#The Kids Will Have Their Say 1982

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

A WHO'S WHO OF PROPER BOSTON HARDCORE PUNK -- ALL OF YOUR FAVORITES ARE HERE.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on a recently unearthed live shot of Boston hardcore punk band SS DECONTROL, c. 1982, venue & location undisclosed. 📸: Phil-in-Phlash (repost from @ssdecontrolofficial).

In the audience can be seen:

Jimmy Johnson ("FORCED EXPOSURE" zine)

Wayne Maestri and Steve Grimes (THE F.U.'s)

Richie Collins (NEGATIVE FX)

Tony Perez (LAST RITES)

Choke (NEGATIVE FX)

Source: www.picuki.com/media/3452050426027983118.

[elixirfromthestars]

A Night of Frights & Delights

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (College AU)

Summary: It’s Friday the 13th and the college kids in town decided to host a weekend camping trip on the outskirts of town. Your best friend convinced you to go much to your reluctance. What could go wrong when the one guy you can’t stand is also there?

Word Count: 7k

Warning(s): slight horror themes / suggestive tones + implications / mentions of a past murder (not in graphic detail just campfire storytelling) / slow burn / suspense + other elements of spookiness / touch starved elements / be prepared for lots of back and forth + tension

Prompt: Campsite + forced proximity + “ It’s not bad enough to have Friday the 13th, we’ve gotta have a full moon too?”

a/n: here’s my entry for @witchywithwhiskey ‘s summer slasher writing challenge. Any chance to celebrate summerween and I’m there 🤭✨ I got carried away with the spooky element of it and this ended up longer than expected. Thank you for reading! 🧡 Feedback is always appreciated!! 🎃🧡

“ It’s Friday the 13th! Gather ‘round, for some good ol’ scary campfire stories!” Sam Wilson called out to anyone who would listen. A task that wasn’t the easiest thing to ask for when all the college students in the area were trying to have their last bit of fun before fall semester started. Amongst the ones that weren’t already drunk or passed out, a few were trying to find the perfect opportunity to sneak away into the night.

You on the other hand sat near the bonfire, appreciating the warmth it provided on this chilly night. Your back was resting against a log. The scratchy surface grazes against your black sweater at the slightest movement. Camping wasn’t your ideal choice for a weekend getaway, but when your best friend Jane insisted on you coming along it was hard to say no. Especially, since you had already said no to multiple get-togethers throughout the summer. 

It’s not like you didn’t want to hang out with her. The issue was that wherever she was her boyfriend was—and wherever he was his friends were. And his friends included one smartass star pitcher for your university’s baseball team who made it his life’s mission to be a thorn in your side. 

Needless to say, you couldn’t stand the man.

“ It was actually 1982, not 1985,” Jane whispers her comment to you, nudging your arm lightly. You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at her, your clueless eyes meeting her amused ones. 

“ You’re not paying attention to Sam’s story, are you?” She quietly calls you out, leaning slightly closer. You shake your head sheepishly,“ No. Kind of got lost in thought,” you admit. Jane nods in acknowledgment,“ You’re not missing much. He’s just telling the story of the murders that happened here in ‘82,” she explains. You nod slowly, an eerie chill creeping up your spine. Everyone within fifty miles of the town knew of the horrific crime. It was the worst the town had ever seen. 

A group of teenagers had snuck off into the woods to party a week before their senior graduation. They brought their camping gear to spend the night under the full moon to celebrate the milestone. They had gone so deep into the woods no one heard their music blasting all night. 

No one heard their screams either as their life was taken from them. 

You took a shaky breath, your fingers tracing random patterns into the dirt beneath you. Even though you could recite this story from memory it was different hearing it told in gruesome detail. Something Sam was not shying away from doing. 

“ Don’t let Sam’s story get to you—here have a s’more,” Thor spoke up, handing you a small disposable plate with a freshly assembled s’more. His way of trying to comfort you. 

“ Thanks,” you shot Thor an appreciative smile, taking the sweet treat. Jane’s boyfriend had always been kind to you and you got along well. The mutual friendliness extended to all of his baseball friends.

Well, the friendliness extended to all his friends except for one.  

“ He’s telling it wrong anyway, so don’t pay it any mind,” Jane says causing you to let out a small laugh. Leave it to Jane to alleviate your nerves by just being herself. 

You try to drown out Sam’s true crime retelling and focus on the sugary gooeyness on your lap. Jane and Thor snuggle into each other beside you and a small smile appears on your face at the sight. You take a bite of the s’more, letting the flavors melt into your mouth. 

“ The next morning the cops led a search party into these very woods. Everyone searched day and night for three days straight. Scouting every inch, no stone unturned, to find them. And then one day, one member of the search party found something. That member being my Titi—so listen close,” Sam sets up the big reveal. 

“ Wanna know what they found?” A voice you know all too well whispers into your ear from behind. The hairs on the back of your neck stand as his breath fans your ear. 

“ I already know,” you grit out, turning your head to glare at him. Bucky can’t help the cocky grin that overcomes him when you look at him like that. He makes his way over the log and sits right next to you. You don’t hide the displeasure on your face. 

“ Couldn’t find anyone else to annoy, James?” 

 “ None worth my time, sweetheart—and it's Bucky.” 

You roll your eyes biting back a snarky comment. No matter the number of times he insists on you calling him by his nickname, you refuse to. Only his friends call him Bucky, and you're not friends—far from it. So to you, he’s James and nothing more. 

“ We’re not friends, James. Friends don’t make you miss your biology final,” you remind him bitterly. He looks at you with slight disbelief,“ You’re still stuck on that? How is it my fault the party went until four in the morning?” You bristle at his defensiveness. 

“ I don’t know. Maybe by not kicking everyone out of your apartment?” you retort, taking another bite of your s’more. Hoping to lose yourself in the sweetness of it before the distaste of his presence taints it. 

“ At least the professor let you make it up…” he mutters under his breath. 

“ That’s not the point,” you snip, unable to let him have the last word. You pretend to focus on Sam’s story, but really your attention is on the flames in front of you. The way they dance and crackle as if telling their own story alongside Sam’s. 

Bucky stares at you, his eyes scanning every detail of your face. His favorite pastime is finding all the ways to push your buttons. There’s something about your reactions that he can’t help but want to see more of. He openly enjoys being the only one who can elicit such responses from you. Hell, you could say he was proud of it. 

“ Stop it.” 

“ Stop what?” 

“ The staring.” 

“ Don't want to.” 

You turn to give him a piece of your mind but abruptly stop when you see the way he’s looking at you—or more so the way he’s examining your lips. His eyes reflecting more than just the golden flames in the bonfire. There was something deeper and not entirely unfamiliar. He had looked at you this way before, and yet it was still unrecognizable to you. An emotion you couldn’t pinpoint, but that was heartstopping nonetheless. 

His hand lifts to your face, his thumb brushing away at something on the corner of your mouth. Your tongue instinctively darts out to lick your lips and remove whatever remnants of the s’more are left. Something unreadable flashes in his eyes. You wonder what he must be seeing in yours when his eyes drift from your lips to your gaze. 

“ You had a little something there,” his voice has a deeper cadence to it, contrasting the cheeky grin plastered on his face. That damn grin. It’s all you need to snap out of whatever trance you were just in. 

“ You’re insufferable,” you hiss out, getting up from your spot on the ground and stepping away from the bonfire. You hate how he does this—how easily he’s able to mess with you. It’s like it's his second nature to know exactly how to get a reaction from you. Almost as if he knew you better than you knew yourself.

The vulnerability of it all is what ground your gears the most. Bucky was used to this. The flirting, the back and forth, the teasing, and having girls wrapped around his finger. The last time you were in a relationship was your freshman year of college—a few years ago. It had been too long of being touch-starved that the slightest of touches or gazes brought about a yearning deep within you. One that you swore Bucky could see right through and it made you detest the man more. 

You hated feeling like you were being toyed with. But above all, you hated how much you actually didn’t hate the attention he gave you. 

You make your way over to one of the many trashcans around the campsite and dump the last bits of your s’more in along with the disposable plate. Your appetite for the treat long gone after his little stunt. 

You use your phone as a flashlight as you walk over to where all the tents are stationed. It’s not too far from the bonfire, but far enough that the voices of everyone drown out into a low hum. A few people are already in the tents enjoying the night without the warmth of the fire. 

“ Y/n! Hold up!” Jane calls out to you from behind. You face her confused expression, “ Everything okay?” You nod, your hands hiding in the pockets of your grey sweatpants,“ Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna call it a night,” you say tiredly. You don’t want her to worry or keep her from enjoying her night. 

“ Okay…Are you sure? Because you seemed off after Bucky—” 

“ Please for the love of everything don’t mention him.”

Jane drops the subject entirely, “ Okay, okay. I won’t,” she assures you and pauses for a moment before she adds, “ By the way, I’ll be staying with Thor tonight, so you have our tent all to yourself.” 

“ Oh? Oh…behave yourself, Foster,” you warn her playfully. She rolls her eyes waving off your tease,“ No promises.” You laugh together—the exchange alleviating the heaviness in your shoulders.

After a light farewell, your best friend retreats to the bonfire. You find your eyes drifting from her figure to the back of Bucky’s head. He’s still sitting in the same spot, right next to where you had sat. He was drinking away at a beer as Sam continues his story. You look away, ignoring the way your heart feels a small pang as it wonders if it would have been so bad if you had stayed.

Only Bucky had this way of infuriating you, but enticing you at the same time. A magnetic push and pull that tugs at you whenever you’re near him. 

You crouch down and unzip your humble abode for the night. Gazing up at the sky before heading in. The moon is bright and full amongst the dark hazy clouds. 

“ It's not bad enough to have Friday the 13th, we've gotta have a full moon too?” you grumble before entering the tent. The knowledge of being in here alone all night sounds less appealing now. You wish Sam had told a different story to set the mood for tonight. 

For the next couple of hours, you lose yourself in your sketchbook. Every corner of the tent became your makeshift desk as the soft scratches of graphite filled the air. A small LED lantern casting just enough glow to guide your intricate curves and shadows across the paper. At first, you were sketching a flower you had seen earlier in the day along a trail. You don’t recognize the species, but the cluster of pretty violet petals vividly lived in your head and you wanted it forever memorialized in your sketchbook. 

At some point, however, the petals turn into doodles and then unrecognizable scribbles. The creative flow taking a life of its own. You soon find yourself drawing a pair of eyes on another page. Giving them a space of their own. These eyes you recognize deep down, but they still have the same unreadable expression from earlier. Almost as if you hoped to decipher it by putting it on paper. 

Maybe then it would be easier to look at them without being affected—without feeling that pull. 

There’s a loud thump that echoes close to your tent. You freeze at the sound. By this point, everyone had called it a night and retreated to their sleeping arrangements. It had been at least half an hour that you hadn’t heard a single sound except for the chirping of crickets amongst a chorus of other creepy crawlers. 

When no sound followed the thump you decided to ignore it—acting like you hadn’t heard a thing. And yet, your fingers swiftly moved to turn off the lantern and close your sketchbook, neatly tucking it beneath your pillow. 

Another noise rang out—the skidding of dirt. And this time it was closer to your tent. Not directly outside it, but almost. You don’t know why your heart dropped or why your fingertips went cold, but they did. You tell yourself it’s probably just someone going out to use the bathroom or some other related activity. 

Your body betrayed your mind as it started to feel enclosed in the tent. Like a prey caught in a trap. Hopelessly awaiting the moment the predator decided to take them out. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and with numb fingers, you grab your phone. The tent shrinking around you as your heart pounded in your chest. Going out to investigate the source of the noise wasn't the smartest idea. However, continuing to be a sitting duck in the tent was distressing you more—and that helpless feeling overpowered anything else. 

You slowly unzip the tent, trying to make as minimal noise as possible. You slip on your moccasins, putting one foot in front of the other as you step out into the night. Your surroundings are cast in shadows as the moon seems to be hiding behind a gloomy cluster of clouds. You look around and notice no one else is awake. Only dormant tents with sleeping residents inside accompany you in the night. 

You scan the area, training your ear to see if you can pick up any noise. 

That’s when you hear it—a rustling in the bushes. 

You peer into the woods, your eyes narrowing hoping to center on something, but you can’t see anything. There’s a slight fog that encases the lines of trees encircling the campsite obstructing your view. 

You take a few steps forward, hugging your sweater closer to your body. The outside air catches you off guard with its falling degrees. The shadows at every corner of the woods become creatures of the night if you stare at them for too long. 

Why were you doing this? Why had you decided this was a good idea? 

You questioned yourself. An unpleasant shiver goes up your spine at the thought of you walking straight into a creature’s claws. Your footing stumbled, and yet you found yourself walking further in the direction of the sound, the faint glow of your phone illuminating your path. You decided against using the actual flashlight on your phone as it could easily alert whatever was hiding in the foliage of the woods. 

You don’t go too far from the campsite. Your legs only take you a few feet away from the perimeter of it before tensing at the way the hoot of an owl cuts through the stillness of the night. Your breath caught in your throat, and you gripped your phone tighter. The edges of it digging into your skin. 

“ What are we looking for?” A voice too close for comfort whispers behind you and it causes you to shriek, your phone tumbling to the ground as you jump away from the source. Your eyes zero in on the culprit—your blood boiling when your gaze meets his ceruleans. 

James Buchanan fucking Barnes.

A deep chuckle erupts from Bucky at your reaction. Not only at the way you jumped, but also at the way you’re now seething. He stands there in a basic white tee and black joggers, his hair slightly unkempt from lying on it earlier in the night. 

“ What the hell is wrong with you?” You hiss, bending down to pick up your phone from the ground. The anxiety from before dissipating into irritation. 

“ Me? What’s up with you? Sneaking around in the woods at night. That’s kinda creepy, sweetheart,” he jabs with a smirk. You roll your eyes, exhaling to steady your breath,“ Stop calling me that. And I'm not sneaking around—I heard something.” 

“ And you came to check it out?” 

“ Yeah.”

“ You have no survival instincts, do you?”

“ And you do? You're out here too.”

Bucky crosses his arms, his eyes roaming over your figure. He’s thoroughly entertained by your attempt to catch whatever is out there in your cozy outfit. It’s not exactly monster-hunting material. 

“ I let my buddy have the tent for the night. He’s got a girl in there. Thought I'd sleep under the stars like nature intended,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. A wry smile appears on your face,“ Aren’t you a great friend,” you reply sarcastically. He’s about to give you a snippy retort when a branch breaks ahead of you, causing you both to snap your attention to it. 

You both go silent—wondering if you’ll hear anything more. Bucky takes a few steps forward to stand in front of you. Positioning himself between you and the unknown noise. 

“ Is that what you heard earlier?” He asks, his voice a hushed whisper. Your eyes drift up his form and the way his arm is slightly outstretched in your direction in a protective stance. He’s looking in the direction of where the sound came from, but then his head turns back to look at you. 

It takes you a second to gather your words,“ Sort of. At first there was like a loud thud by my tent and then some rustling—and now this,” you describe the unfolding events thus far.

He frowns,“ Is your tent the one by Wanda’s?”At his question you nod,“ Yeah…why?” He tilts his head slightly as he tries to recollect something. 

“ The two-person one with the purple edges?” 

“ Yeah…” 

His features soften, dawning on a sheepish expression. His protective stance faltering as he scratches the back of his neck,“ The noise was me then—sorry. I tripped over something while looking for a place to piss.” 

“ Oh…” Is all you manage to say. Feeling utterly foolish for getting so worked up over nothing. What you had thought was something going bump in the night ended up being Bucky stumbling to relieve himself. 

Another branch cracks in the murky fog. Reminding you that although the noises you heard outside your tent were explained, the ones here, not too far from you and Bucky—weren’t. 

“ I’m gonna go check it out,” he takes a step forward, but you stop him. Your hand shoots out to grip the hem of his shirt,“ Don’t! Are you crazy? You’re going to get yourself killed or something!”

His eyebrows raise, not expecting you to have that reaction.“ Are you worried about me, sweetheart?” A smirk spreads across his face, a twinkle in his eye.“ As if—screw you,” you deny harsher than you intended, removing your hold from his shirt. This only provokes him more, his smirk turning into a cheeky grin,“ You wanna?” 

“ You know what? I hope whatever is out there gets you.” 

“ Oh, you’d miss me if it did. But don’t worry—if it gets me, I’ll make sure to let it know you’re the one worth chasing." 

Bucky doesn’t give you a second to process what his words really mean. Instead, he takes out a small flashlight from the pocket of his joggers. He turns it on, shining the area ahead of him. A brazen expression is the last thing you see before he wanders into that direction of the woods as if there wasn’t potentially something dangerous up ahead. 

You wanted to protest, but you didn’t. Rather, you end up standing there amongst the wilderness, watching as his form gets smaller and smaller until it disappears into the haze of the fog. 

You feel uneasy as soon as you don’t see him. Your chest feels heavy with the unknown. You call out to him. Thinking maybe he’s doing this to prove something or to mess with you. When he doesn’t call back you find apprehension in the sinking pit of your stomach. 

Behind you, the campsite is still in sight. The smart thing to do would be to go wake someone up—like Thor—to go after Bucky. However, your feet work faster than your mind does, pushing you to follow after him. 

This time you use the flashlight on your phone to light your path. The luminescence cuts through the fog as you trudge through it. Leaves crunching beneath your feet, and hands outstretched lightly to use the passing trees as support to persist onward. 

You walk for a good few minutes before you finally spot him. He’s standing by a tall pine tree, his right hand tracing over something etched into the bark. 

“ James! Come back to the campsite!” You whisper yelled, approaching him. He hummed,“ So you are worried about me,” the smugness in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you. When he turns to face you his eyes tell you he was expecting you. Like he knew in the end your stubbornness and pride wouldn’t matter because you’d end up following after him after all.

You are worried about him. He needs no further proof than your actions. 

There was a prickling of annoyance building up in your system. More than anything, you wanted to get out of the woods as soon as possible. The campsite feels like a haven awaiting your return. 

“ Can you stop being so insufferably cocky for one second and just come back to the camp before I drag your ass back?” You say through gritted teeth. You wanted to have more bark to your bite, but the inkling dread of what could be out here stopped you from crossing that line. 

He stepped closer to you, the glow of his flashlight reflecting in his eyes in tiny glimmers,“ Why? I thought you didn't care if ‘whatever is out there’ got me.”

“ I don’t—but I’d hate to be an accomplice to that thing.” 

“ Admit it. You’re worried about me.”

By now Bucky was mere inches away from you. Having slowly sauntered right up to you. His eyes were daring you to speak the truth—his arrogant smile tempting you to do even more. 

“ I came to get you back, but if you’re determined to stay here then stay,” you huff, spinning on your heels to storm off. 

Bucky’s hand reaches out and encloses your wrist gently. Just enough to keep you from walking away. He sighs with defeated ire. 

“ Sweetheart, why won't you admit—” he’s cut off by the swift movement of something dashing past the both of you. He immediately pulls you in closer, his arms encasing you protectively—his body a shield. One arm is wrapped around your waist while the other holds your head. Your own body leans into his as if bracing for impact. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see the culprit of the racket. A deer dashing through the woods like it had somewhere to be. You held back a laugh at the revelation. 

This is what had you so worried this whole time? A deer? 

Even so, your heart races in your chest. And Bucky has you so tightly pressed into his that you can feel the way his own heart is thrumming rapidly. Both of your breaths work to steady from their instability as you realize there is nothing truly to be worried about. 

You stay like this for what seems like an eternity. Finding comfort in each other’s arms. The fog dances around your figures as if pushing you closer. The tips of your fingers tingle from where they’re pressed at his chest. 

When you finally register whose touch it is, you pull away. Bucky reluctantly lets you go. His arms awkwardly falling to his sides. You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t know where to start.

Why was his instinct to protect you? To keep you from harm’s way? 

And why had you felt the safest all night in his arms? 

You swallow the questions that desire to escape. There’s a part of you that feels like you should thank him, but then the other part feels stupid for wanting to do so. Knowing how much it would feed his ego to vindicate him as a hero. 

“ Guess it was just a deer, huh?” Bucky tries to cut through whatever tension is starting to build. 

“ Yeah…silly us…” you reply, half-heartedly. Your mind still reeling from his touch. 

You both go quiet again. The silence welcomes you where words fail to. 

Out of nowhere, you feel a tiny bead land on your head. Followed by one on your hand and then your cheek. It's beginning to drizzle. The rain cutting through the trees and promising to kiss every inch of your skin. 

“ We should get going,” Bucky says, his palm cupped to catch a few droplets. 

“ Yeah, that’s a good idea,” you agree, clearing your throat. In other circumstances, Bucky would rejoice and point out how, for once, you aren’t arguing with him. But not right now—not at this moment. Not when the memory of holding each other stirred something within you both. 

No, now instead you walk back to the campsite in silence. You’re a few steps ahead as Bucky decides to tow along at a slower pace. Seemingly lost in thought. 

When you’re back at the campsite your eyes dart to your tent. It’s within reach. A safety you can hideout in until the emotions Bucky arose in you fade away.  

“ Can I chill in your tent for a while? Just until the rain stops,” Bucky surprises you with his request. Until you remember he gave up his tent to his friend for the night. 

“ What? No,” your response is immediate. The thought of you and Bucky alone in your tent causes many scenarios to run through your head. You didn’t think you’d make it through the night with him in it. You were barely hanging on as it is. 

“ I just saved your life.” 

“ You did not.”

“ Did too.” 

“ James, you absolutely did not–” 

“ Please,” his soft plea tugs at the very part of you that wants to say yes. He’s not the kind of guy to beg, but he’ll do anything to not stand out in the cold rain. You being in an enclosed space with him was just a bonus. 

An extremely tantalizing bonus. 

“ Fine…but only until the rain stops,” you concede. You weren’t heartless enough to leave him out in the rain. 

You zip open the tent and climb inside. You remove your moccasins and leave them by the entrance. The inside is spacious enough for the two of you, but you still find yourself going into the furthest right corner of it. You sit crossed-legged as you turn on the small LED lantern to illuminate the tent with its muted glow. He makes his way inside, his hair glistening from the rain. He leaves his muddied slides by your moccasins. 

“ This tent is way nicer than the one Sam and I got,” he comments, running a hand through his hair to dispel the droplets. He’s trying to make light conversation, keeping his distance as he sits in the corner by the entrance diagonally from you. 

“ Jane’s family is really into camping so she had this one laying around…” you mention. The oddity of small talk between you fills the space with a foreign dynamic. The rain goes from a sprinkle to a pour. Hitting the top of the fabric cacoon in harsh strokes.  

He chooses to pivot the conversation.“ Do you have everything ready for fall semester?” He asks you, maneuvering to sit with his knees bent, his shirt hiking up the smallest bit to expose the skin at his hips. You avert your gaze when your heart does a little flip. 

“ Almost. I still have one or two textbooks to get,” you reply, playing with a few loose threads of the blanket beneath you. Anything to not have your eyes wander back to him. 

He scoffs lightly,“ You already got your textbooks? There’s no way. I always get ‘em after the first week.” Unlike you, he can’t seem to keep his pretty blues away from you. Your features heightened in the gentle sheen of the lantern. Intricate shadows scattered across your figure that made you look ethereal. The way his heart hammered in his chest romanticizing the sight of you.

“ That's because I’m responsible and you’re not.” 

“ I am responsible. As captain of the baseball team—”

“ Spare me the team leader speech, please,” you groan, stopping him from continuing. There’s only so much you can take for one night. And hearing Bucky light up as he talks about the one thing he’s passionate about—the one thing that humanizes him to you beyond his usual cheeky self. It would do more to you than just make your heart do a little flip.

You’d end up saying or doing something you wouldn’t be able to take back. 

“ Look, Y/n, I’m just trying to make conversation here. You don’t have to be so difficult all the time. Just talk to me,” Bucky brings you out of your thoughts not only by his exasperated tone, but by the way your name rolls off his tongue. He so rarely calls you by it. He’s called you sweetheart endlessly—and he’s even slipped a few sunshines in the mix—but your name was foreign to his vocabulary.  

 Bucky is usually good at dealing with your constant back and forth. Some days it's the only thing he looks forward to. However, right now it was irritating him how much you pushed back. He wanted you to give in. To what, he wasn’t sure. But he wondered what normalcy felt like with you—what just a damn friendly conversation felt like. 

You sigh, meeting his eyes.“ I don’t want to talk. Sorry, I think I’m just tired. Maybe we should go to bed,” you suggest, hoping that if he says yes you can sleep away the bubbling of emotions in your chest. 

You can see the way he contemplates something, biting the inside of his bottom lip. Now he’s the one holding back. A beat passes and you nervously wonder if he’ll turn down your suggestion. 

“ Fine—it's late anyway. But only if I get to sleep next to you. I promise I’ll keep my distance. It’s just there’s water leaking through the zipper at the entrance,” he mentions, his hand motioning to the entry. Your eyes dart to where he’s pointing and sure enough there’s a small puddle of water pooling by it. Not knowing how long the rain would continue, you knew you had to deal with the issue.

You grab Jane’s camping gear that holds numerous amount of supplies in all of its various pockets. She always came extra prepared no matter the occasion. You take out a washcloth, scooting over to the entrance to soak up the forming puddle. You decide to leave it there neatly tucked underneath where the water was finding its way in.

“ Alright, but if you snore I'm kicking you out,” you warn, but it’s more playful than serious. Something to lighten the mood before you go to bed. A way to dissipate whatever tension’s built up so you'd be able to fall asleep. 

It’s hard to cut through the tension and alleviate its symptoms when your shelter from the storm seems to shrink the more you chat with Bucky. And now sitting right next to him—shoulder to shoulder—it seems like a damn near impossible task. 

" I’ll take my chances. But just so you know, I don’t go down without a fight,” he winks at you, your shoulders brushing. Your heart rate picks up and it takes everything within you to stare into his eyes and not focus on the way that simple contact sent a shiver down your spine. 

His eyes drift to your lips causing your breath to hitch. The implications of where this could go are enough to pull you away from his spell. 

“ Goodnight,” you choke out. Subtly rushing over to your sleeping bag and settling into it. You don’t see when he shakes his head, but you do hear how he chuckles lowly. He mumbles something under his breath, but you can’t pick it up. 

He makes his way over to Jane’s sleeping bag, but lays on top of it instead of nestling into it. Choosing to cover himself only in the maroon fleece blanket that was draped over your body too. 

“ Goodnight,” he finally says, his body turning to face away from you. You respond by turning off the lantern. The space is now engulfed by darkness. Only the faintest of light shines in from the outside, letting your eyes trace the outlines of objects. 

 You turn to your side. Your back facing his. You take a deep breath, concentrating on the sound of the rain to hopefully lull you into a slumber. But the air felt too thick and your body was burning up from the heat radiating under the blanket. There was a good foot or so separating your body and Bucky’s. And yet, you could feel the heat radiating off of him as if he was pressed up right against you. 

It was too much. You swore you started sweating, so you shuffled under the covers and out of the sleeping bag. Every movement slow and deliberate as if to not snap the rope keeping the palpable tension in place. 

When only the plush fleece covered your body, the heat radiated less. But the fluttering of the blanket caused Bucky’s cologne to waft your way. A pleasant scent of musky woodiness with a hint of something that was entirely him. You gripped the cover tightly and counted to ten in your head. You were going mad. 

“ Would you stop hogging the blanket? ” Bucky muttered from beside you. There were a lot of things he wanted to tell you to stop doing. Because you and your constant fidgeting were driving him crazy. Every fiber of his being holding back from doing something to snap that rope. 

You didn’t realize you had been pulling it your way until he mentioned it. Your grip on it loosened,“ Sorry. I wasn’t hogging it though,” you argued for no reason other than to fill the silence. 

“ Yes, you were.” 

“ No, I wasn’t.” 

There was something about the proximity of your bodies that made the blanket seem smaller. Like there was no possible way it could equally cover both of your sleeping forms. Maybe this is what caused you to then tug at it, however, he holds it firmly to himself too.  

Persistently you pull at the blanket again. He pulls back—a tug of war ensues between you. You can hear him huff in the darkness, but you're not letting up. Bucky couldn't care less about the blanket. He only cared about not letting you get the upper hand. His competitive streak showing.  

While you solely really didn’t want to let him win. 

You wrap the end of the blanket around yourself—almost like a cacoon. The delicate fleece encases you. Leaving the bare minimum amount for Bucky to cover himself with. 

“ You have got to be one of the most stubborn people I have ever met in my goddamn life,” he practically growls as he yanks forcefully on the blanket. A tiny yelp escapes you as you get pulled along with it. 

You underestimated the strength of the star pitcher. 

You end up on top of him. The blanket now an extra cushy barrier between your bodies. In the dim light, your eyes lock, and you can faintly see the outline of a boyish grin on his face. You don’t move away. There’s like an invisible force that keeps you there. Your body pressed against his feeling his warmth tenfold. You can’t tell if either of you are breathing because all you're aware of now is how his heart beats in time with yours. 

“ You’re insufferable you know that?” you swallow hard, your voice lacking its usual bite.

“ You sure about that, sweetheart?” he challenges, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips brushing against yours with feather-light contact.

When had your lips gotten so close? 

You don’t know who leans in first. The one who finally breaks the standoff because your lips seem to meet at the same time. The kiss is sweet, but with a slight hesitance to it. As if neither of you are completely sure the other wants this. Or more like neither of you believes this is happening. However, when his hands grip the back of your thighs, sliding your legs from on top of him to his sides so you straddle him—you believe it. And when your hands find themselves threading in his hair—he believes it. 

One kiss that tests the waters turns into one that slowly sinks into the feeling. Until the two of you fully submerge into the depths of whatever has been simmering between you for what seems like too long. Delicate kisses that get more heated—more intense as your lips continue to meet. Bucky beams at the fact that you’re no longer pushing, but pulling into him. His craving for you only increasing now that he’s had a taste. 

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, slow and gentle. Asking for permission to deepen the kiss. Bucky Barnes isn’t the type to be slow and gentle—but when it comes to you he finds himself wanting to relish every second he gets. Not knowing when he’ll get another moment like this with you again. 

Your lips part enough for him to slip his tongue in to truly kiss you like he wanted to. As soon as you grant access he takes full opportunity to explore every corner of your mouth. His tongue molding with yours in fervor. Your fingers lightly tug at his hair while his hands roam your body memorizing every curve and dip. Wherever he gripped and caressed, his touch left heat in its wake. 

A heat you had to contain before it consumed you both. 

“ If you think you’re getting lucky tonight—think again. This is the most you’ll get,” You say breathlessly, pulling away to help your lungs remember what oxygen is. 

He groans, breath panting, the outline of his pout evident in the dim light,“ Don’t do this to me, sweetheart. Can’t leave me like this.” His voice a desperate whine that allured you to keep going. 

“ Too bad. You're dreaming if you think this is going any further.” 

“ God, you don’t wanna know what I've dreamed about.” 

“ Shut up,” you cut off his groan with another kiss. Fierce enough to silence him immediately. He hopes you shut him up like this more often. 

Your lips meet again in a hasty lock. No hesitation now as your tongues meet quicker. You seem to be obsessed with his hair as you run your fingers through it again. He shivers at the touch. His hands slide under your sweater to trail along your soft skin. Keeping his hands along your back and waist. Teetering around the boundary you drew, so he didn’t get carried away. But it was hard when kissing you felt as good as throwing the perfect game—maybe even better.

He realizes the emotions you bring out of him are worth a lifetime waiting for.

He pulls away this time to catch his breath, his hands sliding up your body to cup your face,“ I’m in no rush, sweetheart. I’ve got all the time in the world to take it all the way—make you fall for me.” 

You hum, leaning into his touch,“ You seem sure of yourself. ”

His voice is rough yet affectionate when he speaks,“ I’m sure of you, sweetheart. You’re worth every second, and I’m not stopping until you see it too.” 

He gives you one final tender kiss. One that's full of promise for the future. You weren’t sure if it was his words or the meaning in the kiss that stole your breath away. 

After a few seconds, you both pull away. Separating your bodies from each other to provide that much-needed space before lines were crossed.

“ Goodnight, Bucky,” you say, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how you would keep your hands and lips to yourself come tomorrow. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat when you called him by his nickname. Bringing a genuine smile to his face, loving the way it sounded coming from you. 

“ Goodnight, Y/n.”

Even after saying goodnight, the two of you can’t fall asleep immediately. You try to, but there are small moments in the night where you drift back to each other. Where in the darkness your lips meet again and again—satiating the tension in parts. Where your hands find themselves under the covers and layers of clothing. Flaming the fans of desire just enough so it doesn’t completely burn out, but smoldering to be reignited at any moment’s chance. 

You don’t realize when you fall asleep. Your eyelids growing heavy at some point tangled up in his body under the covers. Your face in the crook of his neck. His head resting on top of yours. Your bodies fit like puzzle pieces like they were meant to be connected in every way. 

It’s not until that morning when you wake up and find yourself in his arms, snuggled into his side, that the events of last night sink in. You pull away the tiniest bit. Merely enough to be able to get a look at him. The brown strands of his hair tousled and clinging to his forehead. The slope of his nose, his dark lashes fanned delicately against his skin, and the tiniest parting of his lips. He looks peaceful—almost angelic as he slumbers. 

You’re itching to sketch the image in front of you. 

You can’t stop yourself from reaching out to touch the strands at his forehead. It’s enough to have his eyes flutter open, their color brighter in the daylight. He gives you a lazy smile the instant he realizes last night wasn’t a dream and you really were here, nestled in his arms. 

No words were exchanged, but both of you were conscious of the line you had drawn last night. And yet, you both also knew that in time, that line would be crossed again and again. Until the line blurred into oblivion.

[lovl3igh]

"they made greens worse in show to push blacks agenda" "they made blacks worse in show to push green agenda" truth is they made daemon and viserys worse and greens are now arouse sympathy and rhaenyra is made more soft and all that destroys mostly female characters and is for more drama and to push whole tg vs tb thing for bigger marketing while saying that's not what we supposed to do (season 1)

and yes, greens are worse in the books, making alicent innocent in the beginning and stating murder of luke as accident was to make them look better. and yes daemon was more "grey" character in the book, while in show almost every scene who was supposed to make him look like good father, husband or just vulnarable guy was cut out or belittled, his relationships make him look like bad guy - killing rhea, admitting to not fully loving laena, abusing nyra - instead of book!daemon who is against everyone but his family (except of green side), there's show!daemon who goes against his family or ignore its' members. and yes there are things when the greens are shown worse than in the books and black better than they were written

but changing ages of characters harms team black only. and since there's many changes of those and that's of many important characters it DOES make team black look worse and makes team green victims

1. alicent instead of being adult woman going against little girl (alicent 18yo and rhaenyra only 9) is now teenager sexually abused by viserys who is even older than her in the show than in f&b. being rhaenyra's peer - and her former friend - also changes the dynamic because now people claim rhaenyra caused break up of their friendship as if she wasn't just suffering 14yo. no, alicent is no more adult woman climbing for power and acting against child, it's a teenager abondoned by her best friend after being force into relationship with much older guy

2. jace, luke and dragon twins aged up - now in book it was 10yo aemond who attacked 3yo joffrey and then fought 4yo luke and 5yo jace*. in the show 11yo (according to s2 timeline) aemond is fighting four kids in the age from 8 to 10. so he doesn't attacks children at least 2x younger than him but is jumped by almost his peers. poor aemond, right?

*before someone say "jace was 6 and luke 5" - jace was born in late 114 AC and luke in late 115, meanwhile laena died at the beggining of 120 AC, which makes them 5 and 4 years old respectively

3. we don't have actual age of twins but looking at actors' ages, jaehaerys and jaehaera were 4, maybe 5 years old, tho in s1 they looked like toddlers. now it's not a big book to show change, 6 to 4yo, but it still look kinda worse to murder boy who barely stopped being a toddler than 6yo

4. daemon fell in love with laena when she was 22 (!!!). she wasn't a teenager. she wasn't also 12yo when offered by her parents to viserys. making her younger in the show made daemon, corlys and rhaenys look worse than in f&b (the only person who looked "better" - there's no good word for that i'm afraid - in that situation was viserys, who decided to marry 15yo and not 12yo. good for you, pedo?)

5. joffrey being 6yo with baby dragon makes rhaenyra look worse and like an oathbreaker. sending baby dragons to the vale instead of dragon who can at very least carry his rider doesn't look cool even though was funny for a second, because she technically didn't break her word, she DID send a dragon, even two, but that was a loophole

6. not exactly the same but - fabien frankel and matt smith' casting. i'm not saying they don't play their characters well or anything. that's not the point. the point is that fabien was born in 1994, matt smith in 1982 and milly alcock in 2000. there's 12 years age difference between fabien and matt but between cole and daemon is supposed to be only a year. now daemon is still called a groomer and cole is not because he is played by a guy only 6 years older than milly. and there are also people who now call him a victim and not rhaenyra

so yeah, i don't really wanna see anymore how much blacks look better in the show than in the book and greens worse... because that's not true. yeah, there are things done that make tb look a bit better but the show started with making the greens victims they weren't at all in the book and a lot of that has to do with ages changing

[metamatar]

both sides nominate a judge to the icj panel, israel's pick is an actual anti netyanhu liberal. so telling how labour zionism exists solely to offer moral cover to the occupation.

Despite Barak having been part of a commission that removed [former PM Ariel] Sharon from political office over his involvement in the 1982 Sabra and Shatila massacre, the then-premier called on Barak's services at The Hague in 2004.

"Sharon realised Barak’s utility in 2004 when the ICJ ruled on the apartheid wall, and now Netanyahu realises that Barak can also help him," Sultany said.

Barak has also made no secret of his thoughts on the ongoing war since 7 October. “It may be proportional to kill five innocent kids in order to target their leader,” Barak told The Globe and Mail in November. He also justified the cutting of fuel to the besieged Gaza Strip, stating that it may have been used by Palestinian fighters. “I agree totally with what the government is doing,” he said, referring to how Israeli leadership was conducting the war.

[johns-prince]

if you don’t mind, what are some of your favorite soft mclennon moments?

JOHN: I used to try to get George to rebel with me. I’d say to him, “Look, we don’t need these fuckin’ suits. Let’s chuck them out of the window.” My little rebellion was to have my tie loose with the top button of my shirt undone. Paul’d always come up to me and put it straight. [x]

PAUL: There’s a story that I used to straighten John’s tie before we went on stage. That seems to have become a symbol of what my attitude was supposed to have been. I’ve never straightened anyone’s tie in my life, except perhaps affectionately.

The Times Profile of Paul McCartney - 1982 [x]

“And John and Paul thought back to the time they’d been in Paris before. Flat-broke, unable to afford a taxi, without funds for a decent meal. ‘Maybe we’ll buy the Eiffel Tower this time’, said John with a grin.”

“The Beatles in Paris.” Beatles Book Monthly Magazine No. 8 (March 1964). [x]

““Okay, okay,” I said, “don’t go on, John.” I felt a surge of embarrassment because my instrument was the cause of such hilarity. “Look guys, that’s enough. What have you two been doing while we’ve been struggling to get here? I hope you’ve done some practising and got the song list sorted out?” I was getting more and more annoyed as this episode was dragging on. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry Len. Paul and I have got it all sorted out. Haven’t we Paul? Paul! Paul! I said haven’t we Paul?” Paul McCartney looked up with a wry smile and paused. “Tonight will run just like clockwork. I am going to give the audience the best rendition of ‘Guitar Boogie’ they have ever heard this side of Garston.” “Hey, this is a new twist,” I said. “Paul just cracked a joke. He must have a sense of humour after all, John, shall we have him in the group?” John was enjoying the banter as ever. “Yeah, we’ll give him another try and if you don’t get it right this time, Jimmy,” Jimmy (James) was Paul’s first name, “then…” John waited to see the expression on Paul’s face. “Then we’ll,” again a pause, and by this time we were hanging on John’s next words, “then we’ll have to send him for some more guitar lessons!” Paul joined in the laughter and at that we were all back to normal.”

— Len Garry, John, Paul and Me: Before The Beatles. (1997) [x]

“One of my great memories of John is from when we were having some argument. I was disagreeing and we were calling each other names. We let it settle for a second and then he lowered his glasses and he said: “It’s only me.” And then he put his glasses back on again. To me, that was John. Those were the moments when I actually saw him without the facade, the armour, which I loved as well, like anyone else. It was a beautiful suit of armour. But it was wonderful when he let the visor down and you’d just see the John Lennon that he was frightened to reveal to the world.” [x]

“Whatever bad things John said about me, he would also slip his glasses down to the end of his nose and say, ’I love you’. That’s really what I hold on to. That’s what I believe. The rest is showing off.” [x]

“I remember being shocked one day when John started worrying about how people would remember him when he was gone. It was an incredibly vulnerable thing for him to come out with. I said to him then, ‘They’ll remember you as a fucking genius, because that’s what you are. But, you won’t give a shit because you’ll be up there, flying across the universe.’” [x]

“If John Lennon could come back for a day, how would you spend it with him?”  “In bed.” — Paul McCartney answers questions for Q magazine, 1998. [x]

“John and I grew up like twins although he was a year and a half older than me. We grew up literally in the same bed because when we were on holiday, hitchhiking or whatever, we would share a bed. Or when we were writing songs as kids he’d be in my bedroom or I’d be in his. Or he’d be in my front parlour or I’d be in his, although his Aunt Mimi sometimes kicked us out into the vestibule!”

— September 26, 1997, “Paul McCartney - Meet The Beatle” by Steve Richards [x]

“We were recording the other night, and I just wasn’t there. Neither was Paul. We were like two robots going through the motions. We do need each other alot. When we used to get together after a month off, we used to be embarrassed about touching each other. We’d do an elaborate handshake just to hide the embarrassment… or we did mad dances. Then we got to hugging each other.”

— John Lennon, The Beatles by Hunter Davies [x]

Q: “What musician and composer do you respect most?” Paul: “No, I don’t know, really... John Lennon!” John: *mock-shy* “...Paul McCartney.” [x]

conversations with mccartney, paul du noyer [x]

“It was 8:30. I could hear people talking about the likelihood of a storm later on that evening. I can remember hoping that it would clear up before my cycle ride back to Wavertree. Up to now it had been an eventful day but very tiring and as a group, although committed to playing, we all wished that we could pack up and go home. All of us apart from John Lennon. I think that meeting Paul had whetted his appetite and by the time we went on stage for our session at 8:45 he looked refreshed and seemed to have a new sparkle, as though he had had an injection of renewed optimism and enthusiasm as he played and sang through our usual repertoire that evening. […] I went outside for some air and a smoke; John and Pete decided to come with me. We stood outside pulling on our cigarettes, enjoying the breeze that had risen with the oncoming storm. “Do you know, John,” remarked Pete as we stood outside, “I’ve never heard you sound as good as you did just then. I know you’re going to say that I’m not very musical but I could hear the difference. I can see that something’s happened to you. Even the skiffle numbers which I know you’re not that keen on sounded good. You seem to have put more effort into them.” “Pete’s right, John. I couldn’t help noticing it as well,” I said. John was silent for a few minutes, just enjoying his smoke. “I guess someone took the trouble to share what he knew with me and it’s just given me a little encouragement for the future, that’s all.” “Oh I see, you’re getting a little sentimental in your old age, aren’t you,” joked Pete, who had never seen his life-long friend in that light before. “Don’t be thick, Pete,” replied John, who seemed almost back to his normal abrupt self. “Come on, I need a drink.”” — Len Garry, John, Paul and Me: Before The Beatles. (1997) [x]

[x]

Paul's persistence and endless patience for John while he was dealing with the death of his mother Julia:

But Paul seemed to have limitless patience for John, sneaking away from his classes to drink coffee at the Jacaranda coffeehouse, or else spend the afternoon nursing pints and punching rock ‘n’ roll songs on the jukebox at Ye Cracke pub. Certainly, Paul preferred hanging out with his friend to grinding through lectures and assignments at his schoolboy’s desk at the Liverpool Institute. But the hours they spent together held an emotional significance, too. For even if they rarely spoke about the pain of losing their mothers, the mutual feelings of loss—and the rawness of John’s wound—gave them a connection that was as vital as it was unspoken. It was, Paul said later, a “special bond for us, something of ours, a special thing.” … “We could look at each other,” Paul said, “and know.”” 

…

John, however, had other things on his mind. Though the fall of 1958 and well into 1959, John was far too busy engaging in art-school life—if not exactly his studies—to think much about playing in a rock ‘n’ roll band. He had started dating another student, a quiet blonde from the relatively posh Hoylake district on the Wirral, named Cynthia Powell. She proved a warm, stabilizing influence, which helped mitigate John’s ongoing grief and rage.

He had also grown particularly close to one of the school’s most promising students, a blazingly talented painter named Stuart Sutcliffe, whose emotional portraits and densely wrought abstracts had already caught the eye of the university’s instructors, along with the gallery owners, artists and critics who orbited the bohemian section that bordered the campus. John had been drawn to Stu’s talent, too, and when his classmate invited John to move into his large, if downtrodden, flat around the corner from the college in a row of once-elegant homes on Gambier Terrace, the two art students became even closer. The flat became a hub for their college friends, a reliable address for drinking bouts and all-night parties.

 Nevertheless, Paul made certain not to be a stranger. He was a regular around Gambier Terrace, often toting his guitar to spur a little playing and singing, and if circumstance permitted, a bit of songwriting. John remained an eager music fan, and generally enthusiastic partner for playing and singing. But his disinterest in the band, prompted at least in part by his deepening friendship with Stu, frustrated Paul. 

…

John was moving on, and not in a promising direction. George, for his part, had grown sick of waiting and joined the jazz-and-skiffle centered Les Stewart Quartet, though he made it clear to Paul he’d be back with the Quarrymen whenever they resumed playing. Paul, on the other hand, wasn’t interested in playing with anyone else. For whatever combination of emotional or visceral reasons, he couldn’t seem to imagine a musical life that didn’t include John Lennon as his primary partner.

So he persisted, dragging his guitar to Gambier Terrace, making himself a fixture amid the empty beer bottles, overflowing ashtrays, shattered Vicks inhalers, and paint-splattered clothes.

If John didn’t evince any interest in being in a band, Paul would simply wait, guitar at the ready, until he did.

— Peter Ames Carlin, Paul McCartney: A Life [x]

[mizgnomer]

Behind the Scenes of The Star Beast - Part Five

Excerpt from Benjamin Cook’s Star Beast Set Visit in DWM 597:

Tonight, in London’s famous Camden Market, David will be taking the Fourteenth Doctor’s first, not-so-tentative steps into the big, wide world – shooting the pre-title sequence for Special 1, The Star Beast. Although, right now he’s sheltering inside Modfather (‘VINTAGE STYLE, MODERN LIFE,’ says a sign in the outfitters’ window), to evade the glare of the cameraphones. In his new Doctor Who costume – plaid brown suit, white shirt and knitted silver tie, with a dark blue Shetland tweed coat – David doesn’t look at all out of place here. In October 2022, a mere 12 years, 9 months and 22 days after his last regular appearance in Doctor Who – as the Tenth Doctor, in The End of Time – David Tennant returned to the show. We’d never seen a Doctor regenerate into a former body before. For context, classic Who fans: David turning up in the dying moments of The Power of the Doctor is a bit like if Peter Davison had regenerated into Patrick Troughton’s Sixth Doctor at the end of Time-Flight, in 1982. Which he didn’t. Though, while we’re on the subject… David remembers watching Troughton return in the ’80s, for the odd one-off: “That felt like a man from pre-history turning up, to me in 1983, because I was just – what? – 12 years old,” he says of 20th Anniversary Special The Five Doctors. “But I bet it felt like yesterday for Patrick Troughton.” Forty years on, David can relate: “It’s like when people tell me – in fact, people on this set, working on this show, have come up to me this past week and gone – ‘I loved watching you as a kid.’ I’m like, … you were a kid? What, no! To me, it was a blink of an eye ago. To them… I’m pre-history!” But now he’s the present, too.

A huge THANK YOU to everyone who posted set photos, including Modfather on Instagram

Additional parts of this set are in the #whoBtsBeast tag. The full episode list is [ here ]

[ayrtonsennatea]

F1 sleepover protest lore:

South African Grand Prix - 1982

Involved: all drivers

In 1982 all drivers locked themselves into one shared hotel room and refused to drive at the South African GP as a protest against clauses on their super licence contracts.

Not even their teams managed to get them to leave the room, only one photographer was allowed inside.

There are photos of Alain Prost sharing a mattress with Gilles Villeneuve, and Patrick Tambay saying “If those two have kids after this tonight I might as well retire now.”

Elio de Angelis played the piano.

Niki Lauda was sharing a bed with Patrese

Someone next to Rosberg was snoring until Villeneuve put a blanket over him.

They were just having fun.

In the end Balestre and Exclestone (the people in power) agreed to all the changes they wanted and it was enough for the drivers to head back to the track

[silent-stories]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇

Pairing: Eddie x GN!Reader

Summary: Eddie was not used to a kind of touch that was not violent until he met you.

Warnings: angst, fluff, domestic violence, blood

1972

Eddie was seven years old and didn't know how to ride a bike.

His mom had left about a year before and Eddie was a child but he wasn't stupid: he knew she wasn't coming back.

His father had lost his job and Eddie didn't know what he did all day - and often all night - outside their house.

No one had ever taught him to ride a bike. But that hadn't stopped him from trying to learn when he found an abandoned bicycle next to a garbage can on his way home from school.

The other kids made it look so easy.

The first time he fell he grazed his knee, which started bleeding when his skin scraped against the asphalt after his jeans ripped.

He wanted to cry but his father said real men didn't cry, so he got up and tried again.

The second time he fell, his arm hit the ground and blood started coming from the scrapes on his elbow as well.

The third time he ended up with his face against the asphalt and a cut on his left eyebrow.

He tried again and again, until even his hands were covered in blood and bruised.

When he got home he used a bottle of whiskey to disinfect the wounds, he didn't know if it was really useful but his father always did it when he came home bleeding.

In his room then, he cried. Not really from the pain of the wounds and the bruises that were starting to form, but because his mom had left him, his father hated him and no one cared about him enough to even teach him how to ride a damn bike.

1974

Eddie was nine years old and he was used to seeing his father come home drunk.

"What the fuck do you want?" the man asked seeing his son as he was stumbling into the house.

Eddie just stood there saying nothing, watching his father struggle to remove his jacket and missing the coat rack, then heading to the kitchen and opening the fridge.

"I told you to buy some beer." He said closing it and turning to look Eddie in the eye.

"I'm nine. They said they won't let me buy it." Eddie muttered and it was the truth.

The father walked towards him and Eddie had to keep from stepping back.

When he reached out his hand for him Eddie flinched but the hand stayed in front of him.

"The money."

Right, his dad was waiting for Eddie to give back the money he didn't spend on beer.

There was just one problem. Eddie had spent that money on a book. He had seen it displayed in a shop window next to a supermarket and hadn't resisted, only now did he realize how stupid he had been.

"So?" Repeated his father, "the money"

Eddie shook his head.

"No?" Eddie could hear a note of anger in his off-balance words. "No what?"

"I don't have your money, sir." Eddie muttered. He shouldn't have bought that book, he never should have.

The father's outstretched hand shot forward the kid and grabbed ​​the child's face, squeezing it between his fingers.

"What the fuck did you do with my money?"

"I'm sorry" the boy murmured as tears formed in his eyes.

"What the fuck did you do with them!?" He raised his voice, his hand still gripping Eddie's face, probably going to have a bruise the next day.

"I-I bought a book." He finally breathed.

"A book?" the father asked, his bloodshot eyes staring into the boy's.

Eddie nodded and before he could understand what was happening his father's hand had left his face and the other, clenched in a fist, reached his face.

Eddie's vision blurred as the punch hit his cheekbone and sent him to the ground.

His head was throbbing and his ears were ringing but he still understood what his father said before disappearing into the bedroom.

"Next time remember not to spend my money on bullshit."

Eddie curled up on the living room floor as he began to sob, one cheek resting on the cold floor as the other felt like on fire.

He stayed there until the sun came up.

1982

Eddie was seventeen and hadn't lived with his father for several years, which was good, but people at school had started calling him "freak."

He pretended that it didn't bother him, that it didn't hurt him and everyone seemed to believe it.

They looked at him with contempt and disgust and Eddie honestly didn't even know why. Was it the way he dressed? Was it because he liked metal?

The jocks had started to bump on him on purpose when walking in the hallways making him drop whatever he was holding in his hands.

But he was already used to things like that.

1986

Eddie was twenty-one and trying to graduate, for the third time.

He was part of a band and at lunch he ate with the other Hellfire members, so he could tell he had found some friends.

But there was also something else. Someone. You.

He'd met you one night when you'd picked up the kids after a Hellfire campaign, complaining that you were sick of babysitting but greeting Dustin by ruffling his short, dark curls, showing that you weren't really mad at any of them.

The thing that surprised Eddie was that you introduced yourself shaking his hand, a common gesture that people did so often but which happened to him so seldom.

He had never told anyone that that gesture had made him feel more "human" and less "freak" than he had ever felt during the last years of his life.

Since that day, every time you went to pick up the kids after a campaign you stayed there a bit more just to talk to him, sitting on a bench outside the school for a few minutes, and Eddie thought it was really weird for him that sometimes he almost wished the game would end soon, to see you again.

You were kind, you were not scared to be around him and you always managed to make him smile.

Sometimes your leg brushed his as you talked and Eddie felt a weird sensation in the pit of his stomach but he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

He liked having you close, he liked when your hand brushed his, when your shoulder touched his or when you put a hand on his arm as you burst out laughing at something stupid he said.

And every time he felt something weird, simultaneously feeling the urge to pull away from you, not to let him touch him the way you did, and the urge to push you closer to him, to grab your hand with his and intertwine his fingers with yours or put an arm around your shoulders.

Another thing that amazed Eddie is that at school you would greet him every time you saw him in the hallways, even just with a simple "hey", but you did it every time. He didn't expect you to want others to associate you with him but it looked like you didn't care.

It was when you gave him a hug, one day, that he realized he was completely screwed, because he liked you. He liked you in a way he'd never liked anyone before and didn't know what to do.

"I knew you could do it!"

It was stupid to be so happy for him since it was his third time taking that math test and it wouldn't alone determine the final result of the year but when you threw your arms around his neck, Eddie felt his heart burn in his chest.

He placed his hand on your back and as he held you close, he found himself burying his face in your hair, breathing in your perfume and hoping that moment would never end.

When you walked away Eddie wanted to pull you against him again but you said you were late for art class and ran away before he could say anything.

Eddie stood in the empty hallway for a few moments, trying to sort out his thoughts, trying to figure out what was happening to him.

His thoughts led him to the last time he had had human contact that wasn't any kind of violence. He finally came to the conclusion that you were the first person in many years, or perhaps for the first time in his life, who offered him a gentle touch.

His uncle wasn't one to physically show affection beyond a pat on the back once in a while and his mom probably gave him a hug once or twice when Eddie was four.

That was all.

The rest were just things Eddie preferred to forget.

And now that you had shown Eddie how a hug, or even just a touch, from someone he loved made him feel, he didn't want that feeling to end.

Fuck, he thought locking his locker with the intention of skipping biology class, he was really screwed.

"Thanks for the ride," Dustin said as you got out of your car in the school parking lot.

"You're lucky I have to drive past your house anyway." You rolled your eyes.

"I swear I'm going by bike tomorrow." He said as you walked side by side towards the school.

"Hey" you nudged him lightly "it's okay. I'm just kidding. You know I can give you a ride every day if you need it."

A huge smile appeared on Dustin's face but before he could say something his gaze met the crowd of people gathered in a sort of circle in front of the school. Some shouted, others cheered and laughed.

"What the hell?" You asked before walking towards the crowd with quick steps, followed by Dustin.

When you arrived, it looked like the show was already over.

You shouldered some students to get a glimpse of what was going on. In the center of the circle, Jason Carver was talking agitatedly with a teacher.

"He started it! I just defended myself!" Jason practically yelled at the teacher as he tried to calm him down.

"That's enough. You know very well that fights are not allowed in this school."

Fights?

"I know. And like I said, it wasn't my fault. I didn't start it." He replied confidently.

Liar. Jason was always the first to start a fight.

"As soon as you got here, Mr. Jones, he ran away. It's obviously his fault and he knows it too." Jason's tone was filled with anger and contempt.

Only at that moment you noticed the blood stain on Jason's white shirt, even though he didn't seem to be hurt.

The professor looked around. "What are you all still doing here? Everyone go to class!"

The crowd around Jason and the teacher began to dissipate and most of the students walked away.

"Mr. Jones, you don't understand!" Jason exclaimed dramatically, "that freak has to pay for what he did."

As you heard that word you turned to Dustin and your worried gazes met.

"Eddie." You both said at the same time.

You'd decided your history class could wait and you started looking all over the school for Eddie, you had told Dustin that if you found him, you'd let him know.

After checking out the music room as well, one of the few classes Eddie really liked you figured that if he wasn't inside school then he must have been out.

You looked around hoping that no teacher would see you sneaking out and you went out the back door.

You found Eddie sitting on the ground, his back against the school wall, his head down.

"Hey." You announced your presence slowly walking towards him.

Eddie's head snapped up.

"Holy shit." That was all you could say.

The right side of his face was covered in blood from a cut on his forehead and around his barely open eye was a dark purplish bruise. There were marks on her cheek, as if his face had been pressed into the ground and there was also a small wound on his lower lip.

"It's nothing, really. I'm fine." He said avoiding your gaze. "I've had worse."

"It doesn't look like nothing to me." You squatted down in front of him and wondered if his eyes were watering from physical pain or for some other reason. Up close his face looked in even worse shape and the urge to kill Jason with your own hands escalated to extreme levels. What did he do to his pretty face?

"C'mon, let's go clean up and disinfect the wounds, mh?" You said getting up and holding out a hand to help him getting up.

He stared at it for a moment.

"Trust me. There's no one in the infirmary now." You said.

Finally he grabbed it and got up, his hand was warm against yours.

You pushed the door again and entered the school, you were still holding his hand as you guided him towards the infirmary.

"It will hurt a little." You said soaking a cotton ball in the disinfectant and approaching Eddie, who was sitting on a cot.

"You're missing a class because of this" He said "I can do it myself."

You shrugged, "I really don't like history. Too many dates." Then you focused on his face.

You gently placed a hand on his left cheek to keep his face still and placed the cotton on the wound on his forehead, which fortunately had stopped bleeding.

You expected him to flinch, you knew how much it could hurt, instead he just closed his eyes and leaned into the touch of your hand. He seemed calm.

You finished disinfecting his forehead and pushed his hair behind his ear to clean the blood that had stained his temple.

His eyes were still closed, his hand still gently resting on the side of his face as you disinfected his cheekbone and lower lip.

"All done" you said putting down the blood stained cotton, moving your hands from his face and noting that he already looked much better than before "are you okay?"

Eddie opened his eyes again and his chocolate brown orbs silently stared at you with a look that was very reminiscent of the one of a puppy.

"Eddie." You called to him again, trying to figure out what was going on, then you felt something brush your fingers and you looked down.

His ringed hand had met yours. You watched as he slowly brought it back to his face, not saying a word.

You ran your thumb up his cheek and he seemed to relax as you did it.

"Thank you" he whispered "I like it when you do that."

"When I do what?" You asked.

"Your touch. I like it when you touch me." He muttered.

"Oh Eds." You brought your lips to his forehead for a kiss and then to his cheekbone, just below the bruise, barely brushing his skin trying to be as gentle as possible.

Then you slowly wrapped your arms around him, pushing his body against yours, being careful not to hurt him. He rested his head on your shoulder and his hands gripped the fabric of your shirt in an almost desperate way, as if he didn't want you to leave him.

You held him as you stroked his back and left a few kisses in his dark hair.

You realized that his reaction was probably caused by the fact that he hadn't received much affection in his life and your heart ached at the thought.

He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve all the awful things that happened in his life.

When you heard the bell announcing the end of first period, Eddie lifted his head and gently pushed you away from him.

"You should really go now."

You cupped his face but with one hand on his neck to avoid touching the wounds and you gently placed your lips on his cheek, on his jaw and then again on his forehead and temple.

"I love you so much, Eddie Munson, never forget that." You said then and he couldn't help but push you back in towards him for a hug.

"I love you too." he whispered.

You knew you weren't talking about that kind of love, not yet. And that was fine, for now.

You reached into his hair and dug your fingers into his curls, your nails scratching his scalp.

"You know what? I already skipped the first period, I don't think it will be a problem to take a day off. We can stay here a bit more."

He just pulled you closer.

[sagan-starstuff]

XF Meta: Scully's Medical Training Timeline

At the request of @randomfoggytiger, I wanted to do my damnedest to make Scully's education and training timeline make even a little sense. I'm a physician (specifically a specialist in adult infectious diseases), and it's fairly clear to me that CC and Co probably didn't actually talk to any doctors about how medical training works. Love my girl - I'm a Scully Effect kid, I don't think I'd be a doctor at all if it weren't for the inspiration of Dana Scully. But her timeline is...iffy at best.

Disclaimer: My medical school and post-med school training occurred from 2009-2018, Scully's occurred in the 1980's-90's. From what I can tell, the durations of many residencies and fellowships don't seem to have changed much, but I can't say that for certainty for all programs at all institutions. I am also from the US, so I cannot speak to medical training in other countries.

Our girl was born in 1964, and so unless she skipped a grade (which some schools would do if students were classified as "gifted" or otherwise exceptional, she would have graduated from high school at age 18 in 1982 and went straight to college. Let's assume she didn't skip a grade, for the sake of argument.

You have to have a Bachelor's degree to apply to medical school. These degrees typically take 4 years, though if someone arrives at college with credits from dual-enrollment high school classes or AP exam credits OR if they take summer classes some people can complete them in 3 years. I don't know what the availability of dual enrollment or AP classes was like in the early 80's (and like CC, I'm too lazy to do the research to find out), so we can assume that Scully graduated from college in 1986.

Medical school is 4 years long - no shortening this at that point in time, and even now in almost all cases. So that puts medical school graduation in 1990 IF she's following a traditional timeline and went straight from college to medical school.

Now, if someone is going to go into practice they have to do a residency in at least one of a variety of specialties (Internal Medicine, Pediatrics, Surgery, etc.) in order to be board certified and practice independently. There are very, very few job options in clinical medicine if you DON'T do a residency, so if you want to practice, you have to do it. Residencies can be anywhere from 3-5 years, depending on the specialty. You can also further subspecialize after a residency by doing one or more fellowships (typically 1-3 years depending on the fellowship) before sitting for your board certification exams and starting independent practice. For example - after medical school I did a 3-year residency in adult internal medicine, then a 2 year fellowship in adult infectious diseases to be eligible to sit for the boards and enter my specialty, so 5 years further training after medical school before I could get a job, get board certified, and practice.

Scully is a forensic pathologist. She would have had to do a 3 or 4 year pathology residency (both were options at the time) followed by a 1 year forensic pathology fellowship. You CANNOT perform autopsies right out of medical school, if you are going to be a forensic pathologist you HAVE to do this training. So, following a traditional timeline this puts her as having completed forensic pathology training in 1994 or 1995. Pilot starts March 7th, 1992, so this is loooooong after she's canonically already an FBI agent and teaching at the academy.

But our girl's a smart cookie, so let's take a little leeway with her timeline. Let's say she skipped a grade some time in K-12. This puts high school graduation in 1981. Let's say she ALSO graduates with a bunch of AP credit and does summer semesters and finishes her undergraduate degree in Physics in 3 years. This puts her as starting medical school in 1984, with graduation in 1988. She'd still need to do that pathology residency and forensic pathology fellowship - let's assume a 3 year residency, then 1 year fellowship, so she'd finish training in 1992.

Still doesn't fit.

Let's go totally off the rails here - we know Scully was recruited out of medical school to the FBI, so she didn't do a traditional residency at all - UNLESS the FBI has an internal forensic pathology residency. It would HAVE to be accelerated in some way - some programs combine residency and fellowship by giving less elective time and more focus to the fellowship content. It's not common but they exist. Let's say in theory the FBI has an accelerated forensic pathology residency that takes 3 years, in addition to the 20 weeks of the FBI academy training. This has her finishing residency AND FBI academy training some time in 1991.

This is the ONLY way she could have finished forensic pathology training AND the FBI academy with enough time to be a fully certified forensic pathologist and FBI agent with some time left to teach at the FBI academy before being assigned to the X-Files on March 7th, 1992.

I can suspend my disbelief enough to be on board with this. You'd have to be pretty damned special, which we know she is, to get recruited out of medical school by the FBI. Maybe they even developed the accelerated combined residency/fellowship just for her! She's Dana Katherine Motherf***ing Scully, people!

Now, IWTB is where things get REALLY unbelievable. (Disclaimer: I have not watched IWTB since seeing it in theaters in 2008. I'll get around to rewatching it someday soon. Probably with a bottle of wine. Not a glass. A bottle.)

Mulder and Scully go on the run in 2002. We don't know how long they were in the wind, but by 2008, she's been allowed to resume a career and is practicing at Our Lady of Sorrows. Clearly in pediatrics - but general pediatricians sure as hell don't do stem cell transplants, so she'd almost certainly have to be a pediatric oncologist. We aren't told what her specialty is specifically, but that's what she'd have to be to do a stem cell transplant.

(That scene in the OR isn't even what stem cell transplants LOOK LIKE but that's a rant for another day, back to my point.)

MEDICAL BOARDS DON'T JUST LET YOU CHANGE YOUR SPECIALTY FOR FUNSIES.

(Deep breaths. Serenity now. Ok, let's do this.)

Scully would have had to do an ENTIRELY NEW residency AND fellowship in order to practice as a pediatric oncologist. Pediatrics residency is 3 years long. Pediatric Hematology/Oncology fellowship is 3 years long. In order for this to be even remotely possible, she would have had to START residency in 2002 to finish fellowship by 2008 and start her job at Our Lady of Sorrows.

And she's a former FBI agent harboring a known felon, on the run from government officials and alien hybrids who want her and Mulder dead.

There is absolutely no way even the smallest, most hard-up pediatric residency program is going to accept her with that hanging over her head. I'm not going to get into all the details of how rigorous and stressful the post-medical school residency application and match process is, but even if she didn't apply until she KNEW it was safe to come out from underground, she'd still have to explain a multi-year gap in her resume/CV to the program directors. Multi-year gaps in career and training without a reasonable explanation like a medical issue, time off to care for an ailing family member, time off for research, time away in a different, legitimate career are NOT looked on kindly when applying for residency positions. She would have a HELL of a time getting into a totally different residency.

It could happen - if anyone could do it, she could. But there's absolutely no way there's enough time for her to complete that training by 2008.

"But sagan-starstuff, it's CC, it's X-Files, we know there was no show bible and no one but the fans gave a shit about continuity or things making sense, there's no logic just vibes"

I KNOW, OK. I KNOW. And I love this insane, beautiful masterpiece anyway. I love exploring the possibilities of how and when it all could have happened with my fellow insane Philes who work so hard to glean meaning and order from this perfect mess of a show.

But couldn't CC have talked to one (1) doctor about what medical training is like at some point between 1993 and 2018? Just one?

Anyway. Yeah. That's my meta. Scully's training timeline makes no goddamned sense. Compels me, though.

@randomfoggytiger, this is for you. Honorable mention to @precedex-files who I ranted about this with in messages a while back.

[c4t1l1n4]

Hey, so you know that post I made earlier today?

Twins in Time AU but instead of 1982!Stanley getting sent back to the past he gets set to Post-Wierdmaggedon 2012 because I need him to get love and comfort from Ford.

Yeah, I wrote it. You can find the not beta'd version under the cut and I'll probably post the still-not-beta'd version on AO3 tomorrow.

You're A Hero, Stanley

A not really at all, but inspired by, Twins in Time AU ----- Stanford Pines is disassembling the portal when it happens.

The kids have gone home after their 13th birthday, and Stanley is out at the store getting groceries. They decided to take a few months to plan everything before setting out to sea. With Bill Cipher defeated and the portal dysfunctional, Ford had no reason to feel uncomfortable being in the basement alone. He's down there, disassembling it completely so it can't be remade when it turns on. He stares at it for a moment, something like fear coursing through his veins as his worst dreams come true.

There's no way that it should work. Parts are missing. The energy source is gone. In fact, Ford was almost done. He stares at the bunch of wires in his hands and the tools on the floor, then back at the blue glow of the portal. Suddenly, a figure falls out of it and crashes to the ground. Ford reaches for his gun, pointing it at the figure as they groan. The figure rights themselves, standing to their feet and looking around. Ford can't believe his eyes.

"Stanley?" He asks in confusion, lowering his gun.

The figure—assumedly Stanley—stares at him in a similar state of uncertainty. "Ford?" His voice rings out hesitantly.

"What happened to you? Are you okay?" Ford asks, rushing over to examine him. "Did something happen at the grocery store?"

"What are you talking about?" Stan says, reeling at the attention. "We were fighting, and I went through your weird portal thing, and now I'm here."

Ford frowns, the portal hanging emptily up above them like a threat. He takes in his brother's brown hair and thick jacket, tucking his gun away. "When are you from?"

Stan looks at him oddly. "What is that supposed to mean?" He blinks, looking at Ford as if seeing him for the first time in the dim light. "What happened to you?"

"Stanley," Ford repeats emphatically. "What year is it?"

"1982."

Ford's eyes widen in shock, and he inhales abruptly. His hands start the shake, and he feels the need to take a deep breath. This Stan is from 1982. 1982. Arguably the worst year of Ford's life. This is when it happened. But it seems that instead, Stan was pushed through and ended up here. He suddenly feels like he doesn't know what to do. He looks at this version of Stan and sees one so similar to his own and knows that this is how he looked and this is how he felt when he was left alone. It scares him, and it's sad. It takes him a moment, and there's a short period where he's just staring at him. He can tell that it makes Stan uncomfortable by the way that he squirms in place.

He then pulls his brother into a tight hug because there's nothing else to do. It's obvious that Stan doesn't know what to do either from the way that he tenses in the hold. Maybe Ford should've been more careful with his abrupt movements and constricting motion, seeing as this Stan is fresh from a life on the run. He knows he's made the right choice when Stan eventually melts into the embrace.

“I'm so sorry,” Ford says, apologizing for things in the past. “And thank you,” he says, apologizing for things in the future.

Stan doesn't say anything back, but Ford suspects it's because there are tears in his eyes. "Are you okay? You never answered my question about whether or not you were hurt.” Ford says, pulling back and holding him at arm's length to investigate him closer.

“I’m fine,” Stan says, “just got some dust in my eye.”

Ford nods knowingly.

"What is this place anyway?" Stan demands. "And why are you so old?"

"This is Gravity Falls, Oregon, and it's the year 2012." Ford grins as Stan's eyes widen in surprise.

"You mean to say my nerdy twin brother invented time travel?" He asks in disbelief.

Ford chuckles. "Not quite. I believe you're from an alternate dimension. If my theory is correct: My Stanley is at the grocery store, and your Ford is working furiously to get you back."

Stan scoffs, eyes dropping to look at the ground. "I doubt that," he says somewhat miserably.

Something sharp and painful pierces Ford in the heart. He knows he's made a lot of mistakes in the past, but seeing it spelled out so clearly in front of him is a special type of torture. "I know you don't believe me, but if your Ford is anything like me, he does love you. He's just an arrogant, ignorant ass about it."

“Hey,” Stan defends on reflex. “That's my brother you're talking about.”

It is equally heartwarming and pain-inducing to see Stan jump so readily to his defense when he knows that the Ford of that time would so easily push him to the side. “He's me,” Ford points out. "It’s just the truth.”

Stan frowns, like he's not happy about it.

"Just like I know it's the truth when I said he cares about you."

Stan eyes him skeptically. "He told me to take his journal as far away from him as possible," he deadpans.

Ford cringes. He doesn't really remember what he said to his brother in that paranoid, insomnia-induced haze, but that sounds pretty bad. "Fair," he conceded. Ford did think he hated his brother for the longest time, even if he really didn’t, so he supposes that Stanley isn't too far off. "Then I can't do much besides reassure you that I love you now."

Stan looks away again. "Not me though. I mean, some version of me, I guess. But yours is at the grocery store, or so you said."

Ford grins, grabbing Stan by the shoulders and forcing him to look at him. "Stan, I love every version of you. Alternate dimension or not. If you can't find it in yourself to believe me, at least look at me. Am I lying?"

Stan studies him. “No,” He says, and something between disbelief and awe breaks out across his face. "You really love me?" He asks, a sound like hope ringing in his voice.

Ford continues to smile, wider this time, and pulls his brother into another hug. "Of course I do. You're my brother. Even more than that, you're a good person and a hero. Stanley.” he says as the young Stans in his arms tightens his hold around him. “You're my hero.”

The blue glow of the portal highlights Stan in his arms as it springs to life again. Ford rests his chin on top of his brother's head, allowing this younger version to take comfort in the moment. He stares up at the portal—the portal that in no way should work and yet does—and holds his brother tighter for a little longer. “I told you he was going to get you back,” Ford says, wishing he didn't have to let him leave. “Now, it's time for you to be his hero.”

Stan takes a step back and with a grin, turns to face the blue glow. He lets himself get sucked into the gravitational pull, floating up and disappearing. It doesn't get any easier or less terrifying to watch someone disappear into its gaping maw, but Ford is reassured that this Stan is going somewhere great.

The portal closes, dowsing the room in darkness once more, but as Ford pulls apart the last pieces, he is filled with hope.

[rosaline-black]

ᴀɴɢᴇʟ - ʀᴇᴍᴜꜱ ʟᴜᴘɪɴ

Summary: Remus had been left completely alone after the first war. After isolating himself for a few months he finally emerges from his cottage to get some groceries at the corner shop. He gets a lot more then bread however when he sets his eyes on you.

Pairing: Fem!reader X Remus Lupin

Everyone was gone. He was alone. Completely alone. He was being nipped by the bitter air as he left the house for the first time in months. He only left because he had to. The fridge was empty, he couldn't live off the tins of soup and packets of rice anymore.

January 1982 was probably a time for new beginnings for most, but for him it was just a reminder he'd been in isolation for over two months. The sun was out, it lit up his pasty unkept appearance which he couldn't care less about.

He tugged on the sleeves of his jumper before finally making a beeline for the corner shop at the end of the street. He just needed to get the bare minimum of groceries and then he could go back into solitude.

The bell rang and he shot into the shop, that blasted Duran Duran song was playing over the shops radio. Merlin how he didn't miss that. Filling it up quickly, his basket was soon packed with the cheapest of groceries, he couldn't retain a job for more then a number of weeks due to his condition so he was living off of the bare minimum.

Remus almost appreciated the muggle corner shop, no daily prophet to remind him of how everything was now apparently just fine. The wizarding world was moving on from the dark lord, leaving him behind. Leaving behind the young adults, no better yet kids who lost there lives fighting. To say he was bitter towards wizarding society would be an understatement.

He shook his head to free the toxic thoughts which would only induce an even deeper depressive spiral and walked to counter not even looking up as he put his basket out for whoever the clerk was.

"Did you want a bag?" Your soft voice called out. Remus's head shot up and his chest suddenly hurt at the site of you. You practically glowed in the sunlight which shon through the shop windows, your smile so pure and genuine he couldn't help his own lips twitching to mirror you.

"Yes please..." he searched for your name badge that sat right atop your chest "..y/n"

Remus indulged himself by gazing upon you. He hadn't been in the company of anyone for months, and you, well you were a beacon of light by just merely smiling. He'd let himself have this moment however brief it may be.

"And you are..." your voice rung out after sensing the mans eyes were on you.

Remus was completely taken aback. He expected you'd be disgusted by the mere sight of him, a clearly poor scruffy mess, but no. Yet again you exhibited such warmth and care by your expression, not an ounce of judgment or hatred ran through you.

"Remus.. my names Remus..." his voice was hoarse. He wasn't used to using it for anything other than sobbing or shouting. He could tell you noticed the strain and your smile morphed from normal to concerned.

"So mysterious Remus do you live local?" You asked lightening his mood. It was easy to tell this man carried a heavy burden, a burden of sadness and loss, it simply radiated from him. If there was anything you could do to make him feel at ease for a moment you would.

"Down the road yes... yourself?" He answered watching you scan each item slowly, like you actually wanted to chat with him. He thanked the heavens above that he was the only person in the shop.

"I live in the flat just above the shop... it was owned by my dad... but he passed away recently and left it to me... couldn't give it up..."

Remus smiled sympathetically, for some reason knowing someone else had lost someone made him feel less alone "so you work here alone?"

He watched as you nodded your head "It is a lot of work... but thank god this is the only local shop in the area otherwise I'd have to shut it..."

Remus suddenly got an idea, were you hiring? No he really shouldn't ask. You'd done enough by letting him stand in your presence, enquiring about a job would go completely over the line.

"Why are you looking for a job?" You asked and it was like you could read his mind "I mean I don't know why you'd want to work here but if you are I really need another clerk..."

Remus was in shock. You were truly his saving grace. It felt too good to be true, like he was taking advantage of you somehow. Your innocent kindness and general care felt too much, he felt unworthy.

After a lack of reply you realised how imprudent that must have sounded "Sorry.. you probably have things to do already... last thing you need his getting wrapped up in a run down corner shop..."

"NO.. I uh... well I would love the job I just don't want to burden you-"

"You could never be a burden Remus..." you smiled and he was convinced right then and there he would die. Die from his heart imploding on itself.

"Well when can you start?"

Months flew by and Remus was feeling more grounded with everyday he spent with you. Instead of pushing you away, he clung onto you like a life raft. The tea you'd share together and the occasional jokey conversations got him through.

He'd found out pretty early on that you were a squib. With full knowledge of wizards but never actually being able to cast a spell. It was a weight of his shoulders to be able to speak of magic freely, all though he held back most of the time as to not boast that he could do magic.

You didn't seem to care though. In fact when Remus would do the odd spell seeing your face light up would make his whole day complete.

He could say there was no doubt that he was in love with you. It annoyed him that his own heart was so feeble he'd fall for someone so pure and gentle, he couldn't let himself taint you with the sorrow he dragged around everywhere.

He'd also hidden his condition from you. He knew how kind you were and the minute you knew of what he went through you'd try to help, he couldn't risk that.

It was the 10th of March, Remus entered the shop and what he saw nearly brought him to his knees. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" You shouted still trying to light the candles that sat a top the cake in your hands with a crappy lighter that hardly worked.

"Y/n why... you didn't need to do anything..."

"Yes I did... because otherwise no one else would and that simply won't do..." you fussed placing the cake down and engulfing him in a hug. Remus took no time in hugging back, his heart to weak to refuse himself your embrace, your intoxicating scent and most importantly your warmth.

But he soon sobered up to the fact that no way could he have you. He couldn't allow himself to blemish your life, so after a few seconds he pulled away quite harshly his face rough and angry.

"A-are you okay remus?" You asked, eyes swimming with concern.

"Yes just... stop being so..." he struggled to find the words, his eyes trained to the ground.

"So what? Should I make some tea? I'm sure that will calm you down and-"

"THAT! Stop being so fucking nice! Normal people aren't that nice... they don't help strangers and make them cakes... give them jobs..." Remus shouted causing you to physically flinch at the volume.

Look what he'd done now. Remus saw you cower away from him and it only reaffirmed that he was a monster. A monster undeserving of your care and maybe even love.

"Sorry.. I just.. I'll go...-"

Before he could run off, you grabbed his forearm with complete desperation "Don't go Remus... please..."

"You can't... I taint you y/n..." Remus muttered meeting your eyes.

"Taint me? What are you talking about..." you shook your head, completely at a loss.

And from there Remus broke down in-front of you. He explained what happened to his friends, how he was left completely alone and how much of burden that's played on his well-being. He eluded to having some kind of condition which truthfully you'd guessed a long time ago.

Him getting regular sicknesses at the same time, the scars and his grouchy attitude around the full moon. It was obvious to you.

"Remus I know... I know about your lyncathropy..." you stated simply, a comforting smile still playing on your lips

"What? No.. I... well then why do you still associate with me... my kind aren't safe to be around y/n... I could hurt you..."

You shook your head and made him look into your eyes "Remus... I couldn't give less of a shit.." you laughed at his eyes widening once you cursed "you've had so much loss and tragedy can't you just let me be there for you? Let me help you through this..."

And in that moment Remus was weak. He gave in, burying his head in your neck as he sobbed his heart out, everything he'd held in over the past months fell out and it felt nice. It felt nice to be held and to be listened to, despite what he was. He felt safe in your arms.

From that day on you did everything to prove to Remus that his condition wasn't going to scare you away, that you were prepared to be there for him throughout everything. So every morning after the full moon you'd close the shop and dress his wounds, cook him meals and make sure he looked after himself. And every full moon Remus was convinced you were his guardian angel, coaxing him slowly from his suffering.

The feelings both of you harboured were quite apparent, and it was one summer evening where your relationship changed. You were simply closing up the shop and Remus just couldn't take his eyes off of you. It was ironic you were a squib but he was convinced you had bewitched him.

He knew right then that he needed to hold you, kiss you, be one with you. The friendship wasn't enough for him anymore, he wanted to call you his.

"y/n are you dating anyone..." he called out after replenishing the last shelf.

You were taken aback by this question. Of course you weren't dating anyone, you'd fallen hopelessly in love with the rugged stranger that stumbled into your shop many months ago. No one could replace him in your heart.

"No... why are you?" You asked crossing every part of your body in the hopes that he hadn't started seeing someone. Surely he'd tell you right? I mean you practically spent every day in each other's company as it what.

"No I'm not.. there is someone I like though.. just not quite sure I deserve her..." He stated watching steadily for your reaction.

You sighed inaudibly, who the bloody hell could it be? But instead of trying to appear upset you did what you did best and smiled, he deserved happiness and so be it if that doesn't involve you "I'm sure she'd be lucky to have you rem..."

Remus chucked. For someone who was such an incredible listener you truly were oblivious "aren't you interested in knowing who it is?"

"Of course... go ahead.." you mumbled not hearing his footsteps approaching you from behind.

As gently as possible Remus tilted your head around to face him, caressing your cheek with the upmost care, you were a work of art in his eyes and needed to be treated as though you could break at any moment "It's you of course..."

The wide smile you gave him made Remus melt into a puddle, and as your lips connected for the first time a very old feeling returned for him. Comfort. You were his angel that granted him comfort again, something he feared he'd never have the pleasure of knowing.

[butchsophiewalten]

Q&A Answers and other notable moments from the July 4th Twitter Space:

-Martin says that in 1982, Kevin is alive and well, and is "probably still working for Bunny Smiles Incorporated."

-Someone asks if Brian would be a "film bro", and Martin says that Brian would be the kind of person to enjoy recording stuff to make personal films, comparing it to the way some kids will like to film a bunch of random shit and put it together as a "movie." He says, "I think Brian would be very into films, and trying to do his own stuff. I don't think he would have gotten too artistic with it, I think he would just fuck with common or mainstream movies at the time. But he would still love going to the theatre, probably. He would be that kinda guy."

Kyle says he thinks Brian would be really into the MCU.

-Someone asks, "What would you say was the biggest setback in development for The Walten Files?" to which Martin answers, "I Think we can all agree that by far, the biggest setback there was ever been for the series was the Episode 5 script." He goes on to explain that what is now episode 5 was originally the shortest segment of what was going to be The Walten Files 4, "... because it was the segment I cared the least about. And now, it's probably one of the most emotionally dense episodes in season one."

-Someone asks what animal Boozoo would be, if he was one. Kyle answers "A lion!" and Martin agrees emphatically.

-Coral asks about what the BSI Crew's favorite animatronics would be. Martin says that Susan's favorite animatronic is Banny, because that was the first animatronic they built. Charles' favorite animatronic is Sha, Rose's favorite would "probably be Bon", Jack's favorite would be Sha or Boozoo, and Felix's favorite would also probably be Sha or Boozoo.

-Someone asks, "Did Brian have any qualifications at all [to work at BSI] or was he just fucking around?" and Martin answers, "He was just fucking around."

-Someone asks about Jack's relationship with Linda. Martin answers, "They were friends! There's no- no more than that. Jack didn't know her very well, so, yeah."

-Someone asks for a Jack and Rosemary Walten fun fact, and Martin answers, "They smoke inside their homes! They smoke a lot, they smoke everywhere. They- they probably smoked while Sophie was a little baby. Maybe- maybe not, I don't know. But, a lot of people in the 70s--" then Coral interrupts, saying that they hope Rosemary didn't smoke while she was pregnant.

-Someone asks, "Does Jack Walten ever think to stop smoking?" and Martin answers, "No he doesn't! Thank you for joining the spa--" and immediately ends the twitter space.

[disney-is-mylife]

Now that we've covered most 80s and 90s "nostalgic" faves....

Don't @ me if your personal fave is not on here. This is MY list of films from MY childhood that I watched over and over, alongside Disney movies. Unlike my previous "nostalgia" polls (80s and 90s, if you want to see the results), the only "rules" here are: non-Disney and fully animated theatrical films. Hence why I included films outside the 90s and Dreamworks as well lol

Happy voting! ❤

A few honorable mentions that I couldn't squeeze into the poll:

An American Tail & Fievel Goes West (I just didn't watch them often enough in my childhood to have them Stick With Me, even though I definitely enjoyed them. But my older brother loved them dearly and talked about them a lot, and I appreciate them a lot more now!)

The Land Before Time (yes, I did watch those absurd sequels - up until 7 ish? - and enjoyed the original, but was never Obsessed like my other peers. Perhaps Jurassic Park traumatized me too much to be fond of dinosaurs lol)

The Brave Little Toaster to the Rescue (speaking of sequels, I remember the pet one?? pretty well? but not enough to call it a Childhood Fave)

The King & I (absolutely ATROCIOUS adaptation/film, btw, but my siblings and I delighted in quoting the stupid comic relief's lines because Kid Humor is broken lmao the amount of times our poor mother must have heard us go "I never want to see another mango in life" before dissolving into a fit of giggles.....)

Pippi Longstocking (idk I read the book and just was happy to see a beloved book character come to life)

Annabelle's Wish (definitely a STRONG honorable mention cuz I was oddly OBSESSED with the soundtrack for some reason??? but unlike other Obsessed With the Soundtrack movies, this one kinda.... disappeared into the ether of my memories, with only that One Song playing on loop when I think about it)

And finally: shout-out to We're Back, FernGully, Pebble and the Penguin, and Quest for Camelot for being weird-ass fever dream memories until I properly watched them after high school

Cats Don't Dance and Thumbelina are probably the closest things to "honorable mentions" on the poll, but I chose to keep them because I remember DISTINCTLY getting VERY upset over Darla Dimple's scheming in Cats Don't Dance, and feeling whimsically swept up in Thumbelina's fairytale romance. Whereas poor American Tail and Land Before Time didn't "latch onto" me the same way. Who can say why? Memories are a funny thing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader | p. 5

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

a/n -> This chapter goes along with the next. As promised, the second part will come out within the hour of this one being posted.

-> <-

September 1982

“I hate boys.”

You let yourself into the Munson household by using the spare key "hidden" underneath the 'Welcome' mat on their front porch. It's become a little habit of yours to barge into their home.

Wayne sits on the couch with the television on far too loud for anyone with a normal hearing range. Unfortunately for him, Eddie has left him nearly deaf with all of that noise coming from his room. It would have been a quiet evening by himself with Eddie out at band practice, but Wayne should know better by now that you'll show up like you live here.

When you plop down next to Wayne, he doesn't hesitate to offer the plate of food he's just dished up for himself. He wrestles with his age to get off the couch, then walks through the kitchen to find a new plate.

“Thanks,” you chew through a dry biscuit. Wayne says he likes the outside crispy, but you’re sure that he will be down to nothing but gums when these rocks break his teeth off soon.

Wayne rounds the kitchen island with a brand new plate of food for himself, and an extra napkin for you to hold under your chin. Although he knows very little about clothes, he can see the shine still on that new blouse of yours. He would hate to see you ruin it with some gravy and a bucket of fried chicken.

Wayne sits down again next to you, “Eddie isn’t here.”

You sniffle over the pile of mashed potatoes, “I know.”

Dressed up like you’ve got somewhere to go and you have no one to take you there, Wayne can make a guess of why you might be here.

“What happened?” Wayne nudges you.

You’ve got on the nicest pair of pants you own with a bright blue top and a pair of kitten heels. You’ve taken your mother’s jewelry, which Wayne is sure she’s not pleased about.

“Isn’t that your mom’s necklace?” Wayne asks dumbly.

You cross your arms. “Rodney ditched me.”

“Who?”

Kids these days and their drama. Wayne can hardly keep up with Eddie, and now he’s got you here crying on his couch. You’re hardly a bother anymore. It’s more bizarre when you’re not here eating his food, watching his television and napping on his couch.

“Rodney said we’d go out Friday at seven,” you tell Wayne. “It’s Friday. It’s eight. No Rodney.”

Wayne could not imagine disrespecting a young woman like that. You've got to be out of your mind if you think making a promise like that can just be tossed out of a window.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” he pats your knee. “Want me to kick his ass?”

Wayne’s become a father figure to you in a way, since you don't have one. Your mom refuses to tell you anything about the man that got her knocked up. That's a direct quote from what she says. You're not being rude.

“No,” you let a soft laugh sneak past your sorrowed heart.

Wayne's television hums. You watch the wheel spin onto one hundred dollars, and the contestant cheers as she gets to guess another letter.

“Brook Shields,” you guess the answer.

Wayne cocks his head at you, “how did you get that so fast?”

You shrug, “I’ve seen Endless Love.”

“Endless- what?”

“Keep up old man,” you joke.

Wayne grunts, “not you too. I get enough of that shit from Eddie.”

You sit with Wayne that evening with dry eyes, except for the occasional tear falling from laughing a bit too hard at his bewildered expression when you fill in nearly all of the answers to the game show he loves so much.

“What are you going to do with that brain of yours?” Wayne asks as the program nears the end, and the screen begins to dim.

You shrug your shoulders, “I don’t know.”

“You’ll go to college though, won’t you?”

“I can hardly afford groceries,” you reply.

It is an honest answer. Your mom is out of a job, aside from her new night time prowling. She tries to sneak out while you’re tucked into your blankets in your bed. It doesn’t always pan out that way. You’ve heard the heels clicking in the kitchen, before she leaves into the night time.

She’s back before you wake up. And, she’ll take you off to school before she goes to bed for most of the morning. You can only assume this by the way she’s dressed in pajamas without any makeup when you come home.

Wayne watches from afar. Your mom has been stepping back in their friendship recently, and he wonders if everything is okay at home. When he does catch glimpses of her through the living room window, she's a bit gray and a bit dull. Her usual cherry cheeks are sunken. Her eyes are swollen. Her clothes are scandalous in her own definition.

A flood of headlights break through the blinds in the Munson trailer. If the lights aren’t enough to warn you that Eddie is about to plow through his front door, then the absolute deafening sound of bass and guitar blasting through the speakers in his van would give you enough of an inclining.

Kicking his boots off in different directions outside the home, Eddie stamps out his cigarette on the porch railing, and he flicks the nub somewhere into the night.

Dancing his way into the trailer, Eddie first catches you sitting next to Wayne in a bright blue get-up. Isn’t it a bit much to be that done up for some boy? Yes, he knows about Rudolph. That silly little boy from one of your classes. He’s been following you around like he’s got a leash tethered around that funny little sweater vest he wears to school. Really? A sweater vest? It’s a bit pompous if you ask him.

Randy has got to be the most snot-nosed booger-eater that Eddie has had the misery of meeting. He’s got these judgy little eyes that squint in Eddie’s direction any time you hang around him at lunch. Not to mention how bushy his eyebrows are. If you like caterpillars that much, Eddie can find you one around the trailer park that you’ll like much more than - what’s-his-name.

“How was your date?” Eddie hesitates to hold back to venom corroding his teeth. It’s silly to be jealous of some guy. Eventually you would be with someone, and Eddie would find his someone. It’s just strange to not have you at band practice. You haven’t missed a single one - well, now you have.

Your face falls at the mention of Rodney.

In the past few hours, you forgot about the ache in your chest that Rodney never showed at your front door. The absent sore on your heart reopens. Your throat closes a bit.

There was a pinch of hope that you held onto that he might show up with a reasonable excuse. Or, he’ll at least be bold enough to show up and to beg for a second chance. With the time approaching midnight, the odds are withering away into nothing.

“Good,” you fib.

Naively, you lie to Eddie.

“How was practice?” You ask secondly.

A spark lit his bottom on fire and he was bounding about the trailer like a wild animal. Excitement radiates off of his skin.

“You won’t believe what happened tonight!” He yells a bit too loudly for old Wayne, who wiggles his pinky into his ear. “We got a call back from the Hideout! They want to see us perform!”

“That’s great, Eddie!”

“Congratulations, kid.”

Wayne has to stand and clap Eddie on the back to congratulate his nephew. The pair of them look to each other adoringly, before either of them remember that you’re still there on the couch.

“I should go,” you know how late it is, and your mother - er - she would be shivering in worry by now. Probably. “I’m really proud of you, Eddie. Can I come to the show?”

“There’s no way I can perform without my best girl,” he wraps you in a strong hug, “Tuesday at seven! I want both of you there!”

“You got it,” you punch his chest a bit awkwardly.

When you do leave, Eddie takes the spot you once sat in on the couch. He switches programs because whatever game show Wayne is watching is not to Eddie’s taste. Eddie prefers something that will make his skin crawl.

“Ed,” Wayne clears his throat, “I think we should talk.”

“Talk?”

Wayne stands in front of the television blocking Eddie from flicking to yet another channel.

“Your little friend got stood up on her date,” he teeters back and forth, unsure if you want Eddie knowing this. But, you’re his best friend as far as Wayne is concerned.

Eddie frowns, “what?”

“She’s been with me all evening,” Wayne sighs. “The poor girl is rattled. I mean- you know you cannot do that to a woman, right?”

Wayne begins to turn everything into a lesson. As he lectures Eddie, the lines of reality begin to blur. You’ve been stood up by this douche? Nothing gets past Eddie like that. The ridges of his knuckles turn whiter than snow.

“Eddie,” Wayne scratches his forehead, “I need you to promise me that you’ll never treat a woman like that. You know better, right?”

Eddie hasn’t brought a girl by the house yet. It doesn’t occur to Wayne how horrible the people treat Eddie at school. He assumes it’s just a bit of play and a bit of teasing. Eddie can handle himself for the most part.

“Yeah,” Wayne snaps out of his head when Eddie finally speaks up, “I got it, Wayne.

-> <-

[Sep 1982 . . . again]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst

[dearly-somber]

Haircut | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. slow burn, fluff, f2l (friends-to-lovers), humor, found family, angst, drama, eventual romance, eventual smut, high school!au

-> w/c. 1982

-> rating. 13+

-> a/n. This ended so silly so goofy smdhjaheb

-> warnings. None!!

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Aug. 14th, 2022 @ 19:49

-> fin. Thurs., Nov. 20th, 2023 @ 04:43

-> edited. Fri., Dec. 1st, 2023 @ 12:55

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

“You’re kidding right?”

Jungkook pouts, looking down at his hands with a furrow in his brow. “No…”

Y/N laughs, rocking forward to smack his knee familiarly. “You seriously got detention because your hair was too long? That’s ridiculous!”

“I know,” he whines, running a hand through said hair and sighing deeply as he lays back with his legs crossed, splaying his arms over the bed.

Y/N giggles as she stands, sympathetically patting his shoulder. “Is there really no way out of it?”

“Not unless I can book an appointment before school tomorrow.” Y/N cringes. “Yeah,” he sighs.

It’s so dumb. He didn’t get in trouble the entire week! Not one teacher mentioned it, and then during his last period on a Thursday evening, bam! Detention slip. And, obviously, it was from his least favorite teacher, Ms Kang, who he was pretty sure hated his guts for no other reason than she couldn’t fuck him. He’s honestly surprised that she hasn’t been reported for sexual harassment yet, but he swears if she touches his shoulder in class one more time…

Jungkook’s brought back to the present at the sound of drawers opening and closing, his attention piqued. The thing that spurs him into motion is the realization that Y/N is rummaging through his drawers and she might accidentally happen upon his underwear.

“What’re you looking for?” he asks, pushing up off the bed to sit with his feet hanging off the side.

“A comb.” She closes his sock drawer with a sigh. “Do you have one?”

His eyes flit to the hand she has wrapped around the dreaded underwear drawer handle. “In my bathroom. Why?”

She mutters to herself, “‘Course it’s in the bathroom, why didn’t I think of that?” Then, louder, “Wanna comb your hair first.”

“‘First’?” Jungkook repeats quizzically.

“Mm,” she hums, turning to him with a smile. “Gonna cut it for you.”

His eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Sure!” She pulls him into the bathroom by his wrist, crouching to dig through his sink cupboard and turning back to him with a smile on her face and a comb in her hand.

“Uh…” Jungkook isn’t sure what to think. Does he like it when she plays with his hair? Yes. Does he trust her with his life? More than yes.

But his hair?

“I think I’d rather just go to detention…”

She punches his arm with a shake of her head. “My dad’s a barber, dickhead. I’m gonna get the water ready so long—can you change into swim shorts?”

“I…” Jungkook wants to say no and drag her back to bed so they could watch their silly little dramas and forget about how their plans to go to the movies tomorrow would be canceled because of some stupid detention slip, but Y/N’s eyes are sparkling and her voice is light, so he groans instead.

She smiles knowingly, turning her back to him as she starts fiddling with the handles in the bath, the water running as he goes to change, closing the bathroom door behind him.

He pulls his pants down and briefly considers changing out of his boxers before ultimately deciding to keep it on under the plain black swimming trunk he pulls out of his bottommost drawer.

He’s a little nervous for whatever Y/N has planned, but more than that, he’s excited. Whatever this is, he can feel deep in his stomach it’s going to be domestic and likely set his wolf off in the most pleasant way.

As he enters the bathroom, his eyes fall on Y/N. She’s standing inside the bath with her pants rolled up just under her knees, her shirt sleeves rolled up above her elbow, a comb and a bottle of shampoo in her hands.

“Well?” She beckons him closer. “What’re you waiting for?” Jungkook lets out a baffled laugh. She leads him inside the bathtub before gently pressing down on his shoulders so he’s facing the wall with his back to her, his legs crossed in front of him.

He feels Y/N slot her feet next to him, feels how her legs cocoon his arms. The water is pleasantly warm around his lap as she begins brushing through his unruly strands of hair.

She giggles softly. “I can’t believe you didn’t cut your hair,” she says, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I didn’t think it was long enough to get me in trouble,” he grumbles with his eyes closed. “We grow our hair out all the time, so no one thought it would be an issue.”

Truthfully, Jungkook didn’t want to cut it because he knew Y/N liked it long, and wanted an excuse to keep it that way.

She tsks playfully, dragging the comb from the very top of his head (literally an inch short of his forehead) all the way down to the shorter strands of hair at his nape. “Guess it gives me an excuse to play with your hair, huh?”

“Guess so,” he mumbles, his chest warm and bubbly. “I didn’t know your dad was a barber,” he says.

“I guess it’s never really come up in conversation,” she replies, setting the comb aside and reaching for the detachable shower-head. She tests the temperature on her palm, water dripping onto the side of Jungkook’s arm before she interrupts with a little gasp, “Shit! I forgot about your shirt.”

“It’s fine.” Jungkook waves her off. “I’ll change into a different one when you’re done.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook imagines Y/N skeptically biting her lip. “Alright. Lemme know if the water’s too hot, yeah?”

Jungkook grunts as a reply, a soft noise leaving his lips without him meaning to at the feel of the water on his scalp.

She runs her fingers over his head, cupping her hands over his eyes to stop the water from going into his face.

“Did…did your dad teach you how to do all this stuff?” Jungkook asks, his brows furrowing as his wolf croons at the way Y/N lathers shampoo into his hair.

“Yeah, kinda,” she replies focused-sounding. “He took me to work sometimes, so I watched him a lot. Picked up on most of it that way, if I wasn’t asking questions.”

“That sounds really nice,” he mumbles distractedly, smiling softly at the image of baby-Y/N being taught how to wash one of those Barbie head’s hair properly.

“It was.” She makes sure to get the shampoo in the hair behind his ears as well. Jungkook can’t help but sigh contentedly, unable to find it in himself to care when Y/N giggles teasingly.

“You good?” she asks, a smile in her voice.

“Feels really nice,” Jungkook replies softly, his heart probably beating slow enough to make a cardiologist worry for his health.

After Y/N lathers the shampoo on, she rinses his hair out, applies conditioner, rinses that out, and then gently taps his shoulder. “C’mon Wolfy, let’s go downstairs.”

“Wolfy?”

“What?”

Jungkook smiles wide at her offended pout, throwing the towel she hands him over his shoulders. “Nothing, nothing.”

“Whatever,” she humphs. “Go down to the kitchen when you’re done changing so we can cut your hair.”

Jungkook salutes. “On it!”

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

“Okay, you ready?” Y/N asks, excitedly snipping the scissors next to his ear.

Even though Jungkook feels his stomach drop, he puts on a brave face. “Let’s go!”

Y/N grins, running the comb through his hair one last time before pulling the longer strands of hair at the nape of his neck between her forefinger and middle finger, waiting a second before quickly snipping off the hair.

“Your hair’s gotten so long…”

“Should you be talking right now? Shouldn’t you focus on not cutting off too much?”

“Yah!” Y/N laughs in disbelief as she smacks his shoulder with the fist she has closed around the comb, tsking disappointedly as she continues snipping at his hair. She moves strategically around the back of his head, eventually maneuvering around to the front to cut his bangs.

“Seriously though, your hair’s grown a lot. I didn’t think you’d ever let it get this long.” She brushes through his hair again.

“Why?” he asks with closed eyes, both to keep the conversation going and also out of genuine curiosity.

She shrugs. “I dunno. You just never seemed like a long-hair kinda guy? It looks good on you, though. The long hair, I mean.”

“What else would you mea—stop hitting me!” Jungkook pouts as he brings a hand up to rub at his bicep, scowling under his bangs.

“Just…shut up. Stop nitpicking everything I say.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad, eh?” He reaches out to tug at her shirt, smiling satisfied when she huffs defeatedly and pats his hand before she starts cutting bangs.

“All hairstyles look good on you, though. It’s kind of unfair, actually.”

Jungkook scoffs, letting his eyes drift closed as Y/N grabs the blow-dryer (which he assumes she brought down from one of the bathrooms) and plugs it into a socket on the wall. She starts it up, then immediately stops.

He turns his head to the side to look at her. “What?”

“I’ve never thought to ask, but does the sound not hurt your ears?”

Jungkook frowns for a second, then lights up in understanding the next. “Oh! No, not really. It’s loud, sure, but you’d have to have really sensitive ears for it to hurt.”

“Ah, okay.” Y/N nods as she puts one hand on his shoulder, standing behind him. “Just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t hurt you.”

As the blow dryer turns on and drowns out any attempt at conversation, Jungkook can’t help but smile to himself.

She doesn’t want to hurt him. That’s a relief. Hopefully, she won’t have to. Soon, right? At the very least, Jungkook knows any hurt isn’t intentional…

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

“Alright! We’re done!”

You set the dryer to the side as you pull the plug out of the socket, walking around to look at the finished product of your hard work, only to find him asleep.

You smile softly at the way Jungkook’s chin rests against his chest, lips slightly parted in sleep. His hair is not only shorter now (even though you kept some of the length, because you couldn’t find it in yourself to cut it all off), but it’s clean and fluffy and it makes you want to run your fingers through it.

Which you do—you reach out and card your fingers through his bangs and over his scalp, just kind of fondly staring at him while he sleeps, before realizing that that might be a bit weird.

“Jungkook?” Your voice is softer than you meant it to be, but you don’t mind. He’s so innocent when he’s asleep, it’s kind of awe-inducing. “Kookie?”

“Mngf?” Jungkook’s eyes open blearily, confusedly sitting straighter in his chair as he takes in his surroundings.

“I’m done, Koo. Go lay down on the couch if you’re feeling tired, you’ll hurt your neck.”

He grumbles something under his voice as he gets up from the chair, towering over you (damn his long legs).

Your eyes widen in surprise when Jungkook sleepily stumbles toward you, nuzzling into your neck as his arms wrap weakly around your middle. “Thanks, Bunny.”

You’re beyond happy that Jungkook can’t read minds, because in that moment you find yourself—for the split of a second—thinking about Jungkook in a not-so-best-friend way. “Sure, Kook.”

He drags himself to the couch, unceremoniously climbing over the back and flopping onto his stomach with a loud oof.

You press the back of your hands to your cheeks in order to cool them down, shaking yourself free of the stupid butterflies in your stomach as you grab a broom and sweep your best friend’s auburn hair out to the backyard.

Stupid haircut…

<- prev | next ->

[eldritch-bf]

Danbert in The Thing (1982) expanded thoughts:

The two of them spend the winter down at outpost 31 during their final year of medical school for a work for credits situation under the guidance of Dr’s Blair and Copper.

Herbert, watching MacReady lose to the computer in chess from across the room. “I could take him.” Dan, looking up from his book. “In chess, right?”

Herbert gets up and does challenge MacReady to a game of chess however they get interrupted by the commotion of the Norwegian helicopter.

Dan primarily studies under Dr Copper (the physician who insists on going to the Norwegian camp to help them despite the weather risk) and brings Dan along with him to investigate the camp with MacReady.

Herbert primarily studies under Dr Blair (biologist who performs the autopsy on what they bring back from the Norwegian camp)

Herbert is initially disinterested in the other camp and advises against Dan going because he assumed they had all just experienced psychotic breaks and they might be dangerous. Dan and Dr Copper ignore him.

Dan and Herbert are however immediately aware that something is NOT right with the Thing Dog because unlike every other animal including the other sled dogs, this “animal” shows Herbert indifference. Though they have no idea why.

Herbert assists with the autopsy of the burnt humanoid brought back from the Norwegian camp and can barely contain his curiosity and excitement. Later Herbert wakes Dan up in the middle of the night and drags him to the autopsy room and makes him study the cells and the interactions with the reagent. Dan is very tired and wants to sleep.

The Dog Thing absorbing the other dogs scene takes place and Herbert again helps with that autopsy and MacReady notices how much of a little weirdo he is, and afterwards confronts Dan about it, asking him if he thinks Herbert is dangerous or can even be trusted. Dan hesitated and poorly explains away Herbert’s behavior. MacReady doesn’t trust either of them.

More late night science, though now MacReady is Suspicious.

Herbert really really wants to see if the reagent can reanimate the dead Things but Dan scienceblocks to the best of his ability

MacReady notices them in the lab and witnesses a tender moment between them and concludes more or less correctly that that’s the origin of their strange behavior (though it’s also because Herbert is still keeping the reagent a secret).

Blair runs the computer simulation, to which Herbert is a witness to, and finally becomes concerned about the Thing, primarily because he doesn’t want to die down there. Subplot is that Herbert is frustrated no one listens to him because he’s just a kid compared to the rest of them. (MacReady particularly loves calling both of them “kid”) And so he highly doubts these dumb ass men can keep them safe.

Herbert tests a few Thing cells under a microscope with the reagent and it does indeed work just as normal. Dan points out that this doesn’t actually help them in any meaningful way except for satisfying Herbert’s curiosity to which Herbert basically says “that’s the whole point” and Dan gets so frustrated he storms out, leaving Herbert alone, which makes Herbert, still slightly paranoid that at least one member of the crew is the thing, to follow along with Dan, apologize, and insist on staying together every moment possible.

Blair has his breakdown, destroying the vehicles and radio equipment to prevent escape, Herbert is nearly killed as a result, similar to Palmer, before running and alerting everyone. The station crew then lock Blair in the shed.

Dr Copper is killed while trying to save “Norris” from his heart attack, leaving Dan and Herbert the best physicians and biologists available to them. Herbert agrees with MacReady’s idea to use the hot needle on the blood. No one really trusts Herbert or MacReady at this point which makes Childs even more convinced the test is horseshit and that Herbert and or MacReady are clearly the thing and Dan defends Herbert by saying “no he’s always like this trust me”

They all pass except Palmer who famously fails the test, infects Windows, and MacReady incinerates them while Herbert drags Dan out of the room and decides they need to get out before this thing kills every last one of them.

Dan and Herbert stay behind with Childs, packing up and arming themselves just in case, while the others go to test Blair.

Dan questions how they’ll escape since Blair destroyed the equipment and after some discussion away from Childs, the two of them correctly anticipate that the Thing will likely sabotage the power on the station in order to hinder the team from finding it (they don’t know about the spaceship it’s constructed yet)

Dan and Herbert head off to the power generator and wait for the Blair-Thing which quickly shows up and they manage to kill it without destroying the station, leaving Cain, West, MacReady, Childs, Nauls, and Garry alive.

Herbert and MacReady finally have their game of chess though it ends in a stalemate to which Herbert poorly hides his irritation and MacReady reveals he knew all about him and Dan yet at the same time he does compliment Herbert for helping save them. The six of them wait out the rest of winter until rescue comes.