourdough slice as proof. 

“I was.” You answered. “Had my own shop and everything.” 

“Okay, so then… How did you not… I mean, fuck, how do I ask this?” 

Turning in her direction you took a wild guess to help her out of her struggle. “How did I not become infected immediately since the initial cordyceps contamination was spread through flour?” 

She held up one finger, slightly gaping mouth snapping shut. “Yes, exactly.” 

You chuckled and went back to the carrots. “Mine was a little different from a regular bakery. I specialized in baking things for people with common food allergies. Eggs, wheat, dairy, things like that. So the flour I used came from a completely different source than…” You trailed off because you knew she got the picture. 

“Huh. Do you have allergies? Is that why you decided to bake like that?” 

You shook your head. “No, I don’t. I had…” You swallowed. “I knew people who couldn’t eat certain things, so I did it for them.” 

“Well…” She raised one scarred eyebrow. “I guess that was a good choice.” 

Snorting, you nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

She pushed away from the counter and stepped closer to the refrigerator, her head tilting slightly to one side as something there caught her eye. The pictures. She’s looking at… Your grip on the peeler tightened, a pulse of panic seizing you at the thought that you might have to talk about your family. That was something you hadn’t done in a long time, something that you were still just on the cusp of readiness for. Hanging the photos up for your own eyes to see was one thing. You hadn’t thought about the prospect of others in your home seeing them, too. She’s gonna ask about- 

“Hey, Joel has this same magnet.” Reaching out with her pointer finger, she tapped the one shaped like your new home state. 

He… What? You let out a breath and set the peeler on the cutting board next to the pile of long orange carrot skin curls. The flash of panic turned to flurried confusion, Ellie’s comment catching you completely off guard. He took one, too? Clearing your throat, you prepared to respond when she spoke again, this time throwing something that looked like a smirk over her shoulder at you. 

“What, were they on sale or something?” She tapped it again. “Buy one, get one- Oh, shit!” 

The press of her finger must have shifted the magnet, freeing it from the pull that held it in place. You watched as she whipped her head back around and scrambled to try to catch not only the dislodged magnet, but also the picture that was stuck beneath it. She was only successful in saving one from the ground, though, juggling the plastic piece between both hands before closing it in one fist while the polaroid fluttered to the floor. Crouching down she snatched the picture up and reattached it to the door. 

“Fuck! I’m sorry! It- I didn’t mean to…” 

It was then, as she carefully put the photo back in its place, that you noticed the recognition on her face. Like she hadn’t even really seen the picture until that moment, hadn’t noticed anything beyond the familiar magnet. She went quiet, a sadness you wished she didn’t have to know creeping into her expression as she realized that none of the people standing next to you in the photo were there in Jackson with you now. 

“Is this your family?” There was a hollow tone in her typically light and bubbly voice as she stared at the smiling faces on your refrigerator. Like she didn’t want to ask but felt some compulsion to know. Like she already knew but couldn’t keep the question on her tongue. Like she should have been able to do something to change the outcomes for the people you’d lost. 

You recognized it right away and it broke your heart to see it in her, too. The guilt. The deep dark blues of surviving when everyone you loved was gone. When everyone everyone loved was gone. Oh, Ellie. 

Though only moments before you felt panic at the prospect of talking about the people you lost, suddenly, when asked, you were filled with an overwhelming urge to tell her about them. To show her - and maybe yourself, too - that not every memory hurt. That most of them didn’t. 

“Yeah,” you answered around a bittersweet smile. “It is. From about…” You hummed. “Fifteen years ago.” Wetting your lips and blinking back the stinging threat of tears, you stepped closer to where the girl stood. “That’s my-” 

You stopped yourself because you didn’t want to choke on the word you were about to use. You’d never had to explain to anyone who Gavin was to you. For years, the only people who mattered had simply always known. But that’s not the case anymore, is it? Not if you truly were serious about trying to have a life here. Left hand coming up to touch the outline of your chain through your t-shirt, you took a breath and focused on his smile in the photo. Hey, handsome. 

You cleared your throat and started over. “That’s my husband, Gavin.” You pressed the rings to your chest as you spoke his name. “And his sister, Laura.” Dropping your arm back to your side, you raised the opposite one to point at the little boy under the mess of curls that sat perched on Gavin’s shoulders. “And that’s Kyle, my nephew.” 

She stayed quiet for a few seconds, looking at the faces of the people you’d just introduced her to as though committing them to memory. “They look…” She sniffed. “You all look happy there.” 

She’s right. Despite the thick knot forming in your throat, you smiled. “Yeah.” Nodding, you looked down at her. “We were. Those were really good years.” 

The girl looked back up at you, lips pulling to the side before curving back into a small smile. “I’m glad you had those.” 

You took a breath, feeling somewhat lighter than you had in a long time even if it was a bittersweet lightness. “Yeah, me too.” Wetting your lips, you reached for the fridge handle. “Um, let me get those compost scraps for you, yeah?”  

Ellie nodded, lifting one hand up to wipe quickly at her eye. “Yeah. I should get going.” She moved over to the counter and scooped your pile of carrot peels into the bucket, then turned back to let you dump the contents of your scrap jar in as well. “Dina and I are supposed to hit all the apartments on this side of town before noon, so…” 

“So you better get moving, then,” you finished for her. “If I remember the schedule correctly, I think you and I have gate patrol on Wednesday night.” You winked. “I’ll make sure to bring snacks.” 

She grinned, almost all of the sadness that had crept into her expression gone. “You’re the best.” 

That made you laugh. “I’ll see you around, Ellie. Tell Dina I said hi.” 

She told you that she would, adding that she was also going to tell her that she missed out on the best damn sourdough left in the world by choosing odd numbered apartments, which only made you laugh harder. Closing your door after her, you couldn’t help but think of what a kick Gavin would have gotten out of Ellie. She would have made you laugh, too, Gav. 

Over the next hour you finished up the batch of muffins and cleaned the kitchen. Wrapping the two extra loaves in clean dish towels, you stuck them both in the canvas tote bag that you usually used to pick up your groceries from the general store. Once they’d cooled enough to handle, you did the same with the muffins, bundling them up and adding them to the bag. 

That done, you decided to get yourself together, changing your flour streaked shirt for a fresh three-quarter sleeved one, and the sweats you were wearing for a pair of jeans. When you looked in the mirror you were hit by yet another change - you no longer had that lost, wild, withering look that you arrived with. Your eyes had more light in them and fewer bags beneath. Your cheeks were less hollow and the windburn on them was healing well. You looked more like yourself and less like a spectral waif using your name than you had in longer than you could remember. Not that it matters but… Your lips - no longer peeling and chapped - hitched into a small grin. Not terrible. You took a second to adjust your hair, tucking stray pieces into place, and then flipped the lightswitch and left the bathroom. 

Grabbing your bag of baked goods from the kitchen, you shoved your feet into your boots and slipped your knife into place. Some things were unlikely to change after two decades of always needing to have a weapon on you, and you knew that it was the same for many other residents in town. Your gun, though, was left behind with your pack. Those items were reserved only for patrols, trail sweeps and supply runs. They had no place in your daily life anymore. Another small change. 

There was still a lingering late spring chill in the air as you stepped outside your building, but the sun was shining unimpeded in the clear blue sky and you hummed as it warmed your skin. It’s beautiful out today. As you turned onto the main street you were met with the sounds of the town. Windchimes and laughter, barking dogs and the clang of metal on metal from the blacksmith’s shop, birdsong and conversation. It felt like the much more rural version of strolling through your neighborhood in Philly on your way to the farmer’s market that used to pop up in the park on Thursday and Sunday mornings. It made you wonder what it was like here twenty some years ago, and how different things were now. 

The call of your name from somewhere to your right interrupted your thoughts before they could wander too far. You recognized the voice as you turned, eyes widening in surprise to see Joel Miller lifting one hand in greeting from the other side of the street. Oh. Hi. You stopped walking, raising your hand in a return wave and waiting for him to cross to your side.

As he did, you took a few seconds to let your eyes rake over him. He still wore a thin white bandage around his bicep, and it was visible beneath the short sleeves of his faded green t-shirt. As were his muscled arms, the warmer weather letting you see more of them than you had previously. His jeans were worn in but fit him well, the denim broken in to accommodate his movement perfectly. A toolbelt hung at his hips, hammer, tape measure, pliers and several screwdrivers attached to the loops or sticking out of the pouches. Right. He said he was in construction. You drew in a small breath as he came close enough that you could see the sunlight catching the silver in his hair. And then he smiled. Damn. 

“Thought that was you,” he said as he took the last few steps to close the distance. 

Forcing yourself to focus on the conversation at hand and not on how good he looked wearing a toolbelt, you smiled back at him. “You were right, it’s me.” 

That earned you a small chuckle, Joel raising the same hand he’d flagged you down with to scratch at the back of his neck. “How are you doin’ today?”

You tipped your head back, closing your eyes and letting the sun hit your face before responding. “The sun is out and I have a bag full of bread and muffins.” Bringing your chin back down, you shrugged the shoulder that your bag was on. “So I’m doing great.” He didn’t need to hear about the nightmare that preceded the baking. “How are you?” 

“A bag full of bread, huh?” He dropped his eyes to the goods and then brought them back up to yours. “Well I’m doin’ alright but not a bag of bread alright.” 

You laughed and pulled one strap of the tote bag down, reaching inside. “I might be able to help with that.” Pulling out one of the muffins, you offered it to him. “Carrot muffin?” 

He grinned as he took it from you. “If I ever say no to that question you’ll know there’s somethin’ wrong with me.” Nodding, he held your eyes for a second and the rush of warmth you felt had nothing to do with the sun. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, Joel.” You cleared your throat and tilted your head in the direction you’d been walking in. “I was on my way to drop this off at the community center. Are you heading that way, too?” 

“I am. Meetin’ up with Tommy’n a few others to do some roof repairs.” You both started walking again, once your mutual destination was established. “Figure by now we won’t be gettin’ anymore snow, so it’s a good time to get up there and poke around.” 

You blew out a huff and shook your head. “The idea of snow in June or even April or May where I’m from is laughable. It’s probably 85 degrees in Philadelphia right now.” 

Joel made a similar sound. “Snow at all is laughable where I’m from.” You figured he was from somewhere in the south due to the slight drawl in certain words that he said, but before you got the chance to ask where exactly, he took a bite of the muffin you gave him and groaned at the taste. “Christ, that’s good.” 

Hoping you didn’t look as flustered as the sound of him groaning like that made you feel, you managed a smile. “Yeah?” He nodded, eyebrows drawn together in a serious expression as he chewed. “Good. You and Ellie make good taste testers, you know.” He tilted his head in question. “She stopped by my place this morning on her compost collection rounds.” 

“Uh huh, and she weaseled baked goods outta you, did she?” He took another bite, the reaction smaller this time but still visible and still making your chest puff up just a little. 

You shrugged. “She said she was hungry and she complimented my bread. What was I supposed to do?” 

“That girl is always hungry,” he said with a roll of his eyes that you could tell was just for show. “And if compliments are all it takes then let me tell you again, this-” He held up the last bite of muffin. “- Is delicious.” 

Letting a small laugh slip through your grin as you reached the community center, you turned to face him. “Well, thank you. If you like those, just wait until I get my hands on some apples or chokeberries.” 

“Lookin’ forward to it.” 

Just then Tommy appeared from behind the building with a ladder hoisted on one shoulder. He lifted his free hand to flag Joel down, calling out to him. “Waitin’ on you, big brother!” 

Joel clicked his tongue and turned to lob his response in Tommy’s direction. “Hold your horses, will you?” He gestured at you with his hand. “Can’t you see I’m havin’ a conversation?” 

“Yeah, I see.” The younger Miller tipped his chin in a nod and said your name. “Hope you’re havin’ a nice mornin’. Can you please send my brother up to the roof when he’s done yappin’ your ear off?” 

You laughed at that, Joel’s grumbles only making you laugh harder. “Will do, Tommy,” you said with a wave of your own. 

He grinned. “Thank you, ma’am. Take care now.” 

You called a “You too!” back at him as he disappeared behind the building again, and then you turned to face Joel once more. “Sounds like you’re needed on the roof.” 

Joel blew a huff through his nose and swatted his hand towards the roof. “He can wait a minute. I, uh…” He drew his hand up to scratch the back of his neck. “I’ve been meanin’ to ask you if you’d want to come over for dinner some night this week.” What? He dropped his hand to his side again and you tried your hardest not to let the shock you felt at his question show on your face. “Just as a thank you for stitchin’ me up,” he added. 

You blinked and took a breath, trying to process the offer he’d just made. Dinner. He’s inviting me to dinner? What is…  “I…” You shook your head as though your brain was a magic eight ball and shaking it would prompt a valid response to come out of your mouth, but immediately regretted it from the way Joel’s lips turned downward. Shit, he thinks I’m saying no. “That… That sounds nice, Joel.” Your heart hammered at your ribs as his frown faded back into a relaxed smile. “What um… What day were you thinking? I have a gate patrol Wednesday night, but-” 

“How’s Thursday, then?” 

Wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue, you swallowed and nodded slowly. “Thursday works.” Joel’s smile spread a little wider, sending his cheeks up into his eyes and making the skin around them crinkle. “Can I bring anything, or-” 

“Well I was raised to say no ma’am, just bring yourself,” he began, a mischievous glint brightening the depths of his eyes. “But I wouldn’t stop you from bringing something that you baked if you wanted to.” 

You let out a small laugh. “Got it.” 

“Alright then. Thursday it is.” He tilted his head towards the back of the community center, where the sound of the ladder being set up against the wall could be heard. “I better get up there ‘fore he has himself a conniption. You have a good day now.” 

As he turned to go, you reached into your tote bag and pulled out another muffin. “Joel!” He spun back to face you and you tossed the muffin in his direction, leaving him to scramble to catch it in one large hand. “For Tommy. Maybe he’ll be less annoyed at you if you bring him food.” 

He chuckled. “Maybe. See you around.” 

With that he headed off to join his brother and you were left momentarily standing there unsure of what had just happened. I just… He just… 

But then you heard the call of your name from the open door of the community center, and turned to see Maria grinning at you. “You comin’ in, or are you just going to watch my brother-in-law walk away?” 

You could feel the heat spread through your cheeks at her words, and quickly stepped toward the door as she started to chuckle. “Sorry, yeah, I-” 

“Hey,” she said, resting one hand on your shoulder. “I’m teasing.” She winked. “Besides, I think it’s great.” 

You let out a sigh. “Maria, it’s just-” 

“Just dinner, I know.” She nodded and held the door open for you to walk through it. “I still think it’s great.” The door clicked shut behind you and you sputtered for a response only for her to spare you the need to say anything more. “Anyway, what’s in the bag? You’re just in time for lunch prep.”

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[handeaux]

Cincinnati Was Fascinated By Talking Machines Whether Good, Bad Or Bogus

Professor Faber’s amazing “talking machine” arrived in Cincinnati to great fanfare in 1872 when that contraption shared a bill at Wood’s Theater with the famous Bandmanns, Daniel and Millicent. The celebrity thespians presented “The Merchant of Venice” and “The Corsican Brothers.” The talking machine recited whatever the professor told it to.

As early as 1844, the Cincinnati Enquirer carried reports of Austrian Joseph Faber’s progress in developing a mechanical device that could replicate human speech. The original “Professor” Faber, unhappy with progress on his own invention, killed himself in 1850, but the project was taken on by his nephew, also named Joseph Faber, who perfected the device and took it on tour. The Enquirer [25 January 1872] described it in some detail:

“On looking at it you see a table, on one end of which is a key-board with a number of levers similar to the hammers of a piano leading to an upright beam. At the front of this beam you see a mask from which you hear, in tones that remind one of a child’s trumpet, the measured enunciation of words. Back of this beam stands a pair of bellows which is operated by a treadle, and furnishes the air that is required to supply the instrument.”

Faber’s device was a sort of analog speech synthesizer, an ancestor of the Vocoder and similar electronic devices of the Twentieth Century. The operator, by pumping pedals and pressing keys, generated sounds resembling human speech. The Enquirer’s reporter, imagining no “practical utility,” was nevertheless impressed with the machine’s performance.

“During the exhibition the machine was made to speak in English, German, Greek and Hebrew. It beats the Professor speaking English, and but for the example of broken English he sets would speak almost as closely as anyone. It pronounced such words as Mississippi, Cincinnati, Chicago, Philadelphia with ease and clearness. Although it speaks with a decided German accent, one has less difficulty understanding it than the average German who has been three or four years in this country.”

While touring the United States, Professor Faber impressed impresario Phineas Taylor Barnum so much that the great showman renamed the machine as The Euphonium and engaged it and its operator for six months on a contract worth $20,000. Barnum brought the newly christened Euphonium back to Cincinnati in July 1872 as a highlight of his “Great Traveling World’s Fair.” That extravaganza also featured four giraffes, sea lions, herds of trained elephants, Fiji cannibals, American Indians, various dwarves and midgets and three rings of continual circus acts. Barnum’s Fair occupied the Union Baseball Grounds for four summer days at a time when Cincinnati had no professional baseball team. Reports indicate that Barnum got his money’s worth as his show became the hottest ticket in town. Barnum did well enough that he extended Faber’s contract for at least another year. The Euphonium continued to receive star billing when Barnum’s circus returned to Cincinnati in 1873.

Professor Faber continued to exhibit his talking machine well into the 1880s, several years after a very different sort of talking machine made its debut. Thomas Edison, the Genius of Menlo Park, unveiled his phonograph in 1877 and Cincinnati shifted its attentions to the new gadget in town. The Cincinnati Commercial dispatched a reporter to Edison’s laboratory and he filed [3 April 1878] a breathless dispatch:

“I saw the talking-machine, talked to it, and it talked back. You have heard about it, of course, but the story can not be an old one for years to come, and although the phonograph is as simple as a jackknife, it excites the awe of the beholder as a telegraph wire stirs up an Indian’s superstition”

It was another year before an actual phonograph arrived in Cincinnati, almost simultaneously with an early telephone. The Enquirer [5 June 1878] announced the dawn of a new age:

“The phonograph now on exhibition at Greenwood Hall had an increased number of visitors yesterday, our most prominent citizens leading what must become a rush to witness this real wonder, which, with the telephone, marks an era in science. It is impossible to describe the sensation created by this ‘talking’ machine, which gives back to one his own very words and tones in either speaking or singing, and which, many believe, is to revolutionize many things in social and business life.”

Edison’s mind-blowing machine inspired a couple of Cincinnati con artists to offer talking machine service to the great unwashed. At a time when phonographs cost the equivalent of $500 and cylinders the equivalent of $15 per in today’s coin, the opportunity to try out this revolutionary device for one thin dime was irresistible. According to Frank Y. Grayson’s wonderful book, “Pioneers of Night Life on Vine Street,” the flim-flam men set up shop just south of the canal.

“Across the front of the dump, spread a canvas which bore these words: ‘Come In and for a Dime Hear the Most Amazing Invention of the Age – the Talking Machine Extraordinary.’”

The dupes who fell for the pitch surrendered their ten cents and were handed a rubber mouthpiece attached to a long hose. They said their piece while the operator furiously cranked a large wheel, waited a moment and – voila! – their words of wisdom emerged from a rubber bulb sprouting a tin funnel.

“News of the wonderful invention flashed up and down the good old avenue, and the come-ons fell all over themselves getting into the place. The crooks made hay while the sun shone.”

Their demise came when the local beat cop stopped by and tested his elocution. He shouted, “What am I?” into the mouthpiece, the customary pause ensued and “What am I?” emerged faintly from the funnel – followed by a sneeze. “I didn’t sneeze,” said the cop and descended into the basement where he found a fat man in shirtsleeves, managing the other end of a couple of rubber hoses.

Talking machines so excited the imagination of Cincinnati’s residents that they infested the hallucinations of our cranks. The Enquirer [21 October 1900] related the case of Mrs. F.C. Lykins of Walnut Hills, who sent letters accusing a young man residing at the Union Bethel of annoying her with his talking machine. A detective determined that there was no such resident at the Union Bethel, and no one by that name living in the area. Mrs. Lykins insisted that voices from a talking machine filled the air around her head. The detective just smiled, closed his notebook, and headed back downtown.

[eriebasin]

A perfect little Victorian engagement ring made by an important Philadelphia jeweler: Bailey Banks and Biddle. The diamond is an old mine cut weighing approximately 0.25 carats. Its set in a simple, but nicely detailed, 14K gold mounting with a slightly rosy color. Dates to c1890.

eriebasin.com

[psalm22-6]

The International Distribution of Henri Fescourt’s Les Misérables: Universal Pictures, the Carl Laemmle-Victor Hugo Scholarship, and a surprise appearance by William Hays

Sometimes it happens that two movie versions of Les Miserables are made and released at the same time. It happened first in 1909, when both the Edison Manufacturing Company and the Vitagraph Company of America released versions. It happened again in the 30s, when Raymond Bernard released a version in France, at the same time that Richard Boleslawski made his version in America. And apparently it had almost happened in the 1920s. In 1925, Henri Fescourt released his version of Les Miserables. The movie is notable for being in four parts and close to six hours long. Meanwhile in America, Universal Pictures founder Carl Laemmle was apparently thinking of doing the same thing. In 1923 he had huge success with an adaptation of Notre Dame de Paris, starring Lon Chaney. "Some months ago I had in mind making into a photoplay, Hugo's great classic, Les Miserables,” Laemmle said. “When I learned that the Societé des Cineromans were already engaged in the production of this work, I investigated and found to my great satisfaction that it was being done most admirably. Having in mind our mutual desire to share the better of European productions with our American patronage, I arranged to distribute the picture in England and America.” (the Universal Weekly, 11 December 1926) At the Regent Theatre in Portsmouth, England Fescourt's Les Miserables was recut and shown in two parts: “The Soul of Humanity” and “The Barricades.” It was reportedly very successful: 18,000 and 19,000 people were said to have seen the first and second parts, respectively. And that’s despite 80-degree weather and competition from a carnival, a regatta, and the start of the football season. People were apparently lining up 2 and a half hours before the show in order to get in. At the Rialto Theatre in London, 14,200 people came to see it in its first week. (the Universal Weekly, 2 October 1926). In the US, the movie was initially shown in three theaters: to the Associated Advertising Clubs of the World at the Forrest Theatre, in Philadelphia, to the National Press Club at the Poli's Theatre in Washington and finally at Carnegie Hall in New York City. Some sources say that the film was shown in full (18 reels), some say that it was cut (to 14 reels). The Philadelphia and Washington showings were attended by the French ambassador. (The Moving Picture World, 10 July 1926). In attendance at the Washington showing were First Lady Grace Coolidge, Herbert Hoover (then Secretary of Commerce) and MANY other people whose names you can find here.

However the showing I would most like to have attended was the one at Carnegie Hall, which was presented with a special pre-show portion: an actor portraying Victor Hugo appeared on the stage, and then pretended to fall asleep, at which point actors dressed as characters from Les Miserables emerged from a giant copy of the book. “The Hugo speech and the resurrection of his characters were part of the Universal presentation given Les Miserables by James V. Bryson and Joe Weil,” reported the Moving Picture World. “The idea was taken from the original prologue in the picture itself and made an effective opening for this really fine production.”   For the film's wider release, Laemmle proposed to conduct a survey to see how people would prefer to see it: in its entirety or in an abridged form. Apparently he distributed a questionnaire via the Saturday Evening Post, Liberty, and Photoplay Magazine. Overwhelmingly people reported that they would like to see the movie unabridged, and that they would be willing to go to the theater multiple times to see the multiple installments.  Wagner's Ring Cycle was cited as an example of a story successfully told in parts. People felt very strongly about wanting to see the entire thing. As one journalist, who had seen the screening in Philadelphia put it: “It would be, it seems to us, a pity to subject this picture to the sort of ruthless cutting that would be necessary to bring it down to the length of a single feature. Great length usually consists of unnecessary padding, in a large measure, but not in this instance.” (the Motion Picture News, 10 July, 1926) In the Universal Weekly (a trade publication for theater owners) one ad reads:

Thousands gave the overwhelming answer [to the question of whether it should be cut]: “DON’T touch Victor Hugo; don’t rob us of a single scene of pathos, beauty, or magnificence; give us the immortal Jean Valjean as he lived, suffered, loved, and triumphed.” So “Les Miserables” will come to you in two distinct stories, for showing on successive days, or weeks, as you see fit. First, “The Soul of Humanity;” second, “The Barricades.” Each picture so big it ranks as a screen achievement; together — Victor Hugo as Victor Hugo would want to see his work on the screen. A radical step! Yes — and it is the RADICAL that is SHOWMANSHIP!” (the Universal Weekly, 2 October 1926)

However despite this declaration that the film should and would be seen in full, Universal ultimately decided to release an 11 reel cut. As the Moving Picture World reported: “At first the two-part proposition was voted so strongly that Mr. Laemmle was on the point of ordering the print cut that way and a campaign looking toward this distribution of the picture started. But later advisors won the day. He reconsidered at the last moment. The picture has been cut to eleven reels and Carl Laemmle now announces that it will be distributed to theatres next season as a single super-special.” But Laemmle wasn’t done. He had plans for another way of exciting the public’s attention: the Carl Laemmle-Victor Hugo Scholarship. It seems that originally Laemmle had intended the contest to be for college students, as he had purportedly reached out to over 700 universities to ask if they would participate. But ultimately it was decided that the contest would be open to high school students in the United States and Canada, with prize money intended to be used in furthering their education. A similar contest was to be held in the UK, where prize money could be used for university or an apprenticeship.  Students were invited to submit a 500 word essay answering the question:  "What ideals for life do you find in 'Les Miserables?'" To prove that the author was in high school, the essay needed to be accompanied by a letter from their school principal. A reporter for Universal Weekly opined: “The choice of this subject is regarded as a happy one in that it gives a present day aspect to the characters and motivations of Hugo's romance. It is said to be excellent also for its scope, and not of such a nature as to hamper students from certain sections of the country or from certain walks of life.”

Ad in the Saturday Evening Post. For the US & Canada contest, it was announced that there would be ten $500 scholarships and one $1000 grand prize, for a total of $6,000 in scholarships (that’s over $100,000 today). The number of scholarships available was increased when Jean Sapene, of the Society of Cineromans also made a contribution of $3,000 (The New York Times, 14 Aug 1927.) According to Laemmle, the contest was not “any form of blatant advertising” (source) and yet…it was definitely an advertisement.  Though technically entrants didn’t need to see the movie to submit an essay, the contest was great advertising for the movie and additionally, it elevated the profile of the movie by branding it as educational, salutary even, not simply entertaining. In “City of Dreams: The Making and Remaking of Universal Pictures,” Bernard F. Dick writes that Laemmle wanted to be known as “a defender of the values derived from a liberal arts educations” but that “those values did not exist in the abstract; they had to be present in a film Universal was releasing. [In creating the scholarship] Carl was not especially interested in Victor Hugo’s novel Les Miserables but in Henri Fescourt’s 1925 film version that Universal was releasing.” “Much thought and discussion with my associates convinced me that an admirable way to [increase the general appreciation for Victor Hugo’s creative genius] would be through a student’s essay competition,” stated Laemmle. “This would entertain on the part of the entrants something more than a casual reading of the book and impress them with the value of character as exemplified by the life of the novel’s hero" (Niagara Falls Gazette, 18 October 1927.) The scholarships would be awarded by Dr. John J. Tigert, United States Commissioner of Education; Dr. Ernst Crandall, Director of Visual Education of New York City; Dr. Thomas Finnigan, Chairman of Visual Education of the National Education Association; and Octavus Roy Cohen, an author of “ethnic comedies” (and yes that's as bad as it sounds.) The head of the awards committee was Dr. Nicholas Murray Butler, president of Columbia University (Butler would later win the Nobel peace prize but is remembered today for his notable silence in the face of the growing Nazi movement). The letter from Butler accepting the role of judge was published. Here is an excerpt: 

My friend, Mr. Will Hays, has sent me your letter to him of November 9th with its kind suggestion that I should act as one of the judges in the interesting and highly useful competition that you propose for high school students. I have written Mr. Hays that it will give me great pleasure to accept your suggestion and to serve your cause to the best of my ability.

If you didn’t catch that, that’s William Hays, who the Hays code is named after.... So while I most strongly associate the 1935 American film version of Les Misérables with the movement to sanitize films and remarket them as educational, we can see that Hays and others were laying the ground work for that with this 1927 release, the scholarship contest, and an advertising campaign that sought to involve educators and students. In cities across the United States, special screenings were held for students and teachers, sometimes at a reduced price, supposedly due to the educational merits of the film (and definitely not in an attempt to sell tickets). Libraries and bookstores handed out hundreds of thousands of bookmarks (designed by the Cleveland Public Library) advertising the film, in addition to entry forms for the contest. In Charleston, South Carolina the high school superintendent wrote an article in the newspaper about the movie. (The Motion Picture News 28 January 1928). In Buffalo, New York school officials endorsed the movie and the superintendent distributed information about the scholarship. (The Motion Picture News 25 November 1927). In Boston the premiere was attended by the Governor, as well as 18 school superintendents (Motion Picture News, 18 November 1927). And in Houston, Texas students in the French and literature classes were given extra credit if they attended the movie (Moving Picture World, 31 December 1927).

The bookmark in question (Moving Picture World, 24 December 1927.) So who won the contest? One of the $500 prizes was awarded to Alfred Hollander, a student of  Emmerich Manual Training high school in Indianapolis, Indiana. He came in 5th place. 

(The Indianapolis Times, 23 April 1929) And the first place winner was 14 year old Edwin M. Snell, a student at Central High School in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

(Exhibitors Herald World, 11 May 1929) But the real winner was Universal Pictures, which surely made buckets of money. And that’s all I have to say on the subject for now, except for to thank @mabeuf5 and @l832​ for reigniting my interest in this topic and that I’m sure we will be hearing more about this from the two of you soon. 

[dertaglichedan]

Bill Belichick's girlfriend Jordon Hudson fuels engagement fever with cheeky red carpet Instagram post

Bill Belichick's girlfriend Jordon Hudson appeared to make a cheeky reference to rumors of an engagement after hitting the red carpet with her man Thursday night.

Hudson, 24, and Belichick, 72, are in New Orleans this week ahead of Super Bowl LIX, which pits the Kansas City Chiefs against the Philadelphia Eagles on Sunday.

A few days out from the big game, the loved-up couple headed to the NFL Honors ceremony alongside a host of famous faces on Thursday, having also attended a charity event in the Louisiana city the night before.

At that charity event, set up by Jordon for those affected by the New Years Day terror attack on Bourbon Street, exclusive DailyMail.com pictures appeared to show her flaunting a ring on her finger.

The ex-cheerleader had also posted a bunch of red roses on her Instagram story days earlier along with the caption: 'Behind his stern façade….'

And after posing on the red carpet with Belichick in a revealing silver gown, Hudson shared a photo of herself at the NFL Honors wearing a ring - albeit to commemorate their respective championship wins.

*** A real love story! 🤔

[phdjewelers]

Tips to Shop for a Vintage Old European Cut Diamond Ring

For brides-to-be who love vintage-inspired jewelry, old European-cut diamonds in Philadelphia aremust-see. This antique diamond cut has developed a loyal following among collectors and romantics alike, offering a historic and distinctive alternative to modern brilliant cuts.

With its deep facets, soft glow, and rich history, the old European cut has been favored by celebrities and brides alike, further fuelling its resurgence in popularity.

These stones were taken from the rough and were measured, cleaved, and cut by hand. During the majority of this time, candlelight was the main source of light, so diamonds were cut to maximize their sparkle under low lighting.

Reasons to Love Old European-Cut Diamonds

One of the biggest advantages of old European-cut engagement rings in Philadelphia is their affordability. Old European-cut diamonds are usually priced lower thanmodern round brilliant.

This makes them a fantastic option for couples seeking a unique yet budget-friendly engagement ring. For an even more affordable alternative, lab-grown old European-cut diamonds offer the same beauty at a fraction of the cost.

Another notable feature is their color presentation. Because these diamonds were originally cut for candlelit settings, they often appear whiter than their actual color grade when viewed face-up.

Since old European-cut diamonds were designed for lower lighting, they were cut to maximize color over brilliance.

However, shopping for an old European-cut diamond requires a bit more effort. Unlike modern diamonds, which are cut with precision using machinery, old European-cut diamonds were hand-cut, meaning no two are exactly alike.

Your local jewelers King of Prussia will tell you not to buy an old European-cut diamond by looking at the certificate alone. You need to see how it looks in person.

Additionally, these diamonds tend to have shallower proportions, making them appear larger than their actual carat weight.

While this can be an advantage, it’s important to ensure that the cut isn’t too extreme, as it can impact the diamond’s overall brilliance.

When it comes to setting an old European-cut diamond, simpler designs tend to enhance the stone’s unique characteristics.

The Takeaway

Old European-cut diamonds are a beautiful and timeless choice for those who appreciate vintage elegance. However, because they are antiques, they require special care.

Avoid harsh cleaning chemicals and instead use a mixture of lukewarm water and mild dish soap for regular cleaning. When not in use, store your diamond ring in a soft cloth-lined box to protect it from scratches.

[ktsaysthings]

the blue that lasts - chapter 5

1905 - Richmond, VA

In 1905, Kiara leaves her fiancé.

It’s a Wednesday when she finds John B in bed with another woman. Their bed. Their apartment. Some pretty blonde girl with big brown eyes and an apologetic smile.

Kiara grabs whatever she can manage and cries all the way to the train station. Cries the entire ride to Philadelphia. Cries into Pope’s warm, waiting arms.

By the time Pope gets her back to his place in Philadelphia, she’s run out of tears to cry. She very quickly bridges the gap between despondent and enraged, and she doesn’t even take the time to unpack her bag in Pope’s spare bedroom before she’s scribbling furiously onto a blank sheet of paper, tossing her hideous, useless engagement ring into an envelope and sealing it.

Pope, ever the peacemaker, encourages her to sleep on it. Says she should let her feelings settle before she says something she regrets.

So, despite her fury, she waits.

The envelope sits on her desk for almost a month. Taunting her each morning when she leaves for her new nursing job at Mount Sinai. Tormenting her every night before she falls into bed.

Her wedding day rolls around, and she spends it neck deep in the bottle. Pope regards her warily, but still refills her glass each time she asks. It’s barely noon by the time she’s properly sloshed, so despite Pope’s warnings, she slaps a stamp on the envelope and stumbles to the mailbox.

She doesn’t know what she’s expecting in response. Groveling, maybe. An apology, at the very least. Part of her thinks she’d even take him back, if he seemed sorry enough.

But she doesn’t get an apology. She doesn’t get a response from John B at all. What she gets is the same envelope, John B’s name scratched out and replaced with hers, sloppily resealed with tape. Confused, she rips it open and watches her ring tumble out onto the table.

The letter inside reads:

Read the rest on ao3!

[graceandfamily]

Philadelphia, PA, January 5, 1956: "That's my ring", says Grace Kelly showing her engagement ring to her mother while her fiance Prince Rainier III of Monaco looks on. A storybook romance came to life today when Grac's parents announced the engagement. The ring is made of two bands of interwoven gems-- one if rubies and one of diamonds the colors of the Mediterranean principality over which Grace's future husband reigns.

[popentertainmentconcertreviews]

Peter Frampton – The Met – Philadelphia, PA – September 19, 2024

When you have recorded what could arguably be called the most iconic live album in rock history, you really have to bring it when you hit the concert stage. Considering that Frampton Comes Alive is now 48 years old, and in recent years, the singer/guitarist has been plagued by physical issues, you would be forgiven for assuming that Peter Frampton may have lost a step.

You would be wrong.

Oh, sure, due to his dealing with inclusion body myositis (IBM) – an autoimmune disease that affects his muscles, particularly his legs, but also his fingers – the once spry rock guitarist had to come on stage with a cane and had to sit through the complete set. (Frampton’s band also sat throughout the show, in solidarity with their leader.)

However, even if he isn’t physically up to doing some of the heavy lifting that he once did as a performer, his talent as an artist has barely dimmed. His vocals are still as crystal clear and ringing as they ever were. And despite the slight lack of strength in his fingers, his guitar work was still spot on. (In an interview about his condition, Frampton acknowledged that while he may not always have the raw power he once had, luckily his fingers still know what to do.)

If you closed your eyes and just listened to the music, you’d think you were back in the 1970s.

Also, his personality as a host and showman is still top notch, with Frampton regularly engaging the audience, good-heartedly joking about his condition and showing his determination to beat it. You could tell from his upbeat stage presence why the tour is named “The Positively Thankful Tour.”

He was particularly engaged because he said that Philadelphia has always been a favorite tour stop for him, ever since he played in front of the largest crowd of his career at the old JFK Stadium – a double bill of Frampton and Yes performed for a packed audience of 120,000 Philadelphians in June of 1976.

The crowd at The Met on this night may have been a bit smaller (the 3,500-seat venue seemed pretty full), but they were no less enthusiastic.

Frampton set things off on a good foot with a sizzle reel of vintage Frampton video, followed by his early jangle-rock slammer “Day in the Sun.” He followed this up with rocking versions of slightly lesser-known fan favorites such as “Lying,” “Lines on My Face” and a version of his Humble Pie song “Shine On.”

It didn’t take all that long for the hits to come out, though, as the crowd went wild when Frampton said, “All right, take it away, boys” and started playing the iconic acoustic chords and talk-box opening of his first huge hit, “Show Me the Way.” This led to a group of sweet ballads, with the folk-reggae tinged “The Crying Clown” and the short instrumental “Nassau” leading into another one of his biggest hits, the gorgeous love song “Baby I Love Your Way.”

He followed it up with a surprisingly shredding instrumental cover of Ray Charles’ classic “Georgia On My Mind,” a sweet ballad which took on a new toughness in this power chord-based reinterpretation. Later in the show, Frampton and his band did a similar, mostly instrumental reinvention of Soundgarden’s power ballad “Black Hole Sun,” which also rocked like a mother. (On this second one, Frampton used his talk box to sing the final chorus.)

Another huge ballad from his past – and one that had been sidelined for a long time – was “I’m In You.” “I don’t usually do this one. I haven’t done it in many years,” Frampton explained, “but it actually was the biggest hit I ever had.” It’s a shame that Frampton has avoided this stunning ballad, although I sort of get the fact that he may have complicated feelings about it. His record label at the time pressured him to follow up Frampton Comes Alive before he was ready and while this song may have been huge, the album it accompanied was considered a disappointment and stopped the forward momentum of his superstardom. Still, it was nice to hear the song again.

Then he closed out the main set with a slamming 17-minute version of his rock classic “Do You Feel Like We Do.”

For the encore, he returned to the Humble Pie playbook for with “Four Day Creep” – on which he allowed his band to take the lead – and “I Don’t Need No Doctor.” Then he closed out on a fun, light-hearted cover of The Dave Clark Five’s “Glad All Over.”

Frampton played and sang for about two-and-a-half hours, and it still felt way too short. (Some dude in the men’s room after the show claimed that Frampton had played 45 minutes longer than on any other stop this tour, but who knows who that guy was and how he would possibly know this. The setlist seemed to be pretty consistent with the other shows.)

Either way, it’s good to see that almost five decades later, Frampton still comes alive.

Copyright ©2024 PopEntertainment.com. All rights reserved. Posted: September 22, 2024.

Photos by Jim Rinaldi © 2024. All rights reserved.

[wub-fur-radio]

I Am Not a Robot ✅    

 … a diverse and engaging mix that showcases some of the best music in the psychedelic, garage, punk, and indie rock genres. Tune in, turn up the volume, and enjoy the ride. – ChatGPT

We’ve all checked the box — dozens, hundreds, maybe even thousands of times — but how often have we stopped to think about how it makes the robots feel? Wub-Fur presents an eclectic, electric, organic, and cybernetic mix of new psychedelic, garage, punk, and indie rock tunes for the enjoyment of all peoples - meat and metal. Featuring contributions from Frankie and the Witch Fingers, R. Ring, Purling Hiss, Carlton Melton, Dead Sea Apes, and 13 other bands who (as far as we know) are not robots.

Cover art generated by the Stable Diffusion AI via Night Cafe.

▶︎🎶 Play on  Mixcloud –or– YouTube (or scroll down to use an embedded player below)

Running Time: 1 hour, 29 minutes, 55 seconds

Tracklist

Intro (0:21) — Ryan Sawyer, Andres Renteria, & John Dwyer | Los Angeles, CA

Chalice (5:53) — Frankie and the Witch Fingers | Los Angeles, CA †

Gotten Lazy (2:43) — Francie Moon | Montague Twp, NJ †

Hangers On (2:01) — Dan Sartain | Birmingham, AL

Disorder (2:23) — Bikini Beach | Konstanz, Germany

Dust Devil (5:26) — Jack Harlon & the Dead Crows | Melbourne, Australia

Panic (3:38) — Obscure Animals | Austin, TX †

Still Life (2:17) — R. Ring | Dayton, OH

If the Wheels Are Coming Off, the Wheels Are Coming Off (4:14) — Ulrika Spacek | London, UK

When the End Is Over (4:44) — Purling Hiss | Philadelphia, PA

Rock & Roll Atom Bomb (3:12) — Plastic Bubble | Lexington, KY †

Grey on Grey (5:07) — Winged Wheel | Detroit, MI †

You Don't Have to Think (5:18) — Missing Jack & the Kameleons | Toulouse, France

Time and Space and Pyramids (5:37) — Liquid Sound Company + Herd of Instinct | Arlington, TX

The Beauty of Infinite Sand, Pts. 1 & 2 (16:06) — Planet Harakiri | Hungary

Chop Shop (7:23) — Carlton Melton | San Francisco, CA †

Parasite Rex (6:04) — Dead Sea Apes | Manchester, UK

Tae the Moon (7:26) — Helicon | Glasgow, UK

All tracks released in 2023, except those marked (†) which were released in 2022.

✊🏻 Wub-Fur Internet Radio Supports Bandcamp United ✊🏻

🤖 🚫 🤖 🚫 🤖 🚫 🤖 🚫 🤖 🚫 🤖 🚫 🤖 🚫 🤖

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If you’re not seeing an embedded player it’s probably because you’re reading this on Tumblr, in which case you can click here to open this post directly on the Wub-Blog.