#and I like working at stores in my neighborhood because local is important to me

[s-cullayy]

It fucking sucks to love your work but hate your job. Kroger CEO Rodney McMullen you are my enemy. I will not mourn your death, and I hope it’s slow and humiliating

[tuliptired]

He's Good People Ch.3

Chapter 3: I Didn't Mean to Take Up all your Sweet Time (I'll Give it Right Back to Ya, One of These Days)

Pairing(s): Gn!reader/Ray, Gn!reader/Egon, Gn!reader/Winston

Summary: (Winston centric, briefly Egon centric) To get out the firehouse, you 're invited for a day out on the town with the "common man" of the Ghostbusters, and he won't stop opening doors for you

Warnings: Reader wears masc presenting clothes for like one paragraph

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE :((( hope a longer update makes up for it!

read it on Ao3!

  It was fairly late into the night. You felt weird about going to bed while none of the others had returned, like you were overstepping. You were content with being curled up in a chair as Egon annotated a book in the dimly lit lab. He had offered you one of the many works from his personal collection, but the words started to lose their meaning after the first handful of pages. Maybe he ought to read it to you, instead. You set the book aside, much more interested in watching him. He had his sleeves rolled up again, fairly unnecessary because he was only working with paper and pencil.

He discarded his work for the second time that day, looking over at you. The need for sleep was creeping up on him, as his eyelids sat low and his gaze remained soft. 

"I´m sorry for boring you."

"I´m not bored. Are you tired? You don't have to stay up with me."

He put the pencil back into a mug full of others. He rose from the workbench, opening the book to a heavily noted page. Crossing over to where you were sitting, Egon joined you, holding it open for you to see. There were large, square photos of terrifying looking sculptures. Upon further inspection, they were really just recreations of exotic animals. A boa constrictor, an alligator, a giant salamander, a…platypus. Behind each of them stood a Victorian era man, beaming with self-worth at the spectacles surrounding him.

“See him?” He pointed to the man. “That’s Benjamin Fairhooke. He had a penchant for imported animals. And too much money. So much so he had the theater near your building constructed to show them off.”  He turned the page to a large spread of the theater in the late 1800’s, advertising an oddity show.

“They started showing plays and operas soon enough. But everyone knew how passionate he was. Piranhas-in-the-bar sink, frogs-on-the-staircases-passionate.” There was a photo of Fairhooke next to a woman. Despite her exquisite clothing, elegant features, and extravagant jewelry, she had a fairly sour expression, while he still beamed at the camera, an iguana in his lap.  

“That was his wife, Claira. Their marriage was falling apart while ticket sales peaked. They held their son’s wedding reception in the lobby of the theater.” He had a grainy photo bookmarked. There was a newlywed couple, normal. Claira’s in the background, though. Not happy her son was just married, but instead staring down the barrel of the camera like it was a gun.

“She had just found Benjamin in a parlor, tending to a snapping turtle. She got so mad, she took the shovel from the fireplace and managed to decapitate him in 10 minutes.” Holy shit.

He could feel your shock. “I know. She left him there for the rest of the night. They searched for weeks, until they found his body. She told them everything- just not what became of his head. His animals went missing, and his kids wanted nothing to do with the theater. Local legend says that the souls of his then neglected animals are still searching for Claira. Anywhere she could be. But it fell into obscurity. Everyone who believed in it died at the turn of the century.” He shut the book.

“So. The ghosts of a bunch of critters are running around my block, looking for his murderer? And one ended up in my washing machine?” 

“Essentially. I’ve wanted to investigate since I heard the story, but it was always word of mouth. I only just found it buried in an anthology of neighborhood ghost stories in Ray’s store.” He sighed, getting up and placing the book back into its place on his shelf. “He was pretty excited about my findings. He always is. But he’s been dragging his feet about it.” Egon looked worried, if not at least a bit frustrated, as he took a seat back next to you, knees touching unintentionally. You could understand, this was his longtime friend, after all. This all seemed very perplexing to him.

“Maybe he’s just scared? Of what he’ll find?” The words really don’t serve much purpose other than to soothe his nerves- they don’t convince you, even as they fall from your lips. Ray was a discerning and generally happy man, but he was still brave. He wouldn’t be a paranormal expert, a Ghostbuster if he was scared of what he loved.

You could tell his fears were still there. You placed a hand on his, silently grateful as you felt that they were still the same hands you held earlier.

“I promise, the moment I can get back into my apartment I’m gonna look for the key.”

There was the predecessor to a smile, before he had a look that read as accepting defeat. “I apologize for you being stuck with us so long. Only a day more.” Before you could protest, tell him that you’re having a wonderful time and you’re sorry for being in their hair, you heard cursing downstairs, followed by heavy steps approaching, making you jump.

Ray and Winston joined you upstairs, covered in thick, oozing slime of some sort. Winston held a smoking machine like the one Ray had after cleansing your house, only this time a bit more scratched up.

“It wasn’t a mannequin at all. God-damned-ghost-komodo-dragon on its hind legs. Sprayed us bad- we hosed ourselves off 6 times on the way home.” Winston tried wiping the slime moving from his glove to his wrist off on his pant leg, only making the viscous substance spread more.

Ray didn’t look angry, but he wasn’t bouncing off the walls. “This is big. Y’know that old theater-”

“I already explained it.”

“You’re kidding.”

‘’No. I explained Fairhooke, Claira, the ghosts. All of it.”

Winston could feel the start of a petty back and forth, so he discreetly asked you to follow him. He laughed and shook his head as he went down the steps to the very bottom of the firehouse. You had seen this room when Ray brought you down for pajamas, and you recognized the door he had peeked into, but not what was on the wall. A large, red electrical looking panel stared back at you.

“Ray taught me how to do this when I was new here.” He went through the motions of showing you how they used it to hold ghosts. You were glad he took the extra step and explained what it really did under the surface, because lord knows you were puzzled.

“He even made a rhyme. ‘When the light is green, the trap is clean’”.

“Does this make me part of your team now?” You complain, purely jokingly.

“You don’t wanna be? I wouldn’t mind.” You had to hand it to him, he had a charming way of disarming you. He didn't give you time to respond, as he made his way to the laundry area. He came back with new pajamas, softer looking ones.

“I hope these are a little more personable.” He handed you a light purple t-shirt, and dark purple sweatpants. There was thought behind these, definitely not something they had laying around in the hamper. 

You smile at the consideration. “Thank you.” He returned it, very white teeth and all. He gave you privacy to change, and was peeling his suit off upon your return. It looked incredibly uncomfortable, the mire of today´s job trying to stick to his skin. He finally got the soiled jumpsuit off, and it stuck to the floor like a glue trap. As he stuffed it into the industrial washer, another one tumbled out a laundry chute and onto a pile of dirty, but not slimy, clothes. He sighed, carefully picking up the soiled suit and garments and placing them in, too.

“What is it, anyway?” You watched on as he poured a cocktail of different, unmarked liquids, which you assumed were non FDA approved cleaners for these kinds of unconventional stains.

He pressed the washing machine closed, turning a few knobs and pressing a few buttons. “Ectoplasm. As graceful as it sounds.” You follow him, as he makes his way back up the steps.

“Like sticky skunk spray.” He stops in front of the sleeping quarters, and it gives you a moment to wonder why exactly you were still following him. As you start to mull over it further, he places his pointer finger over his lips.

“We oughta get out of here tomorrow. Ray’s gone to bed without dinner. Bad sign. It’s not pretty when he and the professor get into it.” He explains, voice hushed.

“Are they okay?”

“They will be. Ray stresses for a day, but he always apologizes, ‘cause he’s scared to lose his friend.” Winston smiles familiarly, thinking of the men he’s grown to know well over the past 5 years since his initial hiring. You can’t stop the spread of warmth under your skin as you think, too.

“Kindred spirits. I hate to see them both so worked up.”

“They can’t help it. They’ve got a new distraction running around.” 

You don’t have time to process it, again, before he’s halfway back down the steps to the first floor. You lean over the railing, just as he passes Janine’s desk.

“Where are you going?”

He doesn’t stop walking, until he reaches the exit. “I promised my mom I’d stay over. Be up early tomorrow, ok? I’ll take you on a joyride.”

“Goodnight,” you wave, as he gives you a two finger salute, letting the door shut behind him.

You can’t really sleep- you don’t want to, anyway. Egon’s still upstairs, Peter’s with Dana, and Ray’s in bed by himself. As tempting as it is to go up there and console him, you really don’t want to come off as pushy. So, you had an apron tied over your front, sleeves rolled up and gloves on as you worked to scrub the slime out of blanched fabric. What a night.

The stickiness was seldom coming off, but you noticed progress. It would bubble and sud with the soap, but it was nothing a frequent rinse didn’t get rid of. The only problem was that it was thick, and it sat deep in the absorbent material. You lost track of the hours you spent, going down the line; Soaking, scrubbing, rinsing, scrubbing, rinsing, soaking- over and over. The need for sleep left you, as this housekeeping mystery kept you unwilling to give up until it was completed.

There was a click of the heavy door, and your thoughts of finishing the task as you feverishly scraped a suit against a large washboard suddenly ceased. Winston stood at the door, dressed and holding 2 cups of coffee-shop-coffee.

“Good morning,” his face was both impressed and fearful. You figured this was enough, as most of the slime sat mixed with now greenish water in the large sink. You carefully transferred it to the dryer with the others, and peeled your gloves off.

“Goodmorning,” you wiped some soap off your cheek with your wrist.

He handed you a cup. “You think you deserve a shower after all that?” You walked out the laundry with him, the warm liquid having the opposite of its desired effect as it made you the slightest bit sleepy. 

Your shower was quick and to the point. In the few days you’ve been there, your towel has had a permanent residence on a hook by the door, a fair distance from the other 4. You figured this would have to be your second day in the blue sweater, but you didn’t mind all that much. You managed to wash it as well the night prior, so it was dried and fluffed as it waited for you.

Winston ran into you on your way out the bathroom, something dark in his hands. He unfolded it, and stepped behind you to put it on your shoulders.

“What’s this?” You whipped your head around to watch his movements. 

“Had to pick this up from my mom’s, too.”

It was a dark purple jacket, the sleeves needing to be cuffed by him in order for your hands to appear. You could see a wide, black stripe wrap around the back and little pinstripes around the collar. You knew Winston was a more eccentric dresser than his coworkers, the brightly colored laundry telling you so, but to take something so nice from his mom?

“I can’t take this, She doesn’t even know me.”

“It’s mine. And it’s going to a good cause.” He drops your wrist. Taking a step back, he examines his work with a hand on his chin, an unsatisfied look on his face. He figures out what’s wrong, as he grabs the zipper from the bottom and pulls it up, the blue of the sweater underneath now hidden. There’s a pleased smile on his face as he takes another step back, before starting down the stairs.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the car,” and he disappeared.

While you were excited to get out again, to have some sort of normalcy for a day, but the urge to check the kitchen overtakes your legs. Your heart feared for the worst, you peek across the threshold, and you could’ve died then.

Egon was at the little table, pancakes, eggs, and coffee on two plates in front of him. The thing was, yours was untouched. He sat there, hands in his lap, face unreadable, until he noticed your presence. He didn’t light up, his features didn’t change, but you could’ve sworn there was a slight, upward twitch of the inner corners of his eyebrows. You felt a sort of nausea wash over you, that settled in your chest as you thought of what to say.

Walking towards him felt condescending, as if you were increasing the parameters of whatever obviously negative emotion he was feeling, but it was the proper thing to do. You folded your hands in front of you, unthreatening. Benevolent. He looked at you through his eyelashes, like a wounded animal. 

“I’m sorry. That I wasn’t around this morning.” To anyone else, this would seem melodramatic. A meal skipped out on between 2 people who have known each other for 2 days. But the way there was a flash of forgiveness, that you saw so often in the downcast faces of those young men and women around a coffee pot, weeks after their indulgence of passion. One of them did something. And the other so desperately wanted things to be okay again. They’d be engaged. You saw it on the faces of teenage actors, as their parents commented on a poor performance, before bringing them ice cream. It was the small injustices, from the people that you loved.

He opened his mouth to speak, before a honk from the garage cut him off. Winston was calling you, the unfortunate timing making you cringe.

“I’m sorry, again. I won’t be gone long.” He didn’t respond as you retreated to the door.

You reluctantly disappeared out the room, before appearing one more time.

“I’ll make it up to you.” 

You take your leave down the stairs, the garage door open as the Ecto-1a runs idly. Winston leaned over, opening the passenger door for you. Settling in with a huff, he turned to you as you pulled your seatbelt on.

 “Ready?” When you nod, he pulls the car out the garage, and onto the street. After a few minutes of driving from the firehouse, he reaches for the glove compartment, his hand emerging with a cassette in a purple case. 

“Hope you don’t mind Mj,” he grins as he slides it into the car’s slot. The singer’s voice fills the car, and he eventually joins in. He has an amazing singing voice, honestly, and you’re too compelled to take pleasure in his gaiety as he drives.

“The Jackson 5: Jackie, Tito, Marlon, Jermaine, and Winston,” you tease him. The city’s awake with you, as children took their lessons on the blacktop of the school’s playground, and grandmother’s bought fruit placed in their foldable carts. A handful of dogs howl as your highly decorated car passes by. 

“I could never take Michaels place,” Winston crosses his heart, the cassette starting to play a Stevie Wonder song. He nodded his head along to the beginning of “Signed, Sealed, Delivered”. 

He enjoyed himself for the whole song, even roping you into joining in. Eventually, he turns the volume down a few notches.

“What music do you like?” He questioned, nodding in acknowledgment as you listed off your current favorites. As he waited at a red light, he skipped a few songs, claiming that you’d like this one more after the inventory you gave him.

You take another look around, as the setting gets more and more unfamiliar to you. “Where’re we going, anyway?” You tilt your head.

“Right now, I’m thinking the music store. But I have other ideas, too.” He pulls up to the curb of an aptly named record shop, shutting off the engine and opening your door from the outside before you could protest. The inside was fairly simple, musical equipment sitting on shelves behind a desk, records stretching around the perimeters of the room, and cassette tapes in the square middle.

The layout intrigues you, as your brain pings at recognizable albums. You shy away from Winston, flipping through a few records in your favorite genre. He reappears at your side, a small box of blank tapes in his hands.

“Are you recording something?” You continue to browse. He shakes his head.

“You’re gonna need your own tape to play in the car. We all have one.” He peers over your shoulder casually, taking in music he’s never heard of. You shake your head apologetically, fearing the effort it’ll take. He picks up an album you’d been eyeing.

He turned to look at you, eyes earnest and eyebrows slightly raised. “Make space for yourself.” Simple words. He wasn’t asking a lot from you. But he was speaking to you- I want you to survive. I want you to live. 

You have nothing to do but nod your head, no point in protest. He has a pleased smile, and examines the album a little more before putting it down. Something else catches his eye, and he brightens, mouth open in awe. There’s a full stack of reddish yellow squares, and he spins around to show you, eyes twinkling like a little kid.

“Tommy! I thought you didn’t carry Hendrix!” He chides the man excitedly, flipping the album around. You stand behind him to read the song list as well. Tommy merely shrugs.

“Best guitarist since Berry,” he proclaims to you. “Absolutely insane sound.” He had such a look of delight on his face. It was different from Ray’s- it wasn’t analytical, he probably didn’t know everything he could’ve about what he loved, but that only made him love it more. Winston’s joy was simple, but it wasn’t unimportant. As he talked on about the man he looked up to, his soft eyes crinkled, a wide smile meeting them. 

“I wasn’t allowed to play him.” He pulled out his wallet, paying for not only his newfound treasure, but the empty cassettes and your own personal favorite. “Not when I was at home, or when I was deployed.” Tommy handed him the items in a plastic bag. “But I paid my neighbor a nickel to let me when our parents weren’t home. I lost a lot of commissary that way, when I got older.” His story had a boyish tone to it, as he held the door open for you. He wouldn’t stop opening doors for you, insisting on it as you got in the car.

“Are you hungry?” His question makes you recall the other companion you’d forgotten at the firehouse, your heart filling with cement. You agree to lunch, knowing he really wouldn’t let you refuse.

Your next destination is a little restaurant, the area busier as midday approaches and working class America is looking for something to eat. When you enter (and he holds the door), there’s a teenaged boy behind the counter, packing orders and taking cash. The interior is smaller than you assumed, as the floor is taken up by the buffet-style kitchen behind the spot to order, and a  few tables and chairs. It smells amazing, though, and the menu looks even better. Winston watches you pridefully as you marvel over what to get, before his voice breaks you out of your stupor.

“Know what you want?”

“I can’t decide. It all sounds great,” you confess, the idea of choosing making your head hurt.

Winston chuckles at your response, guiding you to a little table and making you wait there as he chooses for the both of you. After letting some highschoolers get in front of him so they could get back to school before the hour ended, you see that he’s an exceptional conversationalist, becoming instantly acquainted with the people in line with him. He asks them about their day, listens intently, and when asked about his own he gladly replies with “day out with a friend,” pointing to you. You give a bashful wave to him and his newfound comrades.

He speaks familiarly to the kid at the register, counting things off his fingers, and even slipping him a bill that was definitely not a part of his total. He soon has two styrofoam containers in his hands, steam rising out the slight openings. He opens yours for you, the water vapor and aroma hitting you like a punch. There’s greens, mac and cheese, and fried fish staring you down as your eyes widen. While you were stuck in your hypnosis, he reached over, cutting your food for you.

It was like you died and went to heaven, before being sent back to finish your plate. You almost absentmindedly held onto the table to keep you tethered to the Earth. 

“You guys have kept me fed all weekend,” you say between rushed bites. It’s true- this is the best you’d eaten in a while. You swallow. “I can’t remember the last time I was able to stop and make actual food.”

“Egon treats you to breakfast, I treat you to lunch.” He raises his hands in a shrug. “Good?”

“Amazing,” you chew. “You seem to know this place well,” you suggested.

“I take lunch here everyday,” he wipes his mouth on a napkin.

“I can see why. Is it a favorite?”

“No, my favorite is the Jamaican lady down the corner.”

You raise an eyebrow, setting your fork down as he blissfully kept eating. “But…you know everyone here, they know you, you come here every day.”

He blinks. His tone is slightly quieted. “I know. But the owner’s trying to put his daughter through college. Any penny I can give to him counts.” He talks as if the act of selflessness was the simplest thing in the world. It amazed you, how easily kindness and servitude came to him. In your short time with him, he was nothing but humble and friendly with everyone he interacted with. The small smile that spread on your face was one of admiration, and genuine mystique at the kindly man across from you.

You chatted for a bit longer, about growing up, your families, before you were both finished. He tossed your trash, and bid the teen at the register goodbye before walking you back to the Ecto. Once inside, you couldn’t help but lean your head against the glass, your lack of sleep the previous night manifesting after eating so good.

“I think that knocked me out,” you tried hard to suppress a yawn in your throat as he turned on the ignition, soft rumbling making it harder.

“There’s a word for that,” he laughed. That was the last thing you could remember, before waking back up. The car was still parked in the same spot, and as you sleepily looked around, Winston sat in the same spot, peacefully reading a small book. Your stomach dropped as you noticed the time- nearly 3 o’clock.

“I am so sorry,” you stumbled through an apology, sleep still sticking to your panicked words. He simply took his reading glasses off, eyebrows raised as you rambled.

‘I don’t mind. I had my book.” 

“I didn’t snore, right?” Your skin burnt.

He paused. "It made a good ambience.”

You threw your head into your hands, Winston snickering at your expense as he started the car again. He drove out the area, sidewalk now full of families coming from school and work, in addition to teenagers loitering for a bit before they headed home. The scenery became less cozy and residential, and slowly became more retail, tall buildings advertising clothes and businesses. You recognized it as being your downtown area- albeit the parts you felt too low-income to pursue.

“What’s next?” You wondered if there was dried drool on your chin.

“I doubt anyone is talking to anyone back home.” Winston bit the inside of his cheek. He kept his eyes on the road, thoughts behind his eyes. He had a bittersweet look on his face, before speaking again. “When we didn’t have anything to do- or any spare money to do it with, my mom took my siblings and I to the department store.”

You’ve heard quite a few personal stories in the last few hours. Maybe it was his way of connecting. You decided to probe. “What’d you do?”

His face softened a bit, recounting the positive parts of the memory. “All types of fashion shows. Found future gifts to our dad. Made our mom promise to find us shirts just like the ones on the rack- and she did. We pretended we were the richest kids in the world. Preacher’s kids, we weren’t…terribly poor. But there were reminders. Mom made it better.” He smiled fondly, despite the car being stuck behind a bus.

The car moved forward. “I’m sure she’s the reason you turned out so well.” The car suddenly stalled, and you were honked at from behind. Eventually, you were parked against the busy sidewalk of a wide, tall building. The sheer size was enough to intimidate, as you still sat in the car, gazing at the top of the structure as he had the door handle in his hands.

You were estimating the floor count, before you felt a hand grab yours. His palms were soft, slightly calloused, but warm nonetheless. He looked down at your conjoined hands, before simpering back up at you. “So you don’t get lost.”

As Winston guided you through the bustling floor, your anxiety was substituted for security. The makeup counter was absolutely packed, as were the prom dresses upstairs. That made a fair amount of sense, as the school year would be ending soon. While on the escalator, you can see all the patrons, hurrying in and out with their bags. At the top, something in the toy section catches your eyes. Winston lets himself be led over.

“What a find,” you take a rectangular box off the shelf. It’s a nearly identical Smokey the Bear plushie, just a newer model. There’s a tribute to the old one printed on the back of the packaging. Winston watched as you reveled in the coincidence.

You remember his presence, and the lack of context he has for you suddenly admiring a children’s toy. “Ray sleeps with an old one. Smokey’s seen better days.” Winston smiles as you place it back on the display.

“Why not get it for him?” 

You shake your head swiftly. “I’d be dishonoring your mom. I thought the point was to not  spend money?”

He picked the bear back up. “She also says that you can’t take money to the grave. Maybe it can be a goodbye present? We can find something for Egon and Peter, too.”

You think on it. At this rate, there wasn’t much for you to repay their kindness with. Well-thought-out gifts paid for with Winston’s money will have to do, for now. You agree, before disembarking to a clothing department. You end up in the men’s section, articulate and hip pieces you couldn’t even dream of affording. Winston gazes up at the flashy, electric purple suit vest on a mannequin, as you sit back on a chair behind him.

“You like that one?” You sit up.

He puffs out a laugh at the outfits' pure hedonism. “It’s a lot. Even for me.”

“And you want it,” you rise, skimming the racks for the matching pieces in his size as he protests. You wordlessly hand them to him, and he surrenders, disappearing behind the entrance to a men’s dressing room. In the meantime, you’d look for Peter’s gift. To be fair, you knew him the least out of the 4 men. But Winston had told you he messed around too much in the lab, and lost his favorite tie to a small fire. He apparently never had time to replace it, and Winston could remember the exact brand, style, and color, so you figured he could single out the one you were looking for out of a short stack of silky, red fabrics. 

As you waited in a warmly lit lounge area by the fitting room, he emerged, holding his arms out and up to model it for you. The satin of the cream colored undershirt fit around him nicely, the bright vest even coming in at his waist a bit. He had the full ensemble on, even down to the suede loafers. He looked like a moviestar, even if he was too humble to actually admit it himself, the price tag swinging underneath his arm. 

“It’s something,” He looked at himself in the mirror, hands on his square hips.

“It’s great, that’s what it is,” you say honestly.

“You like vampire-soul-train?” He turned.

You put your hands up defensively. “I love vampire-soul-train.” He continued to look indecisive about it, confidence visibly falling. “Are you gonna come back for it?”

“Where would I wear it to?” He peeked at the price tag one more time, dropping it like it burned his fingers.

You shrugged. “You don’t need an occasion. Sometimes it’s just fun to dress up. Ask Janine.”

He laughs. “I guess you’re learning from the best.” He looks down pleasantly surprised at what he’s seeing on the floor. “If anything, I’d come back for the shoes.” He looks at you through the reflection in the mirror. “Did you find anything?” 

You look around at the dozens of clothes behind you. “I guess not.” There’s a lot to choose from, and a lot of bright colors fighting for your attention. It’s all a little overwhelming, looking at clothes you’d fall in love with and never buy. You end up standing in the middle of the department, scratching your head swimming with uncertainty, until Winston taps you on the shoulder.

“They have it in your size.” So you matched. 

“We look like a magic act,” you tease him, remembering Peter’s tie situation. After he pinpointed the correct match, you admired yourselves a little longer- at least until the staff were tapping you on the shoulder and asking if you needed anything, courteous smiles twitching as they watched you saunter around in their merchandise. 

You looked at more things in different departments- jewelry that you tried to convince Winston to re-pierce his ears for, home decor you’d have if your place was bigger. Eventually, he gladly paid for the 2 gifts, the large bag in which they were placed sitting next to you at an ice cream counter. As you ate, you both came to the conclusion that Egon deserved a decadent little chocolate cake from the dessert store you were at, and you hoped it would keep in the fridge overnight. 

“You ready to go home tomorrow morning?’ He put his spoon in his mouth. Butter pecan. You groaned lightly. You wanted to give them their space- and their money back, but it was like the ending to a pleasant dream, going from companionship and a warm place to sleep in a hard time to a now-damaged apartment and job fairs.

“As ready as I can be. Thanks, for putting up with me this weekend.” You put your spoon down.

“You won’t get rid of us that easy. We’ll be there to help you clean up.”

“The 4 archangels. I promise, when I get back on my feet I’m finding new ways to repay you all.” He dismissed your offer.

“It’s the minimum. Louis’ office was in the boiler room for a bit, you know.” He lightened your guilty mood. As he smiled, you noticed the now dark bruise against his jaw. Impulsively, you reached out and manipulated his face gently. 

“Does it still hurt?”

There’s a crash from the first floor. You both rush to the balcony railing, watching as people run to the exit, as feral growls vibrate around the large store. Winston grabs your hand again, though less tender now, running down the steps of the now disabled escalator against waves of people running up instead. When you reach the bottom, you watch in terror as an angry alligator destroys the store. As you looked on, you could see that the tail of the beast was vaporizing in front of you, as it hissed out a slime like the one you worked to wash out early in the morning. This wasn’t just an escaped animal. It was a ghost. Winston came to this conclusion at the same time that you did, pulling you towards the exit and to the Ecto. 

“Should we call Peter and Ray and-”

He opened the door to get his equipment. “They won’t get here in time. And they won’t have any  of this.” He grabbed a proton gun, staring down at it before sighing. “I’m gonna ask you to do something very dangerous.”

Your eyes flickered down to the weapon in his hands, before your mouth fell open. “Absolutely not. Dr. Spengler said that it was ‘unregulated units of atomic energy.’” He ignored your protests, putting the proton pack onto you. He pulled the belt tight around your waist.

“It’s easier than you think,” he said hurriedly, adjusting the straps on your shoulders. “Have you ever flown a plane?”

You stare at him, eyes blown and wide, before burying your head behind your hands. He pries them off gently, placing them each on different points of the gun. “Well then it’s just like driving a car. You shoot the ghost with this, okay? Just keep holding onto him, and I’ll open the trap for you. We’re gonna do it, and we’re gonna do it together.” 

Before you could revel in him talking you through it, he’s pushing you inside. Herds of frightened customers cling to the walls, out of the way of the ghost, and make room for you and Winston as they quietly whisper to each other that help has come. The alligator is ripping up a display, the woman in the ad subsequently dressed in Victorian style dress. Winston creeps up towards it slowly, before advising you to stay behind one of the makeup counters.

“I’m gonna tell you when. When I do, hit this button. That’s all. Okay?” You purse your lips, nodding, and crouching despite the nerves being felt in your weak legs. He leaves you behind, the ghost with its back turned as it tears up the poster. From your hiding spot, you can hear it notice him, growling loudly as it charges. He signaled you, and you popped up like a toy, shaky fingers igniting the stream.

He did the same, exclaiming loudly as you immobilized the spirit. He advised you to raise it up slowly, as the phantom flailed around. 

“What now?” You called over the volume of the particle accelerator whirring like crazy on your back, separated from your skin by a spring jacket and a sweater. He didn’t have an answer.

He hesitated. “You didn’t manage to grab a trap while you were out there, did you?” You could have fainted.  You saw his stream falter. “I’ll be right back. Keep holding him- I’ll be two seconds!’

His stream stopped, as he sprinted out the door, nearly slipping on ectoplasm in the process. The ghost thrashed harder, trying to resist the force suspending it in the air. You felt like the weight of holding up an adult alligator suddenly, and your arms couldn’t keep up with its fight. Your stream gave out for a split second, and in that time it was free, and on the floor. It locked eyes with you.

Your cry for Winston echoed throughout the department store- hell, throughout the city as you ran as fast as your legs could take you around the floor once, then up one of the escalators. You skidded to a stop at the end, as the chaos of the escaping crowd managed to knock down a large glass case, sending glass all over the floor. Your momentum didn’t stop you soon enough, and you slid over the shards before falling to the waxed floor. The ghost got closer, sending your heart to your toes as it opened its mouth, expelling a wave of noxious green slime. You saved your pride, ducking out of the way at the last second. You only had a moment to celebrate your triumph, as a quick movement of its ghastly tail reminded you of its ability to interact- and harm, the physical world. 

You got back on your feet, before noticing Winston run back inside out of the corner of your eye. You needed to get back downstairs, but all of the possible ways down were blocked. A large decoration swung from the ceiling, reaching fairly low to the ground. The ghost was creeping closer, teeth bared. If you die, please let your soul haunt the firehouse. 

Your nerves steeled themselves for you, hesitating on the ledge, before taking your literal leap of faith as the ghost lunged forward. You squeezed your eyes shut, only opening them when you felt your sweaty palms make contact with the course rope. You slide quickly, before remembering you actually had to catch the violent apparition. You reach weakly for the gun swinging behind you, forgotten, and feebly aim your gun at the glass part at the railing where it watched you. The glass shatters in its wake, and as you continue your ride down the rope, the ghost is caught in your stream, the speed at which you’re moving dragging it through the air. You reach a safe enough distance to the ground, letting go of your hold on the rope and dropping on your knees unstably. 

Winston’s been watching from the floor, regaining his strategy as the ghost hovers ahead. He sets his stream on it, and kicks a trap directly below. Your ears are ringing, and your heart’s beating at a thousand miles a minute as he calls on you to lower the spirit. With diminished resistance, the ghost is caught in the trap, smoking rising to the ceiling. The entire store is quiet. The smoke reaches the alarms, setting off the sprinklers, and the hostages erupt in celebration.

Winston lays an arm around your shoulder, speaking low into your ear. “I told you, it was easy. You’re amazing.” 

But you're still in a daze, and Winston recognizes it as he gently guides you to the car, avoiding reporters and even a few policemen. Before he takes you to the passenger side and aides you down into the seat, he raises your hand for everyone watching the news in the tri-state to see. 

“Y/N came, saw, and kicked its ass!”

You don’t say much as he drives back to the firehouse, siren on. You suddenly startle back to consciousness, turning to him in disbelief. 

“I caught a ghost.”

“You sure did.”

You laugh weakly, rubbing your eyes. Your laughter picks up, before it turns hysterical. You crank down the window, sticking your upper body out in ecstasy. This was the most alive you’ve felt in your entire adult life, and you let everything in the car’s path know.

“I caught a ghost!” You cry out as the Ecto drives through the city’s streets.

[resurrection-of-soul]

Flashback | BIOHAZARD 10

Writer: Akira (日日日)

Characters: Rei, Kaoru, Koga, Keito, Adonis

Koga: (Now that you mention it, Ricchi can be pretty rude too. I mean, sometimes he'll just go "move it" n' literally kick me outta the way.)

[ For the best viewing experience, please read directly on my blog! ♪ ]

Kaoru: So basically, it's totally your fault, Sakuma-san.

Rei: Ehhh~? Okay, sure, go ahead n' just blame it aaaaaaall on lil' ol' me¹~ ♪

Rei: (Why does past me have such a rotten attitude!?)

Koga: (People get fooled by yer old man gimmick, but even nowadays you can give people some serious attitude.) (At the very least, y'ain't real polite, goin' around puttin' your feet up on tables n' stuff like some kinda delinquent.)

Rei: (Ritsu also tends to put his feet up on the furniture, you see. ♪ When siblings share the same habits, you find yourself thinking, "they must be close ♪" That sort of thing serves well as a conversation starter, does it not?)

Koga: (Now that you mention it, Ricchi can be pretty rude too. I mean, sometimes he'll just go "move it" n' literally kick me outta the way.)

Rei: (The two of us hold such high-ranking positions within our clan that none dared to scold us even when we exhibited such disrespectful behavior.)

Koga: (Haaah. On top a' that you're way too soft on Ricchi, so there's no way ya ever managed to scold 'im the way an older brother should, huh.)

Adonis: (Quiet. Our past selves seem to be talking about something important.)

Kaoru: After the "Dead Man's Live" the other day, Sakuma-san ran off and went overseas without a word—

Rei: I had work to do, okay? I'm focused on overseas activities. It's my literal job.

Kaoru: Mhm. But, like, because of that, the followers you left behind here in Japan started imitating your worst behaviors and causing all sorts of trouble?

Keito: Sakuma-san's…followers?

Koga: Th-the hell're you lookin' at me for?

Kaoru: Ahaha. You remember how Sakuma-san called on all the delinquents who were hanging around to act as his allies during the "Dead Man's Live," right?

Rei: Oh, if we're talkin' about that, it was just for the competition. So what?

Kaoru: So everyone, like, totally misunderstood? They're like, "we're friends with Sakuma Rei, a world-class superstar."

Rei: Ughhh…

Kaoru: And because of that, they've gotten totally carried away, going around calling themselves "vampires" and causing all kinds of havoc by running wild, eating and drinking excessively without paying for a thing. "We're underlings of the Sakuma Rei, so hold your heads high! Don't hold back!" or whatever. Just checking here but you're not, like, the one telling them to act this way, right? Cause those "vampires," they're going around all like, "If you've got any complaints, go tell 'em to our boss, Sakuma Rei!" and stuff, y'know?

Rei: Are ya stupid? What would I get outta tellin' people to do such a shitty imitation of me? It's just a buncha morons who misunderstood and went wild on their own. Borrowin' the tiger's terror²… Man, they're even dumber than I thought.

Kaoru: Yeah, I figured it was something like that? Still, those guys really are like "vampires." They take in other delinquents and add them to their ranks, quickly multiplying their numbers. In terms of size and general vibe, they're almost like one of those color gangs³ from a while back. When they eat and run, or start fights in front of stores, it disrupts business. This area's already in the middle of a recession, so, like, even small stuff like that ends up being a huge blow. You get what I'm saying? You've gotta clean up after yourself. These people showed up because of you, Sakuma-san, so you should take care of it somehow. The local businesses even pooled their resources and put together some reward money. Oh yeah, on that topic, I'm acting as the point of contact since we go to the same school, but I want you to think of this as a request from everyone in the neighborhood. Of course, if push comes to shove, I'll totally call the cops. But, y'know, most Yumenosaki students come from influential families, so… Who knows whether the police will actually do their jobs properly. Things would go way more smoothly if you guys could just deal with it, y'know? That's why I'm like, totally counting on you to slay the "vampires" ♪

Rei: Ahaha. Funny coincidence, never thought I'd end up imitatin' Van Helsing.

Keito: You're usually more of a Count Dracula, after all.

Rei: …Well, I understand the situation. I mean, I'd already more or less figured it out, so I went ahead n' took the initiative. Here, look. He seems kinda pitiful given the way we've just been ignorin' 'im the whole time, but I already caught the culprit.

Adonis: ……..

Keito: I don't understand. What do you mean, Otogari is the culprit?

Rei: I mean this guy here's the vampires' boss. To go back to the Dracula analogy, the best way to kill him is by drivin' a stake through his heart to stop him from movin' and then decisively cuttin' off the head. And this, right here, is the vampire's head. In short, if we get rid of this guy, the incident'll be resolved. Simple, ain't it? ♪

Adonis: ......

[ ☆ ]

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ore-sama-chan. This man is so annoying (complimentary).

Taken from the title of the Chinese fable "The Fox Borrows the Tiger's Terror," this is an idiom meaning to bully or frighten people using someone else's authority.

A type of Japanese street gang which aims to imitate the look and feel of American street gangs, though it should be noted that color gangs tend to be more of a "rebellious youth" thing than an actual crime thing. Some of them do get up to actual serious crimes, of course, but the majority of color gangs exist to unnerve adults, disrupt the peace, and give rowdy teens an excuse to punch other rowdy teens. Picture a bunch of weirdly color-coordinated delinquents committing petty crimes, rather than violent street gangs engaging in serious illegal activity.

[biblebeltfolkwitch]

Today and the last few days, I've been working on harvesting and pressing some foliage and flowers. I really love these yellow flowers, which I believe are black-eyed susans. I took stuff with me on my walk today to pick up some trash at the shoreline of the lake, brought along some offering, and tools to harvest and store stuff until I got home. When I saw these two flowers were being used, they both became out of bounds for harvest, so I left them.

I think it's important for folks who maybe only forage for their craft or for making things and who are more casual about it to learn some basic tenants of wildcrafting your Craft/craft.

I've sorta been building my own rules for what materials are acceptable to bring home when I'm out and about on walks or whatever.

1: If possible, don't harvest or collect something the first day you see it.

This rule is in place for me as a reminder that I'm not the animal who gets first dibs on what I see in nature. My impact is much much bigger than any other animal who would use it if I leave it, so i try to leave it for at least 24 hours, if not longer.

2: Half at most, around 1/3 or less is best.

If I'm going to be harvesting to make something, I try to let it be a long-term project so that I can take as little as possible at one time. Out of a dozen flowers, I'd take 6 at most, but probably 3 or 4 from the one place I found them. If I'm walking and find another plant that has 8 of the flowers, at most I'll have 1 or 2 go home with me.

Again, as a human, my impact is bigger, and also, I'm not as reliant on these resources for survival as our bug friends are or the local wildlife. I'm making a tool or an art project, my life isn't depending on the thing being done like their lives depend on these things being available to them.

3: Acknowledge what you're doing (ask, offering, etc).

Ultimately, I'm taking something from its natural habitat, and maybe even snipping it off something, I always try to acknowledge what I'm doing. If I can give something beneficial, I will. However, just that moment of mindfulness allows me to at least maintain a healthier relationship with the world me.

These all come back to acknowledging my place within the world around me as I forage, I'm not viewing the world as something I can harvest from without a direct impact to the wildlife and ecosystem.

I even do this for rocks or abandoned shells on the shoreline. Because I'm sure nature could use the shells I've harvested in some beneficial way, even if just a pitstop for a bug, I acknowledge that.

Granted, there's more happening behind the scenes too. I've walked this path to the shoreline in the neighborhood almost daily since June 1st of this year (I can count on one hand how many times I've not walked/not seen the shoreline). I've talked to the spirits that inhabit the little bits I forage from, and blah blah blah. But, even if the spirits of place and nature spirits aren't a part of your practice, still consider the physical repercussions on the ecosystem when you forage for items for witchcraft purposes or just crafting purposes.

[petesfishingshow]

Is fishing important?

Depending on who you talk to, they’ll say fishing is a hobby, a way of life, a way to make a living or they could describe fishing as boring. To me, it's to appreciate nature and the important people around you. From a young age, that’s before the internet and smartphones were available, I had to find ways to entertain myself. Fishing played a role in keeping me out of trouble.

The neighborhood I grew up in was surrounded by rice paddies, small streams and natural ponds. There were various fish that lived in those bodies of water. I wanted to catch every species I could see. However, being only 7 years old, I didn’t have the money to buy fishing gear. I saved up by collecting recyclable material such as scrap metal, newspapers, and bottles. After what seemed like forever, I had enough to buy three hooks and a few meters of fishing line from a local store. 

A fishing rod was out of the question. Good thing I lived in a tropical county. Bamboo was everywhere. I made my bamboo pole look like a conventional fishing rod with guides. However my reel was just a t-shaped block of wood. Hey, it don’t need to look pretty. It just has to work.

Today, I fished with my son, friends and other family members. Fishing allows us to enjoy nature. Respect the water because it can be potentially dangerous. Fishing helps us bond and strengthen our relationships. We also help the local economy by supporting mom and pop tackle shops, join fishing events like tournaments and meetups. 

Fishing can help ease a troubled mind. I admit that fishing can be frustrating. Especially if you don’t catch anything. However, the thrill of the catch will always lure you in to cast one more time. 

[fulltransmetalgenderist]

as a cashier i wanted to throw in my 2¢

i work in a little grocery market -- most of our customers live in the area, and we have been operating for a few decades now, and as a result some of our customers have been coming here for multiple generations. it's important to us to build relationships and keep those relationships with our regulars, many of them old folks, so our checkout lines look very different than large supermarkets. we ring things up slowly, we help people bag up their stuff, we walk their stuff to their car. many of our reviews on Yelp mention how long our checkout times are, saying it might take up to 15 minutes. in order to build actual relationships with the community that we serve, we have to sacrifice that capitalist efficiency.

and as a cashier i LOVE it. i know so many people in my neighborhood. I know their family members, I know what their favorite foods are, what holidays they celebrate. and they ask about me, and I get to tell them about my dogs, and they ask about my partner, and what fruits i like that are in season.

work can be so rewarding , even cashiering, when I get to have those real moments of personal connection, that often come up because a customer needs something extra from me. like an extra bag, or assistance picking out produce. and i get to confidently engage with people, knowing that our store work model allows for it, and i won't get reprimanded for spending ten minutes with a single customer.

so I guess what I'm saying is: capitalism and the way it dictates our social lives can feel so pervasive sometimes -- but often times if you look for the smaller stores, the locally owned ones, the ones that have been in your neighborhood forever, the ones that operate from a love for their community, the environment might feel a little different. and getting to do work that actually SERVES my community, the immediate community I'm in , full of annoying and hard-to-work-with people, is so rewarding i can literally feel myself become less alienated to my labor, more social, more excited to work. it gives me a little hope that there are different ways to work and serve, outside the grip of capitalist efficiency.

i promise you that nobody has ever in their life thought "wow, this other person inserted absolutely zero friction into my life. they were so efficient and worked so hard to get out of my way. i love them for that." not EVER. not ever ever. if you sublimated your own personhood that hard they didn't even think of you at all. the people we remember in life are the people who got in our way a little, and broke up our routine, who asserted their perspective and gave us something new to think about or feel. that's how we form real relationships -- by inconveniencing one another and actually having a marked influence on one another's lives. to be loved is to be annoyed. and to be annoying at someone. and to be thankful, at the end of it all, that somebody broke you out of yourself for a moment and got in your way.

it's great to be considerate and obviously not every interaction is gonna be special, but you can't go through life as if every person is a cashier that you don't want to get mad at you for asking for an extra bag.

[mercerislandbooks]

50 Years of Island Books: Kay Wilson

Kay Wilson worked for Island Books from 2000 until 2016. Now Kay and her husband live on Lummi Island, surrounded by a field with two big gardens and many fruit trees. She helps raise money for the local library by running a book sale in the summer, partly to help the community and partly to feed her need to be buried in books. Their three children and old friends are scattered around, and Kay says going to visit them is a lovely way to be out in the world.

Miriam: Can you tell me about how you came to work at Island Books? Who did you work with, and what was happening in the world then?

Kay: Around 1982, I joined the Red and Black Books Collective, a politically progressive store that had been really important to the Seattle queer and feminist community since 1973. At first I volunteered, eventually becoming a paid staff book and card buyer. It was an incredible place to work and I was there for 16 years, but when the store was clearly not going to make it, I quit around 1998 and in 1999 went to work in a tiny green grocery that was in my Ballard neighborhood. I didn't want to work at another bookstore, partly because our family was fishing in the summers in Alaska and it seemed hard to find any bookstore that would accommodate that schedule. This little grocery served a sweet little Ballard neighborhood and it was full of regulars. Among those regulars were Roger and Nancy Page living as they did right around the corner. Roger and I especially hit it off. We had lots of things in common—roses, gardens, cooking, and so it happened, books and the selling of them. Eventually he asked me to come work at Island Books. Did I want to go to Mercer Island from Ballard every day? Did I want to mend my book-selling broken heart and do it again? I went over there and took a look. I was introduced to the staff and said okay.

This was an era when Amazon was eating independent bookstores for breakfast. So many everywhere. Roger clearly understood that in order to survive and thrive, his bookstore had to have really smart, thoroughly engaged booksellers who truly knew about both books and people. Staff there when I started were Cindy Corujo, Lori Mitchell, Wendy Crawford, Garry Jarman, and another part timer, Nancy Watkins. Not too long after, wonderful Nancy Shawn came (also a Red and Blackie) and then the unforgettable Marni Gittinger. These people each had their special way of making sure the customers got what they wanted, and many books they had no idea they wanted. We loved each other, had each other's backs, sometimes drove each other crazy. We had a lot of fun, insisted upon a whiskey in the backroom at 5pm if we weren't too busy (thank you Roger for keeping a bottle of Irish in the cupboard).

Miriam: It was such a fun time. As I recall, one of your specialties was the cookbook section. Do you remember any particular cookbooks you hand-sold time and again?

Kay: I started collecting cookbooks long before I came to Island Books, so it was always fun and easy to help folks find a good one, either for themselves, or as a gift. One of my favorites was and still is Tender by Nigel Slater, or really any of his glorious cookbooks, which can easily be used as lovely books to just sit and read, like getting a long letter from your auntie, the fantastic cook. Also, the books of Laurie Colwin, Home Cooking and More Home Cooking. These have recipes, but also stories that make you feel like having a dinner party or making an impromptu lunch for a surprise visitor is no big deal. James Beard's American Cookery is still in print and is so fantastic, a classic for a reason, and more fun than The Joy of Cooking, but fills a similar place on your cookbook shelf. Dori Greenspan's wonderful French cookbooks, books by Madhur Jaffery for her beautiful Indian cooking, Alice Waters' Chez Panisse Vegetables, as much for the illustrations as the recipes. The brilliant locals, Renee Erikson, Tom Douglas. Ottolenghi for his gifted many-ingredient recipes (forget making something with three or four items!)

Miriam: This is making me hungry. Let's walk out of the cookbook section. Will you give me a tour of the rest of the shelves? Tell us some of your favorite hand-sells of all time.

Kay: Of the other books I love and sold to many customers over the years, here are a few:

The books of Louise Erdrich, really almost anything, but I think The Master Butchers Singing Club is so very beautiful and original. It's not that her books don't have sorrow in them, but they are books of humanity and hope in the end. And if you want a whole universe to enter into, you can start with Love Medicine and just keep going.

White Teeth by Zadie Smith. Her first book was so exciting, historical fiction in a way, written with such exuberance for the words on the page.

Small Island by English writer Andrea Levy. Written from the point of view of four people deeply affected by World War II whose lives intersect, it's a moving story about who belongs and why, with insight into race and class without at all being a polemic.

Winter's Tale by Mark Helprin. Magical realism for those who think they won't like it. It's a riot, a huge, passionately told story of New York City, as if Dickens and Garcia Marquez decided to write a beautiful love story about an orphan who lives through all the ages of the city.

In the Fall by Jeffrey Lent. Historical fiction that begins at the end of the Civil War, about an escaping enslaved woman who rescues a wounded Union soldier and goes with him home to Vermont, where they marry. Lent has a few more books, all worth reading, but this one is memorable.

The poetry of Mary Oliver, especially White Pine. Just stand there and read the poem "William." If you don't buy that book, you might be dead to poetry.

Michael Ondaatje's The English Patient. (The movie is good, but oh, the book!)

Pema Chodrun's When Things Fall Apart. Life saving help for someone going through difficult times. Simple, a way in towards kindness to yourself and others, even the difficult ones.

Arctic Dreams by Barry Lopez. His writing about the natural world and himself in it is just enthralling.

A Midwife's Tale by the American historian Laurel Thatcher Ulrich. This book, about Martha Ballard, a midwife in late 18th century Maine, alternates between Ballard's diary and Ulrich's commentary about life then, insightfully revealing how much the world has changed materially, but still we recognize ourselves as not so different.

Anything by Oliver Sacks, especially Musicophilia. As is his usual, multiple stories about people who have had amazing neurological conditions that are affected by music.

Swimming to Antarctica by Lynne Cox. Cox's memoir about her open water long distance swimming is just a great inspiring read. Imagine swimming the English Channel in 38 degree water in record time with just a swimsuit on. What a woman!

The Ghost Map by Steven Johnson. This book about how it was finally figured out how cholera and the London water system were interconnected will make you deeply grateful for that glass of water you can drink right out of your tap, at least if you live in the right place.

Miriam: Thank you for sharing these, Kay, and it's so good to hear from you. We all get numb to book recommendations sometimes, but this is such a cultivated list! I bet Island Books customers will find great pleasure in those books and can confidently pick them up knowing you have a lifetime of expertise informing the recommendations. You're a cherished part of Island Books' history, and we are all sending you bookstore love.

To our Island Books community: If you are interested in ordering any of Kay's wonderful recommendations, please email orders@islandbooks.com. We ask for your patience, as it may take a little extra time.

In the next 50 Years ofIslandBooksinstallment, I’ll be talking to local legend and Mercer Island children's concert musician Nancy Stewart, the founder of Sing With Our Kids, who has been involved with Island Books for forty-some years and continues to lead our regular childrens Story Times.

—Miriam

[fingfamily-blog-blog]

A Walk in Malang with Anna

Today I walked around Malang with my friend Anna. She received some important news and it was good to go out and observe the external world. I mentioned in the last post Anna's adoption-search. This is her first visit to Indonesia, and the good and the bad are playing out before, and within, her everyday. She'll be going back to Jakarta tomorrow, to continue her arduous journey of identity discovery. Today we went to Alun-alun, the central park of Malang. It is ringed by fantastic banyan trees. I said, "Humans should have built their civilizations in banyan trees." I love seeing them, endlessly twisting around on themselves, dangling their future stalks tentatively from their branches. Like mangoes, banyans are symbolic of the tropics for me. But Alun-alun is not all that compelling (none of Malang is, really). So we walked to Jodipan, the multi-colored kampung along the river, near the train station. A kampung is a slum, basically. But Jodipan, where perhaps two or three thousand people live, was (some years back) brightly painted and ornamented with some fine graffiti and art-work. While this is an eye-catching place, and wonderful for taking photographs (because it's so densely-packed and angular), it is also an occasion for rich tourists to wander through a poor people's neighborhood, gawk and take pictures. So, again, interesting, but blemished. Next we walked to the Hotel Tugu, on the circle where the City Hall is located. These days the circle is decorated with mock-coffins, the pictures of dozens of victims, and numerous banners decrying the Kanjuruhan soccer stadium disaster, which is still under investigation. There is no news about it, no apparent movement whatsoever. But the local people haven't forgotten. The Usut Tuntas (Investigate Thoroughly) signs are everywhere. The government has put a lid on it. Then we ate lunch at the restaurant in the Hotel Tugu, the Melati. This is one of the swankest places in Malang, and one feels the true chasm of having and not-having in the city in such a walk. We ordered from an extensive menu, with European (Italian and Dutch), Malang street food, Indonesian and pan-Asian dishes. But one can only eat one plate of food. So I got duck and really enjoyed it. Talking with Anna is the best conversation I've had since I came to Malang. She is fully an artist, deeply spiritual, widely experienced and sensitive and intelligent. We discussed in particular how the body stores the mind's traumas, never releasing them until they are acknowledged and worked through (over time, with concerted effort), and the ways that society discourages that acknowledgement and those efforts. I hope one day we will find a way to work together as artists. There is so much to communicate!!

[theculturedmarxist]

Yesterday, I went to the local pharmacy in my neighborhood to pick up my monthly prescriptions. The pharmacy is small and narrow, and was crowded at 5 p.m. A few children were waiting in line to receive booster shots, their tired-eyed parents trying to corral them. The rest of us stood in another line waiting for the pharmacists, who raced back and forth trying desperately to keep the parents calm and the vaccine line moving and the prescriptions going into their bags and over the counter and out of the store. They were overwhelmed. The line kept growing.

One of the parents kept waving the clipboard with the form for his child every time the pharmacist had a minute to breathe. Around the fifth time he did this, two men waiting patiently near me in the line turned and snapped at him. “Shut the fuck up,” the guy in front of me said. “Can’t you see he’s trying his best?” There was no evident coordination between the two. They just each seemed to reach the end of their respective tethers at the same moment.

The pharmacist ignored this exchange, but the tension lingered. The annoying parent, to his credit, stopped waving the clipboard, stopped asking when it would be his child’s turn. Standing there for 20 minutes, waiting, I felt a dread that has appeared regularly and without warning for months. All of us were at, or near, our breaking points: the people in the line, the pharmacists, the children, the parents. Everyone is exhausted and frustrated.

All around the pharmacy these signs were hung, printed on regular paper with the words “NO RAPID TESTS” in giant blue font, highlighted yellow. They have been up for weeks. It all feels like some terribly boring nightmare, this gentle constant frustration in the space where hope used to be.

Two weeks ago, in the same pharmacy, I helped a woman who only spoke Spanish find the city webpage about rapid tests on her phone. We are lucky in Washington, D.C. Our city government has decided to do something, and done it. They have made rapid tests free to pick up at one library in each ward, two rapid test boxes per person per day with proof you live in the district. There are no flyers anywhere about this, though, and unlike the many times our mayor has instituted curfews, the city sent no push-alerts telling people about it. I knew because I read local news and follow my city representative on Instagram. When I told the woman in the pharmacy, she had no idea.

Standing in the line this week, I could not stop thinking about her, about the signs that only said NO, about the fact that the president of the country where all this has been and still is happening, tweeted last week that American people should try Google to find rapid tests instead of doing what many other wealthy countries have easily managed, which is mailing those tests to people’s houses for free. I have been thinking about how it feels and what it means to have been left so thoroughly alone.

Get a vaccine, the CDC says, because you can’t afford to get sick. Pay $30 for a rapid test, the drugstore says. Get to work, employers say, it’s important. Quitting your job, the papers add, will upset your boss, whose feelings matter. You shouldn’t have used that space heater to keep your family warm since the landlord refuses to fix the heat, a mayor tells the survivors and the dead of a building fire; you should have closed the door, which was built to close by itself but does not, as you fled your burning apartment. All of this, finally, is your problem. It’s your fault. It’s you.

It’s not, though. That’s what has been keeping me awake long after I’ve climbed into bed. It’s not us. We are not the ones who have failed. The country has always worked this way. You just tend to notice it more when all that absence comes barrelling down on you at once.

Early in the pandemic, I felt a dangerous kind of hope even when things were very bad. Lots of people were dying; everyone on the street seemed terrified. There was very little toilet paper to be found in my neighborhood. Everything was dire. In April 2020, 14 percent of Americans were unemployed. But it also seemed like the government might actually do something to help, and they did. They passed a bill to fund vaccine research and development worth $8.3 billion. They passed the CARES act, which actually sent people some money to help them survive. Student loan payments were suspended, as were evictions. Maybe, I let myself dream, this could open up some kind of possibility down the line—that watching our society crack might inspire us to patch those weak points up, maybe even through some sort of New Deal. Maybe this massive universal trauma could be redeemed, and future ones prevented, by creating a society that worked better for everyone.

And we got the CARES Act, and we got the miraculous vaccine. Scientists were stunned that, less than a year after the global outbreak of the virus, vaccines were being put into people’s arms. It had never been done before! But that initial burst of optimism has long since left behind a country bitter, and scared, and broken. Today, 10 months after my first dose and two months after my booster, I realize that my hope and my optimism was unfounded. The points of weakness are now points of leverage—you can still lose everything just from getting sick, the state says, so get vaccinated. And good luck. We have been rewarded for all of our suffering and all of our patience and all of our frustration with not just the same broken country we’ve always had, but a concerted effort to make sure that Returning To Normal does not mean improving upon the pre-COVID status quo in any meaningful way.

— CDC (@CDCgov) December 27, 2021Hospital stays can be expensive, but COVID-19 vaccines are free. Help protect yourself from being hospitalized with #COVID19 by getting vaccinated. Find your vaccine: https://t.co/xbvNiaVJKV. pic.twitter.com/NEwqZqzAwI

The United States does not become the kind of country that threatens its citizens with onerous hospital bills as part of a vaccine promotion campaign by accident. This is how the country was built, and how the system has grown to work; it is how it was designed. Even miraculous innovation on the order of MRNA vaccines is not used to make everyone’s lives better. It was only marketed that way, for a little while.

This might explain, as I’ve tried to figure out this blog, why I have not been able to stop thinking about the cotton gin. Most Americans were taught in school that the cotton gin was an American invention, the creation of a man named Eli Whitney. But until a couple of years ago, I didn’t realize why the cotton gin is really important.

I learned through reading The Half Has Never Been Told by Edward Baptist that before Eli Whitney invented the cotton gin in 1793, the profits of crops like indigo, tobacco, and rice—all of which were farmed by enslaved people—were dropping dramatically, leaving the U.S. economy in trouble. Cotton, a potential cash crop, was thwarted by a very narrow bottleneck in its production. Seeds had to be removed from the cotton by hand, which dramatically limited the amount of cotton that could be picked every day. That work is what the cotton gin did. It allowed enslavers to clean as much cotton for market as they could grow and harvest, and broke that bottleneck. This, we have been taught, was a world-historic innovation. But there was more to it than that, Baptist explains:

“Once the gin shattered the processing bottleneck, other limits on production and expansion were cast into new relief. For instance, one constraint was the amount of cheap, fertile land. Another was the lack of labor on the frontier. So enslaver-generals took land from Indians, enslaver-politicians convinced Congress to let slavery expand, and enslaver-entrepreneurs created new ways to finance and transport and codify ‘hands.’ And given a finite number of captives in their own control, entrepreneurs created a complex of labor control practices that enslaved people called ‘the pushing system.’ […] Innovation in violence, in fact, was the foundation of the widely shared pushing system.”

The cotton industry, bolstered by this invention, was later used by economists as an example of “perfect competition.” The market was so large that no one could control more than one percent of the total. Innovations were shared among these competitors, including innovations in violence. The cotton industry of the 19th century was the archetype upon which Alfred Marshall grounded the famous supply-and-demand curves we were all taught in school. An industry based entirely on the inhumane and atrocious business of slavery meant enough to the people profiting from it that they seceded from the union and started a civil war.

Ever since I learned this, I haven’t been able to hear the word “innovation” without cringing. Who is the innovation for? Whose lives will it ruin, and what exactly will it make better in the world? This, I am coming to realize, is the fundamental flaw with capitalism as we live it. If it does breed innovation, that innovation has no inherent ethics; left alone, it could ruin more people’s lives than it helps.

A system that funnels rapid antigen tests through various companies trying to make money off them, for instance, isn’t one that cares about us at all, although it is the one in which we must participate in pursuit of that care. Sure, we have the miracle of the vaccine, but as I am being promised that we will be “returning to normal” soon and that the country is “reopening,” I don’t feel optimistic. The normal we had before was bad for most people. After two years of misery, going back to it just does not feel like enough. The vaccines are miraculous, but they cannot and will not fix what actually ails us.

The minimum wage is still atrociously low. Cops are still shooting black people in the streets. School shootings are only down because the students are learning virtually. Everything is more expensive and not any nicer. Our experiences of buying things are also bad. The government’s relationship with the people is that of a disapproving and forgetful grandparent with a very young and very naughty child. The country is in shambles, and everyone can feel it.

Here is the trauma of this generation, the moment in which the present became so oppressive and deadly and bad that there was no choice but to envision a better future. How silly of me to assume that what had held true for the generations now in power would extend to us. How ridiculous to dream that we might get our own Works Progress Administration, or a livable minimum wage, or some student loan debt relief. How impossibly naive to believe that something might get better as a response to how much worse everything had become.

The people in charge, it seems clear, never wanted things to get better. Since the earliest days of the pandemic they have given us vague instructions, asked us to sacrifice our lives and our happiness for the faint promise of Getting Back To Normal. If we suffered gamely enough, for long enough, we might win back… the same country we had before.

It’s the same threat the Democratic party makes every election cycle now. ​​”We’ve got to vote like the future of our democracy depends on it,” a letter from Michelle Obama published this week read. The Republican party is making a very real effort to restrict voting rights and make future frauds easier to perpetuate, but the opposition’s promise isn’t a better future or a better life. The Democrats are now the party of only trying to stop things from getting worse; they currently control the House, the Senate, and the Presidency and yet they have accomplished very little, either because they are so corrupt or so self-defeating or so uninterested as to have accepted the idea that Accomplishing Very Little is what they are there to do. Because there is no link between “saving democracy” and the policies this so-called democracy might pass to make our lives better, it once again feels like we are being threatened. That’s a nice brutal and untenable status quo you’ve got there, it leers, be a shame if you did something that let it get somehow even worse. We have now endured almost two full years of all this hardship, and stand to get nothing but its (contingent) end in return.

Time does not run backwards. The virus exists now and will continue to exist. But in order to continue underserving the people they represent, elected officials need us to believe that the past was an idyllic time to which we should want to return. They need us to look at the cotton gin and praise American innovation, instead of seeing an instrument of violence. They need us to idealize the past because the system blithely fails most people in the present. They need us to feel like it is our fault that the things schoolchildren are told make the United States different, and great, quite obviously no longer work at all.

Standing in the pharmacy this week, I remembered how early in the pandemic there was a small hope that maybe, because everyone was sick, insurance companies would somehow go bankrupt. Maybe, we would finally get some kind of healthcare to rival every other democracy in the world. I remembered this because for months I have been fighting with my insurance. I need to take 450 mg of a drug. My initial prescription was for three 150 mg pills, but the insurance I pay so much fucking money for argues with the pharmacist every single month because they want me to take one 300 mg pill and one 150 mg pill. The prescription has been fixed to this inane, ridiculous requirement for months now, but still the insurance flags it and creates some kind of problem that the overworked but very kind pharmacist then has to solve for me. Every single person in the line in front of me had an issue like this.

The pharmacy wasn’t chaotic because the people behind the counter weren’t doing their jobs. The pharmacy is chaotic because the system in which it exists pushes it towards that chaos. The chaos was caused by a poor vaccine rollout program that forced extra work onto pharmacists without extra staffing or resources. It was caused by a terrible healthcare system that makes it difficult for them just to fill prescriptions in the first place. It was caused by poor, lazy information distribution, which made it unclear when children could be boosted and how. It was not caused by people who, after being ground down for two years, just didn’t have the bandwidth to think about other people. You have to put your own oxygen mask on first so that you can help the people around you.

That, then, was what hung in the air in the pharmacy after some tired men told another tired man to calm down—the sense that all of us just had to try to get what we could. I see people all around me helping each other even more than before. Everyone is frustrated, and their patience is thin, but no one is defeated yet. In the pharmacy, people yelled at the clipboard man, sure, but it was to help the pharmacist. They held open the doors for a parent with a stroller. They pointed when someone dropped a glove. The desire to support each other is unflagging even when people are exhausted.

We pay taxes, theoretically, so that the oxygen masks will (at a bare minimum) drop from the ceiling before the plane crashes. But the masks are not dropping and we are rapidly losing altitude. The option of paying $40 for a mask that should be handed to us is dangled in our faces while a $2.1 billion fighter jet lands safely beneath us. The government, whose only purpose is to help us work better than we work alone, is fundamentally failing us. Of course it is infuriating.

The problem is no longer just the pandemic. It is, more precisely, that our government is blaming the pandemic for problems that it created. We do not deserve to go back to a normal that is so terribly bad for most people. We do not deserve to pay more for worse things. We do not deserve to be sold the lie that it is just more important for companies to make money than it is for us to live. Certainly no one would choose that, if they felt they had a choice.

We deserve a country that uses our tax dollars to make our lives richer, and better, and easier. We deserve a country that can promise a future that improves upon some glorified, false version of our past. We deserve, simply, a country that makes it easier to be alive. That is what a society is supposed to be—people working together to help each other and make the places they live better. It is what we wait for, what keeps the lines orderly. It is supposed to get better.

[morimallow]

Kenma with a gamer s/o that’s actually more of a introvert than him - like they’ll be eating ramen 24/7 snacks, chips, BIG eye bags, slightly messy room, game collection that date back too 2005/2012, will literally stay up for 3 day to play a game, raging etc.

Gender neutral pls :)

A/N: I am genuinely sorry for not writing this earlier because I surprisingly had fun writing this even if I don't play games and stuff. I hope you like this! ^o^

As usual, I posted this the second I was done writing it so this wasn't proof read and if you ever notice that I shifted from second person POV to third, I apologize. I've been using third person in the multi-chap I've been working on. (╥_╥)

Kenma Kozume's Gamer S/O

How you met Kenma was both cliche and at the same time, unusual because what are the chances that you'd meet your Player 2 for who knows how long at a local game store to buy the newly released video game you were both supposed to play that night? 

You both thought that the person you met inside the store was a whole different human being.

It's not an angsty love story because when you realized your stories match up, you immediately started getting closer and closer until you found yourself in front of Kenma's large TV, sitting in your own gaming chair beside his black one, playing an old game released way back in 2005 and trying to complete all of the quests before 3AM. 

Although it was hard to convince you to play at his house because surprise! You were even more introverted than him. You work from home, you do go out for groceries (sometimes but you usually order them online) and for games, of course, but in hoodies and a face mask so people won't talk to you.

So, Kenma had to make a move. 

When he found out you both live in the same neighborhood, he played it simple first. He would place a bag of your favorite junk foods and the sweet drink you rarely drink and sometimes it's the energy drink you've always preferred with a little note asking if you'd let him borrow that limited edition video game from your vast collection of games from 2005 to 2012. 

That was a good move, you'd have to admit because he knows the games he mentioned in the notes were the most precious to you and wouldn't leave it hanging inside a plastic bag hooked on your front door knob and wait for him to get it without anyone looking at it suspiciously. 

It was too risky. 

Fuck human interaction, right? Your games were more important. 

Those little interactions and accidental touching of hands when you both decide it's the perfect time to grab a piece or two of potato chips Kenma bought on his grocery trip (believe me, it's a soulmate thing). 

Ah, yes. So romantic. 

Then the time came when you considered Kenma like one of your precious games — you don't want to throw it out, to sell and ship it away, you don't want anyone else to handle it because you know you can and you want to. You want him safe with you and show off to everyone as if he was the last copy of the rarest and most expensive purchase you've had. 

In their faces. 

You didn't really plan on confessing to him until you were playing where duos could battle and your opponent asked who Kenma was with because your moves were so in sync like you've played it for so long that you know each other's plays and moves (spoiler alert: you really did though). 

“They're my S/O,” he answered before looking at you and asked for confirmation, “right?”

Play first! Play first! You gripped the controller, mumbling strings of curses under your breath in which Kenma thought it was your way of letting out the rage because of the game. 

After you defeated them, you answered his previous question but more like stating it to your opponents, “Yeah, I'm his S/O,” you confirmed before reaching for the bag of chips beside Kenma when he grabbed your hand and placed a kiss between your knuckles then he continued playing as if it was the most normal thing he'd done. 

Tonight would be the third night you've gone without sleep with Kenma. It shouldn't be a habit because it's obviously unhealthy to not get even a little bit of rest throughout the day but it kinda became a thing for you two. It's the quality time, it's the hobbies and interests you share that makes you feel things. 

You weren't in front of Kenma's large TV tonight, you were plopped down on the bed with his blanket sitting comfortably over your bum and Kenma was outside the room somewhere doing something you absolutely didn't pay attention to when he was talking. 

His room wasn't entirely messy like you expected. It was the typical room that has that kind of home-y vibes just to your taste. There was a stack of paperworks on his bedside table and on the floor along with pens and folders. 

It was just like him to have this kind of room. 

Kenma entered the room with a big microwavable container enough to feed the both of you, talking to someone on the phone which was between his shoulder and ear, “Yeah, we're eating. No, please. Shoyo—”

To your surprise, it wasn't ramen or those ready-to-eat meals from the convenience store with only one tablespoon of meat and a cup of rice, no. It was a real meal, a very healthy one, you think. Turns out that Hinata and Kuroo sent it to his house that afternoon because his two best friends liked to take care of him and now, you too since the container became bigger compared to what Kenma had received when you weren't together yet. 

Kenma took a spoonful, hovered in front of you and waited for you to open your mouth before taking a bite for himself then went back to playing. 

That was also one of the things you both just… did for each other. For some people, it might be romantic to give the first bite to your lover and for others, it might be a way to protect themselves, you know? To check if it was poisoned. Your hidden intentions weren't voiced out, just simply trusted each other. 

A big celebratory YOU'VE REACHED THE END OF THE GAME appeared on the screen indicating that you both had completed the quests and can finally sleep. 

Eye contact was very necessary every after games (if his eyebags looked horrible, you should probably check yourself out too) like how placing a kiss between your knuckles became a habit of his. 

[losingitinjersey]

We’re going to ......................................................................................................... ................................................................................................................................ ........................................................................................................... Philadelphia!

Say what?!  Definitely not a location we anticipated or even really considered going to which is what makes Match Day all the more exciting!  You never really know where you’ll end up!!  

But FIRST, we’ll spend this next year locally for his intern year and move in spring/summer of 2022 to go to Philly for the next four+ years!  While this program was much further down on his rank list than we anticipated dropping to, it was still in the middle and we’re really excited about this next adventure!!  Neither one of us have ever been to Philadelphia before but everyone we mention this to always has some kind of connection to the place and they’re all positive stories!  It’s also important to note that I’ll be less than 3 hours from my sister and only an hour and a half from @zerocarb!!!

The great thing about this set up is it gives us a year to get familiar with the idea and we can spend our time finding a home to buy or rent in a good neighborhood before going.  It’s also close enough (5 hours) that we can drive and look at places in advance so we don’t have to buy/rent something sight unseen.  

The not so great thing about our current situation is that even though we’re staying local, we still need to move out of our current home asap because the landlord is in full swing ready to sell.  Like, is listing the home next Friday (my birthday) with showings starting on April 1st.  Super lame.  

Now that we FINALLY know what’s happening, I spent all of Friday night searching the area trying to find acceptable homes to rent as quickly as possible.  Most of the rentals aren’t available until May 15th or June 1st which definitely isn’t fast enough.  Friday night I contacted four properties and have only heard back from two (but at least I’ve heard from two!)  Thankfully, one of the places who I’ve been in communication with is my current top choice.  While it’s not as nice as some of the other places, the cost is more reasonable and the commute is FAR better for Kevin (went from 35 minutes to the hospital down to 10 minutes).  We have a tour scheduled for Tuesday at 3:30 p.m. to see this home.  We already submitted a rental application in advance just to help move the process along since we’d love to sign a lease starting April 1st (you know, TWELVE DAYS from now) so we can gtfo before people start touring the home.  

Before the call with my landlord this afternoon to fill us in on their timing, I had no idea we’d be saying goodbye to this home we adore so quickly.  I *knew* it was coming but it’s always hard to reach an ending.  I’m not a fan of change and, boy oh boy, is change all around us right now (new job, new home, new city, new baby).  

It’s interesting, I’ve been so focused on the excitement and what it means, looking up houses and just being on full blown planning mode (yes, of course I made a spreadsheet with 11 categories all ranked by preference, price and distance) I haven’t really had time to process.  This morning I had a song stuck in my head so I decided to play it to fully enjoy it and the next thing I knew, two seconds into the song, I was sobbing.  Not sad tears by any means, but just letting go.  Mourning the loss of this home, my walking route, my neighbors, my grocery store, everything I’ve cultivated and loved the last four years.  The song?  Take A Chance on Me, by ABBA :) Not really a song that should elicit such emotion.  It was good though, healing.  

In other news, my mom is here :) Not my dad, sadly.  He got "a little bug” from his recent 10-day trip to Haiti that he took to do some mission work.  Whhhyyyy he went to Haiti the day after getting his second vaccination dose and returning only four days before his trip out here is beyond me. Stupid, big-hearted man. Hopefully he’ll feel better soon so he can join my mom sometime this week.  My mom only just arrived at 5 p.m. tonight so the 30 minutes she got to spend with erp was just so precious.  We weren’t sure how erp would react to finally seeing the person she video chats with every day in person but she was so freaking pleasant and charming and just GOOD for her.  I can’t wait to see how they’ll interact together tomorrow!  

Speaking of tomorrow, we’re going to an open house for another house I’m not that into (but I need options just in case).  While we’re on the peninsula we’ll drive by the house we applied for and a few others I’ve identified.  It’ll be a nice trip for Kevin and I while my mom and erp hang.  

To make a long post even longer... Backtracking to yesterday (seems so long ago), Match Day was amazing.  This really is the most important day of a med student’s entire four years - way more so than even graduation.  I’m glad we opted to do the in-person option.  Seeing all the faculty SO freaking stoked to celebrate Kevin, congratulate him and just cheer over my husband was so inspiring.  I actually teared up a lot from being so overwhelmed with the appreciation and affirmation he was receiving (thank goodness for the mask covering half my contoured face).  

What was equally special was that he got to show off erp for the first time.  Holding her with such pride as he strutted through the lines of faculty and volunteers.  Having people oooh and awwhh over her is an experience we rarely get to have in this covid world.  Apparently erp was clinging so tightly to him!!  She’s never been around so many people, lights, sights and sounds before.  She didn’t cry or make a fuss at all but definitely clung to home base.  

We celebrated by picking up cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory and reveled in the exciting news of the day.  We keep stopping each other and exclaiming, “We’re going to Philly!”

All in all, we’re excited!  We’re stressed.  We’re taking action and leaning on each other.  Looking forward to this transition part to be over but trying to enjoy the journey while we’re on it.  Thank you for riding along with us :)

[decodingellipses]

Alexis Nikole, The TikTok Forager

This piece is part of the Person of Interest vertical at @bonappetit

Alexis Nikole considers her TikTok fame a fortuitous accident. She knew nothing about the platform until she started an account for her day job as a social media manager. But when the 28-year-old from Columbus, Ohio, began experimenting on her personal page during the pandemic, she got more than she bargained for. Specifically: over 600,000 enthusiastic followers and 10.3 million likes.

Since April of last year, Nikole’s now viral account has been showcasing her immeasurable knowledge of foraging and cooking with wild plants: a sorbet made out of Japanese knotweed (Reynoutria japonica), hairy bittercress (Cardamine hirsuta) turned into lush salads, and common dandelions (Taraxacum officinale) battered and fried like fritters. She studied environmental science and theater at Ohio State University, and often combines her two passions on the platform—where you’ll find her singing original songs about cattails and sassafras.

By sharing excellent foraging tips laced with undiluted humor, Nikole’s intentions were for people to take agency over their meals and make the most of foods that were free and readily available all around; especially after COVID-19 hit American shores and shopping was anxiety inducing. During the early months of the pandemic, Nikole’s TikToks focused on how foraged goods could extend groceries and increase access to fresh ingredients, especially for those living in food deserts. This is precisely why Nikole’s videos are so grounding; in these times, it’s crucial to feel some sense of self-sufficiency and stability.

Amid global adversity, Nikole forages because it reminds her that she’s human—and humans, at their very core, are part of the ecosystem, no matter how much we distance ourselves from that truth. I called up Nikole to learn more about her foraging background, how she practices gratitude for what is all around, and why the world needs more hyper-localized food systems.

Foraging makes me feel I am a part of something bigger… and that feeling is really good at chasing the depression away. Typically I go out between two to five times a week on average. In the dead of winter, I might only go once, and during the dog days of summer, I’m in the woods and nearby parks every single day. I’ll jam to ’80s funk the entire walk to the creek, but the earbuds go away when I get there. I want to hear everything—the crunching leaves under my feet, the babbling brook, and people conversing and laughing in the distance.

I used to dream of being a pop star… by night and a scientist by day. I’ve been surrounded by music for a long time. I was three when I joined the childrens’ choir at my dad’s Baptist church, I started classical piano at age five, I was in choir every year through junior high and high school, I performed a cappella in high school, and was on the e-board of ukulele club in college. I was never a prodigy, but music brings me so much joy, so I love being able to sneak that into my TikTok videos.

The best meal I’ve made using a foraged ingredient is probably… chicken-of-the-woods mushroom (Laetiporus sulphureus) “crab cakes” and an American sea rocket (Cakile edentula) and steamed beach pea (Lathyrus japonicus) salad tossed in olive oil infused with goldenrod (Solidago). Very gourmet!

My curiosity for the outdoors… was nurtured from a very young age by my parents. My two sets of grandparents knew that scouting was good for building connections and recognized the importance of getting outside, and thus got my parents into it early. My mom scouted longer than my dad did and went to sleepaway camp in New Hampshire in the summertime. Eventually, while working at Procter & Gamble, she gardened on the weekends to decompress. I would help her, spreading mulch or digging into the earth with a tiny trowel while she quizzed me on the plants. Unbeknownst to my mom, I was picking up a lot of information. From there it grew into a love of all things growing plants outdoors.

You don't have to go full forager… to reduce your environmental impact. Over the past few decades society has trended away from a localized food system, toward a global one. On the upside, it’s much easier to find ingredients like star anise at the grocery store. However, access to tomatoes year-round means they’ve got a higher carbon footprint because they traveled thousands of miles to get to your plate. Even shopping at your local farmstand helps with lowering your carbon footprint; it’s also a little easier than identifying a plant and bringing it home to eat.

Everyone was afraid of going to the grocery store… when I started my TikTok foraging videos in April 2020. So I thought: Hey! Here are a few plants that are really common and probably growing in your neighborhood that you can gather, and maybe that’ll stretch your groceries a bit.

Poor and POC communities are hit hardest… when major disasters hit. We saw the same thing playing out in Texas with the massive winter storm. So I offer my knowledge to help someone who needs to get some fresh food on their plate.

As a Black, queer female forager on the internet… I’m not the person people expect to see excited about foraging, the outdoors, biology, botany, and history. I have delightful forager friends who are white, and I notice they don’t get questioned nearly as much as I do. That’s heartbreaking. When my dad learned that my account becoming viral also meant me becoming susceptible to online harassment, he got angry and told me, “I’ve been alive for 65 years. It doesn’t feel good that you’re still called into question because of who you are.”

Though, it all feels worth it when… a follower sends me a thank-you message saying, “Because of you, while I was out walking I recognized this plant and it made me feel like my neighborhood was a cooler and happier place.” To be less unacquainted with plants or more connected to surroundings because of me is a huge win. We take better care of the things we know.

[nancypullen]

FRIDAY!

Yippee! We’ve made it to the end of another week!  That doesn’t really mean the same thing to me that it used to, but Fridays still make me happy.  Weekends are when fun stuff happens, right?  For us that means old people fun like grilling a week’s worth of chicken breasts and staying up to watch Saturday Night Live.  That’s right, we walk on the wild side.  Pre-covid we’d probably catch a matinee or even enjoy a meal out, now it’s takeout and an occasional drive-in movie.  I’m really, really okay with that.  Anywayyyy, I ran out to do my Saturday grocery shopping because our local forecasters uttered the word *s*n*o*w*.  We’re supposed to get a couple of inches tonight and I know the fine folks of Wilson County tend to clear the shelves before the flakes fly.  There’d be nothing left by Saturday. I ran to Kroger this morning and the parking lot was full.  I popped in and loaded up on bananas, apples, blueberries, broccoli, zucchini, avocados, romaine, peppers, salmon, chicken, ground turkey, eggs, and the three things we can’t live without - Diet Coke, chocolate, and cat food.  Let the blizzard rage.  I have food, books, and plenty of clay for making earrings and doodads.  I hope I wake up to a blanket of white.

In a sign that time has become a blur I noticed that my local Kroger was pushing green cookies, green cakes, green balloons, green carnations, green, green, green. Oops, forgot that St. Patrick’s Day is coming up. We don’t normally do anything special. I’d love to make a big pot of corned beef, cabbage, and potatoes but the mister is not a fan.  Interesting since he’s the one with the Irish heritage and I don’t have a drop.  My DNA proved it.

See that island left in the dark?  That’s Ireland and I’ve got no claim to it. You’d think that with that breakdown of my DNA  I’d have had a shot at being tall and blonde.  Nope, I’m a shrimp and my blonde comes from a bottle now.   I forgot to make a Goodwill drop off when I ran to the grocery store.  That’s my pattern. I bag or box it here at home and it sits in the middle of a room for a few days.  Then I move it to the back of the car and drive it around for a while. Eventually I remember to stop at Goodwill and unload it.  I’m pretty sure it drives Mickey bonkers but his slash and burn method makes me nervous, so we’re even.  State Farm is putting a new roof on the house next week so that will make it tastier to potential buyers.  Shortly after that we’ll be prepared to list and then things get really terrifying.  We don’t have a home on the other end yet.  We’ve got a Zoom call scheduled on Sunday with a realtor in Maryland - he’ll walk us through the procedure for making an offer on a home up there while we wait to close down here.  I’m not picky, but I am asking for certain things - no basement laundry, a window over the kitchen sink, and a sweet, safe little neighborhood.  If I could have everything I want it would include a walk-in closet in the master bedroom (that’s now politically incorrect, we’re supposed to say primary bedroom), a pantry in the kitchen, a two-car garage, and public water and sewer.  I don’t think that’s a ridiculous list but apparently we’re hunting unicorns.  It doesn’t have to be a showplace, I can make it pretty.  In a perfect world I’d move across the street from the grandgirl and her parents and they’d never have to worry about a thing.  She’d come to my house after school, if they worked late or got caught in traffic she’d just have dinner with Grancy and Grandpa, We’d have so. much. fun.  Given the limited inventory we’re trying to be happy if we can just find a home within an hour of them.  It’s so frustrating!  I keep telling myself that it will all work out, but there’s a part of my brain telling me we’re foolish to give up the security here for the unknown there.  Still, we want out of the south and there’s nothing more important to us than family.  Onward, onward.  Time for a new chapter. I think I’ll crank up the oven and make some earrings for my sister, she’s such a happy recipient of my wonky creations.  I’ve been on a gingham kick for spring.

And earlier today I asked her opinion on these...

I hesitated to post that picture here for a number of reasons.  First, my sagging cheeks.  Then the zits on my cheek from trying a sample of a new moisturizer (why do I tempt fate?).  My profile is not flattering.  Then I thought...who cares?  Aren’t we tired of feeling bad about ourselves yet?  We’re all flawed and we’re all aging.  Society is just especially cruel to aging women.   Men are allowed to age, no one cares.  The craggier the better, their crow’s feet and creases give them character.  When was the last time you looked at a man’s neck and noticed the wrinkles?  But women are marketed every potion and procedure in the world to stave off the natural changes of time.  Men go bald, get bellies, liver spots, and grow beards to cover their jowls.  We’re supposed to spend and spend and work at staying forever young.  I refuse!  Oh, I’m not giving up my lipstick, but I refuse to feel bad about LIVING in the face I’ve been given.  Some of that is DNA and some of that is life choices.  I like the sun and it shows.  I’ve put some miles on that face.  It’s lived from an Inuit village in the arctic to steamy south Florida.  That face has expressed joy and sorrow and lived to tell the tales.  I’m not sorry that I’ve lived to be 58 and a grandmother, why does society expect me to feel anything but happy about that?  Won’t you join me in dismissing every ad targeting women that makes us feel insecure about what is natural?  Take care of yourself, stay healthy, and embrace everything that is wonderful about you.  Forget the rest.  You don’t owe the world an unlined face, but your talents and gifts will surely be appreciated. Let’s work on loving ourselves exactly as we are. Hmm. I didn’t come here to rant about that.  You probably didn’t come here to read it either.  Stepping off my soapbox now. If you need me I’ll be at my desk rolling clay and waiting for the snow to fly.  If I haven’t mentioned it lately, you’re fabulous. Stay safe, stay well, be kind to yourself. XOXO, Nancy

[dramaticviolincrescendo]

Rewatching Shameless and i just watched 6x1 jail scene. Can I request a meta if its not too much trouble? I feel like reading a really good meta about that scene and you're one of the best we've got so.....

It’s never any trouble at all! That’s so sweet to say—thank you so much! <3 Kind of coming to terms with the idea that anyone cares about my opinion over here. You guys are too much!

This scene is actually extremely important to me because it and the response to it were what made me start writing Shameless fanfiction, specifically when I saw that my views regarding Ian’s behavior and how Mickey received it were so vastly different from what I initially read. (Insert shameless plug for “That Milkovich Reputation” here.) Now, I know you’ve told me not to do this before, but based on the controversial position in which this scene resides, I feel the need to present a couple of disclaimers for our audience at large.

I first fell in love with Shameless last March, a couple weeks before quarantine began. I didn’t know what it was prior to that and therefore was not present when Noel left the show, so I didn’t experience the disappointment of a beloved character leaving in a potentially permanent way and didn’t engage in the fandom or see how deeply upset people were by that until after I finished the series. I also don’t subscribe to the theory that there was something going on behind the scenes or any animosity between Noel and the creators, as I have not seen any relevant evidence from reliable sources to support that what happened was anything other than decisions made in pursuit of career goals on both sides. As such, my analysis of this scene has only ever taken the content and context of the story and characters into account. I have no interest in speculating on the motives of people I do not know in writing it or portraying it this way, and even if I did, this scene made perfect sense to me as it was written and performed.

I understand and appreciate that this is not a popular position to take and urge everyone to pass this post by if my position on that matter is offensive or upsetting to you. I do not mean to tell anyone what to think or believe, only to explain how I view this scene and the context in which I do so.

That said, let’s begin.

When Last Seen: Mickey

As in all things, context is important. Prior to the prison scene, the last time we saw Mickey was when Ian broke up with him and Sammi interrupted their heartfelt moment, which basically sums up her character in a nutshell. That was a rough couple of days for Mickey. He saw how devastated Ian was to hear his family talk about him as though he were just like Monica; was distressed in his own right to return for him and discover that he’d left the base with Monica; buried his frustration and sadness by sleeping around with other people, which seemed to exacerbate those emotions because those people weren’t Ian, nor had he and Ian broken up when he did it; and came running when Ian called him, only for Ian to end their relationship.

Mickey is a very sharp man—we know this. He can read people like books and manipulate or intimidate them accordingly. He knew Ian had feelings for him in s1 when he showed up on his doorstep seeking comfort rather than going to any number of other people he trusted. He was well aware that Ian loved him in s3, and that made what he felt he had no choice in doing that much more painful. He heard what Ian said and knew what he was doing in 5x12. Of that, I have never had any doubt. It wasn’t like Ian tried to hide that he didn’t want to break up but thought that that was what would be best. In fact, the way he initially framed it always made me think that one of his highest priorities was not dragging Mickey down with him, especially in the aftermath of being called “destructive” and similar to someone who “put them through hell.” That’s why Mickey’s response wasn’t to call him an asshole or get angry or beg. It was to reassure Ian that he was there for the long haul, that he loved him and wanted to take care of him no matter what that meant—and that they could make that work. All the sentiments Ian had tried to communicate before he got married, Mickey was reciprocating in his own way. Had they not needed to temporarily write Mickey out of the story and Sammi hadn’t shown up right that second, I believe that he wouldn’t have given up so easily. We do have confirmation of that being the case in the prison scene, but we’ll get to that shortly.

When Last Seen: Ian

Ian isn’t a selfish character. We know this, too. However, Ian needed to be selfish by the end of s5. What he had to come to terms with wasn’t something that anyone could fully help him with, much as Mickey desperately wanted to. To Ian, the enemy was within. It was inside him, in his brain, telling him what to do even if that destroyed himself and everything he loved. It’s terrifying. I’m not bipolar, nor do I suffer from any other diagnosed mental illnesses, but I admire and respect everyone who wakes up every morning and tackles these things. They’re heroes every single day. But by the end of s5, Ian doesn’t feel much like a hero. Instead, he feels like the villain, and he’s lost touch with who he even is anymore.

That’s not a healthy mindset to have in a relationship. Relationships require a level of give and take, and that used to be something that Ian and Mickey already struggled with. Ian gave more in s1-3 because he was able to, while Mickey had a limit on what he could openly give because of the environment in which he lived and the manner in which he was raised. In s4-5, those roles were reversed: Mickey was able to give so much more, but Ian was gradually falling apart. Neither of them are at fault for any of those situations. It is what it is, and they have a stronger relationship for it. Ian is a giver, though. He’s always been a giver. To be in a position where he doesn’t feel like he can give anything to Mickey because he doesn’t even know who he is was truly heartbreaking for him, and objectively, he needed to take a step back so that he could focus on himself. He knew it. Based on Mickey’s understanding of Ian’s reasons after watching him deny that he had a problem for so long, I think Mickey knew it too. This hurt both of them—Ian to say it and Mickey to hear it—but they’re not fools and they’re not naïve. In some ways, they know each other better than anyone.

Jimmy said that when you’re on a plane, they tell you to put on your mask before you help anyone else with theirs. Ian needed to put on his mask. His heart can’t keep beating if his lungs don’t work.

Starting Season 6: Mickey

Unsurprisingly, Mickey has settled into prison life just fine. We’ll focus on his interactions with Ian in a bit as that’s the meat of the scene, but there are major implications inherent in his discussion with Svetlana beforehand.

1.      Mickey has accepted that this will be his reality for the foreseeable future. What else is he supposed to do? Besides, he’s known for a long time that the likelihood of ending up in prison was pretty high for him, as he alluded to in s2. He was a street thug. He stole from local stores, sold drugs, ran guns, operated a rub ‘n’ tug, created scam companies, and was a generally violent presence in the neighborhood for years. He was in juvie twice during the show, perhaps more beforehand. The unfortunate fact of the matter is that it would have been more surprising if Mickey didn’t get locked up at some point than that he did.

2.      Ian has visited Mickey before. We won’t get too deeply into this yet, but he thanks Ian for “coming back.” The other times, he wasn’t even paid to do it. So, as far as Mickey can tell, nothing has changed. Ian is focusing on himself right now, but his love for Mickey hasn’t dulled at all. That’s an encouraging thought, and it certainly puts a smile on Mickey’s face.

3.      Ever the opportunist and entrepreneur, Mickey really is doing just fine in prison. He runs a business, if you will, that appears to be quite lucrative already. This isn’t surprising either. Sadly, it’s a bad move. He’s already going to be in prison for somewhere around a decade, give or take a couple of years depending on his behavior. But his behavior isn’t good. He’s hurting people for money, and if he gets caught and brought up on more charges, not only will he serve the full fifteen years, but he could get more time added onto that.

4.      Ian is aware of this arrangement. He has to be if he’s been going there with Svetlana, and they weren’t exactly hiding what they were talking about. Ian has been very consistent throughout the series: he’s not as concerned with the moral implications of Mickey’s behavior, just how it could potentially impact their ability to be together. He still cares about Mickey at the start of s6, and Mickey can see it on his face when he won’t say it out loud. (More on that shortly.) Once he’s in a better spot mentally, maybe they would have gotten back together had Mickey been on the outside. I’m of the opinion that they would have based on the context of the situation. It isn’t an option, however. This is Mickey’s reality, and he’s not doing everything he can to get out earlier. If anything, he’s tempting fate on not being released at all. (This, in hindsight, sounds rather similar to the issues they’re dealing with right now in s11.)

So, this is where Mickey stands at the start of the season: a prison hitman who is quite pleased that the man he loves has come to see him again, even if the latter is visibly not in a very healthy mental state.

Starting Season 6: Ian

Ian isn’t in most of 6x01. What we do see of him is typically sad or colored by his frustration, outside Carl’s welcome home party at the end of the episode. Even then, there’s an aura of discomfort that accompanies the family’s knowledge that things have changed. Carl came out of juvie a different person—they’re all different people after s5, and they’re not sure how to handle walking on eggshells around each other.

From the very start of the episode, we see that Ian is still struggling even though he’s had enough time to at least partially adjust to his medication, especially if he’s been on and off of it. It’s so sweet how Fiona gently wakes him up—it’s also a bit different. What happened to banging on the bunk bed and yelling for them to come down for breakfast? After behaving pretty normally with Debbie at the bathroom door, she’s almost handling him with kid gloves, and the punches keep coming when she reminds him that he (1) has to get up for work at a place he despises and (2) needs to remember to take his meds.

The kitchen scene is extremely telling of where Ian is at this point, and it partially shows why he’s somewhat standoffish by the time we reach the prison scene. Most of the family is gone or different. Fiona is repeatedly on him about meds and getting to work on time—Ian, Mister Responsible himself who was out of the house before anybody woke up to get to work on time as a kid. Lip is at college. Debbie is absorbed in her unconfirmed but likely pregnancy. Carl is in juvie, and Liam is playing with the switchblade he found under Carl’s pillow before they take him to pre-K. His entire support system is either gone or treating him like he’s broken. All he has is Fiona “going Fiona” on everyone. It’s clear that this is impacting him because he actually derails the conversation to say that they should go visit Carl the following weekend, which was the position Debbie used to be in when Fiona was in jail. Just like Lip shut her down, Debbie shuts Ian down, and he doesn’t say another word as he drinks his coffee—which he can’t finish because Fiona is once again on him about work, so he trudges out the door to another day of being a busboy with no dreams instead of a soldier who has a future.

Work isn’t much better. Svetlana wants him to go see Mickey when he’s determined to stay away. (We don’t have confirmation, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume that he wants to distance himself if Mickey is doing something that will potentially get him into even more trouble, especially given some of his reactions at the prison.) Sean is sending Fiona to nag him about not moving fast enough when the diner isn’t even busy. When Otis is chased down by the cops and slammed against the front window, Sean rather condescendingly tells him to, “take your rag and wipe the blood and snot off the window.” Ian—West Point-aspiring, ambitious, courageous, caring, intelligent, hardworking Ian has been reduced to wiping up someone’s snot by a boss who’s living in his house with a sister that’s treating him like he’s shattered glass and a family that is growing further and further apart these days.

That is the day Ian has had before he even arrives at the prison. Odds are that that is how most of his days have gone for quite some time, minus the blood and snot. …Maybe.

The Prison Scene

Now we come to it: what you actually asked about! It’s taken this long to get here because we can’t possibly interpret this scene effectively without incorporating all of what came before it. Mickey’s position is regrettable, but he knows that Ian still loves him and is at least handling his situation with all the grace and competence that we can expect from him. Ian is a bit of a mess who’s had a bad day and is now faced with the man he loves, who he is telling himself he can’t be with, sitting behind glass—where he’ll be for a good long while.

I’m going to divide this analysis into two sections. For a scene that many prefer to forget, to me, it’s a masterpiece of storytelling.

Physicality

The body language in this scene is remarkable—phenomenally blocked, phenomenally directed, and phenomenally portrayed.

When Mickey first appears, he’s visibly chomping at the bit to get to the visitation area. He’s peering out there while he’s still behind a locked door, and he only diverts his gaze to the guard because he’s waiting for him to unlock it. He’s cool about the whole thing—he’s very cool—but he’s obviously also here for one reason and one reason only. That reason is where his eyes go the moment he sits down at his stall and spots Ian’s coat where the latter is pacing behind Svetlana. Throughout their entire conversation, we see his eyes darting to Ian as he attempts to get the business out of the way so that he can indulge purely in the pleasure. It doesn’t matter to him that Ian is visibly tired and reluctant to be there or that he plays with Yevgeny instead of actively joining their conversation. It’s Ian, and all Mickey has to look at in here is a bunch of fellow thugs he hasn’t loved since he was too young to know what that meant. Damn right, he’s going to shamelessly watch him.

In Ian’s pacing, where we can’t see his face, I find it interesting that he keeps himself angled away from the glass. We see more of his back even though he’s moving side to side rather than away. He doesn’t want to see this. He doesn’t want to be there. In s7, he told Mickey how hard it was to see him behind glass—that wasn’t an excuse. He wasn’t falsely trying to make it sound like he was suffering at their separation just as much as Mickey was. We can see that that’s the case right here in 6x01. Ian has never had a problem sitting still through difficult moments, not even when a potential court martial that would further ruin his life was on the table. But this? He can’t sit down. He can’t face that.

The first time he turns directly towards Mickey’s location is so that Svetlana can hand Yevgeny off to him, and Mickey is visibly loving the view. His expression gets a bit softer, and he ducks his head a little so that he can catch a glimpse of Ian’s face. He follows Ian with his eyes even though Svetlana tries to get his attention. What a blast from the past, right? Ian there with his son, taking care of him while he and Svetlana figure out their business? And just like before, he offers Svetlana all of the attention and input that he deems her worth—next to nothing. Ian’s over there. Ian’s keeping the kid entertained, playing with him and rocking a bit in their seat and leaning over his little shoulder to make sure he’s doing okay—but forget that, Mickey’s eyes are examining him from red hair to beat-up shoes. He only glances back to Svetlana because he has to in order to get the information for their next paycheck. Even then, he’s still back and forth, up and down.

And Ian? He can’t keep pacing. He can’t stay turned away, but he won’t look. He occupies himself more than Yevgeny because now he’s low enough that he won’t just see an orange jumpsuit—he’ll see Mickey, and he’s had a bad enough day with his family making him feel more alone than ever without adding that pain on top of it. (This is the third time Mickey’s been locked up for something directly or indirectly related to Ian. I’m sure it’s not unreasonable to suspect that he also feels somewhat guilty about that, especially when it happened right after he broke it off.)

When Mickey asks if Ian is going to sit back there the whole time and not interact with him, Svetlana turns around and presumably says something to get his attention. Their eyes meet, and Mickey gives him a look that clearly says, “What the fuck, man?” This isn’t the behavior of a man who is heartbroken at their relationship ending or questioning Ian’s love for him. This is the behavior of a man who wants the love of his life to get his shit together enough to come say hi to him—or at least look at him—because he can’t pretend that he doesn’t want to see Mickey as much as Mickey wants to see him. It’s impossible to hide that when Ian has let Mickey see so much of his heart over the years.

Ian’s response is so fascinating because he does meet Mickey’s eyes, and he holds that connection for a moment. Then, reading what Mickey is trying to tell him, he actually turns further away again so that Mickey gets his shoulder. This sets the stage for the rest of Ian’s development from now through s9. He’s doing what Ian does: he’s compartmentalizing. He’s taking the emotions he can’t deal with right now, wrapping them in tissue paper, and neatly stacking them in a box that he’ll put up in the attic where he can pretend they don’t exist. But they do. They really do.

If they didn’t, he wouldn’t have spent their entire conversation trying so hard to focus on literally anything but Mickey, because as we saw in the Hall of Shame flashbacks and as has been obvious since their first fight-turned-fuck, once they look, the battle is lost.

Dialogue

I’m going to be real with you guys: I adore this scene. I’ve watched it more times than I can count even though I haven’t rewatched much of the season in its entirety. There was so much said with so few words, and while I was sad at the end, I was also hopeful. This was an impossible position to be put in on both sides, and I truly believe that this was the best resolution they could get at the time. And yes, it hurt. It was painful. But why was it painful?

Because they’re so visibly, obviously, irrevocably in love.

Mickey’s tone when he tells Svetlana to leave because he wants to talk to Ian isn’t as harsh as it’s been for the rest of their visit. There’s such a disconnect between his words and tone: roughly telling her to scram while actually sounding a bit younger at the idea of speaking directly with Ian. Svetlana could tell. It’s so clear, and her smirk is super knowing. In that moment, we’re seeing the woman who stood in the doorway of what was supposed to be her bedroom and watched him make eyes at this unconscious boy she didn’t really even remember. Not in the tears and realizing she was in big, big trouble if he left her, but in the understanding that his heart isn’t in the body on the other side of the glass—it’s sitting behind her. There are a lot of things I don’t like about Svetlana as a person (as a character, she’s amazing), but since they reached their agreement in s4, she’s never had a derogatory thing to say about the love those two share, and I respect that. It’s actually a bit cute how she takes her time and is almost teasing in giving him what he wants. A bit.

As I have this scene running on repeat so that I don’t miss anything in writing this, I paused to type and ended up on such a meaningful glance at Ian’s face. Svetlana just took Yevgeny from him, and he hasn’t gotten up yet. He’s staring straight at Mickey, and he looks hesitant. Scared, almost. Then he looks up at Svetlana, nods a bit, and reluctantly moves into her spot.

Is it overkill to take this one exchange at a time? Probably. Am I going to do it anyway? Hell to the yes.

1.      “Thanks for coming back.”/”Yeah… Svetlana paid me.” – I know that people hate this line and think this is painful. I know that it objectively is painful. I still laugh every time. Not because Ian agreed to come if he was paid. (He’s got medication to afford and no insurance. I can’t begrudge him wanting to make a few extra bucks any way he can.) Not because of the words, but because of what accompanies them. Ian will not look at Mickey—he’s lost so many battles lately, and he can’t lose this one too. Not when he started this one himself. He’s hemming and hawing, not looking up from the countertop and then twisting around to see if Svetlana is still there or anyone else is listening. It’s so stupid, because literally no one cares, but it gives you this sensation that Ian sees himself as being under a microscope the whole time. That’s his life anymore, at home and at work and now here. And Mickey? He doesn’t look terribly broken up about Ian accepting payment in exchange for coming. He gets this expression that I interpreted as, “Seriously? You’re playing it like that?” Then it settles into disappointment that Ian won’t open up or look at him like he normally would—that the glass interferes with the magnetic pull between them. But don’t worry, children. Uncle Mickey has just the thing to fix that: himself.

2.      “You look good.”/*awkward silence* – I mean…what do you say to that? I actually felt so bad for Ian there because what must he have looked like these last visits if Mickey is telling him that he looks good now? What kind of mess was he then when he’s still sort of a mess today? And he can’t even return the sentiment because how can he? Mickey is in prison. He’s in a jumpsuit looking at being here so long that he’ll probably have a few grey hairs starting to grow in when he gets out. I don’t know how to respond when people tell me I look good on an average day, so I can only imagine how that must have felt in his position. And still, he won’t do more than glance in Mickey’s direction. Well, if that didn’t work…

3.      Mickey chuckles and says he got a new tattoo. Ian’s eyes immediately shoot upwards, and Mickey slouches a little so that he’s in their direct line of sight—to hold them there, because once they look, the battle is lost. And Ian does lose. For a while there, he can’t look away again. First, because Mickey is courting some pretty nasty illnesses with his improper use of needles. Seriously, Mickey, a beautiful gesture but holy crap. Second, Mickey has his name (or a very close approximation to it) tattooed forever right over his heart. Ian had asked if Mickey was going to marry him, and Mickey told him to fuck off, but everything he’s doing points in the opposite direction. He promised sickness and health; now he’s made a permanent mark on his body for everyone to see. Mickey, who wouldn’t be seen in public with him once upon a time, has plastered Ian’s name onto his body. Ian tries so hard not to let that impact him, but it’s over. He’s lost the battle already, and he falls further and further. He’s smiling when he tells Mickey it looks infected, he teases him about the misspelling (which I think says more about how much that tattoo must have hurt than any inability to spell on Mickey’s part—I’d have a typo too), and he laughs at Mickey’s irritation that he messed it up. And it’s this sweet little laugh, not cruel or hurtful or mean. The wonderful thing about humor is that it can be used to cope with difficult emotions. We’ve seen a lot of people on the show start laughing when they’re in a bad place. Ian has been trying so hard to accept his life as it is even during the shitty day he was having. He tried so hard not to let himself fall into the trap of letting his love for Mickey rule his actions in the scene so far. That’s a lot. That’s denying himself to the point where I’m sure it hurts. And so he laughs, because Mickey did this crazy, absurd thing for him and yeah, it came out wrong, but he did it. This was all Ian wanted once upon a time (minus the felony), and now he has it—but he can’t have it. So he laughs. He immediately moves to hide it, but he laughs. He smiles more and has to bend away to pretend that he’s not—and Mickey lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree. This is the moment that keeps me from seeing this scene or Ian’s actions as being cruel. They’re both hurting, and this is an awful position to be in. But Ian loves him so much, and Mickey was doing everything he could to make him show it. Not exactly how he saw that going, I’m sure, but he’ll take it.

4.      “Been thinking about you.” – Knowing that he lost that one, Ian looks away again. While the end of this scene will hurt for both of them, especially Mickey, think about the pain he must be feeling in that moment simply because he’s not. He’s not hurting. For the first time that day, he feels good. This can’t last. Mickey isn’t coming home with him when time is up. This wonderful emotion that filled him up enough for him to laugh and smile after such a bad day will be gone the second he hangs up that phone. Then he’s going to go home and have Fiona breathing down his neck with nobody else for support. And Mickey will be here—behind glass. He can’t handle that, and he pulls that box out again and starts tearing off the tissue paper. He has to get rid of this feeling. He has to be the one to put it away before it kicks him to the curb. He’s stubborn, and Mickey can see him shutting down but also knows that he’s knocked enough bricks out of Ian’s walls to say something softer, something emotional and closer to the heart. Something he is willing to say where the other inmates can hear, which I don’t think is lost on Ian since he immediately looks up again. He doesn’t look away either, not even when Mickey asks if Ian thinks about him. He glances to the side and opens his mouth a bit, but nothing comes out. Mickey knows the answer.

5.      “Gonna wait for me?”/”You’re here for fifteen years.” – There’s this thing Mickey does after he first says that. He chuckles, because he knows that that’s pretty unreasonable to ask and has already predicted Ian’s response. His comment about being out in eight is lighthearted, a serious matter spoken as a joke because…this isn’t juvie anymore. They’re not going to see each other in a few months. This is Mickey’s version of what Ian was just doing, only where Ian tried to withdraw and escape within himself, Mickey is making it more humorous. He’s always done that, make light of pretty serious things to avoid looking at just how messed up it is. But I didn’t get the feeling he was really asking for Ian to wait that long. Instead, I got the feeling that he was testing the waters, seeing if Ian would shut him down—which he didn’t. He offered the bullshit excuse that Mickey tried to kill a member of his family, and Mickey saw through that immediately. I think he knows that he can’t ask Ian to seriously wait and never be with anyone else for fifteen years, or even for eight. I think he knows what he’s saying is a touch absurd. He also knows that Ian’s excuse is extremely absurd, and he doesn’t buy it for a second. It gives him a little courage to do something…well, a bit absurd.

6.      “Will you? Wait? Fucking lie if you have to, man. Eight years is a long time.” – I think the important part of this isn’t that Ian says he’ll wait when he doesn’t mean it, which is the popular take. For one thing, I don’t think we can ascribe that level of calculated behavior to Ian in this instance. There are a few things about this part of the scene that mean a lot to me: (1) Ian doesn’t get up and go. He doesn’t even move in that direction. He sits there with the phone after the buzzer sounds and before Mickey tells him to lie. His mouth opens and closes like he’s not sure what to say. Because what can he say? If Mickey serves the maximum, Ian will be in his mid-thirties by the time they can be together. At that point, he was either nearing eighteen or just turned. I still can’t fathom what I’ll be doing in my mid-thirties, and I’m a whole lot older than that. Ian looks just a little terrified here, and that’s because he knows he loves Mickey but has no clue what he’s supposed to do with that in the impossible circumstances they’re operating under. (2) Ian can’t even see himself moving on yet. He’s still trying to figure himself out, not think about a relationship. He has a job he hates, and his family is a different brand of chaos these days. He feels alone, yes, but not in a way that has him openly desperate for a relationship. Based on what he says to Mandy about Caleb, I think it’s pretty safe to assume that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be in a serious relationship at this point or even in a position for more than casual sex anytime in the near future. How can he say that he’ll wait when he doesn’t know where he’ll be whenever Mickey does get out? Maybe he’ll feel better. Maybe he’ll be out of his mind, roaming all over the place like Monica. Maybe he won’t just be standing on that bridge. It’s a huge question, one that has a lot of ramifications no matter what his answer is, and Ian clearly has none. He’s blindsided by that, which Mickey sees. That’s when he gets serious about those eight years, about how absurd their situation really is. That’s perhaps the first and only time in this scene where we can see that, for as successful as he is at navigating prison, his freedom means something to him. His freedom means he wouldn’t have to coax a glance out of Ian—he could kiss his dumb ass and make him stop being stubborn about how much he loves Mickey. But he can’t. He won’t be able to for a long time. And I think that is what really breaks his heart in this scene, not…

7.      “Yeah. Yeah, Mick, I’ll wait.” – Did anyone else notice how Ian swallowed hard before he answered? How his voice gets hoarse when he first speaks? I paused again to type, and the video is sitting on his face staring at the counter before the second part of what he says. He looks like he might cry. He looks like his heart is breaking just as much as Mickey’s is, because he can do what he’s asking this time—reassure him with a lie. Not because he doesn’t intend to wait, but because he is buried so far under what life has piled on top of him that he can’t see the light these days, and he doesn’t see waiting or moving on. He just sees the daily struggle of being this shell of a person. Of being without Mickey even if they’re not technically together. (Admittedly, I think he knew they would be if Mickey weren’t in prison at that moment. Ian has no real self-control where he’s concerned. Lip told him as much, and he’s self-aware enough to realize it, hence his behavior in this whole scene.)

When Ian hangs up the phone, he doesn’t get up immediately. He looks at Mickey—really looks at him—and each of them watches the other’s heart shatter. I don’t see it the way a lot of people do, though. On Mickey’s side, I don’t see it as being because Ian lied. I think it’s so much bigger than that.

Ian looks at him when they can’t hear each other anymore, and if he didn’t seem ready to cry before, he looks it now. Why? Because there’s nothing he can do for Mickey besides that. Ian, ever the giver, can’t give him anything. At that point, he couldn’t even help himself. He can’t be what Mickey needs in that moment, just like he couldn’t be what Mickey needed while he was sick, and it kills him. It kills him to know that by the time Mickey does get out, he’ll be older than he can fathom being and has no idea if he’ll even be around that long. It kills him to feel like even if he is, he’ll still have nothing to offer because, in his own words, this is where he lands. And it kills him to have to walk away and leave what he loves most behind glass.

Mickey is watching this. He knows Ian, and as painful as it was to get exactly what he asked for, it’s even more painful for him to see what him being here does to Ian. Where Ian is a giver, Mickey is a fixer. He makes things better. When stuff is broken, he puts it back together. When there’s a problem, he resolves it. Ian was going to leave because he couldn’t be an unacknowledged number three in Mickey’s life anymore? He jumped to solve the problem by coming out. Ian was acting strangely and wouldn’t get out of bed for so long that Mickey realized something was wrong? He immediately went to hunt down Lip, who he knows is closer to Ian than anyone else in his family. Fiona tells him that Ian is sick and needs to be cared for? He jumps in to do it, even to the point where it did more harm than good. Sammi caused a problem that Mickey couldn’t solve? He fixed the problem of her being there at all. But here he sits, behind glass, watching Ian that whole time and knowing that he was trying to maintain some emotional distance—and, because it’s Mickey, knowing why. There’s nothing he can do about this. He can’t fix it. For the first time since s3, Mickey is absolutely helpless to fix a problem. He takes a breath as Ian walks away as though he’s about to say something, but what can he say? What can he do? Nothing. He can do nothing but hang up the phone and weather the storm.

In the end, the heartbreak in this scene isn’t about them hurting each other, from my perspective. It’s not about Ian being callous and cruel or purposely trying to hurt Mickey. They know each other too well for that. They’ve been through too much. To me, this is about two people who love each other more than anything not being able to be what the other needed when they needed them—and that’s a whole lot more painful.

[thatpinkbetch]

Bkdk Fic Rec

I’ve been inspired to write a fic rec! This one goes out to you @lonely-rabbit

At like, the end of 2018 and the beginning of 2019 I stayed up until 4am every night reading fics, and because I’m such a loser, I made a word doc to keep track of all of them so I wouldn’t forget them.... I tried organizing it by length but it got messy cause I’m ridiculous and cluttered, so sorry! (I’ll save my own for the end alskdjflsdkfj gotta self promote you know). This is going to get...really long, so I’ll put it under a read more! Also, just a heads up, these are all on ao3, in case that’s important to anyone!

Disclaimer: Any fics with mature or explicit content I will add a bolded warning for, even if it’s only a little bit. Normally most fics will be tagged as such, but some fics that are rated as teen I’ve found to be more suggestive than some of those rated as mature, so I will try to point it out where it feels necessary, for anyone who wishes to avoid it.

Fics under 1k:

Illuminate by TheQueen (269 words)

Summary: Bakugou watches the first firework launch and fights to keep his face neutral

Very short, plot is about a case of amnesia, also very cute and well written for that length! Not angsty at all imo

sweaty hands holding secrets - shounentwink (563 words)

Summary: Someone said Midoriya holds secrets in his hair.

It’s not true: He holds it tightly in his hands. Bakugou’s seen it.

I really like this writer! You’ll see quite a bit of them in this post alkdsjfalskdjf

Fics 1k - 10k:

Many sunflowers later - Jeka (2395 words)

Summary: Scholar Midoriya Izuku comes back to the person he left behind after his journey through the kingdom, the mighty dragon clan leader Bakugou Katsuki.

Day 1 of Twin Stars Week 2020: Fantasy AU.

First of all, fantasy au!!! Second of all, jeka!!! (I need to read more of your stuff!!) Anyways, so cute, such lovely, pretty writing, wonderful story telling, and they’re so in love TT_TT

Boom Badoom Boom - warschach (3429 words)

Summary: Izuku's working the kissing booth at the school fair, it just so happens Katsuki has been crushing on him since the first grade.

“Did you—“ Izuku parted his mouth with no sound leaving it, “Did you pay?”

“Yea.”

“For a kiss?”

This one’s a little silly but I love it still. It’s got a “kids in the 80′s over summer vacation” vibe, I think. I love warschach! I should read more of their writing... They have SUCH good bakudeku content! *It’s rated teen but there’s some suggestive content, just a heads up!

Hopeless Ramen-tic - lalazee (7155 words)

Summary:  Midoriya is a cute guy who works at a ramen stall and Bakugou is thirsty as hell, but has to hide it by being an asshat. Another love story.

Ah, so good TT_TT so much sass, such good plot development and story telling for a simple concept *It’s rated as teen but again, it can be suggestive at times!

I’ll share this with you, so leave it behind - yabakuboi (3508 words)

Suammry: For the sake of the story, All Might is never in need of a successor, and, when Izuku saves Katsuki from the sludge monster, encourages young Midoriya down a different path. Thus, Katsuki and Izuku part ways after junior high, as Katsuki enters U.A. and the Midoriyas move overseas. It’s later that Katsuki realizes that there’s something missing, that he drove that something away.

Years after, Katsuki finds him in the last place he looks, in the cereal aisle at the local grocery store of their childhood neighborhood.

So soft, so sweet, so good if you just want to curl up in a comfy blanket and drink hot cocoa and feel warm and cozy and a little in love

The Secret Deku Box - yabakuboi (2241 words)

Summary: “Y’know, Bakugou never, ever talks about girls,” Kaminari says, his voice thoughtful.

“And I wonder why that is.” Ashido rolls her eyes.

“I’m just curious!” Kaminari whines. Kirishima drags the box out, unlabeled and unassuming, the lid not even fully clasped over the edges. “The guy has to— Whoa, what’s that?”

Kirishima realizes a little belatedly that this is a serious breach of privacy, and Bakugou will actually murder all of them. “Nothing!” he cries, attempting to shove it back under the bed, but Ashido snatches it away.

“Please be his porn stash!” Kaminari whispers as she whips the lid off.

Cute, funny, in canon, in character, and a must read I would say! 

daisy bunches and heather branches - halcyonwhispers (5862 words)

Summary:  izuku falls in love with the foul-mouthed tattoo artist next door.

Not another flower/tattoo shop au.... aldskjflaskdjfd Okay but punk!Bakugou is ALWAYS a smart move imo

the best part of me (is the worst I can give) - halcyonwhispers (5668)

Summary: Whole sentences usually make up people’s Words, but Katsuki got stuck with a name instead.

Izuku’s name.

I am such a sucker for soulmate aus when it comes to these boys TT_TT *There is some mature content, just a heads up!

Hard to Say - halcyonwhispers (8390 words)

Summary: Izuku is a Halfling, born after his faerie father spirited away his mom and then left her behind. Never quite fitting in with the humans or any of the supernatural beings in his small town, Izuku hoped that going to a diverse college in the big city will help him finally make friends.

Katsuki’s family has been powerful witches for generations, and he’s no different. Talented and a proclaimed genius to boot, he knew he shouldn’t waste his time on this dumbass (disgustingly cute) half-blood.

Or,

two idiots fall in love and don’t get that the other’s awkward cues are just a result of romantic tension.

I am ALSO a sucker for fantasy/mythical creatures au and I LOVED this one - Bakugou absolutely unable to handle how cute Midoriya is? Perfection - but it’s unfinished, and I don’t think it ever will be continued, unfortunately TT_TT

lots to unpack (throw away the whole suitcase) - shounentwink (4315 words)

Summary: “How’d you know?” Midoriya asks.

There’s a hunch to his shoulders that wasn’t there three hours ago. Freckled shoulders are kissed sunburnt and red: he looks like someone ran him over and left him like roadkill in the sunlight. Bakugou’s working with insurance today, but he could see the sparks of green lightning even from his elevated position in their shared agency. Midoriya’s holding his thumb, cracking it over and over — it looks like he’s rubbed it raw.

“Dunno,” Bakugou says. “Maybe you’re just easy to read, nerd.”

I love this one so much, it was one of the first ones I read, it’s so good, and it’s another that really affected how I view their relationship! Idk this one just hit for me

hang the moon from us (it’s a no from me) - shounentwink (1200 words)

Summary: Midoriya’s gonna get sick of Bakugou one of these days, and then the whole ruse will be over, and the balance of power will tilt beyond salvation, but that day isn’t today and it looks like Bakugou knows it.

What an asshole.

Once again, I’m a sucker for the fantasy au... But even more, the diction, the details, the imagery...it’s absolutely all stunning here. I wish I could write this pretty

In Which Bakugou Finds His One Tru Luv - Erina (5862 words) This is the first one of a series called The Misadventures of Explodo-kill Agency!

Summary:  Welcome to the Explodo-kill agency! We can destroy your buildings, crash your cars, and help you solve one of the seven mysteries in life: who is Bakugou Katsuki's mysterious boyfriend?!

I’ll admit I’ve only read the first three but by god they are the funniest fics I’ve ever read in my life. I see that Erina has added more since the last time I checked it out! Tbh I was only interested in reading the purely bakudeku ones... (My favorite was the second one!! SO funny and cute!)

i still do - raeryn (9646 words)

Summary:  He’s losing him to pieces, but Izuku still tries to make them count. In which a battle leaves Bakugou Katsuki with amnesia, and Izuku finds himself picking up the pieces.

So, this one makes me cry. TT_TT

One Thing Straight - winningshot (9899 words)

Summary: They totally aren't.

Hints of their relationship is found in all of their friends’ social media accounts, but majority of their fans still think that Katsuki and Izuku are in relationships with anybody but each other.

It was amusing up until it became sad.

Lmao it’s a little salty but I guess I can be too. This is a social media fic! There’s multiple ships in this one, too

A Demolition Boy & his Cryptid BF - kewltie (8472 words)

Summary: Bakugou of the Demolition Squad is famous for running one of the most popular Youtube channels on the web that regularly blow shit up and jumped off a perfectly good building for shit and giggles. He's also famous for his Cryptid BF™, never appearing on camera except for a few bodyshots and all information on him is kept locked up tighter than Fort Knox, therefore drawing all sort of attention and curiosity toward his mysterious boyfriend.

Deku from Deku Explains is a hopeless chatterbox who is known for uploading 20-30 minutes video that talked about his favorite shows and comics and have one of the most devoted following on Youtube. He also can't seem to shut up about his boyfriend Kacchan, who regularly make his presence on the channel as a disembodied voice.

They should theoretically have nothing in common except a shared platform to host their content and an army of fans with an endless curiosity and devotion to their Youtubers. Vidcon is where we lay our scene and the internet is about to get a rude wake up call.

Okay kewltie is SO GOOD and very creative! The formatting is phenomenal, it’s like you’re actually experiencing a social media melt down in real time lol

be my good luck charm - writedeku (6785 words)

Summary: See, the thing is, Midoriya Izuku had been born with a curse. It’s not a curse that’s particularly visible. He doesn’t have horns, or a tortured face, and it’s not the kind of silly curse like a friend of his had way down south in Diagnor, wherein the girl had been born without the ability to say the word duck. Midoriya Izuku is just extremely unlucky.

(Or the AU in which Izuku's the world's unluckiest travelling merchant, and Katsuki is someone who may be able to help him. For a price, that is.)

Oh I adore this one! It’s so cute and such a good narrative! Nice and warm, and Bakugou trying his damnedest to be suave, and it somehow working because Midoriya is just as flustered. *Another one rated as teen but some suggestive content.

Smells Like Victory - majjale (2377 words)

Summary: Bakugou takes two steps into the room and stops, clapping a hand over his nose. “Ugh, what stinks like Deku in here?”

"Good afternoon, Bakugou. That would be the amortentia."

I must admit, not a fan of HP, but majjale...TT_TT majjale writes these two boys so well. This one is really, really good!

Cherish Me - Justaperson1718 (2376 words)

Summary: “What?”

Izuku looked back down at his menu and flipped the page, a small smile on his face. “Nothing.”

Katsuki glared at Izuku from across the table. “If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be staring at me.”

“It’s just a little funny watching you try to look your best for our date when you always look great anyway,” Izuku explained. He wouldn’t look up from his menu while he spoke, but his words remained ingrained with confidence nevertheless. He considered what he was saying to be fact, and nothing else. “Even when you’re not trying in front of the cameras, it’s still hard to take my eyes off of you.”

This is a sequel to a fic that’ll be in the next section, because it’s longer, called Manage Me. Please read that one first before this one! (Not part of a series, but they’re the same story line)

Fascinating - Justaperson1718 (1556 words)

Summary: “I’m not staring at you,” Izuku replied, his eyes focused intently on Katsuki. He’s still wearing his pajamas, sitting on his knees in their shared bed. He was awake moments before Katsuki, and waited eagerly for the other to awake.

Katsuki glanced over his shoulder after his shirt was on and glared. “You’re fucking staring at me right now.”

Izuku shook his head, humming his disapproval quietly. “I’m watching you.”

“That’s the same damn thing,” Katsuki said while searching for a pair of pants in the dresser. “Your eyes are fixated on me like I’m your life’s fucking goal or some shit.”

“I just like watching you get dressed.” Izuku tilted his head to the side and smiled softly at Katsuki’s confused stare. “I know, it’s weird. But I like it.”

*There is a little bit of implied mature content, but overall, it’s just so sweet and intimate, and I just simply adore this one.

in a place once filled with gold - dorenamryn (9226 words)

Summary: It felt strange to remember such details, for they were things a friend should know, and as far as Katsuki was concerned, he and Deku hadn’t been friends in a very, very long time. He could admit, with reluctance, that they were on the path there, now, even though they would never make it. Katsuki would die before they could get the chance.

or: There is a garden growing in Katsuki’s lungs, and he is helpless to stop it.

“Hanahaki disease” okay, I can explain myself. Okay, I can’t. In any case, you got angst with a happy ending if that’s what you’re into!

Kaleidoscope - DPRenFTW (5141 words)

Summary: Izuku is a witch. He just needs to find his familiar. Enter a boy that is a wolf, and a wolf that is a boy - with wild red eyes and sharp smiles.

And Izuku thinks:

"Oh, it's him."

Just as beautiful and fascinating as the name implies! I seriously recommend for the beautiful writing, the gorgeous world, the mythical creatures au, and the lovely bakudeku romance!

Learning Curve - sensiblysilly (4222 words)

Summary: Deku and Katsuki’s first kiss goes rather differently than planned.

And Katsuki’s quickly learning that relationships can be unpredictable - especially when taking into account the variable that is Midoriya Izuku.

This really is just a careful handling of a teenage romance where perhaps one of them may have shit they’re still working through. It’s really sweet, and a careful study at boundaries and the building of a relationship. I actually stumbled across this while looking for another with the same name and ended up pleasantly surprised. Kacchan can has a little validation, as a treat.

4/20 is a national holiday - Ereri_Garbage (

Summary: Izuku is a drug dealer that doesn't really accept the fact he's a drug dealer, Katsuki is hot as hell as shouldn't be allowed a facebook.

Happy (Late) birthday Katsuki and happy (late) 4/20. I actually half assed an edit on this one so it took longer to post than I thought it would.

Uummmm lmao yes I have a sense of humor. ;ALDSKJFLSKDJF Okay, I say that, but this is not a crack fic, it’s a good story that I enjoy with good writing, and *it has mature, content, obviously for multiple reasons here. It’s rated as mature but there are borderline explicit moments imo. It’s a fun fic and funny, too! And, ngl, it really does remind me of college... But forget about me, the bakudeku is wonderful too of course :)

Drinking Watermelon - warschach (8906 words)

Summary: For whatever reason, maybe divine fate, Izuku turned and looked over his shoulder and waved to them.

Katsuki’s heart full on stopped right then, and his fingers forgot their duty on the rails, and his body neglected its job to keep Katsuki balanced.

Izuku’s summer sweet smile fell into concern as Katsuki went airborne and cracked his skull on the porch.

or Katsuki works as a camp counselor, and Izuku is a boy made of summer heat and sunlight.

Love it when people have Bakugou as absolutely enamored with Midoriya; it’s so good and true. Anyways this one makes me like summer camp story lines. It’s funny and also cute and great writing! *It’s got explicit content, just a heads up. Warschach stories just have this youthful 80′s vibe, I don’t know how else to explain it.

there are listed buildings - semiautomatichearts (3309)

Summary: Katsuki first sees colors bloom when he is only three years old. It is timid Izuku, hiding behind the cover of his mother's leg who looks upon him with wide eyes, and Katsuki's world explodes in shades of greens and pinks and blues, and he is so startled, he begins to cry.

His life is then on defined in color, in shades his peers can't see, by the forlorn, timid stare in Izuku's eyes that always lets off more than he is willing to tell. There is a schism driven between himself and his fated other, and Katsuki strives to be better than fate, better than what is defined for him. He is more than the written pages of a book, to be cracked open and read by the gods.

He wonders if it is possible for colors to bloom for someone who will never love you back.

Ah...soulmates :) So interesting how bakudeku fits into soulmate aus like this one when they’ve known each other as kids! And when they’ve had this complex push and pull thing going on all their lives! The writing is beautiful, and so is the story!

Promise Ring - bkdkwritingsdump (3579)

Summary:  The midwest in the 1950′s is no place for boys who like kissing boys: something Izuku and Katsuki know all too well growing up there. However, the undeniable bond between the nervous science geek and the aloof delinquent will still find a way to blossom in such a desert.

Cute, sweet, makes my gay heart ache. Longing not just for the one you love, but just to feel right loving them. Very pretty story line, lovely story telling!

Fics 10k - 30k:

Fishy - warschach (19417 words)

Summary: Izuku’s convinced his hot co-worker/neighbor, Katsuki, is a mermaid-or merman- you gotta consider genders even with mythical creatures- and plans to prove it.

(or this is kinda like the show ‘Monster Quest’, except Izuku actually finds said monster, falls in love, and have sexy times.)

Another warschach! I love this one, I love how they write bakudeku, particularly as college students, their stories (at least, the ones that I’ve read) always feel so warm, like a summer’s day, but not a lazy one, one that’s playful? If that makes sense? *This one is explicit, another heads up!

Manage Me - Justaperson1718 (10756 words)

Summary: Izuku caught himself moving forward, his head tilted somewhat to the side, and his eyes shot wide open. His gaze met Katsuki’s half-lidded eyes now that he was no longer in a dreamlike state, and seeing the way Katsuki was looking at him—waiting for him—made him realize Katsuki would’ve let him do it. He might have even wanted him to do it.

“You’re both doing fabulous!” the photographer called out to them, packing his camera into his bag and getting ready to leave. “I just got word that what we have now should be good, so we’ll stop there. Thank you for your time! Lock the door on your way out after you change.”

The pair stayed frozen in place, with Izuku’s arms around Katsuki’s neck and Katsuki’s hands resting on Izuku’s waist, while the photographer and his supervisor left.

“Kacchan,” Izuku cooed once they were gone. “Did you want to…?”

Love the story, love the bakudeku! Very, very good bakudeku TT_TT very sweet *There is some mature content in here as well

point to a map (we’ve been there) - cosmicfuss (10589 words)

Summary: Serendipity / sĕr″ən-dĭp′ĭ-tē Serendipity is the occurrence of an unplanned fortunate discovery. Two men find themselves on a subway, hot coffee on one while the other is in the middle of a screaming match. After that they can't seem to stop finding each other, no matter how far they go.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; this fic owns my entire soul. I love the story, the ease of their relationship, just how lovely they are together. It’s another kind of nice, fluffy fic you’d read on a bad day where you come home and curl up in a blanket and listen to a ten hour video of thunderstorm white noise. *Again, some more mature content in here

Partners - tsukithewolf (13619 words) Another series! Two parts to this one this time

Summary: It is said that in Musutafu there is a charm that one can buy at a temple that will lead you to your destined partner. They say that if the charm works, you would be able to follow the red string of fate to the person you were meant to be with. And if the person returns your feelings, they would be able to see the string as well, proving that both were meant to be.

Three-year-old Katsuki and Izuku misunderstand what the word "partner" means and discover the charm and the rumor behind it is not only true, but more than expected.

Gets a little heavy, depression, bullying, suicidal thoughts, etc. But it must get worse before it gets better, that kind of thing. I also just adore the second part (called Bond) - maybe because it’s much fluffier, what about it?

Learning Curve - iknewaman (10304 words)

Summary: “Izuku.” Uraraka repeats as she motions at the person stood next to her. Green curls, average height, and, well. Up close, not such a bad smile. Uraraka points a thumb at Bakugou and enunciates slowly, “This is Bakugou. He can speak sign language too.”

Wait. Sign language?

The stranger— well, Izuku— looks at him with a raised brow. Their free hand lifts up as they make a slight motion of the hand.‘

Really?’

*

Bored out of his mind at a house party one night Bakugou is introduced to Izuku, a deaf student who offers to help teach Bakugou sign language in exchange for a favour-- or well, is prompted into asking for a favour.

Ah, I really want to explain this one a little bit? I’d never been into fanfiction ever, only really getting into it with these boys. This was the second one I read, I remember, and it caught me off guard, and it intrigued me. It really surprised me as to what fanfiction could be. Ngl I had biased perceptions of fanfics - I used to be one of those people who thought fanfiction could never be good writing - and this one slapped me in the face with it’s subtle beauty and creative story and heart melting capabilities, and very, very real relationship and growth. Anyways it’s so cute how happy Deku is to teach Kacchan sign language TT_TT Make sure to read the tags!

The Keeper and the Sun God’s Heir - SurelyHeavenWaits (12746 words)

Summary:  The Titans' have stolen something important from Izuku, heir of the Sun God, and he wants it back.

This one, this one, this one, this one, this one, this one, this one, this one this one- Oh my god this one. Okay so what, I was a Percy Jackson kid, what about it? I love the mythical aus, particularly the god ones. But beyond that, the writing is so beautiful, just like the world, and the imagery. The bakudeku...absolutely stunning. The story itself? Incredible. Cannot recommend more. *There is explicit content in this, though I will say, it’s all in the last chapter, and all of the story is in the first two chapters. There’s also a second part as it’s a series and it’s short but it’s cute and sweet TT_TT

seven days - aaAAAaaahhhhHHHHH (10094 words)

Summary: There’s something about the green haired boy, an aura that just drew Katsuki in before he even knew his name.

[Sometimes your mind forgets, but your heart remembers]

Heed my warning: DON’T read this in front of other people. I bawl every time I read this one TT_TT I know I said I don’t like angst but AJLSKDFJALSKDFJ it has a hopeful ending! I mean yeah you’re gonna cry but...hope? :’) (that username really says it all tbh)

Fics 30k+

Notice me, nerd - useless_donut (40000 words)

Summary: Bakugou is in love with Midoriya. He doesn’t hide it, in fact it’s so painfully obvious that the entire class of 3-A has him figured out in a matter of months (days, in some cases). Too bad Midoriya is the most oblivious motherfucker out there, and Bakugou is too damn stubborn to actually ask him out.

Will the class of 3-A survive the sexual tension? Who will snap first? Someone put Bakugou out of his misery, please, before everyone else dies of second-hand embarrassment.

(a love story as witnessed by the class of 3-A)

Love the idea of Bakugou being brazen and brash, cause yeah, he is. So fucking funny though how that translates to him flirting. Gotta say, thought I was gonna cringe, but his “I’m gay af” outfit really ended up being A Look. Love the mutual pining, it really is strong in this one. *Okay, mature content in this one lads.

While You Were Sleeping - Belkacaramelka (71197 words)

Summary: The one where quirkless fanboy Midoriya Izuku rescues Pro Hero Todoroki Shouto, gets mistaken as his fiancé while he is in a coma, and gets caught up in the most unlikely fake engagement... until his childhood enemy and Todoroki's classmate Bakugou Katsuki tries to catch him out, and they both end up discovering a lot more about each other than they'd expected.

Quirkless AU based on the film; endgame BakuDeku. -- Katsuki didn’t know when the change had happened: how he had gone from asking why Todoroki chose Deku of all people, to wondering why it was Todoroki that Deku chose. Troublesome Deku, who cooed like an idiot at cats, tripped at a random catcall and sang badly. Who, despite everything, proved that it wasn’t the quirk that defined a person. Deku, who was too much, not his, and undeniably off limits to begin with.

Update: Epilogue added

*This one has mature content. If you can, please, for the love of god, read this fic. It’s like, tied with my favorite bkdk fic perhaps ever. It’s based on the movie of the same title, a nineties romcom with Sandra Bullock, but Belkacaramelka has so effortlessly made it into it’s own story, fit it so perfectly inside of the bnha world. I definitely stayed up until 6:30am reading this one. It’s got such good badass Midoriya, who is also sweet, and really really good reconciliation between bakudeku.

All Gifted - fitzefitcher (39129 words)

Summary: The thing about gifts is that they're meant to be given, they're meant to be shared; so Izuku will take his gifts, so freely given to him, and share them with all he holds dear.

Izuku is born without any gifts, as his kind often are, to a witch mother and salamander father, on one sweltering night in July.

This one is unfinished...and I highly doubt it will ever be. But what has been written is incredible. Once again, I’m a sucker for the magic/mythical creatures aus. But the relationship is great! The characterization is great! The found family trope that was building up is great!

under a hollow sun - umbrage (40572 words)

Summary: Midoriya is cursed with emptiness.

Misfortune leads him to a man of ancient magic and endless rage.

To stop an unfathomable evil, their mismatched halves must become whole.

Uuuggghhhh this was so good! I don’t think it’s going to be finished either :( Once again, fantasy au, more amazing writing, on point characterization, incredible pacing, makes you hungry for more story.

all the savage soul requires - majjale (58032 words)

Summary: Bakugou seems to have exhausted his patience for words and no longer acknowledges that Midoriya exists, so Midoriya crosses his legs, stares down at his hands limned in firelight, and makes a list of things he knows.

One. His name is Midoriya Izuku.

Two. He is a Godmarked, future god of life, heir to the divine throne.

Three. The gods have been fighting Death for eons, and now he's coming for recompense with everything he’s got.

This is majjale, so of course, the writing is more than beautiful; it’s absolutely breathtaking. This may be my favorite fic ever - unfortunately I don’t think it will ever be finished either TT_TT There’s the gods/fantasy au, which you know by now I love. But the characterization of our two boys is absolutely perfect, and I mean that as literally as possible. And the story being crafted between the two, the memory loss, the obvious history muddled by it all, it was so dense, and the PINING, so incredibly written, flowing so naturally. It wasn’t even close to being done, but it was wonderful, still is wonderful. 

My Writing: (You can skip this if you hate shameless self promotion)

You’re too damn flicking cute (1815 words)

Summary:  Bakugou is certain his shitty boyfriend is instigating kisses. Maybe it doesn't help that he keeps giving them away like it's a damn going out of business sale, but the stupid nerd is too fucking cute. Either way, like everything else, this is a competition, and he's going to win it.

Please don’t read this unless you’re going to the dentist afterwards! I’ve been told it’s so sweet it’ll give you instant cavities >_>;;;;

Bakugou Katsuki, you smooth motherfucker (10118 words)

Summary: Everyone around him knows that Bakugou Katsuki has a very special way with words. To the untrained ear he is loud and crass; to those that speak Kacchan, he is caring and inspiring. Yet there are rare moments, moments so fleeting you blink and you miss them, where Bakugou’s words pierce straight through Midoriya’s chest, and surprise everyone around him.

Goddammit, if only he would say them to Midoriya’s face.

Or, the five times Bakugou said something nice about Midoriya, and the one time he said something kind to him (but that was too long of a title).

I think most would consider this my best published fic; it’s one of those snapshot fics, “the five times where x did this, and the one time where they didn’t.” The recurring comment I get on this one is both of them being super in character, so I think that’s it’s defining characteristic! Bakugou and Midoriya have never known a life without the other, and in a perfect world, they never will.

Here, let me fix that (11247 words)

Summary: Bakugou honestly never thought he’d see Deku ever again. And now that they were together in this tiny compartment, alone for the next two and a half minutes, he had no clue what to say. He’d just apologized, right? So perhaps he could leave it at that and carry on with the original plan to never see the green-haired man that reminded him of dense forests, late night adventures, and tear-stained faces, ever again.

Ha! Who is he kidding? These bitches are soulmates.

I’ve gotten some critiques on this one, so sorry in advance if it’s not to your liking! Basically, what if Midoriya never got his quirk? Obviously, life would find a way to put them together because, as previously stated, these bitches are soulmates.

Plenty of Time (16654 words)

Summary: Bakugou found what little sleep he got restless and filled with nightmares that he forgot the second he opened his eyes. Tonight was the first time in a long time where he just had a normal dream - and it happened to be about Deku.

How fucking typical.

In other words, two dorks realize they have feelings for each other but don't know what to do about said feelings.

Ah, my first fic. Very simple, boys being boys, kinda like a slow burn? Idk how to explain this one, just boys figuring out their feelings and trying to figure out what to do about them. Been told these two are a little stupid but I think that’s valid.

We’re all time bombs waiting to explode (39223 words)

Summary: We have now entered the slipstream of time, into an alternate dimension where it neither is, nor isn’t, the 80’s. Two teenagers, burdened with the weight of adolescence in the modern world, find themselves struggling side by side, in part because of each other.

Bakugou, the most popular boy in school, has everything he could possibly want; status, power, and an unbreakable will. Having been dragged along behind him all the way to the top, Midoriya can’t help but wonder how (and why) he ended up standing beside his childhood friend-turned bully-turned friend again, weighed down by their complicated past and present. As the tension between them grows every day, and the arrival of a new, pretty face causes it to peak, it won’t be long before something - or someone - snaps.

I am...very bad at titles, and summaries apparently. This was my Heathers au, but it very quickly diverges from the original (I don’t do sad endings....) *This one has mature content, including implied sexual activity, drug use, and underage drinking, along with other heavy topics; please read the tags! Though tbh Midoriya is 17 for a couple weeks before it hits his birthday halfway through, so keep that in mind I guess? I kind of went heavy with this one, but I think the pay off was immense. This is the one with the most amount of comments stating it’s their favorite bkdk fic ever (and I cry). It’s a rough start, with a rough journey, but so is bakudeku! There’s a lot of petty drama, and then all of a sudden it’s Not That Petty and very much Far Too Real. Many have cried reading the ending, I cried writing it. My sister says it’s her favorite of mine. Now, I did kind of push this out without polishing it so much because I was losing my willpower, so if it feels lacking, that’s one hundred percent my fault.

Okay that was a lot! It took me a couple days...I hope I wasn’t too annoying with all my opinions! Please have a nice day. and enjoy some good reads, even if they aren’t the ones in this post!

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.1 (BAON)

Summary:  Stretch and Edge are happily living their best lives together, despite the occasional setbacks. This might be another one.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships,  Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags To Come

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

"that's it, babe, i'm finished. stick a fork in me, i'm done."

Edge looked over to where his husband was flopped back in the grass, an arm slung over his eye sockets. His sweatshirt had been shed some time ago, followed by his tank top and now he was stripped down to his lovely, if somewhat sweaty, rib cage. He couldn’t blame Stretch for his exhaustion, they’d been working hard since early this morning and even he was starting to feel weariness setting in.

"Not quite finished, but close," Edge allowed. "It's looking very good."

That was enough to Stretch to rise all the way onto his elbows in outrage. "excuse me, it is looking fantastic. amazing. brilliant. gimmie a second to find a thesaurus and i'll toss a few more adjectives your way."

Edge had to admit that he was right. Their new pond was shaping up into a fine addition for their backyard. Surrounded by large stones to support the two small waterfalls, the narrow path that led to it from the coop was surrounded by plants that were both visually appealing and of types that any domesticated poultry would find an appetizing snack. What couldn't be seen was the dedicated filter and drain that would keep the water clean and the automatic vacuum that would run at night to keep bottom muck free for their little aquatic acquisition.

He'd spent days researching the best way to build it, another few designing it and ordering the necessary supplies. If they were going to have a duck pond in their increasingly hectic backyard, then they were going to have the best one that he could possibly manage, but it wasn’t only the aesthetic that made all the effort worth it. There was also the way Stretch scrambled up and shifted his sprawl across Edge’s back, hugging him tightly. “hey, babe, thanks for doing this.”

“You’re welcome,” Edge leaned back into his arms, “but I honestly can’t fathom why you would ever think I wouldn’t.”

“i don’t think you wouldn’t,” Stretch said. The words were muffled, his mouth pressed close to Edge’s temple. “but you made it a priority over your kitchen when you really didn’t have to."

The kitchen was still waiting on its remodel and that was certainly his next project, but the issues there were entirely cosmetic; the kitchen was still useable, if less than aesthetically pleasing. A small duckling would not remain small for very long and needed a pond as soon as possible. The little basin Cheese had been using was not an adequate substitute.

“Of course, I did,” Edge reached back to gently touched Stretch’s cheekbone, traced the arch with his thumb, glove whispering against bone. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t put my grand duckling first?” He highly doubted he would have said the same when they first came to the surface. In fact, he would have assumed anyone who even suggested such a thing to him was a raving lunatic. These days, adjusting his life for not only Stretch but also chickens, neighborhood children, and experiments that would be right at home in any mad scientist’s laboratory was not only automatic, it was also a pleasure.

Stretch snorted, nipping teasingly as those fingers wandered down to his jaw. "yeah, okay, grandpa. welp, we got the water and we've got the plants in it. we put in those tablets you got to regulate the ph and we've got the little waterfalls going. can we bring cheese to it now?"

Edge drew away, crawling across the grass to pick up his clipboard. He made a show of checking the list until Stretch was practically rolling on the ground in moaning impatience.

"I believe we can introduce our newest family member to their own personal playground," Edge allowed. He nearly fell back on the ground when Stretch scrambled over right into his lap, flinging his skinny arms around him.

"yes!” Stretch cheered, “time for swimmies!" Too loudly and right into Edge’s audial canal. Before he could plot any sort of revenge, ticklish, pleasurable, or otherwise, Stretch was already squirming free and bouncing to his feet. He might have used up all his energy allotted for labor, but it seemed he kept a reserve stored for excitement.

'Swimmies?" Edge mouthed, but he only shook his head and climbed to his feet to begin picking up the tools scattered about, setting them back into his toolbox. Despite the day's work, his leg was only just starting to ache. He stretched it out with a grimace but didn't yet reach for his cane. After so much bending and moving today, he'd likely need it tonight and possibly some time with an ice pack as well. It was definitely getting better, slowly but surely. Today was simply pushing him to his limits.

"cleanup can come later, babe, you gotta watch!" Stretch called.

Obediently, Edge sat in one of the deck chairs Stretch had pulled over that morning for breaktime. "Watching."

With a flourish worthy of a game show host, Stretch opened the coop door and three chickens plus a duckling came scurrying eagerly out. Before they could get far, Stretch scooped up Cheese, holding the little bundle of yellow fluff and cooing to them. Already they were visible larger, soon they would begin to shed their baby down and real feathers would begin growing in.

The tiny quacks rose in volume as Stretch carried Cheese towards the pond and before he even made it to the walkway, the little duckling was squirming loose. Stretch set them down hastily before they could fall and Cheese made a beeline straight for the pond, splashing in, their little webbed feet paddling furiously as they quacked enthusiastically.

Nugget was less than pleased with her adopted child's watery delight. She stood on the artificial shoreline, flapping her wings and loudly expressing her displeasure. Cheese ignored her loud scolding and cackles, swimming happily, and finally Nugget began to sulkily scratch around the fresh landscaping in search of bugs, occasionally giving her child a grouchy glare. Noodle and Dumpling were less concerned with the latest member of their flock and were already inspecting their new territory.

"guess it works," Stretch laughed. He was nearly clapping his hands in glee as he watched Cheese contentedly swim circles around their new watering hole.

“It better, after all that effort.” Edge set both hands at the small of his back and stretched, groaning as his joints popped. “Let them swim for a while and then we can go get cleaned up so I can start on dinner.”

Stretch scrambled for his phone, wincing as he checked the time. "shit, i didn't tell you, i'm meeting andy in town tonight. sorry, babe, it slipped my mind."

"Not a problem.” His dinner plans could be easily adjusted to account for leftovers. More curious, and suspicious, was those two going out for the evening, particularly without himself and Antwan invited along. “What are the two of you up to?"

“checking out a few bands,” Stretch said promptly. He scooped his sweatshirt off the ground, his voice briefly muffled as he pulled it over his head. “see, catty gives andy a list of local bands who profess to be monster supporters to check out. word gets arounds that being supportive of monsters can get you gigs at our events and the embassy pays well.” That was both explanation enough and a guilty relief. Neither he nor Antwan were fans of the sort of music that Catty was likely seeking. “andy is checking their sound but also trying to poke around and see if it’s all just lip service since the only asshole we want on the payroll is your bro.” He leered, running his tongue lightly over his teeth. “you’ll have to wait for my lip service until i get home.”

“an impressive feat, considering your lack of lips,” Edge said dryly. He waited for Stretch to secure their flock back in the coop, despite Cheese’s heartbreaking protests for a longer swim time. Then he took a step towards the house and while he was sure his expression didn’t change in the slightest, he accepted the cane when Stretch pointedly handed it to him. “Thank you.”

“uh huh, try saying that a little less like ‘fuck off’ and i’ll buy it,” Stretch said cheerfully. “gonna head upstairs to change. hey, wait.” Just inside the door, Stretch pushed Edge up against the wall, both arms braced on either side of him as he leaned in. The sharp thrill that rumbled through Edge’s soul was sadly disappointed when all Stretch did was say firmly. “promise me you won’t spend the whole time i’m gone working. do some of your action figures or make some muffins. do something else, okay?”

“I promise.” Still caught in the loose cage of Stretch’s arms, Edge stripped off his dirty gloves and dropped them to the floor, then reached up to cup his face lightly, cautiously, between his bare hands as he leaned up to kiss him with gentle affection.

“liar,” Stretch murmured against his mouth. He stole another gentle kiss, another slightly less gentle one, then drew back, “you’ll tell yourself just one more thing and then get caught up in something important so when i get home, you’ll be sitting on the sofa and your leg is gonna hurt like a bitch because you didn’t move for five hours.”

“That does sound like me,” Edge agreed, stealing a last kiss before letting Stretch escape upstairs.

What he did not say was that the house tended to be too quiet without Stretch in it. Even when he was only sleeping next to Edge, his presence carried a certain weight that seemed to fill the room. Work was more immersive than any of his hobbies and he would be less likely to be constantly about to speak to Stretch only to remember that he wasn’t there.

Ridiculous, really, that he could miss Stretch before he was even gone, and he wasn’t about to say a word. He wouldn’t try to hold Stretch back for the world, certainly not from his friendship with Jeff.

He was setting up his laptop on the coffee table when Stretch came back downstairs, dressed entirely from Edge’s side of the closet, the warm pulse in his soul was far less from affection and more foreshadowing of the night he hoped would come when Stretch returned. Edge might not have chosen to wear a striped shirt with that jacket, but it was undeniably attractive on Stretch’s tall, slim form, particularly coupled with jeans that clung to his femurs, all the way down to the borrowed boots on his feet.

Stretch was never oblivious to his gaze and playfully struck a pose that would have given Mettaton a fit of jealousy.

“like the coming attraction?” Stretch said teasingly. He gave a little shimmy and Edge’s mouth went dry.

“Always.” He let it come out in a rough growl, watched the brief flicker of orange color Stretch’s eye lights.

His tongue flicked out over his teeth, his own voice lowering to that whiskey-sweet rasp that Edge loved so much. “don’t lose your raincheck, you’ll get to call it in when i get home.”

He leaned down for another kiss, one that Edge gladly granted. But before he could head for the front door, Edge caught his hand, drawing it to his mouth to press a light kiss right above Stretch’s wedding band. Later, he couldn’t say why he added, “Love? Be careful.”

It wasn’t his normal version of a sendoff, obvious in the way Stretch startled, blinking down at him. “aren’t i always, mama bear?”

“Absolutely not.”

“okay, well, i’d argue that. but my reputation kinda precedes me and you’re also something of an expert witness.” He twisted his hand in Edge’s loose grip, fingertips brushing against his jaw. “i will be tonight. deal?”

“Deal.”

With a last kiss, Stretch was out the door, heading off for a night of music and fun, and Edge was alone.

He headed for the kitchen first, absently reminding himself to get working on the schematics for this remodel next. The meal he’d planned for tonight suddenly lacked appeal and instead, he decided to make it tomorrow when Stretch would be home. A sandwich would do for tonight. Before he left with his plate, he rummaged through the freezer for an ice pack to keep the dull ache in his leg from rising to a throb.

By the time he was settled on the sofa, the silence in the house was already nagging at him, the memory of his husband dressed in his clothes lingering at the back of his mind, and with it, some nebulous agitation, something that he couldn’t properly express.

Better to cut it off now before he was truly distracted. Edge opened his laptop and soon was absorbed in his work. To the point he didn’t really register the time until his phone chimed and when he picked it up to check the message, the first three words turned all the lingering, warm anticipation in his soul to ice.

We have him.

~~*~~

tbc