#and the packing label says its from brooklyn

[nightmareculture]

The Seedy History of “Three Studies on Human Desire” - Part 1

Introduction

During the 1930's, a transient writer named Thomas Fuchs wrote a poetic triptyc entitled "Three Studies on Human Desire" opening a door to the vast interiors of the imagination and experience of Depression era New York City life, paricularly its darkest corners. The following series of posts will be about this poem and the history around it. In this first post, we will explore the most well-known artifact from this history as well as some information about its notoriously obscure author.

Thomas Fuchs

The author Thomas Fuchs is discribed well by the following quote from a the book "Vice in Depression", by Adrian Alexander:

Thomas Fuchs was a transient author who immigrated from Germany to New York City in the 1920s, following the end of World War I. He became known for his evocative poetry that captured the raw emotions and experiences of those living on the fringes of society, particularly in the seedy underbelly of Brooklyn. His most well-known work is a poetic triptych entitled "Three Studies on Human Desire", which explores the themes of vice and debauchery as seen through the lens of the infamous Bourghaine Street A train stop. Fuchs' unique perspective, informed by his own experiences as a transient, imbues his work with a sense of authenticity and gritty realism that has resonated with readers for generations.

Alexander goes on to give more context to this history, but sadly does not say much about the poetic work itself, other than what it meant to people at the time. Fortunately, I was able to find the complete work as archived by the CUNY's history department.

The Work Itself

Here is the complete work by Thomas Fuchs, which apparently has never been published in a proper poetic work, each part labeled by the time Fuchs apparently wrote them

2:45 AM

In the dark and dingy Bowery, The transients gather round, Their faces gaunt and weary, Their eyes searching the ground.

But a glimmer of hope ignites, As the guiding hand of provenance, Leads them on through the night, To the subway's rumbling entrance.

Down the stairs they descend, To the platform's flickering light, And board the A train's end, As it takes them into the night.

The car is packed and swaying, As it hurtles through the dark, But the journey's worth the paying, For the promise land, the mark.

And soon they arrive at last, At Bourghaine Street's stop, Where the vices are amassed, And the night's delights don't stop.

The men are caught in throes, Of gambling, opium, and more, But the promise land they chose, Is worth the risk they bore.

For they ascend to a grotesque height, In a world of seedy lust, Guided by provenance's light, And their indulgence is a must.

So if you seek this land of sin, Board the A train without a doubt, And let provenance lead you in, To Bourghaine Street's promise route.

3:22 AM

Amidst the dim lights of the Bowery's decay, A transient soul sets out to play, With vice and sin as his guides tonight, He follows their lead, in this endless night.

The A train rattles down the track, As it takes him to a world of black, Where the Bourbon flows like a fountain, And the smell of opium fills the air like a mountain.

As he emerges into the Brooklyn night, Bourghaine Street looms into sight, A land of promises made in vice, A grotesque haven for the wealthy's price.

Here, men are caught in the throws of their vice, Their wallets open, their hearts as cold as ice, As they gamble their fortunes away, And pleasure themselves in the most sinful way.

A promised land of sin and excess, Where men trade their souls for success, And the guiding hand of provenance leads, To a world of debauchery, as their souls bleed.

Here, in the seedy underground, The transient finds his true calling found, As he embraces the grotesque promise land, And becomes a part of the vices so grand.

The A train's rumble echoes through the street, As the night fades into a haze of defeat, And the Bourbon's flow slows to a trickle, As the vices of the night become fickle.

As the sun rises on Bourghaine Street, The transient fades into the concrete, A lost soul in a land of promise, Forever trapped in a life of misspent solace.

4:12 AM

Beneath the streets of Brooklyn, Lies a station quite obscure, Where men of all kinds journey, In search of vice, and more.

The train they take is shaky, Rumbling down the tracks, It's final stop, Bourghaine Street, A place that never lacks.

For there amidst the darkness, Is a land of grotesque sin, The promise land of indulgence, That draws them further in.

Ascending from the underground, They're guided by a hand, Provenance leads them onward, To this godforsaken land.

The smell of opium lingers, As they step out into the night, A haze of smoke surrounds them, As they revel in the sight.

Glinting in the shadows, Are the games of chance and luck, Men huddled 'round the tables, Their faces tense, and stuck.

The booze flows freely in the bars, The women beckon with their eyes, A den of iniquity awaits, A haven for the wise.

For in this place of darkness, Where the seedy underworld resides, Is a realm of wild abandon, And where every pleasure collides.

So if you're feeling lost, And in need of a place to roam, Take the A train down to Bourghaine, And let the vices guide you home.

To Come

I would like to leave this post without much futher anlaysis to let this strange poetic work sink in a bit. In the following post, I will go into some deeper context around this work and the mysteries around it.

[alittleemo]

.

[havethetimeofyourstyles]

Chapter One.

a/n: welcome to the first chapter of wtsgd! i’m so excited for you all to read this story and for what’s to come. please please please support content creators bc we’re doing this for free and it takes up a lot of energy to put out stories. so reblog, leave feedback, and send a message to motivate and support them. happy reading everyone <3

SERIES MASTERLIST | word count: 6.4k

come talk to me about wtsgd! i’d love to know your thoughts!

March 4, 2017

The trunk was filled with heavy boxes that were labeled with thick black sharpie, which didn’t seem to leave Luciana’s senses; and one too many suitcases filled with her many articles of clothing that she couldn’t get rid of—no matter how hard she tried—since she was too much of a hoarder and every piece of clothing seemed to have a lost memory in them that she tried very hard to think of, which only meant that it was worth keeping. 

A droplet of sweat leaked down the side of her face due to  her nonstop packing and heavy-lifting from her childhood room upstairs to her dad’s car in the driveway. It didn’t help that the sun was beaming down at her with every move like she was on center stage, in front of the spotlight, but it made much more sense for the sun to do that because that’s where she belonged: on stage. 

Moving to Brooklyn, New York from Cambridge, Massachusetts during, what felt like, the coldest but the sunniest day of March wasn’t the smartest move—to be fair, Luciana was never one to make a smart move, anyways—but it was one that needed to be done. Plus, all the lifting seemed to have warmed her up. 

Her destination, or now, home, in New York was one that she’d been anticipating for a while now. She had auditioned for the role as Kim in Miss Saigon on Broadway in November, and she’d gotten a callback in January for the role as the second Kim, meaning she would be on rotation to perform every week or two weeks, so the main Kim could rest. But she would still have to go to rehearsals and be on the side of the stage watching the show just in case she needed to jump in at the last minute. 

It wasn’t her ideal way of playing the main lead, but nonetheless, she was grateful for the opportunity, and she would take any chance that was thrown at her to not only take another step towards her dream, but also another learning opportunity to make her a better actress. 

Little Luci would’ve been so proud of the present Luci because it’d been her dream ever since she was younger, to be on stage and eventually, be on the big screen. Although she was far from completing her dream of being a face in Hollywood, this was a step that would take her to where she wanted to be in the future, and for that, she was proud of herself. 

As a child, Luci had been in various commercials; from being the kid that played with slime and had no lines but to just put on a big smile while the sticky substance ran through her small hands, to being the daughter in a car commercial with one line that said “Are we there yet?” with a groan and a face of exhaustion as if she were the one driving the car. She hoped that these commercials would have someone recognize her talent, to cast her as a Disney star, but that would require moving to California, which her parents were wary of. 

The commercials stopped when she reached middle school. Her early adolescent years consisted of an abundance of attitude and mood swings; Luci was a very tough and determined kid. Her love for acting had grown into a big balloon that was let go and on its way into the galaxy where no one could reach it—where no one could mess with her achieving her dream. 

She would always stand in front of her white wooden framed mirror—with delicately painted colorful flowers around the border—reciting lines that she heard from a television series or the films that she watched, and she would write them down in her blue notebook. Sometimes, her parents would let her search the script up if it was available online. But oftentimes, she would test and challenge her memorization, and listen to it by ear; testing her mind, and eventually, her memorization skills were immaculate by the age of eleven. 

It was perfect timing because by the time she was in middle school, she was able to snatch the roles she wanted when her school’s drama department held school plays. Her family thought that she would start to hate being on stage since school plays always ran until late evening, but being part of the productions had only enhanced her love for her talent, and it only prepared her for a quarter of what her future may look like. 

All in all, from a very young age, she always knew that she wanted to become an actress. The spotlight or the center of the camera was where she always craved to be. 

And she was finally making that dream come true. 

A black Toyota Camry pulled into the space behind the car that was filled with her belongings. Ren and Beatrice, Luci’s lovely parents, both get out of the car with a pink box of donuts—a snack for the road and for when she gets to her new apartment. 

“Ready, Lucky?” Beatrice asked, rubbing her daughter’s back. She was quite bummed to see Luci leave her childhood home, but she’s proud to see Lucky Luci chase her dreams. She was, after all, twenty-five and was bound to move out at some point, but to see it actually happen made Beatrice quite emotional. 

“Ma, please, don’t cry…” Luci frowned as Beatrice pressed her fingertips to the corners of her eyes. She wrapped her arm around her mother’s shoulder, comforting her. “You’re all coming to New York in a month, right? To watch me on stage?” Luci asked, reassuring herself that she would see her family in a different state to rescue her from her loneliness. 

Luci was an independent woman. She could do tasks by herself, go places alone, and she wouldn’t have a problem with it; she enjoyed the company of herself. But to know that at some point she might be alone—that everyone had left her behind or forgotten about her—was what scared her. She needed to know that the people who loved her unconditionally wouldn’t forget about her. 

“Of course we’re going!” Ren exclaimed with a smile that Luci was going to miss seeing everyday. “We can’t miss our baby on the Broadway stage. If we could, we’d go to every damn show that you’re in, but that would be a lot of gas, no?” 

She chuckled, nodding her head. She felt tears pricking her eyes at how supportive her parents were—they’ve always been. If she could, she would take them with her to New York, but her one bedroom apartment and their work said otherwise. 

“Now, Lucky, don’t cry.” It was Beatrice’s turn to comfort her daughter. Like any parent, when they see their child cry, it breaks their heart and they cry too. “We’re gonna see you real soon. You can always come back anytime you want. We’re just a phone call away and we’ll pick you up,” Beatrice said between sniffles. The mother and daughter were embracing so tenderly and comfortingly—enjoying every last moment together until they got to see each other again. 

“Jeez, you’re both the same—always crying!” Ren interrupted, making the two women laugh; and he was glad they found what he said amusing because he couldn’t handle the sad moment. “C’mon here, my Lulu.” Luci settled into her father’s arms, hugging him tightly. She’s always been her dad’s girl, despite having a close relationship with her mother, her relationship with her father was something that felt like home; he always knew what to say and when to say it. It helped that she was the female version of him. “You’re gonna be the best star out there, I’m sure of it. Now, I want you to have fun, alright? The fame, the fortune, the big city…it doesn’t amount to anything if you’re not having the time of your life” He comfortingly rubbed Luci’s back, holding her in a warm and tight squeeze. 

Luci smiled at her father’s words. She was always a bit hard on herself when she would mess up or forget a line or a movement that correlates to a specific line in her script. When she was younger, she would beat herself up for a sliver of a moment; she would cry into her pillow—sobs loud enough that they were heard from downstairs. Luci would think that she wouldn’t become a well-known actress just because of the minor forgetfulness her mind had presented. But Ren would gently tap on her ocean blue door, letting himself in because he knew his daughter didn’t have the energy to get up and let him in, and he would sit beside her, gently urging her to sit up with him. Once she complied, after many groans of refusals, she would be glad she did because her father looked deeply into her eyes—and it was like looking into the reflection of clear and clean water—and told her she was a star. It was only three words, but those three words reminded her to never give up and get up when she would hit the pavement of what she felt like were her fallen hopes and dreams. 

Ren would then end it with a statement of advice that had always lingered in her mind, resonating to the silent and harshful words that she tells herself. ‘Nothing will amount to anything if you’re not having the time of your life.’

A rush of gratitude settled upon her as her eyes became glossier by the seconds she was in Ren’s arms. Beatrice looked at her greatest treasures fondly, a smile appeared on her face only for it to be replaced by a look of confusion. 

“Where is that damn brother of yours? He said he was going to be here at ten!” Beatrice interrupted the sweet moment she was having with her father, making them disconnect from the hug—just as Ren did with Luci and Beatrice.  

Speaking of the devil, her dear brother was making his way towards home on the side of the street, wearing a grey sweatshirt that was stained with his sweat as his earphones were nestled in his ears, loudly playing music. He loudly sang along to some rap song, breath staggered as he rapped along with his hands. 

Nathan smiled once he stepped foot onto the driveway as he took out his earphones, seeing his family look at him vigilantly. Luci laughed, shaking her head. 

“Hey, there’s our superstar, little Ana!” Nathan opened his arms, ready to hug you but she quickly stopped him, curving her spine backwards to deny his hug. Ana had been one of the many nicknames her family had called her when she was growing up from the second half of her name, but Ana seemed to have stuck with Nathan as no one else really called her that, so it was his own personal nickname for her. 

“Ew, please, do not hug me.” Her face wrinkled in disgust from the spell of her brother’s sweat from his run. Nathan chuckled, playfully rolling his eyes before turning towards his parents. 

“Ooh, donuts-”

Beatrice slapped the back of his hand before he even got a chance to open the pink donut box. “Not until you shower and change. Lulu needs to be in Brooklyn by three!” 

“Ow, mother!” Nathan whipped his hand away from Beatrice’s burning slap, although he was just playing around and being dramatic. “But fine, alright. The star always gets what she wants, am I right?” He dropped his head towards Luci, sighing before he hurried inside the house to take a quick shower and change. 

Luci giggled, telling her parents that she would be right back to go up to her room to check if she’d gotten everything, even though she knew that she had everything, she just needed to reminisce alone for a moment. 

Her feet took her up the wooden stairs, where she, for some unknown reason, always spent her time sitting on as she leaned her back against the wall and read or drew. Nathan always found it weird of her when they were doing homework when they were younger, but it was just one of the many fun anecdotes he could tell reporters if he’s asked about their childhood. 

Pushing open her ocean blue door that she never changed because she loved the color, she was met with the emptiness of what was once her sanctuary. Despite the paint on the wall changing, the replacement of furniture, and rearrangement of her childhood room, Luci could still see the baby pink walls where she hung up various posters of her celebrity crushes when she was eight. She could still see herself walking over to her Cinderella white wooden dresser as she pulled out an inflatable microphone from her drawer before she walked over to her bed to sing her heart out with her cousin. In the corner of her room was her mirror that she painted colorful flowers along the border when she was younger, and she definitely did not want to change or get rid of it; it wasn’t difficult to stir up a memory when she was in front of that mirror because up until now, she was always reciting her lines to her own reflection until the late night. 

All of these memories that Luci held within her heart would help her ground herself—remind her where she came from. No matter where her career took her, she would always be the girl that was firstly known in her room, crying, laughing, and acting within the four baby pink walls until she was sixteen, and then it changed to an ecru white. The feeling of nostalgia clutched her chest, and for the second time today—not even noon, yet—she found herself crying. 

She silently sobbed in her sanctuary. Her chest felt tight, like her heart was grasping onto the memories, begging her to not leave, to not move on. But moving on would mean being stuck, and she didn’t want to feel stuck—she just never wanted to be in one place where the walls would slowly feel like they were closing in on her. She didn’t want to be in one place and eventually hated it, so for that, she had to move on. 

A soft knock was heard from the outside of her bedroom, making Luci turn around hastily. She found Beatrice standing in the doorway, warmly smiling at her daughter, and keeping the tears at bay because she needed the comfort of her mother more than her mother’s tears. 

“My Lucky Star…” Beatrice walked into the room, welcoming Luci into her arms. “You okay?” 

Luci deeply inhaled and exhaled as she calmed herself down from her cries. “I’m alright. It’s just hard saying goodbye to this place—to my room.”’

“Oh, Lulu. You don’t need to say goodbye. I know you’ll be coming back here soon, anyways. I know you love home too much to completely stay away.” Beatrice was subtly trying to remind Luci about her love for her hometown, for her home, but her words also were trying to remind her about that certain love for her home and to never forget that love so she doesn’t stray away because Beatrice was simply afraid Luci would never want to come back once she discovered the luxury of her career. And even though she knew her Lulu wasn’t one to forget about her family, Beatrice would never admit her fear. 

Luci sniffled, wiping her tears away as she pulled away from her mother’s embrace. “Yeah, I know. Just…doesn’t feel real that I’m leaving.” 

“Sure, you’re leaving, but you’re going off to do bigger and better things. You were never one to stay in one place, physically and mentally—you were always moving, always loved learning more. And I’ve always been so intrigued and interested in how your mind works.” 

“Ma…” The waterworks seemed to be the highlight of the move. 

“I’m serious! I’m so genuinely proud of you. You’ve been keeping your talent—and I don’t mean ‘high school plays’ talent. I mean your Broadway, Hollywood, Academy winning talent. Now, you get to showcase your light in front of thousands of people.” Beatrice always had a way of boosting Luci’s self-esteem, making her ego a tad bit more bigger than it already was. She didn’t mind if her self-esteem had skyrocketed into the galaxy of her dreams, but she always reminded Luci that being humble and kind always outweighed being obnoxious and arrogant. “Now, enough with these tears. You’ve got a road trip to New York. C’mon, now.” 

They made their way downstairs and out the door where Ren and Nathan were talking about the latest basketball game of the Celtics. The trunk was closed, and the only thing waiting was Luci herself. 

“There she is! Ready?” 

Luci took a deep breath, turning her head to look back at the pastel yellow house that had kept her safe for the past twenty-five years. From here, she knew everything was going to change. Whether it’d be for the good or if things would go downhill from here? She didn’t know; all she knew was that she was going to be doing what she loved and she was going to have the time of her life doing it. 

“Yeah, I’m ready.” 

The state of Connecticut seemed to pass by quickly from the car as Nathan drove at a decent seventy miles per hour; the state vanished just as quickly as when they entered. 

Luci mindlessly looked out the window, thinking about everything and nothing at once as she drowned out the music playing through the speakers of the car and Nathan’s voice singing along. 

The cars passing by, the bystanders, and the locals filled the streets and highways, making her wonder what all of these people’s stories were—wondering if they lived in this city or if they were just stopping by to visit, or if they’re just going through the state to get to the one next door just as she was. Maybe she’s had an encounter or simply passed by them on the street in a world that seemed too large but small at the same time. She always pondered on whether everyone else thought the way she thought—if they wondered what her story was or the people around them. 

The world is an interesting place and there were so many intriguing people out there, making her more excited by the minute as she takes on this new adventure in her life that would be completely life changing. Luci’s going to be meeting so many new people that, she would hope, have an impact on her personal life or career. 

“Nervous?” Nathan broke the comfortable silence between them. 

Luci raised her brows and curled her lips into her mouth. “A bit.” 

He nodded, thinking for a moment. Nathan was always one to think before he spoke, and it was a quality that some people needed to learn how to do. He quickly learned that lesson when he was in high school; one of his friends, Johnny, and him were going back and forth joking around with one another. And for some odd reason, teenage boys liked to joke around about fucking everything, so Nathan had said “Yeah, I fucked your mom, what about it?” without thinking. Johnny stayed silent, the rest of their friends were waiting for his comeback, but they only received tears that glossed over his eyes before he ran off to a different part of campus, away from the lunch tables. Nathan found him behind the orchestra building with his face pressed on his kneecaps, crying. Later, he found out that Johnny’s mother had passed away before their sophomore year started and he hadn’t told anyone, which left Nathan quite speechless, but it was a lesson that he learned: to think before anything comes out of his mouth. 

“I know you’ll do great. You were born to do this, born to be on stage. Everything you do is to greater your experience and opportunities. All the mistakes you’re gonna make, which we both know you’re gonna make, they’re gonna be learning lessons for you to continue doing what you’re good at doing; the mistakes are there so you can better yourself,” he reassured, occasionally glancing at you briefly before averting his eyes back onto the highway. 

Luci smiled, never taking her eyes off her older brother. She leaned closer to the middle console, where his right arm was resting on the padded console. Hugging his arm tightly and resting her cheek on his shoulder, she accepted and appreciated his advice, his words. They made her heart fill up with so much gratitude and love, insanely grateful and happy that she had such an amazing and supportive family who always knew the right things to say when they could sense her nerves and anxieties powering through the roof. 

“You’re gonna kill it out there. This is just a step towards where you wanna go, where you actually wanna be.” 

She nodded, looking to her right as they quickly passed the ‘Welcome to New York’ sign from the state line of Connecticut and New York, and it was the sign indicating her new home. 

Nathan pulled into the apartment’s parking garage, entering in with the code that the complex gave Luci on the silver keypad as the two watched the automatic gate arm swing up to the side, and Nathan entered the parking structure, parking in one of the many spaces available. 

Luci excitedly got out of the car, rushing to the trunk where Nathan had opened it from inside the car. Unfortunately, she had forgotten to bring the hand dolly to help carry the boxes, which meant that the siblings were going to have to carry the many boxes she packed by her own hand and strength. But luckily, some of them weren’t that heavy; most of the items in the brown boxes were kitchenware and she figured she could just drag those. 

One by one, they took one box each and headed for the elevator, where it took them to her apartment floor—floor four. Luci grabbed the keys from her purse that contained two copper keys hanging on one single silver loop and a small keyless sensor, and she unlocked her navy blue door, revealing her new apartment. 

When she entered, she was met with a door across the entrance that she would use for her coats and shoes, things that she would need when she’s rushing out the door. Going through the small hallway in from the entrance, it led her to another small hallway to her left where her bedroom and guest bathroom was; and to her right, it would take her to the kitchen and living space. With four big windows with black window frames, the natural light really came in, making her place brighter for saving electricity. 

Walking in and putting the boxes against the black cabinets in the kitchen, she immediately fell in love with the space, her space. Despite already taking a tour of the apartment a few months prior to her official move in day, it felt different being there for the second time because she now knew that this place was hers. She saw it in a different light, and she was already anticipating the memories she was going to make in her new home. The place was empty; and with every step and every noise from her mouth, the room would echo, and she loved it. There was something satisfying about the echo in an empty space that was hers, like she wanted to furnish the hell out of it, but at the same time, she didn’t mind the echo. 

“This is your new home.” Nathan put an arm around Luci’s shoulder. He got a bit emotional seeing his baby sister grow up and move away from home, but he was excited for all of the experiences and memories she was going to make. Luci looked up at him, not saying anything but smiling as she was speechless. Nathan could practically feel the excitement run through her and all he did was chuckle at her speechlessness. “C’mon, let’s go get the rest of the boxes.” 

For the next fifteen minutes, Luci and Nathan hauled the boxes from the car, to the elevator, and down the hallway to her apartment. There were about four more boxes left in the trunk, and they would’ve been finished by now if they hadn’t been taking breaks. 

Nathan’s phone rang as he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the cabinets of the kitchen across from Luci who was sitting in the corner where her dining table would be. 

“Hello?” Answered Nathan. “What? Tonight? I’m in New York. I’m helping my little sister move here. Uh, okay. Sure. Bye.” He groaned, standing up. 

“Who was that?” Luci asked, nosy as she was. 

“That was one of the board members at Mass General Hospital.” Luci’s eyes widened. “They just asked me if I could come in tonight to teach and supervise the new residents.” Nathan was a general doctor working in the Emergency Room as Mass General back in Boston. He’s always wanted to teach with all the knowledge he’s stored in his brain—always wanting someone to learn a thing or two when they spoke to him, and this was his chance. 

“Holy shit, that’s amazing, Nate!” Luci stood up, excited for him.

He started to breathe a bit heavily and Luci immediately took notice; she could practically feel the nerves coming out of him, the same nerves she felt while going in for an audition. “Yeah, I actually have to leave, like, right now.” 

“Hey, hey.” She quickly stopped him from running out of the building and out of his mind. “Come here—breathe with me for a second.” She held onto his wrists gently. 

“Luci, I have to-”

He pulled away, but she tugged him back. “You’re going to drive yourself through the highway, and who knows what will happen, you might get pulled over and you won’t make it to the hospital. So, just take sixty seconds to breathe with me.” 

For the remainder of the time that they had together, they took some deep breaths. She spoke encouraging and uplifting words to him to calm down his nerves and anxieties that he seemed to drive himself over a cliff for, and it seemed to work as Nathan’s shoulder’s weren’t so tense and the grip on her hands had loosened. 

The two of them walked down to the parking garage where Nathan took down the last four boxes and placed them by the entrance of the complex. He was adamant on helping her get the last few boxes up to her apartment, but she shrugged it off, telling him that she was able to carry them and that he needed to leave because he’s most likely going to hit traffic during rush hour. 

“Call me if you need anything, okay? I mean it. I will drive here in a heartbeat.” 

“I will, I will-”

“Just not tonight,” he joked. “This is the highlight of my career.” His smile was so bright that it was like he was a little kid on Christmas again who just received a Hot Speed set from Santa. 

Luci laughed, hugging him goodbye. “And call me if you need anything too. I’ll miss seeing you everyday,” she admitted, a slight frown on her face. She thought she’d have the entire day with Nathan, but it was cut short due to his work but she wasn’t mad about that at all because she knew there'd be plenty of times when he would drive down to walk along the New York streets and see her perform. 

“I’m gonna miss you too, Ana. But I love you and I’ll see you next month!” He hurried into his car, and Luci watched him as he pulled out of the driveway, waving at the rear view mirror to say one last ‘see you later’ to his little sister. 

Walking back to the curb where all of the boxes were set, Luci picked one up to test how heavy it was and she barely made it upright without almost hurting her back, so she put the box down to take a proper breather. She decided to drag the box closer to the door of the complex—which saved her a few steps without completely dropping the box that was labeled ‘glass plates’—and pulled the handle of the door, only to find it completely locked. There was a slight panic that flew through her until she realized that she needed her keyless tag that she had to press against the pad on the wall to get inside the complex, so she blew out a sigh of relief before reaching down to her pocket for her key, and with just her luck, her keys weren’t in her pocket or with her at all. Then she started to panic again. 

Luci quickly walked out of the parking garage and to the front of the building where the leasing office was to find them closed, which was odd because it was Saturday, but apparently their servers were down so they just decided to take the entire day off. She rolled her eyes annoyingly, walking back to the garage in a fast manner because she didn’t want anyone to take her boxes, and so she figured that she could just wait until someone left the complex or arrived. She even left her phone at her place, so it wasn’t like she could call anyone to help her, but some sort of entertainment would help the time go by quicker. 

Sitting on the curb in the garage, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, and humming the melody from the Miss Saigon soundtrack, an hour goes by until she sees someone walk past the automatic gate barrier, heading towards the entrance where he opened the door with his tag. Luci sprinted towards the door, calling out for help. 

“Wait, wait!” The man turned around confusingly, taking his AirPod out of one ear. She caught up, taking deep breaths as she waved at the man. “Sorry, I’ve been out here for an hour and I completely forgot my key.” He didn’t say anything but stared at her, wondering why he’s never seen this woman before. The apartment complex really only had four floors, and he’s sure that he’s seen everyone who’s lived here. She noticed that he looked down at the boxes and back at her. “Oh, I just moved in.” He nodded more understandingly. “Do you mind holding the door for me?” 

“Sure.” Was the first thing he told her before stepping aside to hold the door. She took another deep breath, getting into the correct form so she doesn’t throw her back out, and began to lift the heavy box. He noticed her struggling, and he felt foolish for not offering his help in the first place when he noticed the four boxes on the cement. “Here, sorry, let me help with that. Get the door, yeah?” Luci’s heart flipped once she heard his deep, accented voice before she gratefully thanked him and he grabbed the box from her, replacing her hands with his and the slightest brush of their fingers made her flustered; he held the box tightly to his chest without much struggle. 

“Yeah, let me just get this one.” Luci grabbed a much lighter box that had all of her shoes, and held the door for him with her foot as he made his way inside of the building and to the elevator. He pressed the button with the arrow pointing up, and luckily, they didn’t have to wait for more than five seconds before the bell at the top chimed and the stainless steel doors opened. 

With the heavy box in his hands, he still let Luci walk in first, which made her smile and he followed in as she pressed with the bold ‘4’ printed on it. He held the box in between his chest and the other end of the bar on the wall as they waited in silence as the elevator lifted them up to her apartment floor, and she brushed past him when he lifted his arm, gesturing her to go first. 

Her front door was closed but it was unlocked, which only made sense, so she opened her door, putting the box next to the entrance and politely asking the man to put it next to the one you put down. 

“Thank you so much, really. You have no idea how much I appreciate your help.” 

“It’s no problem. I was the same when I moved here too—forgot my keys and was locked out.” He related to make her feel lighter about the situation since it was an honest mishap. 

“Did you go to the leasing office?” She asked curiously. 

“Yeah, but they were closed.” 

“They’re closed today too! It’s like they do that on purpose whenever someone new moves in.” The man chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. 

She hadn’t gotten a proper look at him since she was too distracted by trying to get into her building, but just by one real look at him, he was very attractive—probably too attractive to where she couldn’t think straight. He was wearing a pastel yellow and white striped button down that was a bit flowy and open, showing his white tank underneath that was tucked into his black skinny jeans. His tank top was low enough, exposing a patch of chest hair and his necklace that rested against his skin, in between his swallow tattoos just below his collarbones. Rings hugged his long fingers on both hands as he held two brown paper bags from Trader Joes. He was handsome, that’s for sure, and she felt like she was going to compare his beauty to all the other men that she was going to encounter in the future. 

“They’re not very good at going into work, but if you give them a call then it’s like they’re a 24/7 help center.” 

Luci nodded, chuckling. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“I’ll help you with the last boxes.” Before she was about to protest and tell him that he didn’t have to help her anymore because she was sure the last ones were light, he made his way towards the elevator and she quickly followed. 

To her surprise, one of the boxes was heavier than the other and she was glad that the man was able to carry it for her. They took the boxes up to her apartment, stacking it on top of the ones that were set down before she thanked him gratefully again. 

“I really appreciate all your help.” She smiled, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Not that I’m doubting your strength or anything, but how were you supposed to get those boxes up to your apartment?” He asked softly, not wanting to offend her by his words. 

“Oh, my brother was supposed to help me, but he had to go back home for an emergency at work.” The man nodded, seeming that was the most acceptable answer, not like he was searching if she was lying. “But thank you for your help. You’re a true lifesaver,” she said with a soft smile on her face. Her tone was a bit flirty than she wanted it to be, but it naturally came out. 

“It’s not a problem. I’ll see you around.” Luci hadn’t closed her door yet, but she found out that he was literally her neighbor on the opposite side of the wall. He didn’t even have to take two steps to get to his place—all he had to do was turn around and he was home. She smiled at the thought of that, glad that her neighbor was already so kind to her. 

As he was fumbling with his keys, he eventually got his door unlocked, and Luci was itching to ask what his name was—maybe make her first friend during her first day living in the big city. The man felt his neighbor's eyes on him, burning through the back of his head, so he turned around at the same time she spoke. 

“Uh, hey,” Luci called out. He was looking over his shoulder, pursing his lips as he raised his brows. “I was wondering if…you’d like to have dinner with me tonight? Y’know, to thank you for all your help and practically saving me while I was stranded.” She chuckled, playing with the tips of her fingers as she looked at him with hope. 

He thought the invitation was nice, but…“It’s okay, really. I, uh, have plans already tonight,” he admitted honestly because he doesn’t make a habit of being dishonest. 

Luci had some thick skin—she grew it throughout the years, and she had always been pretty confident. So many people would think that she could handle rejection well because she’s auditioned for many roles in her lifetime, and had been rejected for most of those roles. But the rejection that her neighbor handed to her so respectfully and politely was one that hit her the most, and she didn't know why. 

Curling her lips into her mouth as she felt the pang of her heart sinking into her chest, she nodded and placed a small smile onto her face. 

“Have fun tonight, then. I’ll see you around.” She grinned, hiding the slight bit of pain that she felt. He nodded, walking inside his apartment as she was in her doorway as well. “Oh, I’m Luci, by the way.” She introduced herself, feeling like she should have done that ten minutes ago, but it had slipped her mind. 

The corner of the man’s mouth turned up into a sly smirk, and she nearly felt herself fall as she gripped the door handle tightly. It was enough to make the pain in her chest disappear, and all thoughts of the rejection that she would think about for the rest of the night vanished. 

“Nice to meet you, Luci. I’m Harry.” 

With that, Harry closed his door, putting a barrier between him and Luci, who was still standing in her doorway. She let out the longest sigh of her life, feeling like she’d been constricting herself from breathing properly for the last ten minutes. 

Luci closed her door and leaned against it, looking down at the boxes that were resting by her feet. She softly smiled, her cheeks were starting to get warm, and she was fully aware that Harry was the cause of it.

come talk to me about your thoughts and feelings! hope you all enjoyed the first chapter, thank you for reading <3 

ty to @sunflowers-styles​ for beta reading!

[buckyjamess-archive]

𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓲 ❁ 𝓫𝓾𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼

chapter eighteen • a/n: last chapter folks- wanna thank all those who interacted/read it, I hope you enjoyed it! ♡ gonna miss these fools, ngl • wordcount: 2k • warnings: nothing but fluff. Parenthood. Babies. Kids.

summary

going through  rough years after losing your husband, you try to raise your daughter the best you can. With the help from the wilson's you make the best of it but the road is bumpy when sam introduces you to his friend.

masterlist

His hands are warmer and maybe even bigger as his fingers are intertwined with yours, gently swaying back and forth, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand or a light squeeze to remind you he's still there. 

a few steps ahead, rosie groans, huffs and puffs as she pushes the stroller the best she can. Talking to her little brother who gurgles back just as much. 

"You're really heavy!" 

a soft pink, round handbag with minnie mouse printed on the front hangs loosely in Steve's other hand. Handed to him seconds after leaving the restaurant by Rosie herself as she offered to push her little brother back home. A heavy diaper bag he'd taken off the stroller to take away some weight, hangs of his shoulder– you told him you could carry one of the two but Steve being Steve, refused your offer and instead clamped his hand in yours.

A day out planned by the man walking next to you. A day with the four of you, letting Rosie and JJ get used to Steve being around for more than the two hours every night before getting tucked in. That Steve wasn't just a friend anymore– though Rosie 'just knew' when you told her Steve was more than a friend, a special friend. 

'I don't kiss my friends like that' 

Rosie didn't mind, or at least you think. She was good with everyone, stranger or not. Opening up to Steve wasn't a problem, becoming friends with Steve came easy for the girl. 

And bucky, bucky would always be dad.

'Now I have three daddies. My real daddy, my normal daddy and steve.' 

And though you never intended to let Steve in your life so quickly, it became serious pretty fast. 

Delicately glueing back each other's pieces left of a broken heart; giving solace, a shoulder to cry on and someone to hold. Steve and you never intended to become this, you were just friends, used-to-be-coworkers. It happened. Bucky no longer floating through your head every other minute or feeling that ache in your chest– just you and Steve and for now after the heartbreak Bucky caused you could in all honesty say that Steve Rogers treated you better than anyone ever did.

The stroller comes to a halt when Rosie stills in front of the apartment block. She let's go of the stroller and places both hands on her sides, bright yellow sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose, she sighs heavily. 

"That was heavy." 

You and Steve chuckle at Rosie her stance as if an old man admiring his self-built furniture, sarcasm dripping from her body yet as innocent as can be. 

"I bet it was, kid." 

"Yes, JJ eats too much." 

"Says the girl who ate all my fries." 

Letting go of your hand, Steve hands Rosie back her own bag which she happily takes– slipping the diaper bag from his shoulder, you wrap your hand around it and carefully toss it over your own. Hand digging in to find your keys. Taking the few steps up the building, you push open the door and watch how Steve casually carries the stroller and JJ up the steps and follows Rosie in the building.

The walk to the elevator is short, the three of you and the stroller packed tight in the small space– you stay quiet, watching the interaction between Rosie and Steve, your heart grows ten times its size. You thank the gods above for giving you all these amazing men in your life, even if they broke your heart in different ways- teaching you the ways of life, giving the best things to ever exist, trusting you, caring about you..loving you.

Riley, your first real love. The one that changed your life forever. Teaching the ropes of this crazy thing called adult life. Be the calm to your chaos. Showed you love like you'd never had before– sure enough about it all to put a ring around your finger and giving you the most important job of them all; be a mother to a beautiful, funny and feisty daughter. Riley who gave you real heartbreak, leaving an empty hole in your heart and took a piece of your soul with him

Sam who stood by your side through it all. Going through the process together of losing a spouse and partner on the field. Your shoulder to lean on when things got rough, a friend of your man turned into your best friend– showing you the meaning of family by letting you into his own.

Bucky who stole your heart so fast, you never had a chance to let it settle– a wild man willing to wait. A wild man who showed you that life after Riley could be something beautiful; taught you how to love again, brought you back to life and gave you the gift you call your son, gave Rosie a father figure. Bucky the best mistake you'd ever made in your life.

And maybe all these men were needed to get you with the one. Without Riley no Sam and without Sam no Bucky, and you'd never have met Steve if you didn't move to Brooklyn. All these men lead you to him.

Steve. The man who picked up the pieces and put them back together– the man you so desperately needed in your life. The calm that Riley once gave you and the wild and silly bucky once showed. The one for real this time.

Even if things didn't go your way, men changing every chapter of your book– life was pretty amazing. 

Steve must've seen the slight wobble of your chin and your eyes filling with tears. His firm hand back into yours, you look up to meet his blues, you shoot him a tight lipped smile.

"Mommy, why are you crying?" 

You inhale deeply, quickly wiping away the tears that have made their way down your cheeks and not trusting your own voice, you smile at your daughter but shrug. 

"You know what I think?" Steve quips, the hand that's intertwined with yours now snaking around your waist to pull you ever closer into his side "I think mom's just really happy." 

Rosie nods unsure but gives a toothy grin "then I'm happy too, then we're all happy." 

"Then we're all happy." 

He reads you like an open book, something you got to love and hate over the last few weeks. Nitpicking little flaws to get under your skin or be the biggest sap whenever you're feeling down; he knows you like the back of his hand. 

"This is so stupid," you breath out a shaky chuckle "Jesus, I'm crying in an elevator–" 

"It's not stupid," Steve reassures "we're all just very happy, right?" 

"Yeah." You nod. 

Squeezing your side, Steve let's you know he's there and plants a kiss to your temple before resting his chin upon your head.

"I love you, sweetheart." 

Bucky can't quite believe it himself; just a month ago he labeled Steve Rogers as his arch enemy and wish bad things upon the blonde and now, now bucky hopes and wishes the blonde would treat you better than anyone else– welcomed Steve into the mess. 

At ease, okay, alright but above all grateful. You didn't kick him out of your life or that of his kids– you wouldn't be the first mother to do such a thing, he's seen it on TV multiple times. Bucky's grateful that you and him still were a thing just not the same. Parents of your kids, friends.

Though jealousy would strike once in a while and he reminded himself of the mistake he'd made, It was good this way.

Big helium balloons in the shape of letters and numbers float above the table shoved against the wall, reading 'JJ 1 YEAR'. Silver birthday garlands hanging from ceilings along the baby blue and white balloons– table filled with snacks, gifts and drinks. Cramped in your apartment but done together– texting back and forth, nights of planning brought you all here, JJ his first birthday.

Friends and family here to celebrate something the two of you made from love.

Bucky leans against the kitchen bar, one hand tucked deep into the pocket of his jeans and the other wrapped around a bottle of beer. Eyes upon the small crowd gathered and lands on Steve, barely on his knees next to a side table, small plastic tiara on his head as Rosie applies makeup on the guy's face from the set she'd just got as a gift from uncle Sam.

Bucky smiles, at least you picked a child magnet, a guy who'll love his kids as much as the two of you do. 

Bucky scans the crowd again and spots you without any problem, another smile on his face at the sight of his godchild hailey holding JJ, probably gossiping around with you.

It's good this way.

"Hey man." 

Snapping out of his own world, Bucky meets the eyes of a man he hasn't spoken to in months; sam. Not since he got to learn about Bucky's mistake.

"Hey." Bucky shoots him a tight lipped smile.

Standing still next to Bucky, Sam leans against the bar in the same stance and follows Bucky's gaze to the crowd to you, his son and hailey.

"He looks like you." Sam confesses "scary." 

Letting his head fall, Bucky chuckles and nods "at least we know it's mine." 

Sam chuckles along till it dies down, silence falling over both men as they keep watching the scene in front of them. How you leave Hailey with her nephew and mingle with some friends– bucky can feel Sam's eyes burning on his face. 

"Told you so, didn't I?" 

Bucky snorts "Let's not go there, I've learned my lesson." 

"Do you?" Sam quips with a grin on his face "No new love on the horizon?" 

Bucky nods, he has learned his lesson and he knows he'll never find someone like you again– he has definitely learned his lesson and definitely not ready for something new.

"No man, I'm going to focus on my kids." Bucky breathes out a soft chuckle "apparently I still have two." 

"Rosie loves you– I have to thank you for that, giving Rosie a father figure." 

"Wouldn't trade it for anything else." 

"I know." 

Another, comfortable silence falls like a thick blanket. Knowing each other well enough to know what they're thinking– a smile creeping on both men's faces at the sight of you pushing yourself past some people and beelining towards the duo.

"Mind If I join?" 

Scooting aside, both Sam and bucky make space for you in between and your arm that snakes around Bucky's back gives him a warm and fuzzy feeling– he pulls you closer into his side with his arm dropped over your shoulder 

"A year ago you nearly passed out." You mumble softly 

"I didn't pass out." Bucky scoffs 

"I said nearly–" 

"Not even nearly." 

"The nurses had to sit you down." 

"They never–" 

"They did!" 

It's a game of back and forth, getting underneath each other's skin and Bucky hopes things like this will never change even if you decided to spend the rest of your life with steve. The silly arguments, the silly fights and the lame jokes– bucky would be alright as long as that stayed. 

The squeeze around his side makes Bucky aware you're still there. Locking eyes with yours, one's he's found himself lost in many times before, he copies your smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing– we did good." You state.

Though things didn't go the way it was supposed to, the two of you did good indeed, more than good even. 

"I think we did amazing." Bucky smiles back.

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder a bit tighter, he places a quick kiss on your forehead before following your gaze into the crowd, his daughter, his son, his family and steve.

It's good this way.

"So, guys," Sam clears his throat from beside you "really gotta know what happened on hailey her birthday party that day." 

"No, you don't." You and Bucky chuckle in unison "you really don't."

Taglist: @farfromshawn @Nicollettemarie @wooya1224 @felicityofbakerstreet @agentmstark @sierrax023 @lilyevanswhore @qhbr2013 @buckybarnesobsessed @themaddies-obx @aloserwithoutacause @aanngie @sebby-staan @sweetth1ng @starrystarkey93 @libidinexx @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @gasly-kvyat @brown-bi-beautiful @peter-laufeyson @im-squished @meshlababy @lindseyrae20 @cb97skies @qwccrr @ssprayberrythings @yougottalovefandoms @jbcalway @realgaytrash @natyvwe @poetryazenth @winterberryfox @ahahafudge @okiegirl24 @0moondoodler0 @why-wait-4-eventually @abzidabzy

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Four

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 4 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: reference to past sexual assault (very minimal); misogyny/sexism; mention of Infinity War deaths/Endgame deaths; abusive parental relationship; canon violence; heavy drinking; reference to cocaine use

Word Count: 13,900+

~

Tony’s Cabin, 2023, 8:56pm

      “Uh…”

You and Steve stared at the little girl in front of you, bouncing up and down with excitement as she held up one of Tony’s repulsors, the safety on but pointed right at the two of you. Steve instinctively pushed you behind him, the obvious fact being that a blast would most certainly kill you and not the super soldier himself. You were having difficulty holding in your laughter, watching as the girl kept poking at the metal, awaiting its true power. 

“Can I have that, Morgan?” Steve asked, his voice raising ever so slightly to try and seem nicer to the kid. 

“Talk to her with your regular voice, Steve. She’s five, not a toddler.”

“Yeah!”

Now you laughed at Morgan’s declaration of approval, still standing behind Steve with your hands braced on his back. 

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes playfully, “Alright, Morgan. Can I please have that back? It’s not a toy.”

“But daddy left it for me!”

You smiled at her, “Yeah, but he didn’t expect you to use it so early! Wait until you’re like… ten, then you can look through his things!”

“Y/N, ten?” Steve gave you a bewildered grin, eyes bright and laughter restrained. 

“Okay, twelve.”

His shoulders sagged with a heavy laugh. He reached over and took the chance, grabbing Morgan’s wrist softly and ejecting the glove from her small hand. 

“There we go!” you cheered, stepping out from behind Steve and scooping her up in your arms. Morgan started laughing loudly, kicking her legs to try and escape your hold. ���Ah, don’t kick me!”

You had offered your time to Pepper whenever she needed it. You didn’t expect that she would call so early asking for a huge favor, her husband’s funeral not even four months ago. But you didn’t hesitate and packed an overnight bag, reassuring her that nothing would explode on your watch. On your way out of the temporary safe house, Steve had caught you just in time. A quick question of your future whereabouts and he was joining you, a tiny twinge of guilt in his chest from not seeing Tony’s daughter in so long. He was one of her godparents after all, just after Happy and Rhodey, beating out the third crowned position from Bruce. 

He had been hurt by that initially, asking why he wasn’t even considered. 

‘Bruce, the first time she comes into your room and stands over your sleeping body to let you know she had a nightmare, you’d scream.’

‘I wouldn’t be angry, just scared!’

‘Okay, after Cap here, you get custody.’

‘Oh, yay. Drafted fourth.’

Steve was happy to go see her on such short notice though, racing back up to his room to gather some overnight supplies as well. But you didn’t think anything of it - it was just a godparent wanting to see his godchild. 

“Ouch, that hurt,” you laughed and placed Morgan down in her bed. “Nighty night time.”

“Daddy said he left things for everyone, not just me.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up with curiosity, a sudden interest to know what his gift was exciting him. He had already given him the shield back... but then Thanos broke it. Maybe, another shield? No, T’Challa had already offered to send him a new one.

“Ooo, that’s interesting! I wonder if he got me that pretty bracelet I saw in that department store window that one time,” you gushed, pulling the blankets over Morgan. You fluffed out her hair, smiled at her, and told her goodnight. 

“Night night!”

Both you and Steve called out from the doorway of her bedroom, “Night night!”

Several minutes had passed before you brought up the prospect of secret gifts again, knowing Steve was just as interested as you were. 

“Want to go find them?”

Steve immediately stood up, clapping his hands together and giddy with excitement. “I won’t tell if you don’t!”

“Deal.”

You searched everywhere - living room, the garage, kitchen cabinets - even racing into the master bedroom, stealthy and secret, shame rising as you carefully picked up items around the room. “This feels like an invasion of privacy.”

Steve chuckled from outside the door, “Hurry up!”

But you found nothing. There was only one more spot to look - his office. You almost didn’t want to intrude any longer, this being his most sacred space, but the mere chance of Tony giving you a gift from the afterlife made you extremely happy. So you and Steve searched, stacking and restacking random papers and pushing away gadgets and books in the bookshelf. Finally, a small opening in the third shelf alerted you of your mission success. 

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you cheered, reaching in and pulling boxes and clipped pieces of paper, all different colors and sizes, from the compartment. They were labeled with various names - Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, Clint, Thor, Steve, Nebula, you - and Natasha. 

Steve sucked in his breath, his gasp similar to yours. “He got these before…”

“Yeah,” you nodded, handing Steve his labeled box. It was light blue, a white ribbon delicately wrapped around it, and with a cute little red ribbon with Steve’s name on it. It wasn’t big, but it was more than enough. 

“Open it,” you said. 

Steve shook his head, “Let’s open ours together.”

You agreed to his terms, taking your folder into your hands. It was one of those same art folders you had when you bought some new planners or notebooks. It was black, custom-made it seemed, as it had your name on the front in gold, cursive writing. 

On the count of three, you both opened your presents. 

Steve pulled out two sets of dog tags from the box, the sound of them clinking together reminding him of the times he would hug his fellow soldiers on the battlefield, cheers of victory mixed in with the smell of sweat and dry blood. He read the names on the metal. 

‘Steven G. Rogers

987654320 T42 O

Brooklyn, NY. P.’

‘James B. Barnes. 

32557038 T41 42 O

R. Barnes

Shelbyville, IN. P.’

He had not known they recovered his dog tags, faintly remembering clutching them tightly as he flew the plane into the ice. But SHIELD must have kept them for the museum, and Tony had recovered them. Bucky’s, however, were lost as soon as Bucky fell from that train. They were more rusted than Steve’s, almost as if HYDRA kept them underwater or stored for the majority of Bucky’s sentence. But no matter how Tony had gotten them, he was eternally grateful. 

“Wow,” Steve said, clearing his throat. But you were too caught up in your reading. 

      ‘Target whereabouts discovered mid-May of 2017. Only T. Stark and N. Romanoff approved for mission.

      Transport at 20:00 hours. Target(s) confirmed and exterminated at exactly 0802 Pacific Standard Time.’

You choked on the sob that suddenly broke through, hand instantly reaching up to cup your mouth. Steve put his tags back into the box, shushing you to get you to calm down. “What is it? What’d he get you?”

Four pictures accompanied the short report, each face crossed out with red paint. A tiny laugh escaped and tears of joy started to flow. To say Steve was confused was an understatement. 

“He… he got me justice.”

Steve took the file from you, reading over every word to somehow understand what you meant by justice. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and he looked up at you for more explanation.

You brushed your hair back and rubbed at your cheeks, the smile on your face now straining. Whether it was a sudden change of mind or the closure of your trauma was just that satisfying, you told Steve exactly what Tony and Natasha had done for you. 

“After I joined you guys in New York, Fury sent me on a mission to infiltrate and bring back information about this dude my father was trying to literally destroy. But I had to play both sides  - the good and the bad.”

Steve set the file down, his full attention on you.

“I got the information but for some reason, it wasn’t enough for my father. I had forgotten to get the most vital piece, something he thought I would automatically know,” you scoffed, your smile faltering at the next part of the story. 

“I cost him ten million. And to teach me a lesson, he let these men do whatever they wanted to me. Anything.”

Steve’s breath hitched as he understood what you meant. And it was no longer a mystery why you had been planning to kill him ‘again’ after everyone came back from the snap.

“I returned to the compound in such bad shape. I only told Natasha. She cleaned me up, she took me to med-bay in the middle of the night, she brought me breakfast in bed,” you chuckled at the memory, hand reaching out to hold Steve’s. 

“And Tony’s gift was murdering the men that hurt me.”

Steve let a few tears slip himself, his hand gripping yours tighter. “Y/N, if I would have known-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t know, though. I thought only Natasha knew. She promised me she would take care of it. I just didn’t think she would actually find them.”

“I think we know that Natasha could find literally anything and anyone,” Steve said. 

You agreed with his statement, a smile returning to your face. 

You jumped from your sitting position and went back to retrieve Natasha’s gift. “Hey, should we?”

Steve eyed the small, black box in your hand. He sighed as he walked over to you, eyes returning to the box. 

“It was meant for her.”

You frowned, “Yeah, and I’ll ask Pepper if we can give these to everyone else.”

You paused and shook the box near your ear. It felt heavy in your hand, and the contents gave a little jingle. 

“But this one was for Nat. I think she’d want us to at least see it.”

Steve chuckled and just nodded, awaiting the reveal. You pulled the ribbon and opened the box, surprised that Tony had given her a piece of jewelry. “Oh.”

Steve took the bracelet from the box, oblivious that the movement would unlock the charms from their heavy chests. In a matter of seconds, charms of similar size but different designs dropped to encircle the silver band. You inspected them in Steve’s hand - a red/white/and blue shield, Mjollnir, a pair of wings, two arc reactors, a singular arrow, a silver arm, a spider, an emerald heart, the letters ‘W’ and ‘V’ intertwined, a black cat, an ant - and your symbol, an intricately carved silver charm no bigger than your thumbnail, of your face. Tony knew no specific object or symbol was tied with your Avengers status, no one had ever given you one, but this was perfect. 

“Wow,” Steve whispered, examining each charm closely with a lazy smile on his face. 

“We were her family. This was an ode to that.”

“What do we do with it?” Steve asked.

You just shrugged, “Frame it? It would feel wrong just taking it for myself.”

Steve agreed. Later that night when Pepper returned home, you showed her what Morgan led you to. She let you keep your gifts and take the others, absolutely loving the idea of framing Natasha’s bracelet in the new compound being built. 

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

     The bright light from the open windows hadn’t hit you as suddenly as the random throw pillow that connected to your face, startling you with a quick gasp and causing you to choke on your spit. You snapped up, belly down and hair wild, eyes still half-lidded as you searched for the aggravator. And he stood there with a stupid grin on his face, already dressed in his stupid old man clothes, and stupid blond hair perfectly pushed back. 

“What the fuck was that for?” you tried to yell, voice cracking at the end and just the slightest hint of drool threatening to spill from the corner of your mouth. 

“I ordered room service. Plus, we have to leave in an hour.”

You grabbed as many pillows as your one free hand could hold, the other still tucked into the pillowcase below your head. You flung them wildly, none actually hitting the super soldier directly. His chuckle pulled a deep groan from you, and no longer wanting to look like a fool, you stumbled out of bed and pushed passed him roughly. 

“You could have woken me up the same time you got up.”

“But you looked so peaceful.”

His sarcasm was not helping your souring mood. Steve headed over to the monitors to turn them on, already setting up the morning video chat with Bucky and Sam. “Do you always sleep like a mounted spider?”

You flicked him off, “Leave me alone so I can take my morning piss in peace!”

You slammed the door and made your way to the toilet. Now, you were no morning person. But it was simple enough for you to crawl out of bed with only minimal protest when your awakening was a peaceful one. Having a pillow thrown at your head while mid-dream was practically excruciating and no one, not even the grandest morning person in the world, could possibly awake happy from that. And to top it all off, you couldn’t even remember what you were dreaming of. Just another thing to blame Steve for. 

After you had done your morning routine and slipped into a really comfy outfit, the breakfast finally arrived. You muttered a quiet thanks to Steve for ordering your favorites and damn him for knowing you preferred waffles over pancakes and a variety of creamers to choose from, and quickly filled Bucky and Sam in on what the plan for the day was. 

You had been on missions with Steve before, but no matter how many times you regrouped in the mornings, you had never actually seen him wake up. After your rude awakening, you wondered at what point during sunrise he opened his eyes - ‘cause you’ll be standing over him with a pillow of your own. 

“Torres has the air footage scheduled for around five today, then he’ll link you to the camera for the remainder of the mission,” Sam clarified. 

“Is it possible to link earlier?” Steve asked. 

“Not unless you can get the Wi-Fi password of the estate.”

You chuckled, still funneling mouthfuls of waffle into your mouth. “So, we can hack the Pentagon whenever we feel like it, but we can’t hack into my father’s estate without the Wi-Fi password?”

Sam cleared his throat, “You are so lucky this is a secure line.”

“Wait until she finishes her breakfast and her head will be screwed back on straight,” Steve joked, taking a long sip from his tea. 

Almost immediately, your phone dinged with a new message. You angled your phone away from Steve but your smirk was enough to alert him of a side conversation happening under his nose. 

Bucky: Ouch, I wouldn’t mind if you hit him upside the head.

Y/N: he threw a pillow at me to wake me up :(

Bucky: hit him

Y/N: bet

“Stop talking about me over the phone.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve grumbled, the rough sound catching Sam’s attention as well. His eyes flashed back and forth between the two of you - Steve desperately trying to catch a quick glance at your messages, and you leaning away from him with thumbs moving at a rapid pace. 

“Y/N, how you feeling?”

You put your phone down and pretended to not notice how Steve was trying to get a glimpse of your screen. 

“A little queasy, in all honesty.”

A myriad of emotions were present and coiling in your body, each trying to sprout and bloom and gain their five seconds of fame. And for the past several years, it was easy to downplay their true power. Because the power they held wasn’t one of distressing strength, but rather one that tip-toed to the front of your anxiety driven worries. It planted itself there, up front, but ever so silent. For it to finally meet its match, to possibly be freed of such a coil - well, you were more worried about not succeeding in its erasure than its final blooming. 

“We’ve come up with a system to make sure we both don’t go overboard or to tell the other that we’re alright,” Steve said, eyes on the monitor but hands loading bullets into your trusty handguns. 

“Alright, that’s good,” Bucky spoke, finally. He typed away on his keyboard, “Give us a word we all use in case we need back-up immediately.”

“Mm, you should ask Steve. He loves his safe words.”

Steve rolled his eyes, “Something Avengers related? Or something no one would ever say?”

“Pick anything you want, just don’t let it be awkward to repeat out loud,” Sam joked. 

Steve pondered for a few seconds before he settled on his chosen word, a hint of a smile forming. “Widow.”

You nodded, “That’s sweet. She’d like us using her alias for a dirty little safe word.”

You huffed suddenly, shoulder colliding with the carpet, the realization that Steve pushed you from your chair causing you to stare at him with your mouth hanging open. “Hey!”

“Steve, every single day I accept your fate from her murderous hands,” Bucky grumbled, Sam’s loud laugh causing the speaker to give a quick halt of static. 

“She’s okay- hey!”

You flew across your chair and onto him, lunging your body as your main weapon in taking him down. You both tumbled to the floor, the sofa chair you collided with scraping along and pushing the coffee table with it. A lamp shattered on the floor right when you wrapped your arm around Steve’s neck and hooked your legs from underneath him and around his waist, his back to your front, both his arms coming up to tug yours out of reflex. 

“Yield, you little shit,” you grunted, the grip of your arm remaining loose on purpose but your legs tight, heels now digging into his slim waist. 

Steve groaned, both from your pointy heels and the sudden impact his body made with the ground. “I’m letting you win.”

“You seriously got a mouth on you.”

You let him go anyway, choosing to save your strength for the mission and not waste it on a petty little fight. Besides, you could always smother him with a pillow in his sleep. 

“You two done?”

Both you and Steve stumbled getting up, faces back in your teammate’s view as you smoothed down your clothing and wiped at your foreheads.

“Now that that’s over,” Sam continued, clearing his throat. “The only task for today is to get a feel of the place, establish a legit backstory providing you some leverage, and to swipe those ID’s.”

“Got it,” you acknowledged, standing again to begin hooking your weapons in discreet locations in your clothing. 

“And we’re not responsible for that broken lamp so it’s coming out of your paycheck.”

     California really wasn’t like any other state. There was a vast difference from Northern and Southern, the difference being the amount of green fields visible. In Southern California, the mountains and desert areas took up most of the landscape, with an industrial complex here, a growing city there, and then nothing for a good ten miles. Since most of the landscape was below sea level, the atmosphere was almost always dry, modest dust storms forming only to quickly pass a freeway and disintegrate once it found the other side. It was more urban, more lively with people. But Northern California, even if it experienced the same weather patterns as the south, was mostly humid during the winter season. The mountains here were covered in lively agriculture, livestock roamed freely in the gated areas near the freeways, and the overall environment provided a rural look. 

 And the differences just stood out to you, your excitement for the livestock starting to annoy Steve as you kept pointing out every cow you drove past. He threatened to stop the car and dare you to tip one. 

“So, how did we meet?”

Steve chuckled, “We’re coworkers, Y/N. Thought that question was obvious.”

You whined, “Steve, we have to put some drama into it! How about we say we met during one of Tony’s parties after Fury assigned you to this?” 

“And what? I asked you to dance?”

You leaned over your seat and poked his arm, teasing him. “Would you have asked me to dance?”

Steve shrugged, “I mean, sure.” 

He glanced at you and then back to the road. “Can’t we just be honest? I like the way we met.”

 You pouted, “The way we met is a matter of national security.”

   “You brought that thing back to an unguarded planet?” Loki seethed, his voice still a whisper as he followed Thor through the hallways of Avengers Tower. A tower he had been prisoner of for a few weeks now, but would soon be released from once Thor decided to return home. Besides, it had been more than a year since his unfortunate attack and after thousands of apologies, brainwashing excuses (which were true!), and quite a few long labor hours equivalent to Midgardian community service, his leash was extended somewhat. 

“How am I the more level-headed one right now?”

Thor grumbled in response, now on his hands and knees as he searched for the tiny animal that had already eaten its way through the plush of the interior walls. “It couldn’t have gotten far. And how was I supposed to know the oxygen levels here would cause it to go crazy?”

“You couldn’t. In fact, I don’t know why it’s here in the first place!”

“Keep screaming, Loki. I bet that would make it come to us quicker!”

Loki was about to come up with another quick quip, but was interrupted by a quiet mumble down the hall. 

“Oh?”

You rocked back and forth on your heels as you stared at the two brothers - one sweeping the floor on all fours and the other ducked down to scream into his brother’s ear. “Whatcha looking for?”

“Now, don’t be alarmed, Agent. But I may have misplaced my dog.”

“Dog?” Loki tilted his head, hands now cupping the side of his head in disbelief. 

Your eyebrows shot up from his reaction, “Not dog?”

“It’s… an animal from Asgard.”

“Okay, what does it look like?” you asked, now more interested than ever. 

Thor cleared his throat and rose to his feet slowly, “Like a dragon.”

You stepped back, almost tripping over your left foot. An involuntary laugh escaped from your lips and you brought a hand up to try and stifle it. “You brought a dragon into the tower?”

“He brought a dragon back to Midgard,” Loki clarified as he walked over to the wall and pressed his ear against it. 

“Oh, yeah. That’s much worse,” you agreed. “Fury’s gonna shove his foot so far up your ass-”

“Yes, yes. I know what awaits me. Now, help us find it!” Thor begged. 

This wasn’t how you expected to spend your first day as an Avenger. After all the training and promoting, the paperwork and oaths, you thought you would have a pretty chill afternoon. Arrive at the conference room, get the name badge and a rundown of your new field suit, and meet the rest of the team. Freshly nineteen and energetic as ever, you accepted this as a test. Find the dragon, make a good impression. 

It only took a few more minutes before you three stumbled on an otherwise empty hallway, staring down the colorful creature as it licked one of its paws. 

Your eyes widened, “It looks like an alebrije.”

“You have these creatures on your planet?” Loki asked, surprise written over his face. 

“Nope, alebrije’s aren’t real. They’re fantasy.”

“Nevermind that, help me catch it!”

Loki began shushing his brother, hands swatting his massive shoulders in the process. You leaned down to the floor and tapped it with your fingernails, hoping the nice gesture would cause the creature to meet you halfway. 

“Hey, buddy,” you cooed. “Can you come here please?”

The creature raised its head, colorful eyes on full display. Similar to rings of fire, but face like a fox, and fur as soft as silk. It titled its head, interested for only a second, before it kicked back and rushed toward the three of you at full speed. 

“Oh, shit-!”

As he was the closest, Loki pushed Thor to the wall and lifted you from the ground. But before he could throw you out of the way too, the creature leaped. Loki shielded you with his body, wrapping his arms around you and picking you up as the creature kicked his back and sent the two of you flying through wall after wall. Loki was taking the force of it all, his chest angled in a way to protect your head. It was about ten walls you two flew through before you landed in what seemed like conference room B… or C… or A. Loki rolled you over and groaned in pain. You landed on your back, bright lights blinding you as you tried to adjust. Then a figure came into view as your blurry vision cleared. 

You blinked rapidly and stared up at your new Captain. You smiled, a bit delirious, and raised your hand up for a handshake. 

“Y/N Y/L/N, new recruit!”

Steve just stared, eyebrows scrunched, an expression resembling a scowl and bewilderment painted on his face. He took your hand in his and shook it. 

“Forgive us, Captain,” Loki spoke, coughing as he turned over. “But you might want to get that shield of yours.”

    “When did we become a couple?” you continued once you agreed on the ‘party meet-and-greet’ as your previous answer. 

Now, this was a question Steve was wondering about since before you mentioned the necessity of such answers. Although he didn’t fantasize about being your significant other, he did wonder what possible event could jumpstart it. If anything, and he would take this to the grave, he assumed a line would be crossed during a particularly tempting mission. Bucky had admitted to him that on one mission, and Steve promised to take this to the grave as well, Bucky had to kiss Wanda to keep their cover. The feelings subsided soon after the mission was over, but Bucky confessed to real feelings developing. So if Steve had to bet, a particularly tempting mission. 

“When we were searching for Bucky?”

You nodded, “That works. We can say the fall of SHIELD basically led to us to realize how weak the system was and how we could easily manipulate it.”

The road veered off to the side, now dirt and unevenly layered. You checked the directions Torres gave you just to make sure. 

“And when is my birthday?”

You didn’t expect Steve to answer so quickly, and to get it right. Perhaps he looked over your file and remembered, because you were certain only your little friend group knew it. It was Bucky, it had to be him, the little shit, he told- 

“Surprised?”

“A little. How do you know it?”

“Nat. Who do you think sends you those chocolates every year?”

You were overjoyed, really. “Wha-? Natasha said she did it.”

Steve smirked, “She covered for me.”

“Why?”

“Because for five years after the snap, you and Nat did nothing for yourselves and did everything for everyone else.” He had been witness to the two of you pulling all-nighters, washing the sheets of your fallen teammates as if they were going to return that weekend, celebrating their birthdays in secret with a small candle and a prayer. Moving from the compound and into his own apartment was hard enough, but seeing his remaining teammates wallow in cursed self-determination was worse. So, he asked Nat about your birthday to send you chocolates and a lovely handwritten note, careful to write in a font different from his natural one, and he would fold tiny paper airplanes and leave them around the compound where only Nat could find them, providing her a sense of playfulness in her busy day. Little joys to make up for such an impact.  

“If it makes you feel better, I sent gifts to Nat and Bruce, too.”

But because Bruce had no forwarding address at the time, Steve settled for quick text messages here and there. 

“And here I was thinking I was special.”

Steve laughed at your statement. He reached into the middle compartment to grab the mics you would be wearing. “By the way, make sure to hide this behind your neck. My mic will blend in as a button.”

You inspected the flat, button-like mic, awed by how intricate their design was. “They connected to Bucky’s?”

Steve clipped his onto his shoulder, the camouflage effect throwing you off. Yup, you loved science. “Yeah, they record everything and immediately send it back already transcribed.”

You unfolded the sun visor and watched how the mic picked up the color of your skin and blended naturally. “Remind me to send T’Challa and Shuri a gift basket.”

“And more.”

The estate was exactly how you remembered it. Modern and simple all at once, a brown exterior to easily blend into the surrounding forest, and massive front gate that only opened with a specific code. You leaned out the window and typed it in. There was no speaker this time, probably evidence of newly installed cameras. 

“It’s beautiful,” Steve muttered, pulling into the long driveway and following the brick road. 

It truly was. Even from where you were, you could see into the mansion as the walls were all practically made from glass. The walls in the back were normal, however, as that’s where most of the business was conducted. There were no swing doors, only large and heavy double doors made from cooled lava rock. And even though your father was a very organized man, the house was littered in trinkets of all origins: professionally stuffed exotic animals, roman and oriental statues, porcelain eggs, multiple pianos, and first editions of some of the most popular books in the world. There wasn’t any set theme for this house, but it was screaming ‘money’. 

Steve parked the car away from the others, careful to leave enough room around it to ensure an easy escape if needed.

“Remember what I said - play the part. Leave the smart mouth to me, they know me. It’s what they’ve come to expect.”

Steve clicked his seatbelt and sighed heavily, “I apologize in advance.”

You gave him a small smile, “Nothing to apologize for, Steve. Like I said, this is a mission. Don’t stress about it.”

He shook his head, “Still.”

The sincere look in his eyes sent a tingle down your arms. You cleared your throat, “I feel dirty saying this, but know your place. You may be a Captain but you’re not manning this boat.”

For some reason Steve felt that he truly needed to apologize in advance. For the past several years, it wasn’t entirely real to him. He had not been directly involved. But now that he was here, parked and staring at you - the one person who had a first hand account of the horrors inside - he needed to make sure you understood he would never actually hurt you, or you him. “I trust you.”

You removed your seatbelt and opened the door, “I trust you, too.”

It was windy today, the ruffles from the trees almost disguising the labor coming from the back. You assumed they were still building the reception area. Steve jogged over to your side and hooked your arm in his, his body tenser than yours. Someone opened the heavy doors, immediately swallowing the oxygen for miles with merely their presence. You couldn’t help yourself from a small grimace, lips spreading into a straight line as you forced any other expression besides hatred. 

Seda, standing at barely six foot and a smug look plastered on his aging face that worried even Steve. This was the man that had shot you when he was on the run - the man that would most likely do it again. 

Seda quickly stepped down the stairs, “Y/N, so lovely to see you again!”

You let go of Steve to walk ahead, arms extended to match the idea of a grand entrance. “Really? Because the last time we saw each other, you shot me in the gut.”

Steve swore he saw Seda’s upper lip twitch. “You hold too many grudges. I was just following your father’s orders.”

You rolled your eyes and finally came to a stop in front of him, arms crossed over your chest. “Obviously.”

“And I’ve finally got the chance to meet Captain America! You’re much larger in person.”

No matter the acting skills one must obtain for this line of work, it was still obvious Seda was speaking through clenched teeth. He scanned Steve up and down, somewhat intimidated.

It was such a sudden shift, one you obviously knew was coming, but the deepness of Steve’s voice still caused unnatural goosebumps to rise. “I get that a lot. Helps in this business, though.”

Seda let out a low chuckle, “I would think so.” He turned and instructed the two men who had followed him out to reopen the heavy doors.  “This way.”

Steve tried not to gawk at the amount of decorations and old-timey artifacts he swore should belong in a museum. So much furniture, so much history that shouldn’t mix but somehow worked. And was that… was that a stuffed polar bear?

“So, how you doing, Seda? Besides the usual,” you asked, hooking your arm back with Steve’s. 

Seda walked with his head held high, only tilting his head downward when giving a silent greeting to those who walked by. You tried to memorize faces or see if there was anyone you recognized. But your father barely kept the same team for more than a few years. They either left voluntarily and luckily, or were simply never heard from again. 

“Excited for the wedding. Jackeline has been running around nonstop on her finishing touches,” Seda responded. 

You huffed out a laugh, “I bet she has. She used to have a scrapbook that outlined six different wedding themes.”

“And I haven’t seen the end of it.”

Only a few more twists and turns and you were finally near the familiar hallway that housed your father’s darkest work. The interior design was purposeful, no windows and no cameras. Steve unhooked your arms, opting for a more formal presentation between the two of you. Seda was difficult to please, but your father was near impossible. Better to not have his hands all over his daughter during their first meeting.  

“Hey, what’s the wi-fi password? I’m expecting a few important emails today,” you asked before Seda opened your father’s office door. Steve had to restrain himself from blessing the ground you walked on. Bless you for remembering. 

“‘Guadalajara’.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, sending the password to Torres as quickly as you could. 

It wasn’t the grand entrance you expected, truly, but you didn’t expect to see your father simply chilling behind his desk signing a few papers. He usually paced, was in a random meeting, or on the phone. Here, he was just… strangely normal. 

He looked up, eyes locking with yours for the first time in seven years. “Now, I haven’t seen you since your little weekend trip to Jalisco!”

Yeah, since you had me shot. 

Stepping into the office, the smell of cigars was heavy. Musty and daring, enveloping you like the times it did before. But now you had Steve - sweet Steve whose warmth you could feel behind you. 

You shrugged, “I’m not traveling much outside the country these days. Too much shit going on.”

Your father stood up and let out a dry laugh, “No lie about that. Seda was telling me how loose the borders were when half the world croaked.”

“Emigration was common, yup.”

He smiled at you, walking over and placing his hands on your shoulders. You did your best not to tense your muscles. “I wish I could have been there. You guys made millions those five years.”

You swore you heard Seda scoff near the corner of the room. 

“It’s about time we met! Ernesto Vega,” your father introduced himself, holding out his hand for Steve to take. 

It was instant, the change, and you found yourself pushed softly to the side as Steve stepped forward. “Steve Rogers, sir. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Your father was practically beaming, “Y/N isn’t giving you a hard time with all the business, aye?”

Steve chuckled, “None at all. She steps back when asked.”

Okay, maybe he was a better actor than you took him for. 

“I can’t believe you even have to ask,” your father hummed, glancing back at you with a disapproving look. 

Steve shrugged, “More like ‘ordered.’”

It was scary how easily Steve was making your father laugh. “So, she listens to you? I wonder what that’s like.”

You interrupted, scoffing quietly. “I have literally done everything you’ve asked.”

And without glancing at you this time, your father quipped. “Everything but learn how not to complain.” 

You rolled your eyes and met Seda’s stare. He always enjoyed the torment your father caused you. When he ordered you do something sketchy and you objected, Seda always had a front row seat to the slaps and harsh language spit in your face. He had a way of bringing up the abuse in almost every conversation he held with you - like it gave him some form of sick satisfaction.

“Regardless of my daughter’s inability to listen, I was still surprised when she named you as her partner.”

“The whole hero game was getting boring. I needed excitement.”

Your father agreed, “Don’t we all?” 

Before he continued, he squinted his eyes at Steve and scanned him once more. Almost like he was double checking his initial choice. 

“And you’re fine with breaking the laws of the country you’re the mascot for?”

“America has changed over the last hundred years. Trust me, I should know.”

Steve was answering exactly how you two practiced. You couldn’t help the small tinge of pride that it ignited. 

“Oh, I can’t believe you’re older than me. I mean, look at you.”

“The positives and negatives of being America’s science experiment, sir.”

“But here you are now. Working for me.” Your father stepped back to sit behind his desk again. “I’m very happy.”

“Likewise, sir,” Steve replied as he shuffled closer to you, trying to not seem so suspicious. Last time Steve wanted to crawl out of his own skin was when he was barely being introduced to the new world. Times Square really was a concrete jungle, his and Bucky’s old apartment building had been demolished in the fifties, and inflation… don’t get him started on inflation.  

“I’d like you to meet my two friends.” Your eyes widened. No, you weren’t supposed to meet them today. You hadn’t planned for this. 

“Friends and competition alike.”

You tried to keep your voice steady, “Shouldn’t you warm them up before you invite them in? They’re gonna take one look at Steve and freak.”

Your father motioned for Seda to open the door. “Then prepare your speech quickly.”

Before you or Steve could come up with a game plan, your father called out to the new arrivals. “Amigos! Me gustaría presentarles al hombre detrás de toda mi operación.”

The men summoned were completely different from the last time you saw them. Given you saw Ramirez long before the snap and White even before then, change was destined. Ramirez was skinnier, no more protruding stomach, wrinkles almost nonexistent and eyes lively. He hadn’t disappeared with half the world, but one of his daughters did - so getting her back definitely helped his overall health. White, on the other hand, aged overnight. His hair was now gray, eyelids sullen but eyes wide, and his nose was tilted awkwardly, like a surgery to counteract the powder he sniffed. You couldn’t remember if he was dusted or not.

“Tienes que agradecer a mi hija por esto.”

He did not just give you credit for this. 

“No fucking way?” Ramirez spoke, almost like he was out of breath. 

Curse your father for not preparing these two. You quickly reminded yourself where your gun was hidden in case things got out of hand. 

White stepped forward, circling you and Steve as if you were displayed in a museum. “Do we each get our own Avenger?”

“Maybe in the future. But this one’s mine.”

“I’m an Avenger, too. But okay,” you mumbled, offended by his singular statement. Steve’s lip twitched slightly but the look he threw at you let you know he wanted to smile. 

“¿Cómo lo hiciste?”

“Ya sabes cómo es... La gente simplemente sigue mi ejemplo.”

You decided to speak, anything to get White to stop inspecting you like some ancient artifact. “Steve green lights the routes and passages. He’s been a main player all along.”

White squinted at you, “And how long has this been going on?”

“For almost ten years,” you answered. 

White shook his head in surprise, eyes wider than you thought possible. His accent was more slurred than you remembered. “And you’re telling us now because-?”

Your father cut in, “The world is still in ruins. If we combine our forces like we discussed before that unfortunate disappearing act, we’ll be unstoppable.”

This seemed to catch Ramirez off guard, as if he truly didn’t remember the conversation your father brought up. You shoveled his reaction deep into your memory. Maribel would have to look into it.

Still, Ramirez played along. “And you’ll be loyal to us, too? Not just Ernesto?”

Steve nodded, his posture straightening. “I would.”

Now, the two new arrivals looked at you. You raised an eyebrow. 

“Don’t look at me. I do what he says,” you admitted, nodding your head toward Steve.

They seemed to accept that answer. 

“And he’s here to help us move the shipment this Saturday?” White asked.

“That’s the plan,” your father confirmed.

It was time for Ramirez to circle you both. But he did so more casually and without the intent of kicking you in the shins, it seemed. He went to sit on the couch nearest the door, away from the crowd. You could sense Steve tensing up, so you turned your body slightly to the side so you could see Ramirez through your peripheral.

“How do we know we can trust him? What those stars and stripes have to do with us?”

“You hear that Captain?” your father asked, leaning back in his chair with that twisted smile that always made your stomach drop. “Time to prove your loyalty.”

“Are you seriously going to haze him?” you spoke, a hint of a teasing tone on your words. It was time to liven up the conversation, for both your sake, or else your father was sure to go overboard. His hand… where’s Steve’s hand?

“Does she speak for you?”

Steve stepped forward, “No, she doesn’t.”

“Prove it.”

You should really punch your chest to get your heart beating again. Was he going to make Steve try the product? Record something as blackmail? Kill someone?

“Wha-” you began, but were immediately silenced as an arm wrapped around your neck and held you in place. The coldness of the gun’s muzzle tickled just below your chin, still and steady, but nonetheless terrifying. Your father had held you in this position before - hell, most of his men did when asked. But it wasn’t any of your father’s men threatening you under orders - it was Steve.  

“Obviously, I’m not going to kill her. You need her for this whole operation to work. But a little roughing up never did any bad.”

He removed his other arm but kept the muzzle under your chin, grabbing both your arms skillfully and pinning them behind your back. 

You had never seen your father so pleased. “Why are you dating my daughter?”

Steve chuckled and clicked the safety. No, no. 

You scrambled to open your right palm and squeeze what you could reach. Steve seemed to understand right away, and he loosened his grip and placed his other shaking hand into yours. You squeezed tightly. 

“Now, that’s like asking a man why he breathes air.”

No matter the position he currently had you in, you still praised his acting skills. 

“Perhaps. But I know my daughter. Why you?”

Steve kept a firm grip. “Luck?”

“It seems so. Let her go.”

He released you immediately, clicking the safety back on. Seda was in front of him before Steve could place it back on his person, grabbing the gun and emptying it. Seven rounds tumbled and scattered to the floor. This seemed to please both men, as Steve wasn’t presenting himself with an empty threat. He really could have killed you. 

“I’m assuming Y/N has told you stories about me. About my men.”

The floor beneath you was uneven, it seemed, but once your mind stopped playing tricks on you, you settled. You shot a quick glance to Ramirez, his eyes closed and hands clasped in his lap. He seemed distant.

“Only the ones worth repeating, sir.”

“Oh? And which are those?”

“Orders and the like.”

“So, you don’t know much? Nothing interesting? Nothing that could make me seem like the bad guy?”

The room grew hot, whether it was the natural air or the bubbling anger boiling in your stomach.

“Like I said, sir. I ask her what I want to know and she tells me. Other than that, it’s your call.”

The room fell silent as they debated their other questions. 

“How much do the other Avengers know?”

You were about to respond when Steve spoke instead. “Oblivious. I’m still the stars and stripes for them.”

White scoffed, “Those symbols don’t mean shit in this new world. Ridiculous of them to still assume you’re the same man.”

Steve’s jaw tensed, “Exactly right, sir.”

This seemed to be enough for your father. He stood from his chair, walking over to shake Steve’s hand again. So righteous and personal, almost like he hadn’t just ordered the assassination of an old friend a few days ago. “I like you, Captain. You’ve boosted my business, you’ve handled my daughter, you’ve made me a lot of money.” 

He looked away from Steve to look at you now, laying eyes upon a person he hadn’t bothered to reunite with in person. You had fought so hard not to be in the same room ever again, but now you were. A small little office, holding whatever air you were forced to share, on a mission that could change everything. You hated him, absolutely detested the ground he stood on, blamed him for the fallout, the change, the hurt. 

“Seda, you trust him?”

Seda opened the office door and started ushering the other two men out. “I’m getting there.”

Your father laughed, “Always so cynical.” 

Ramirez stood from his seat behind you, already gunning to make a good impression on your Captain. He shook Steve’s hand, “Until next time.”

“Sir,” Steve returned the handshake. Ramirez only adjusted slightly, and held his hand out to you. You looked down at it, momentarily stunned from any attention, but shook it in the way you were taught. Firm, short, and ready for business. You grinned at him and he returned the same emotion. 

“Two Avengers. Wow,” he mumbled, and tilted his head in a farewell. You watched him go, a silly smile on your face. 

You went to take your leave, cautious of being left alone with your father. But as fate had it, he stopped you from leaving so simply. 

“Oh, and Y/N?” 

You turned on your heel, lips plastered in a straight line. You raised your eyebrows at him, already annoyed from the request he most certainly had, no doubt. “Meet me in a few minutes. Alone.”

You forced yourself to nod, turning quickly and leaving the room. You shuffled down the hallway, Steve hot on your trail and reaching for your hand. 

“Hey, hey. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

He tugged you back to him, but you pushed him into the corner room you were originally heading for. You shut the door softly, and allowed Steve to grip your hands in his. 

“Well, you gotta. Link our mics. You’ll hear everything.”

“Safe word?”

You chuckled lowly but retracted the teasing attitude when you saw genuine worry written on Steve’s face. “Widow, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you back there. I couldn’t think of anything else to do-”

You shushed him, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

“I fuck with you all the time but I would never take it that far.”

Where was this coming from? Steve looked like he was about to start hyperventilating. “I’m good. You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine, see?” you placed his hand on your chest, making sure he could feel your heartbeat. “I’m good.”

“You’re good?”

“I’m good.”

Steve removed his hand and placed it over his own chest, rubbing slightly. “I’ll be right outside when he talks to you.”

“I know you’ll be. Now, stand guard, whistle low to alert me.”

“This the room? You know the code?”

It was a simple office as well, but resembled more of a library than a workspace. It was dimly lit, cluttered, smelled of the wooden cabinets and the dust collecting on the books, and lacked any windows as well. You nodded to confirm Steve’s question, heading over to the farthest bookshelf and pushed it away from the wall. The loose dust swooped from the wood surface and into the air instantly, and you had to pause to sneeze down your shirt. 

You wiped your nose, “I’m third in command. My father may have some things hidden but I have to know the codes to shit like this.”

Steve leaned his ear on the door gently, “You’re clear.”

You gave him a thumbs up and fiddled with the outside of the safe. It was built into the wall, black in color and definitely made way before you were born. It was quite rusted, the gold numbers on the lock almost faded. 

“Let’s hope he didn’t change it.” You turned the dial - seven, thirty-three, eighteen - and it clicked on the first try. “Bingo.”

“Did you have a backup plan if that didn’t work?”

You snorted quietly, “Smash?”

Steve rolled his eyes and pressed his ear back on the door. 

Everything inside had been recently rearranged. You figured your father used some of these ID’s when entering the country for the wedding and left them stacked on one another for the quick heist on Saturday.  “We’re in luck! Both my father’s and Seda’s ID’s are here, along with-”

You cooed, taking out your phone and opening the camera app. You snapped multiple pictures, with and without flash. “Stacks and stacks of cash.”

You pulled your purse in front of you and pulled out your wallet to make room, shoving it into your back pocket instead. 

“Help me put this in my purse.”

Steve left his post to help you shovel the ID’s discreetly into every pocket your purse provided, shoving things into corners so nothing protruded. 

“Damn, we gotta leave the money,” you pouted. 

Steve chuckled, “What a horrible thing.”

A sudden, boisterous laugh right outside the door caused you to rip your arm away from the safe, thankfully pulling the last of the ID’s with you. You pushed them into your purse, zipping it up. Steve reacted quickly as well, shutting the safe and rotating the dial, pushing the bookcase back into its original position. 

“It’s Ramirez and White,” Steve whispered, looking around the room for any help. “What do we do?”

“Ramirez…” you blinked, eyes wandering around the room as well. Think, think, think. The doorknob jiggled. “Trust me.”

You ripped your purse off and threw it to the nearest couch. You hooked your arms around Steve’s neck and jumped to wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Oh my-”

In any other scenario, the whimper that left your throat would have been caused by a surge of ecstasy. But you were frightened of being caught, the whimper a blatant signal to just follow your lead. 

“Slam me into the wall, Captain.”

The door flew open just as Steve did as he was told. 

“And I told him it was ridiculous - oh my…”

You lifted your head from Steve’s neck, wide eyes to accompany your surprised state. “Oh! I thought we locked the door!”

Ramirez covered his eyes bashfully, turning around and staring at the wall. “Don’t mind us, we were just looking for loose smokes.”

Opposite to his intruding partner, White laughed at the scene before him. He dipped low, hands on his knees as he joked. “Didn’t think Captain America had it in him! Been a stiff ever since the ice, huh mate?”

You could feel Steve tense against you, and he froze entirely. You drew your hand up to play with the strands of his hair, putting on your best flirty tone possible. “Oh, trust me. He’s pretty stiff right now.”

Steve seemed to calm under your touch, so he turned his head over his shoulder and gave an embarrassed smile of his own. 

“Excuse us again, Y/N. You two enjoy your time,” Ramirez apologized, pulling at White’s jacket to guide him out of the room. Once you heard the click of the door, you jumped from Steve’s grasp and immediately began patting his back. 

“I’m sorry.”

Steve chuckled, his blush rising from his shoulders to his cheeks. “It’s okay, you saved us.”

You inspected him closely, a little embarrassed with yourself. It was a bold move, but one that needed to be done. You stood in silence for a few more seconds, each of you adjusting to such a sudden change of breathing pattern. 

You shut your eyes and groaned silently, “I need to speak with him.”

“Can I wait outside the door?”

You picked up your purse and swung it around your torso, “No, you need to wait in the car. Or smother Ramirez and White, your call.”

The lines on Steve’s forehead deepened, “Y/N, I can’t leave you alone with him.”

You wanted to argue further because Steve really over exaggerated. You fought a whole army of aliens, robots, and even the infamous Winter Soldier. Sure, you lost the battle with Thanos on the first try, you lost a teammate with Ultron, and gained a collapsed lung from Bucky’s insane roundhouse kick, but you were positive you could take your father. “You’re gonna have to. I’ve been alone with him before.”

Steve placed his hands on his hips and gave you a blank stare. “He shot you last time.”

“Ehh, Seda did.”

“Y/N.”

You laughed softly, “Then wait in the living room.”

“The shield’s in the car. If you need help, I may not have enough time-”

Steve and that goddamn shield. The guy was acting like he wasn’t a super soldier. You were annoyed. Annoyed with a pinch of salt?

“You whip that shield out to save me and I swear to god-”

“Okay, okay. I’ll link our mics.”

He fumbled around on his phone for a few seconds before you heard the softest beep from below your ear. 

     The last time you had entered that room alone, you left with a bullet lodged deep in your abdomen and with the threat of having it done again. Stumbling and crashing into the walls and random trinkets, leaving your blood stains on anything you used to steady yourself. This time would be different - it had to be. Your father wouldn’t shoot you with the Captain America waiting in the other room. Then again, your father always seemed to top himself each time you were forced to interact personally. In an instant, he dropped the good guy act. Or, hyped joy. 

Now, his stare was cold and calculated, posture upright like he was awaiting your arrival. You couldn’t help but smile and roll your eyes, a tiny scoff breaking the silence as he returned it. 

“You’re one damn good actor.” 

He chuckled deeply, “We do what we have to do in front of the people who threaten our reign.” 

You kicked the leg of a nearby chair to turn it toward you. Sitting down, you retorted with a chuckle of your own. “You’re not royalty.” 

“We are... you are.”

Third in command. Daughter of the biggest drug lord south of the border? In most cases, you could be considered goddamn royalty. Did you want to be? No, because the title that seemed to fit was ‘a chess piece in the middle of a mad supremacy’. But that was too long.  

“So, what is this? You scared my Captain is gonna knock you off your feet and take your place?” 

His hands slammed the desk. His little basket of pens and pencils toppled over and spilled onto the floor. “I have waited seven, long years for you to bring that man to me. And each time you defied me. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now!” 

You remained seated, a blank stare boring into your father’s. “Uh, probably because he would avenge me. Get it?” 

He wasn’t one for jokes, though. “It would be so easy.” 

Aggravating him further was not the smartest thing to do. And Steve had the same thought as he fumbled with his own thumbs outside, hearing the conversation from afar. He almost wanted to barge in just to put your ass in time out. 

But you had seven years to make up for - a little joke here and there shouldn’t hurt much. 

“You do know I’m an Avenger, right? Trained by Natalia Romanoff herself?” 

You worded your sentence carefully, her alias need not be spoken out loud unless you needed backup. 

“Answer me.”

When his nostrils flared, you knew better than to twist the knife. 

“Steve didn’t sign the accords. He was on the run for two years before you asked me for him. This is public knowledge.”

He pointed his index finger at you, shaking it wildly. “You lie. Why you lie?”

You had to blink multiple times through your shocked state, mouth agape and involuntarily racks of laughter spilling. He couldn’t be serious. You could only repeat the same thing so many times. 

“Like I said all those years ago - He. Was. On. The. Run. No contact. I had no way of contacting him!”

He struggled to grab whatever on his desk to raise toward your face. In this case, he pointed his phone in a threatening manner. “Excuses! Remember the last time you made such a poor excuse?”

The laughing stopped, your mouth immediately shutting. You clenched your jaw to work through your murderous impulses. 

You wondered how your hands would look wrapped around his neck. Red and angry, tightening as each desperate second passes, nails forming crescents as they pressed in his skin. If there was a window, you would definitely kick him out of it. Wave goodbye as he fell dramatically. But the mansion was one story high and you couldn’t magically conjure up a window. God, this would be the absolute best time to have Wanda or Loki here to use some of that dark magic. Either way, you just wanted to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face right now. 

“He. Was on. The run.”

“And I thought you learned your lesson.”

You stood from your seat and leaned on the desk, arms holding you up and face inches away from his. “You gonna send in your men to remind me? With my Captain a few feet away?”

His lips were trembling as much as yours were - face blotchy with silver droplets of sweat and an angry blush now reaching his forehead. For a seventy-five year old man, he still had such a rage in him that didn’t risk a heart attack. Lucky bastard. 

“He best not interfere if it’s what I choose to do.”

Outside, Steve gripped the back door handle to the point it squished in on itself, metal twisting awkwardly and splintering the paint. His free hand was balled into the meanest fist, even his stubby nails wreaking havoc on his pale palm. He was making himself bleed by the restraint. He took slow breaths, eyes closed but ears fully alert. He wouldn’t cry. Not right now. 

“I called you back alone to invite you to breakfast the day after tomorrow.”

Whether it was because he knew you were only a few seconds from lunging yourself across his desk to break his neck or because he was tired from all the energy he had just exerted, your father slumped back into his seat as he spoke. 

“The hotel has free breakfast.”

He shook his head in complete astonishment, “You’re not getting out of this. I have important business to discuss with each of you.”

You continued to stare him down, “Over coffee?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I can’t leave the estate so close to the wedding. Your sister is flying in tomorrow and I have to make sure construction is done by then.”

“Right, ‘cause you’re the best father in the world.”

Being in the same room was suffocating, but you couldn’t help but be fascinated by the man. How unbelievably thoughtless yet calculated he could be. How unbelievably fake yet so damn real in all his hidden meanings.

“Jackeline likes to think so.”

Your sister was sweet, sure, and there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you to not fight one another, being the only daughters and all. But you were eight years old when she was born, already tainted by the world in which she was just born into. Forgive your lack of sisterly bond. When you were sixteen, you dipped. Now, at the sprouting ages of twenty-six and eighteen, you two couldn’t be more different. 

Actually, yes you could. If she thought your father was a good man, she was entirely ignorant of the world she lives in. 

“Good for her. Why don’t we discuss the shipment transport during the most important day of her life?”

“Nice try. That’s what the rehearsal dinner is for - rehearsal.” 

You gave your father a sad smile, “You really won’t trust me. After all these years of following your orders.”

“Now, let’s not go bringing up the past.”

You interrupted, “Why not? You’re trusting my Captain and I to help you move that shipment but won’t trust me enough to tell me where it is right now?” 

He was back to standing but he was much calmer. “Right now, I trust your Captain more than you. What kind of man would leave everything moral behind for a bunch of criminals? A bad one.”

“You’ve known him for like, two seconds.”

Your father searched his pockets for loose cigarettes. “He left everything moral behind for me. For you. And you left me behind for everything moral.”

Rolling your eyes, you backed away from his desk and headed for the door. “Sometimes you don’t make any sense. Is that it? Are we done?”

“You accept my invitation?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“No.” 

     The mansion seemed larger than when you entered, the hallways longer, the walls closing in, the trinkets reaching out to stop you by the wrist. The longer you stayed in this hell hole, the more likely you were probably going to unleash the rage attached to your body in the form of your favorite weapons. Bomb the hell out of this place. 

You marched to Steve’s car. He was already waiting, leaning along the passenger door like he was going to open it for you. If he did, you might kill him too. So, you repeatedly snapped your fingers at him and pointed around the car, silently but angrily motioning him to get in. He didn’t need to be told twice. In fact, he thought it might be therapeutic for you to throw the door open and slam it yourself. It was. 

Steve started the car. He didn’t need to ask, there was no reason to since he heard everything. And so did Sam. Bucky. Scott. It was being transcribed as you swerved out of the estate. God, you wanted to throw up. 

“I’ll tell you when to stop.” 

Steve choked on his breath, “Stop?” 

You rolled down the windows to breathe in the crisp cold air, teeth becoming sensitive as it passed into your lungs. “Once we get past the cameras and nearby neighborhoods.” 

“Did you need-“ 

“When I say stop, stop. Fucking damn, Steve! Listen to me for once!”

Steve didn’t know why he was challenging you. Your father had just brought up one of the most traumatic moments of your life, basically called you a hypocrite and a coward - he tried to tear you down. And here you were, holding it all together like the champ he found you to be. But he never handled your outbursts well, even if they were completely justified. 

“Don’t fucking give me orders if you won’t tell me what they’re for!”

“Stop the fucking car!”

He slammed on the breaks, instincts still kicking in during your argument and he reached his arm out to your side to hold you back from the powerful surge. His body lunged forward, however, chest hitting the steering wheel and horn. 

You scrambled out of the car and ran into the woods, feet guiding you through mud and prickly bushes until they reached a more secluded spot. Steve stumbled along after you, nearly tripping over the same rocks you had avoided masterfully. 

Before he could ask what you were doing, you pulled your gun from its hidden holster and clicked the safety. Steve’s eyes bulged out of his head just in time to see the first round sound off mid-air. He crouched down to the floor and shielded his head. You shot away from him, obviously, until all seven rounds were dislodged, aimed in the sky diagonally. 

Once the last bullet exited, you simply packed everything up. Now calm and collected, you turned around and headed back for the car.

Steve’s voice cracked as he spoke, “Seriously?”

You pushed branches away from your head as you walked, “Seriously.”

“Do you know how dangerous that is? Those bullets don’t just disappear into thin air,” Steve scolded, jogging up to speed walk beside you. 

“So fucking what? I’m keeping the rent low in this area, then.”

Steve sighed in defeat, “Talk to me.”

“Sorry, I’m shutting down.”

“Y/N-”

You groaned, tears of frustration not entirely formed, but in their beginning stages. “You already know what’s stressing me out, Steve. Do you need it in writing?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve lowered his voice. “What do you need me to do?”

“Just,” you paused, stopping to face him. You opened and closed your hands mid-air as if that would help you formulate your sentences better. “I don’t know. But when I find out, I’ll let you know.”

This Steve could accept. So he simply nodded, guiding you the rest of the way with his hand gently placed on your lower back. 

     The drive back to the hotel was fairly silent. The radio provided a calming relief from such drama. Steve would glance at you every so often to check on you, but you were always resting your eyes. This was only the first day of the mission - officially. If you were this drained from one encounter, Steve needed to rethink this whole operation. Whether it was healthy to keep you on, or if the threat was just too large. But no matter the alternatives, Steve understood that this week was going to be difficult either way, and you needed to be present. This was your mission after all. He was just your partner. 

Even with a thousand things on your mind, you were still conscious enough to check your surroundings, check-in with the agent posted behind the front desk, and reconnect your mic with the teams. 

Steve pushed open your room door and threw the car keys on one of the nearby tables. “Nap time?”

You ignored his initial question, “I didn’t think seeing them in person again would be so draining.”

Steve watched you carefully, somewhat scared that you would pull out your gun again and shatter a window. “It was pretty cramped.”

You started to disarm yourself, tearing off your sweater and holsters clumsily. “And they acted like we were all on good terms! Around you, at least. I know they’re acting for my sister’s sake and then we can go back to hating each other after, but really?”

Steve sat on the edge of his bed, eyes sorry. “I really don’t know what to say.”

You threw yourself onto your bed, burying your face into the pillows. You continued speaking, albeit muffled. “You don’t have to say anything - just let me rant.”

“You’ll tire yourself out, Y/N. C’mon, we gotta draft up this report-”

You lifted yourself up and started smoothing down your hair, “I need a drink.”

Steve pointed to the computer, “The report.”

“A drink.” 

“Y/N, it’s getting late. The sooner we draft it, the sooner-”

You grumbled out again, already opening the door and shoving your boots on. “Steve, I need a drink. You know what they do to me, what they’ve done to me, what they continue to do every single day. Now, join me or not but I am going downstairs for a drink.”

Steve paused for a moment, looking around the room hesitantly. “Can I at least take the laptop?”

You threw your head back and walked out the door, “Take the goddamn laptop, jesus fucking christ, c’mon.”

     If there’s one thing you were happy about today, it was that you booked a hotel with a mini bar on the second floor. It wasn’t an outright full bar, but it was low lit, clean and the counters were made from fine wood, and there was a variety of flavors to choose from. There were only a few hotel guests spread out and a single bartender. You and Steve took seats at the counter. 

“Whiskey sour,” you called for the bartender, trying and failing to give him the nicest smile you could. 

Steve settled in his bar stool, “Thought you wanted to drink to drink hard.”

You chuckled at him and extended your arms in a stretch, “I’m mad, not depressed.”

He grinned at your movements - as if just sitting in a bar already loosened you up. “In that case, get me a beer.”

     Natasha had called Steve for help after your fourth beer and fifth whiskey. Her coaxing proved to be pointless, each request of a safe passage home seeming to enter one ear and leave the other. And you’ll end up killing her when you were sober enough for sending unwanted reinforcements, but even she didn’t want to fight you. If you wanted to drown in liquid courage, that courage churning itself into raw despair, then she would allow it. 

Steve stared at you for a few moments. Head hanging low, a deep frown etched into your tired expression, index finger tapping your glass as if you were debating whether to down it in one go or to leave it. Steve had never seen you like this, guard destroyed and face practically pale, just begging to be left alone. And it seemed the whole bar felt the same way, as there was no music playing and everyone was wallowing in their own grief. 

“I can spot you from a mile away, you know?”

Your voice immediately pulled Steve from his own mind and he was surprised you could still form coherent sentences given the amount of empty glasses in front of you. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt.”

You scoffed, leaning away from him as he sat down in the stool beside you. “Natasha sent you. Don’t tell me otherwise.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Good.”

Steve ordered a beer for himself, and although he was driving, one beer wouldn’t impair him anyway. It wouldn’t even cause a dent in his 20/20 vision. 

“Fucking ridiculous, it’s fucking ridiculous!” 

The bar patrons seemed to wince simultaneously and the bartender simply gathered a few of your empty glasses to wash. Steve didn’t hush you, didn’t touch you, didn’t try to reassure you. If you needed to cause a scene, it was time. Your silence for the past week had been frightening, but when Tony returned last night, half dead and without the kid, it seemed to be your breaking point. 

“Wanda destroyed it. She destroyed the fucking stone and all he did was use another to bring it back.”

Steve took a sip of his beer to disguise his quivering lip, but his eyes had no curtain. His waterline swelled with fresh tears, eyes instantly reddening, an undesired sting pinching the corners. 

“Strange must have had a reason. He must’ve, but - how can that reason include the death of trillions?”

“We’re going to find a way-”

“And if we don’t?”

Steve kept his lips on the bottle, incisors biting down only slightly as he took in your rhetorical question. You continued speaking.

“He destroyed the stones.”

“Carol is looking for answers.”

You shook your head and pulled out your wallet, leaving whatever cash you had on the counter before standing up. You stumbled but Steve latched onto your arm and pulled it to hug his waist. 

“Loki?” you mumbled, raising your head to lock eyes with Steve. He didn’t know if you were calling him another name or if you were asking for the God’s whereabouts. “Bucky?”

“Hey, stop, stop.”

“Peter?”

Steve could only nod. What use was it to lie to you? Your new vertical position seemed to magnify the true extent of your intoxication as your eyes finally glazed over and limbs trembled. 

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

Gripping his shirt, you apologized each time it would crumble and you would accidentally tug it downward. But Steve didn’t care. You were practically limp in his arms, heavy and without proper use of your legs. 

“You’re a good man, Steve.”

Steve sighed sadly but couldn’t help the small smile that formed as he looked down at you and found you sporting a silly one of your own. 

“A really good man. I’m happy you’re still here.”

Steve paused for a moment, taking in your words and holding back his own tears. If there was a time he wanted to be drunk off his ass, it would be now. He was somewhat jealous of the brief relief alcohol had given you, loose and not fully aware of the drama of the world. “I’m happy, too.”

“No, you’re not,” you slurred, allowing Steve to guide you to his car. You slumped against the passenger door as Steve searched his pocket for his key. “I heard you crying last night.”

Steve halted his search mid-pat, a hard crease forming between his eyebrows as he lifted his head. “I wasn’t-”

“I cry too,” you admitted, a drunken pout on your face. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Perhaps it was a dirty thing for him to do at this moment because you wouldn’t remember a single word of this conversation in the morning, but he figured there was no immediate harm. He found his key, unlocked the car, and helped you inside. Only once he entered the car himself did he take advantage of your blurry mind. 

“I cried for Sam and Bucky. Who do you cry for?”

You clicked the seatbelt on, mind clear enough for safety precautions it seemed. “Poor Wanda.”

Steve nodded and started the car. “Anything else?”

“Did I ever tell you about the time Loki asked me on a date?”

Steve immediately shut off the car and turned to you. “Huh? When?”

You grinned, small giggles bubbling from your chest. “A few months ago. He was so shy, too. I said yes.”

Steve ignored the twinge in his chest, “How was it?”

You leaned your head back and tilted it towards him, your smile faltered slightly. “Never went on it. And now he’s dead.”

The urge to lean over and wrap you in a much needed hug was there, eating away at him since you called him a good man. But he had taken advantage of this situation far too much, so he simply nodded in understanding and started the car again. 

“I’m sorry.”

You barely heard him, but you mumbled a quick response before letting the alcohol fully consume you. “Me too.”

     You thanked the bartender when they slid you your drink. “I hadn’t seen him since before the world went to shit.” You took a quick sip. “Kinda strange.”

Steve nodded, wondering if he should dive deep into the issue at hand. Instead of outright saying his outdated spiel, he eased into it. He gave you a few needed sips of your drink, at least.  “Y/N, can I ask an honest question?”

You hummed, “My toes are already tingling. You could probably ask me what my kinks are and I’d tell you.”

Steve suddenly burst into a fit of giggles, “You never could handle a sip of alcohol.”

Your eyes rounded at his reaction. Perhaps the alcohol affected him in other fun ways that he didn’t know. “Nope, I’m a lightweight.”

Steve contained himself before clearing his throat, “The question…”

“Go ahead.”

He rolled his shoulders and took a sip of his beer. Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice. “If it comes down to it, and god forbid you’re incapacitated, do you want me to kill your father?”

Your mouth opened slightly, the words stuck behind your tongue. You looked down at your drink, as if some special response was swimming in it. You knew your answer, but the way to phrase it was lost. 

“I don’t want his blood on your hands.”

“But if it was the last choice?”

You sighed, “If you pull that trigger, they’ll never stop coming after you.”

Steve’s eyebrows scrunched together, “But if you pull it?”

You shrugged and raised the glass to your lips. “That’s my life, Steve. Let me deal with the consequences.”

“That’s just it - you don’t have to. At least, not alone.”

God, you hated how perfect Steve sounded all the time. Whenever he was annoying you, fighting you, or protecting you, his syllables were stretched in the most glorious way, dipping into every crevice of the person they were delivered to and warming inches of body slowly. You wanted him to have somewhat of an evil side for once in his life, but no matter how many times you thought he would explode, he didn’t.

Two years ago, when he dropped you from his life in an instant, you had assumed you finally caught a glimpse at this evil side. It was the only time you were truly scared of him. 

“You really are a good person.”

Steve swished his beer bottle around, “I wish everyone would stop being surprised by that.”

“I’m not surprised. I guess I just want to hate you, and I can’t.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped like crumbling mountains and you couldn’t stop thinking about how vulnerable he looked. You wanted to pull him closer and rest your head to his chest, hear his heartbeat and apologize for theorizing a possible hatred. 

“Why do you want to hate me?”

“When you wouldn’t sign the accords, part of me saw that as the mascot of America not caring if he invaded and pillaged everything in his path.”

“But I-” Steve interjected, but you stopped him by raising your hand and waving it gently. 

“I know why you didn’t. Hell, I helped you escape.”

“Why did you help if you hated me?”

Being vulnerable with Steve wasn’t anything new. You were each other’s support system for those lonely five years, but it all changed the moment you defeated Thanos. So, for the last two years you didn’t quite get along. But here, now, you could always tell when Steve was being honest and open. 

“Guess I thought that if you were willing to help me with my family, I should help you with yours.”

His therapist desperately tried to rationalize the experiences Steve would tell, instructing him to look past hard exteriors and accept help from others. That his old friends were still friends, and enemies should never be compared to those he loved. And he knew he was easily blinded when something or someone had the slightest mishap, instantly writing it off as harmful. 

He spoke of you often during his one hour sessions - stories of your blatant silliness and crude jokes; how you would poke your finger into his sandwiches when you thought he wasn’t looking; how you almost beat up a kid and his little gang for baiting Peter after his identity was exposed; and how you and Sam had gotten into a bar fight over something so trivial, so unnecessary, that it was almost unbelievable to see you innocently scoot away from the body on the floor in the police video, as if you had nothing to do with it and those few feet of distance automatically cleared you. 

His therapist would just listen. 

“Did I ever thank you?”

You smiled sadly, “You went into hiding soon after. Then we went to battle, lost everyone, went to battle again, and then…”

“And then.”

‘And then’ wasn’t really something you two liked to bring up. It was still a fresh wound, somewhat patched up, but still open. 

You spaced out for a few minutes, both of you enjoying your drinks. You were no longer drinking to get drunk, not that it was your original goal to begin with. You just sat in comfortable silence, reliving the events earlier that day and drafting an internal report. 

“What are you thinking about?”

You pursed your lips and thought, clicking your tongue when it finally dawned on you. “This was the first time I saw Marcus White sober.”

Steve sat up straighter, “Are you sure? He didn’t look it.”

“Yeah, he usually speaks quickly and he fidgets. But he was coherent this afternoon.”

“Should that be a red flag?”

You took out your phone and sent a quick text to Torres for him to monitor White closely for the next few days, just in case. “A big one. My father referred to him more often than he did Ramirez.”

Steve tackled every idea in his head quickly, speaking as a new one popped up. “They could be planning a move against Ramirez. He’s close to overthrowing your father.”

You raised your head from your phone, “And the wedding would be a perfect distraction.”

“He would kill his greatest rival on your sister’s happiest day?”

You let out a low chuckle, “This man has nothing to lose. It won’t matter who he topples along the way.”

Steve opened the laptop, silently congratulating himself for bringing it despite your insults, and began drafting the report. The two of you worked for the next hour, nursing a couple more drinks before you sent the final copy to Bucky. 

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress​

[neon--nightmare]

also yes plz continue i would read an entire fic

Item #: SCP-4200 SCP-4010

Object Class: Safe Keter

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-4200 SCP-4010 is to be kept in a 40-by-20 yard enclosure, and will be moved to a larger one if necessary. (READ: If it keeps acting up. Seriously, did we HAVE to put the thing in a 420 401 foot... God-*DANG!* it.)

Additionally, SCP-4200 SCP-4010 (NOTE: Can we please just use 4010? This is getting obnoxious.) must be supplied with a new, preferably healthy, D-Class personnel approximately every two weeks. Apon acceptance by SCP-4010, the D-Class is reassigned as SCP-4010-1, and will be promptly disposed of once the time is up. NO instance of SCP-4010-1 should ever be allowed escape or to attain any sort of recovery.

Description: In its natural form, SCP-4010 resembles a gelatinous purple starfish approximately 3 1/4 inches in height. Maximum length is, as of now, impossible to measure without undue risk to researchers. It is a parasitic being, requiring a physical host to survive. Subject has a singular humanoid eye located in the center of its ‘core,’ ringed with ██ small growths resembling teeth that SCP-4010 can fold over the lid as a protective shield, and no visible mouth. (NOTE: Further testing is necessary. What are these growths made of? Can they regrow? Attempting to get a sample may be a good idea. - Dr. Collins) (You do it. “Resembling teeth” my *RAD,* the little *SHED* bit me! - Dr. [REDACTED FOR SAFETY.])

In its natural state, SCP-4010 is rendered unable to communicate in any way with staff, apparently only capable of screeching. Despite this, it is still highly intelligent, and will use any chance it gets to escape. Subject is coated with a self-replenishing, transparent layer of ‘slime’ that allows it to slither around without injury to itself, as well as providing a shield from the sun and other semi-extreme temperatures. Although it looks similar to the slime from a ███, testing has shown it matches no known substance.

SCP-4010-1: Once provided with any humanoid creature, preferably a standard D-Class subject, SCP-4010 will rapidly enter its mouth (or other available orifices) and [DATA EXPUNGED.] Once inside its new ‘host,’ Subject immediately gains the ability to speak with the voice of SCP-4010-1, along with several more anomalous properties; such as the ability to replace any spoken curse word with a “child-friendly” alternative. This, apparently, extends to this very document. (NOTE: How does it know what we’re going to say before we say it? Is the process automatic? Requires further testing. - Dr. Collins.)

When able to speak, SCP-4010 displays a callous lack of care for lives other than its own, stating that it is aware of the suffering SCP-4010-1 experiences and simply finds it amusing. Currently, it is unknown if the subject is capable of any recognizable ‘human’ emotion, but with further testing, it seems unlikely. [SEE INTERVIEWS-1 BELOW.]

Other properties include a bright red Fanny pack (confiscated) that can seemingly hold a limitless number of items, including those that shouldn’t even fit in the opening, but can only be accessed by SCP-4010-1. Subject also has the ability to ‘teleport,’ complete with a cartoony “POOF!” sound, leaving behind a cloud of rainbow smoke. Thankfully, there appears to be a limit on this power, as the subject has not teleported out of the building yet. Although, it has left containment multiple times, and requires constant monitoring to prevent more escapes. (Note: Requesting reclassification to Keter, at least. Scared me half to death when this thing showed up in our break room. Who the *HECK* marked this nightmare down as ‘Safe,’ anyway??? My ears are still ringing from the anti-drug PSA. - Dr. Hart)

Thankfully, all instances of SCP-4010-1 share several similarities, which makes them easy to spot. While ‘possessed’ by SCP-4010, the right sclera of all subjects turns a murky black, and the pupil is replaces with a white, cartoony heart. As possession continues, the heart appears to ‘crack.’ When the crack reaches the heart’s bottom, it will appear to ‘break,’ and the subject will be afflicted with sudden, immediate cardiac arrest. If medical personnel is alerted in time, the subject can be resuscitated, but all brain functions will have permanently ceased.

As this is a very easy way to tell if an acquaintance is afflicted with SCP-4010, the parasite appears to compensate by wearing some sort of eye covering, preferably a pair of sunglasses emblazoned with “YO LO,” slang commonly used in the year ██ and referring to the saying “You only live once.” (Note: Yikes. - Dr. Hart) SCP-4010-1 also maintain a constant speech pattern, constantly using slang such as “rad,” “bro,” “sick,” and “dawg,” as well as speaking in a heavy Brooklyn accent no matter the ‘host’s’ place of origin. Even if the host only speaks a foreign language, once overtaken by SCP-4010, they will speak in fluent English. (Does 80s’speak even count as English? - Dr. Collins)

SCP-4010-2: When left in a host body for longer than two weeks, SCP-4010 will begin to produce smaller versions of itself, labeled henceforth as SCP-4010-2. It appears to show extreme distaste towards these instances, crushing them until they [REDACTED.] When asked why it is so hostile, as SCP-4010 has previously ranted at length about how “murder is unrad,” it simply laughed and stated, quote, “They don’t count as people.”

Instances of SCP-4010-2 vary from SCP-4010 in many ways. While SCP-4010 itself is purple, SCP-4010-2 appear in all shades of the rainbow, though each has a single eye with black sclera. Most commonly, they appear as a single tendril, though some take on the same starfish shape as SCP-4010. It is as of yet unknown if they maintain the other anomalous properties of SCP-4010.

Final notes: As of now, SCP-4010 is classified as *SAFE* Keter, though this may change in the future. Outside of a host, it is harmless, but there’s no way to sustain it without allowing it inside a body. Do NOT let it near other SCPs. Do not listen to anything it has to say. If an associate is speaking oddly, or hiding their eyes in some way, report them IMMEDIATELY. Better safe than sorry, honestly. A D-Class described the thing’s possession as ‘a nightmare you can’t wake up from,’ and I am NOT letting that *SHED* happen to me. - Dr. Hart

Addendum: God, *FUNK* this. I need a pay raise. - Dr. [REDACTED.]

[shemakesmusic-uk]

Wallice has shared her subversive new single 'Hey Michael'. 'Hey Michael' amplifies her blood-thirsty nature, a revenge anthem that finds Wallice turning into a worse villain than her erstwhile love interest. A song about toxic tendencies and how they manifest in our lives, 'Hey Michael' twists and turns around American Psycho imagery. Wallice labels "a revenge anthem for anyone who has encountered a gaslighting, manipulative person. It’s what I wish I would have said to all the ‘Michael’s’ I have met in my life. It can be substituted by many names, we all know or have met a ‘Michael’ though. Somehow the world revolves around them and they just can’t catch a break, because they never do anything wrong and it’s usually your fault. You should have listened to your gut instinct and swiped left on this Michael. This isn’t a man-hating song, it’s just something many people can relate to. Sometimes it’s embarrassing to admit just how bad a friend, date, or romantic partner was and a lot of the time, I would just smile and laugh off stupid remarks but when I think back, I wish I had told them off. But at the same time, my persona in the song is not the best person either. I literally say: I think I want to start a fight, which one is your girlfriend? The whole song is funny because I am so focused on how shitty Michael is that I don’t even think about how shitty I might be as well." Directed by Phil Stillwell, the video takes place at a house party, with Wallice interacting with various 'Michaels' before her behaviour spirals into something much, much worse. [via Clash]

In the same vein as Massive Attack’s suburban groove and social commentary in the mid 90’s, KITA have captured the rhythm and heartbeat of suburban Pōneke; a city abuzz with a vibrant music and dramatic performance scene in their brand new track and official video, ‘Private Lives’. Weaving together elements of vintage rock, pop and soul, and warm hints of synth, KITA have created a skin-prickling piece of magic with ‘Private Lives’, a deeply beautiful track penned in 2020’s lockdown, that delves into the unknown of what happens when the blinds are shut – the parts of life that are unseen by others. "Standing from my kitchen window during lockdown in Aotearoa, sinister thoughts entered my mind about what could be happening behind closed doors for people��, says front-woman Nikita 雅涵 Tu- Bryant. The video tells the story of a father and daughter’s relationship amongst snapshots of everyday life and its monotonous anonymity, while things aren’t always what they appear on the surface. Late at night the father can finally reveal his true self, adorning makeup and sequins, only to be spied by his daughter. The two then share a special moment of dressing up and dancing together, a true celebration of individuality, self-love and the beauty of self-expression.

'Just Chemistry' is the third single from Dance Lessons, a London-based, female-fronted and produced trio, creating what they define as Serrated Pop. 'Just Chemistry' is a delicate hymn to the unspoken. Dance Lessons return with their signature sound – minimal production, sleek vocals and intricate arrangements. Ann says: “'Just Chemistry' is about the over-complication of our relationships. It’s about the things that are left unsaid in-between the awkward text messages and conversations, and how the absence of knowing can be misinterpreted as doubt. Last year was a difficult one. For a long time, I felt at the mercy of my emotions. I doubted where things were going. I lived in the future and found it hard to commit to the present. But these moments of not knowing can be equally thrilling and beautiful. And that’s what the song is about: finding beauty in the unspoken. In most cases, it’s chemistry that makes us fall in love. Things end, all is temporary. Let’s not go to war with one another over it.” Nat says on the video: “A friend told us about this weird and wonderful house in North London that feels a little like stepping into an acid trip. We obviously wanted to check it out. It’s completely surreal, all over the place (in a great way) and generally eclectic, which felt inherently us. We instantly wanted to do something there and asked the owner for permission to shoot a music video. We filmed during lockdown and were let loose embracing all the oddness of it. Ann also designed and created the outfit she wears in the video, something she does with most of her wardrobe. It was shot, directed and edited by our hugely talented friends Ben Hanson and Simon Frost from Borderland Studios.”

Returning with her first offering of the year, North London’s rising star Laurel Smith is ready to reveal her anticipated new single, ‘Out the Cage’ accompanied by an action packed and thrilling cinematic style music video directed by Jeremie Brivet and Jai Garcha. Sticking to her winning recipe of moody, dark, electro-pop production paired with effortlessly edgy tales of narrative lyricism, ‘Out the Cage’ is the next huge single from the young, innovative artist that is sure to follow the same trajectory of success as its predecessor, ‘Game Over’ released late last year. A songwriter and recording artist, Laurel Smith has been writing songs since the age of sixteen. With each single she’s released, Laurel has continued to adapt her sound and aesthetic, consistently honing her craft and evolving her brand. She has carefully carved out her place in an ever crowded industry and proceeds to turn heads at every corner. “‘Out The Cage’ is a song about breaking out from your constraints, both physical and mental. Although it can be interpreted in any way, when I wrote it I created a story around a bored housewife, falling out of love with her husband, she fantasises about tying him up and leaving him to be a badass assassin in a video game type world, roaming the city at night and living a life of unpredictability and excitement”.

Hailing from the Philippines, singer-songwriter Laica is coming off a breakout 2020. Now the 21-year-old is gearing up for the release of her debut album I’m so fine at being lonely. The first single off the project, 'love u lately' is here, accompanied by a music video directed by Cooper Leith. 'Love u lately' is a relatable and infectious track. The song revolves around dating, understanding mixed signals, and the confusion that surrounds that world. Lyrically, Laica walks us through her experiences here, voicing her thoughts and frustrations about someone who she just can't seem to read right. Production-wise, the track is carried by a pulsing synth and a groovy bass. Together, the track feels upbeat. The vibe created by the production stands in contrast with the more emotional lyrics, making the track complex and interesting. The music video takes the concept of 'love u lately' to the extreme, in a fun and playful way. Laica is seen capturing her dream boy and attempting to use witchcraft to finally win him over. The video has a very DIY feel, which could serve to add to the reliability of the track. It’s a great extension of the track and taps into everyone’s most fantasy-driven realities. [via Earmilk]

At first, Emily C Browning wasn't sure what to think. Spurned, rejected, and cast aside, she was angry, furious, and - at times - utterly bereft. Usually she'd utilise songwriting as a vessel for her emotions, but when she was so conflicted, and feeling so negative, that it just didn't enter her mind. The Christchurch, New Zealand artist needed to take a step back, and when she located some perspective, she was ready to act. New single 'I Wasn't Into You Anyway' is a soaring slice of revenge, one that finds Emily C Browning taking full control of her music. Her first solo production credit, its reminiscent of those surging, empowering Maggie Rogers bops, while also containing similar DNA to Sharon Van Etten's work. Lyrically, it's absolutely her own creation, with Emily leaning on those often-hidden feelings. She comments... "Everyday for a month I wrote in my journal: I want to write a song about feeling rejected. But I couldn’t figure out how to keep it light and funny, it can be quite a painful topic and I didn’t want to sound too heavy. But I kept working on it everyday and came up with this song. I then spent another month recording it, trying to capture a sound that stayed upbeat and playful. I put so much time and energy into the song that I ended up completely forgetting about the person who rejected me in the first place (honest, I swear)." [via Clash]

Alt-pop force Holly Humberstone returns with new single 'Haunted House'. The songwriter's potent debut EP Falling Asleep At The Wheel was a sensation, racking up more than 100 million global streams. A bona fide phenomenon, Holly returns with a single that displays a more nuanced, reflective side to her work. 'Haunted House' digs into childhood, and looks at the way memory can frame the way we construct our identities. She comments: "I wrote this song about the old and characterful house I grew up in. The house is such a huge part of who I am and our family. With my sisters and I moving out and living separate lives, coming home feels very comforting and one of the only things keeping us all connected." Playing with concrete imagery and no small degree of invention, 'Haunted House' connects art to life in an enchanting fashion. She adds: "The house is almost falling down around us now though, and we’ve realised that pretty soon we’ll be forced to leave. There’s a cellar full of meat hooks and a climate so damp mushrooms grow out of the walls. Loads of people have probably died here in the past but I’ve always felt really safe. It’s like a seventh family member. It’s part of me." [via Clash]

In 2019, the Boston-born and Brooklyn-based indie rock album Crumb released their debut album Jinx. Crumb haven’t yet announced plans to follow that album up, but they’re definitely working towards something. Last month, the band came out with a one-off single called 'Trophy.' Now, they’ve followed that one with two new tracks, and they’re both winners. The new songs 'BNR' and 'Balloon' both fit nicely into Crumb’s comfort zone. The band’s sound is a rich, sophisticated take on psychedelia, with blissed-out lead vocals from Lila Ramani and with some great funky drum action. The band co-produced both songs with Foxygen’s Jonathan Rado, who’s done great recent work with people like Father John Misty and Weyes Blood and the Killers and who knows how to make oblique ’70s-style pop sound good. But Crumb themselves deserve a ton of credit for coming up with a sound this layered and weird. They’re the rare circa-2021 band who might remind you of Broadcast. In a press release, Ramani says, “‘BNR’ is an ode to my favorite colors. I had a weird obsession with those colors in winter 2018-2019 and felt like they would follow me around everywhere I went." 'BNR' also has a cool music video. Director Joe Mischo starts the clip off as a hallucinatory reverie, but he turns it sharply towards horror at the end. [via Stereogum]

Last year, Limerick poet/musician Sinead O’Brien released her debut EP, Drowning In Blessings. It was a unique work, a handful of songs featuring O’Brien’s sing-speak over spindly, post-punk guitars. It garnered O’Brien a bit of buzz overseas, and it left you wondering where she might take her music from there. Now, O’Brien’s back with a new song called 'Kid Stuff.' “‘Kid Stuff’ shows up all different tones on different days,” O’Brien said in a statement. “There’s something alive in it which cannot be caught or told. It is direct but complex; it contains chapters. This feels like our purest and most succinct expression yet.” Like Drowning In Blessings, 'Kid Stuff' found O’Brien working with Speedy Wunderground mastermind Dan Carey. Musically, it hints at a level up moment for O’Brien. There was something alluring and jagged about Drowning In Blessings, but 'Kid Stuff' places her usual approach over a song that is surprisingly groovy — maybe even a little danceable. It comes with a video directed by Saskia Dixie. [via Stereogum]

Das Beat are made up of German actress and vocalist Eddie Rabenberger and Agor of Blue Hawaii. The pair have just shared their first single 'Bubble' online now and are set to release their debut EP Identität on June 4 via Arbutus Records. Born in Berlin during 2020’s legendary lockdown, Das Beat seeks to blast both boredom and boundary. Dabbling in German New Wave, Italo Disco, Indie & Dance, their sound is unified by vocals from Eddie Rabenberger, sung in German and English. Amidst playful lyrics one finds a strong underlying pulse (das “beat”), pinning down the duo’s meandering atmospherics, dreamy synths, guitars and percussion. The duo is half-Canadian and half-German. Agor (of Blue Hawaii), moved to Berlin from Montreal in 2018. Eddie is a theatre actress originally hailing from a small town in Bavaria. Together they find a strange but alluring symbiosis - like Giorgio Moroder meets Nico, or Gina X Performance meets The Prodigy.

St. Vincent has fully embraced the ’70s aesthetic for her retro-sounding new record, Daddy’s Home. Now, she’s diving headlong into the animation styles of the era with the video for 'The Melting of the Sun'. Presented as a “betamax deluxe release” rip from “Candy’s Music Video Archives,” the clip blends live action shots of St. Vincent herself with the wavy, intermittent animation frames any Schoolhouse Rock student is familiar with. The psychedelic lines fit a song called 'The Melting of the Sun' perfectly, as do the drawings of the legends mentioned in the song’s lyrics like Nina Simone, Joni Mitchell, and Tori Amos. St. Vincent co-directed the clip with Bill Benz, while Chris McD provided the animation. [via Consequence]

Bay Area slowcore trio Sour Widows have released a new single, 'Bathroom Stall,' from their forthcoming EP Crossing Over, which they announced last month with its title track. The song’s build-up is subtle and poignant like Sufjan Stevens, but Maia Sinaiko’s evocative, sweeping vocals are one-of-a-kind, and the lyrics are graphic and tragic: “Do you remember it like I do?/ Your lips turned blue I had my fingers in your mouth/ And I couldn’t get them out.” Sinaiko said of the song: "This song is about a relationship I had with someone who struggled with addiction, who very tragically passed away three years ago while we were together. It’s about some moments we shared, and how it feels to walk around carrying that person and those experiences with me while the world stays normal. I wrote the song because I wanted to preserve and document what happened to me. to write out the scary stuff and just let it sit there forever. I think its funny that its called 'Bathroom Stall' and that it has that image in it: the song goes from heavy and dark to ordinary and totally pedestrian in a sentence, which feels absurd. And that’s kind of what it’s like to grieve. That’s kind of what’s hard to explain about grief, how absurd it is. Part of you goes to a different planet and part of you stays walking around like an alien on Earth, going to the bathroom and looking at the moon and shit." [via Stereogum]

As JUNO-nominated singer Kandle Osborne prepares to launch her new project, Set The Fire this spring, she shares the album’s third single, 'Misty Morning.' From being penned on a napkin while abroad to a Vancouver studio, 'Misty Morning' is a sonic journey that echoes soulful vulnerability and an honest reflection of realizing true love. For the video, Kandle reconnects with 'Honey Trap' director, Brandon William Fletcher, to create classic 40s noir-inspired cine-magic, filmed along the Vancouver coastline and within the lush landscape of Stanley Park. Kandle says: “‘Misty Morning’ is my first real love song, captured on a napkin while in Ischia, Italy when I was truly happy. My songwriting usually comes from a place of turmoil and catharsis, but this was simply a snapshot of a perfect, vulnerable moment. In recording it, I wanted to hide behind lush orchestration, but my producer/ best friend Michael Rendall had other ideas. He wanted to strip it down to just piano & a single vocal to take me out of my comfort zone and re-capture the open-hearted feelings I had while writing it. The song and the recording both hold for me a time when I dropped my guard for pure authentic love in spite of all my flaws and failures. In that moment, I felt my true value as a whole person for the first time.”

On 'Vertigo,' Alice Merton’s first single of 2021, the 27-year-old describes the long road from uncertainty back to self-confidence. It emphasizes the unrest that seizes her again and again, the thought: “Why can’t I just let it go?” These contradicting thoughts and emotions that are so familiar to all of us sum up to an overwhelmingly positive effect - 'Vertigo' leaves you empowered rather than anxious: A powerful indie pop arrangement with distorted guitars, plus Alice Merton’s crystal-clear voice. The result is reminiscent of the British Invasion, with no air of self-doubt. With its energetic live qualities, 'Vertigo' feeds an appetite for summer festivals and concerts that will definitely return at some point. Largely responsible for this is the Canadian producer Koz, a multiple Grammy nominee, who has worked with Dua Lipa ('Physical') among others. Here, too, he adds on to what has already made Alice Merton stand out from the crowd in the past - her classic pop appeal - with an uncompromising and indie attitude. This enables Alice to take another big step: She equally encourages a shaken generation and herself that there will be easy summers again. That you can dance again and lie in each other's arms. That it is absolutely fine to have many facets, to not always be clear, and that strength and weakness are not mutually exclusive.

Canadian artist Olivia Lunny's new release 'Sad To See You Happy' is a shamelessly poppy track centering an acutely relatable break-up narrative. The Canadian artist follows up her breakthrough success with a bouncy cut to soundtrack 2021’s long-awaited spring. There's a relatable tale of break-up at the heart of the gloriously poppy new single, belied by percussive instrumentation that creates a warm, nostalgic feel. [via Line Of Best Fit]

After sharing the single last month, Charlotte Adigéry is now revealing the brand new video for ‘Bear With Me (and I’ll stand bare before you)’. The first new music since her 2019 debut EP Zandoli, Charlotte says of the video, “The video is about being confined thus confronted to the way we live. The cruel irony of having the privilege of standing still, questioning and observing my life in all safety while others are fighting for theirs. On the other hand, the video is about trying to stay sane while feeling that the walls are closing in on you. Embracing boredom and finding joy in the little things in life.” Director Alice Kunisue adds, “When I listened to Charlotte’s song and what it meant for her and Bolis, I wanted the video to visually encapsulate that feeling of being stuck inside and confronted to our deeper selves while paradoxically sensing the chaos going on in the outside world without being able to do anything about it. Choosing to film an apartment room from one single angle was a way to reflect that narrowness of thought that we all experienced, but also a constraint that allowed us to explore and develop visual ideas within a narrow system, in a way having to think only inside the box, which artistically was a fun challenge.” [via DIY]

Millie Turner has shared a video for ‘Concrete Tragedy’. It’s a cut from her upcoming mini-album Eye Of The Storm, set for release on May 16, which also features a rework of breakout song ‘(Breathe) Underwater’. “This video is a visual representation of dancing on your own,” she says of the clip. “Combining the many parts of who we are when we’re by ourselves, I wanted it to feel like you’re entering a world of imagination that comes alive when we express ourselves.” [via Dork]

Doja Cat and SZA have come together for a new single called 'Kiss Me More.' When the song was announced Wednesday night, the internet flipped out, which is to be expected with these two — especially Doja Cat, who is regularly going viral these days for all kinds of reasons. When it comes to collaborations, she always finds the best people. That includes Saweetie, who appeared on Doja’s recent 'Best Friend' but then claimed that it was released against her wishes. Given SZA’s long history of public frustration over TDE Records holding back her new album, she is probably happy to have any new music out. Despite recent single 'Good Days' hitting the top 10, her restless fanbase is still awaiting a follow-up to 2017’s iconic Ctrl. 'Kiss Me More' is the first single from Doja’s new album Planet Her, scheduled for release this summer. It returns to the disco vibes of Doja’s #1 hit 'Say So,' this time with no apparent resemblance to any Skylar Spence song. [via Stereogum]

[tracyshomesick]

25 things that were invented in NYC.

1. Toilet paper: In 1857, Joseph C. Gayetty began selling packs of “medicated paper for the water closet” out of his wholesale shop at 41 Ann St. The paper was made from pure Manila hemp and treated with aloe. Best (or worst)
of all, each sheet was watermarked with his name.

2. Chicken ’n’ waffles: After its 1938 opening, Wells Supper Club in Harlem was the last stop for jazz greats like Sammy Davis Jr., Gladys Knight and Nat King Cole. Catering to its night-owl talent, Wells created the perfect dish for acts who’d missed dinner but couldn’t wait till breakfast: leftover fried chicken on a sweet waffle.

3. Chewing gum, a New York invention, was first manufactured in 1870 by Thomas Adams in a warehouse on Front Street. Called ''Adams New York Gum No. 1,'' it was made from chicle, a form of sapodilla tree sap chewed in the Yucatan and Guatemala.

4. The Waldorf Salad: The Waldorf Astoria boasts two inventions on this list, the first of which is its classic salad, which combines lettuce, apple, celery and walnuts. It was first served in 1896.

5. Teddy Bears: In 1902, President Theodore Roosevelt refused to shoot an injured black bear while on a hunt. Inspired by the story, Morris and Rose Michtom, candy-store owners from Brooklyn, sewed a plush bear and displayed it, calling it “teddy’s bear.” The toy was so popular, they gave up candy and opened a factory to make the cuddly critters.

6. The Tom Collins: In 1874, a hilarious joke swept through the city: A prankster would tell a friend, “I was at [insert local saloon], where Tom Collins was saying [insert insult] about you!” The offended party would rush off to defend his honor, but there was no Tom Collins. (Cool joke, bro.) Inspired by the prank, New York mixologist Jerry Thomas created the recipe in 1876.

7. Coal-fired pizza: Pizza was cooked with wood fires until Gennaro Lombardi introduced the tasty magic of coal. Legend has it he served the first coal-fired pie in 1905. Cooking pizza that way is technically illegal now, but the ovens of a few select haunts around the city were grandfathered in, including Lombardi’s, Totono’s and Patsy’s.

8. Scrabble: Out-of work architect and anagram lover Alfred Mosher Butts conceived this wordy board game in 1931 while living in Jackson Heights, Queens. The street sign on Butts’s corner in Queens now reads “35t1H4 a1V4e1n1u1e1” after the famed letter-scoring system.

9. Spaghetti primavera: When this faux Italian dish (fresh vegetables and Parmesan cream sauce on pasta) was served at Le Cirque in 1977, it was, according to The New York Times, “the most talked-about dish in Manhattan,” much to the chagrin of head chef Jean Vergnes. The classically trained Frenchie was so offended, his cooks had to prep the dish in a hallway—yet later he claimed its invention.

10. The remote control: Nikola Tesla conceived of a radio-controlled boat way back in 1898. The idea was so novel that nobody believed such technology could exist.

11. Sweet’n Low: Fort Greene entrepreneur Benjamin Eisenstadt teamed up with his chemist son, who found a way to create saccharin in powdered form (before it could only be a liquid or a pill). He named his pink-label brand after a Tennyson poem.

12. Eggs Benedict: Stockbroker and bon vivant Lemuel Benedict woke up one morning in 1894 with a raging hangover and booked it
to the Waldorf Astoria hotel, where he ordered a poached egg, crispy bacon, toast and hollandaise sauce. Legendary maître d’hôtel Oscar Tschirky was such a fan of the creation, he added it to the hotel’s menu.

13. The Bloody Mary:
 Fernand “Pete” Petiot imported his tomato-juice-and-vodka concoction from Paris to the St. Regis hotel’s King Cole Bar. Catering to the spicier local tastes, Petiot added Worcestershire sauce, lemon and
a dash of cayenne and black pepper.

14. Credit Cards: You have John Biggins of the Flatbush National Bank to thank for those interest charges and late fees: In 1946, he created the charge-it program, which issued customers bank credit cards for use at local Brooklyn merchants. The shop owners would then deposit the sales slips at the bank, who would then bill cardholders.

15. Baked Alaska: In 1876, the pioneering pastry chefs
of lower-Manhattan restaurant Delmonico’s conceived of piping-hot sponge cake topped with crispy meringue and filled with ice cream, naming this miracle
of food science in honor of the country’s newest territory.

16. General Tso’s Chicken: While exiled in Taiwan after the Chinese Civil War, chef Peng Chang-Kuei created a spicy-and-sour chicken dish as an homage to a famous Hunanese general. When he jumped ship to New York in the 1970s and opened Peng’s, the dish became a huge hit— after he added sugar to the recipe.

17. Frozen Hot Chocolate:
 Stephen Bruce, the cofounder
of iconic East-Side restaurant Serendipity 3, kept the recipe of this decadent dessert a secret for 40 years. Bruce recently revealed that the famous frozen treat is 14 kinds of cocoa mixed with crushed ice and topped with whipped cream. (The types of cocoa still remain a mystery.)

18. Air conditioning: In 1902, Willis Carrier created his “apparatus for treating air” to keep the humidity from warping the paper at a printing plant on Grand St in Bushwick. Saving workers from the sweltering summer heat was just a fortunate side effect.

19. The Reuben Sandwich: Alright, this one’s contested, but many say Arnold Reuben, owner of Reuben’s Delicatessen, invented the meat-and-krout combo in 1914. Legend has it, the sandwich was created for a famished actress, who came in after a show, using the few ingredients left on the deli shelves.

20. Mr. Potato Head: When New Yorker and toy designer George Lerner first created plastic facial features to stick on real vegetables, toy companies worried that food wasting wouldn’t fly with a postwar public. But in 1952, Hasbro bought Lerner’s
 idea and made the first TV ad ever for children’s playthings, selling a million units that year.

21. Hot dogs: Coney Island baker Charles Feltman had the genius idea to serve hot sausages in a 
bun for a dime each. His frank fortune bought him a beachside empire of hotels and beer gardens, until former employee Nathan Handwerker opened Nathan’s Famous and sold his dogs for only a nickel.

22. ATMs: the first money-dispensing device was conceived in 1939 by Luther George Simjian, who convinced the City Bank of New York (today’s Citibank) to test his contraption for six months. The bank declined to use the machine after that, because “the only people using the machines were a small number of prostitutes and gamblers.”

23. Cronuts: Dominique Ansel labored for months to perfect his doughnut-fried, fluffy hybrid from heaven. The pastry, which debuted in May 2013, still inspires down-the- block lines each morning.

24. Children's Museums: The Brooklyn Children's Museum, located in Crown Heights, opened in 1899 and was the country’s first museum dedicated to the education of kids. It was also the first to introduce a “hands-on” policy for its exhibits.

25. Hip-hop. Enough said.

[noahmanskar]

The Best Albums of 2020 (and from the Before Times)

I read a lot of year-end music roundups, and several this year have come with a resonant caveat: It’s been harder to discover new music this year, both because of physical limitations (no shows, no record-store browsing, no chats with friends about your latest finds), and because the way we used music fundamentally changed. It certainly did for me. Rather than serving as the backdrop for a commute or a night out, it created moments of solace from cabin fever while doing dishes, or showering, or running semi-weekly errands. So I often turned to what was comfortable and familiar, songs that conjured memories and feelings to get me through the day. Even on the rare occasions of social listening, the groups I was with drifted into nostalgia — middle school dance tracks, mid-2000s emo, inherited dad rock, even songs from just a year or two ago, when everything was simpler, relatively speaking.

That’s not to say nothing new moved me. There was a handful of albums and songs that were crucial to getting through the doldrums. They soundtracked bike rides, long walks, longer drives and lots of small moments mentioned above. But I don’t think I can think about my favorite music of this year without thinking about the albums of the past that got me through it. Besides, one of the many lessons 2020 taught is that time is a bizarre illusion anyway. (This exercise also lets me write about some recent albums that I didn’t get to write about when they were actually released.

So here are the albums, past and present, that made 2020 bearable. I hope you found yours, too.

Tame Impala, “The Slow Rush”

Tame Impala’s fourth LP came out on Valentine’s Day. That afternoon, Claire and I had a lunch date to mark the occasion before we got on a plane to visit my parents. The night before, we had gone out to dinner with friends visiting from San Francisco and then to a bar, where we huddled next to strangers on a water bed. Roughly a month later, all of this would be unimaginable, and Kevin Parker’s lyrics to “One More Year” would be eerily prescient as we settled into this new normal:

But now I worry our horizon's been nothing new 'Cause I get this feeling and maybe you get it too We're on a rollercoaster stuck on its loop-de-loop 'Cause what we did one day on a whim Has slowly become all we do

The song is really about surrendering to time, and not worrying about it passing in spite of your ambivalence. The opening chants of Parker’s “Gregorian Robot Choir” make it easy to surrender. They carry you into a world where, as the cover art suggests, all that time you were worrying about has already passed, so you might as well dance. At the same time, the songs that follow, like “Borderline,” “Breathe Deeper” and “Lost In Yesterday” make it easy to remember what it was like to dance in a sweaty room with people you love, and to look forward to doing it again, after a little more time passes.

Fleet Foxes, “Shore”

There’s something comforting about the fact that Fleet Foxes released this record on the exact moment of the autumnal equinox. It’s a reminder that nature has its own rhythms that carry on regardless of what occurs in our human lives. They give us a measure of certainty in uncertain times. One of these rhythms — death — looms large in “Sunblind,” an ode to Robin Pecknold’s departed musical forebears: David Berman, Bill Withers, John Prine and others. This song exuding calm acceptance shifts into “Can I Believe You,” which wrestles frankly with doubt and fear.

These tracks contain profound contradictions, but sonically, they're both bright, hopeful and sure. That’s what made this album such a balm in the sixth month of this pandemic, a time of both growing darkness and hope for what might be on the other side. It reminds us that there’s power and beauty in feeling all these things at once.

Lil Uzi Vert, “Eternal Atake”

This one spent two years in label purgatory, but it finally arrived in March to prove Lil Uzi Vert can do it all. He’s at his most versatile here, spitting and crooning, boasting and balladeering. “You Better Move” is an early standout packed with playful nostalgia, including a beat that samples that classic PC pinball game and delightful jabs like these:

Yeah, step on competition, changin' my shoes Green shirt, bitch, I'm Steve, where is Blue? Every chain on, I pity a fool I'm an iPod, man, you more like a Zune Made her eat on my dick with a spoon, ew Versace drawers, bitch, you Fruit of the Loom

Then there are the melodic tracks like “Urgency,” which compel you to hum along even on the first listen. The excellent diversity made it worth the wait for this hourlong journey to another planet.

Sturgill Simpson, “Cuttin’ Grass Vol. 1: The Butcher Shoppe Sessions”

I haven’t spent much time with Sturgill Simpson outside of 2014′s “Metamodern Sounds in Country Music,” and I can’t say I’ve ever listened to another bluegrass album all the way through. But these new cuts of songs picked from Simpson’s catalog are wonderfully enticing. Simpson puts the talents of his backing band front and center, and their harmonies and rhythms illuminate his vivd songwriting in new ways. It was a great introduction to the genre for me.

Fiona Apple, “Fetch The Bolt Cutters”

I got here after the hype, after the perfect 10, after all the year-end number-ones. Fiona Apple lives up to all of it. Her compositions are complex and evocative, the lyrics tender and biting at once. Her artistry is unsparing. The chorus to the title track is already getting stuck in my head, and I can’t wait to spend more time with this one.

Bea Troxel, “The Way That It Feels” (2017)

Almost a decade has passed since I first saw Bea Troxel play. She was in an incredibly talented trio with two of my high school classmates: Maeve Thorne (who has an entrancing solo EP of her own), and Rita Pfeiffer (the violinist on this record). They ended up winning my school’s battle of the bands, and I got to interview them for the student newspaper. Shortly after our senior year, they recorded an album that still outshines most of today’s indie folk. So I jumped at the chance to all three of them again in Brooklyn. 

Troxel’s performance in particular was a revelation. I won’t ever forget how I fell into a trance as she picked away at “Talc,” which exemplifies her gift for natural metaphor. I haven’t stopped playing her record since, and it’s been a constant comfort throughout this year. Her voice is one of a kind, her songwriting is rich, and the compositions flow together beautifully. I can’t wait for more; in the meantime, “The Way That It Feels” will be on repeat.

Travis Scott, “Birds In The Trap Sing McKnight” (2016)

There’s been much ado about the brilliance of “Astroworld,” Travis Scott’s magnum opus, but I have a soft spot for his sophomore LP, where he reached the peak of the spare and heavy sound that started to take shape on “Owl Pharaoh.” There are plenty of sonic layers here, and the ordering of the tracks is a craft in itself — a series of peaks and valleys that glides from the haze of “beibs in the trap” to the climax of “goosebumps” and then into the cool waters of “pick up the phone.” It feels like Scott is guiding you to and from these destinations. The journey is, as The Weeknd might put it, “wonderful.”

Harmonium, “Harmonium” (1974)

One of my pandemic binges was “Letterkenny,” the sharp Ontario-set sitcom with top-notch banter and a great soundtrack full of indie hits and Canadian deep cuts. The fight scenes are elegantly choreographed, but so are the handful of sequences at the end of key episodes that reveal the show’s emotional bedrock. One such scene is set to Harmonium’s “Un musicien parmi tant d'autres” — the main characters are reveling in a bar with their Québécois pals, whom they’ve just helped beat up a rival group. As the song builds to its climactic chorus, leading man Wayne, surrounded by couples, realizes his longing for companionship. Another fight breaks out, but instead of joining in, Wayne makes his way through the slow-motion fray toward the woman he’ll propose to in the next season. (Their relationship later falls apart, but that doesn’t undercut this scene’s beauty.)

This is probably the first foreign-language album I’ve listened to in full, but all of it evokes that feeling for me — the joy of walking through the chaos to reach what’s really important. Not a bad sentiment for these times.

Bon Iver, “22, A Million”

To talk about this weird, dark and brilliant album, I need to talk about “715 - CR∑∑KS.” Everyone I’ve talked to about the third track on “22, A Million” either loves it or can’t stand it. I’m devoted to it to the extent that it was my most-played song on Spotify this year. It oscillates between tenderness and fear, between silence and explosions of sound. The lyrics are an epitome of Justin Vernon’s cryptic poetry. It’s isolated and spare and enthralling and beautiful in its own bizarre way — just like the rest of the album, which is rich with themes of persevering through the darkness in spite of the uncertainty about when the light will appear. Vernon is alone on “CR∑∑KS,” but he’s accompanied by a cacophony of his own voice. As alone as we might feel right now, there’s always someone else shouting through the darkness with us, even if we can’t see them.

[daggerzine]

Sohrab Habibion from SAVAK (and Obits, Edsel, etc.) fills in the gaps.

I first noticed the name Sohrab Habibion in the Sub Pop band Obits nearly a decade ago. He’d then gotten in touch with me a few years back when he sent me the last Savak record, Beg Your Pardon (the band’s 3rd). I did some backtracking and realized he was in the old DC post hardcore band Edsel, whose music I enjoyed. We got to talking and I realized this guy’s had a pretty interesting career and I needed to find out more. He was more than agreeable to an interview on the DAGGER site. Oh and dig this....he recently he began posting some videos that he took of shows in the DC area in the mid-80’s, which is discussed below. Let’s all thank our lucky stars that someone was there with a video camera at shows back then.

Back to SAVAK, they have recently released their fourth full-length, Rotting Teeth in the Horses Mouth (on the Ernest Jenning Record Co label, like the last few) and it’s a terrific record. The kind of post-punk that’s not afraid to pOp! and vice versa. So needless to say Sohrab had plenty to talk about. Let’s take a trip both down memory lane and back to the future as well.

Sohrab.... always pushin’ the hair products.

 Did you grow up in the DC area? If not how did you end up there?

I moved to the suburbs of DC in 1979. My mom and I drove through Hurricane David from my grandfather’s house in Leonia, New Jersey to Annandale, Virginia with all of our possessions in the back of a Chevy Chevette. We had just left Iran because of the Revolution and, after a short stay in Bergen County to gather ourselves and do some research, my parents decided that we would resettle in the DC area.

Do you remember what the first record you ever bought was? First concert?

First record: It was a cassette of Love for Sale by Boney M. Actually maybe that was a gift from a friend. Either way I think of it as my first-owned album. I quickly had the lyrics to “Ma Baker” memorized and never gave a second thought to just how weird the cassette cover art was. If you’re not familiar, perhaps imagine an S&M dungeon version of Ohio Players? As a 7-year-old I think it just didn’t register. More interesting is that the producer, Frank Farian, was also the guy behind Milli Vanilli. If you’re up for it, I recommend doing some Googling about Mr. Farian, who was born Franz Reuther just after the start of World War II in a German valley settlement once known as the “Town of Leather.” It’s good stuff, I promise.

First concert: A friend’s older sister drove us to the old 9:30 Club to see one of the club’s 3 Bands for 3 Bucks nights. I remember feeling pretty excited about being in a part of town I didn’t know and seeing all kinds of people I didn’t ordinarily see. This was probably 1983 or 1984 so it was heavy on the New Wave look. In the basement of 9:30, once you’d squeezed down the narrow flight of stairs, there were bathrooms as well as a small counter that sold records and tapes. I bought The Halloween Cassette—a WGNS comp with Gray Matter, United Mutation, Velvet Monkeys, Malefice, Bloody Mannequin Orchestra and others—and the Minor Threat record that compiles the first two 7”s. On our drive home the DJ on WHFS played the song “Minor Threat,” which we literally had in our hands, and the whole thing felt tremendously serendipitous.

During his tryout with the Washington Bullets (Elvin Hayes beat him out). 

At what age did you pick up the guitar?

One night my mom came home from a school fundraising auction with an acoustic guitar that she’d won in the raffle. I actually think it might be the only time anyone in my family has ever won a raffle. I was 13 or 14 and discovering that I was not as good of a baseball player as I’d hoped or wanted to be and the guitar felt more connected to my interests, so I started to teach myself chords and rudimentary scales. It wasn’t long before I was able to get an electric guitar and make a complete mess of sound in neighborhood basements with friends.

How old were you when the punk rock bug bit you?

Thirteen, I think. I’m pretty sure it was 7th grade. I didn’t know a lot about rock music. Having spent a chunk of my early life in Iran, I missed the boat on a lot of big, American rock’n’roll moments. I was 9 when I was first exposed to KISS by neighbors who were also in the Boy Scouts and so I kind of lumped all that costuming together and the whole thing seemed silly. Special badges and membership cards and various allegiances you were supposed to declare. I felt disengaged from a lot of things in the suburban culture around me, so punk made sense upon its arrival. It took some time to sort things out, like what made the Dead Kennedys good and The Exploited bad, but once that initial door opened, I never turned back. If anything it just opened additional doors to other subcultures and underground movements and marginalized artists and thinkers. Punk helped me recognize that my sympathies will always be with the disenfranchised, the unheralded, the amateur, the wandering tinkerer.

How and when did Edsel get together?

I met Nick Pelliocciotto and Geoff Sanoff (who wouldn’t be in Edsel for a few years) at a Government Issue show at the Hung Jury Pub. Nick and I briefly played in a band with Jim Spellman (Velocity Girl, High Back Chairs, Foxhall Stacks), but that fizzled out. So Nick and I were looking for a bass player when we saw Steve Ward play a cover of “White Rabbit” at a high school talent show. Nick and I agreed that Steve looked cool (he really did) and, when we ran into him in the parking lot, he passed our test by answering that his favorite DC band was Happy Go Licky. We started practicing in the basement of the house Nick, Jim Spellman and I lived in off Reno Road in the Cleveland Park neighborhood of DC. We didn’t know what we were doing. Nick played me a bunch of records I had never heard before and we would talk about various details in the music. He made me aware of the way certain things interacted, like the bass guitar and the kick drum. I’d never considered that. I was also unfamiliar with singing in a band, so was starting from scratch. A lot of it began as rhythmic sing-song-speak-howling that could be heard somewhat above the volume of the band. I’ll never forget recording our first demo at Inner Ear with Michael Hampton. When it came time for me to do the vocals we were all surprised by what they sounded like and Michael nicely said, “Why don’t we call it a day and you go home and work on some melodies that we can record tomorrow.” Ha! When Nick and I got back to the house we listened to a bunch of albums to get ideas for vocal melodies. The one that resonated with me was Midnight Oil’s 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and it helped me understand how you could take a simple line and move it around with chord changes. I didn’t figure out what phrasing was for some time to come, but that was the start. Thank you Michael, Nick and Peter Garrett.

How/when did you end up in NYC?

Well, it’s a circuitous story, but . . . Edsel toured a lot between 1993 and 1995. So much so that I moved back into my parents’ basement to avoid paying rent for a place I wasn’t going to be spending any time in. My folks are lovely and it was a fine arrangement, but I missed having an apartment of my own. On tour in Chicago I was presented with the opportunity of a cheap living situation in a city that I liked, so I moved there. I had this fantasy that the band could keep it together while being in 3 different cities—Geoff had moved to NYC and the two Steve’s were in DC. Not a chance. I had a good year in Chicago, working at the Empty Bottle and playing with different local musicians, but Edsel basically succumbed to inertia and I decided to move back to DC to make a solo record. My parents had a cabin in the Shenandoah Valley and I went there for a period of time with my 4-track and the hopes of discovering whatever my version of Leonard Cohen and Brian Eno might be. That didn’t happen, but I learned a lot about recording myself and making mistakes and stumbling on things I liked that I hadn’t intended. Around this point I got a call from Michael Hampton, who’d moved to New York City a few years earlier. He said his neighbor in the West Village had moved out and he wondered if I might want to take the apartment. I was feeling pretty untethered and the idea of giving Manhattan a shot was exciting, so in November 1997 I packed up my books and CDs and headed up here. I’ve since crossed the bridge over to Brooklyn, but have no plans of leaving. I love this city and all of its flaws.

How about Obits? I know Alexis was in Edsel….had you known Rick already?

Alexis played in Edsel for a few reunion shows we did in 2013, but he wasn’t in the original lineup of the group. I first met Alexis in 1985 when Lünch Meat, his band, played with Kids For Cash, my band, at my local community center. He and I also share a birthday and a similar sense of humor, so when he joined Obits after the departure of Scott Gursky, our original drummer, it was an effortless transition. I’d also played with Alexis in Girls Against Boys on a 2002 European tour that Eli couldn’t do. I was Fake Eli and got to play bass on some of my favorite GvsB tunes, which was a blast. Alexis has a humorous diary from that tour: http://www.gvsb.com/euro_diary/index.html

Here’s an excerpt just so you know it’s worth the clicks:

“scott has determined that we should get rid of all the equipment and excess drummers and bass players and just travel with a painted sheet (we in the biz call this a scrim). that way he could have a band painted on it and just cut out the head of the singer and stick his own head through. this would reduce overhead and be a whole lot less of a hassle than having squabbling bass players and drummers with no IQ whatsoever.”

Rick and I met at an art show of his in the summer of ‘99. In fact, in looking to clarify the year I came across this email I sent to a friend:

“Last night my friend Hiroshi took me to an opening of his friend Rick Froberg’s work in some unknown Lower East Side apartment/gallery. I was shocked at how incredible his stuff was. His etchings like Goya’s, his prints like a German expressionist and his paintings like a weird amalgam of Raymond Pettibon and Norman Rockwell. But everything was very original despite its familiarity. He gave me one of his prints and I actually ended up buying one of his paintings. I’m really excited about it.”

Funny thing is that on that European GvsB tour I was wearing a Hot Snakes shirt. Little could I have guessed that I’d be in a band with Alexis and Rick 10 years later. Or maybe I could’ve? Our behavior and patterns are probably more predictable than I’d like to admit.

Anyway, long and short of it is after meeting Rick we started hanging out and as Hot Snakes was winding down in the early aughts he proposed we get together and strum our guitars. We had a good time and kept at it until things started to take shape. Fast forward a bit and our friend Speck browbeat Rick into playing with her band, Orphan, at Cake Shop. That was early 2008 and the internet did us a favor by sharing a bootleg recording of our gig, which led us to signing with Sub Pop. Seems just as weird now as it did then, but so it goes! The band was a hoot to be in and we had a grand time, particularly touring. The trips we made to Europe, Australia, Japan and Brazil were fantastic. I never thought I’d be able to do that playing scrappy rock’n’roll music. All the people that we met, the local specialties that we ate and drank . . . and drank . . . and then ate some more. Unforgettable. Until I forget them. Then I’ll refer to the documentation.

Obits.....always ready to rumble (notice the switchblade comb in Froberg’s pocket). 

Tell me about the end of Obits and the beginning of Savak? Who came up with the name?

The end of Obits was a little unexpected. At least the timing of it. All bands end, so it wasn’t surprising in that regard, but we had a French tour planned and had been offered some East Coast dates with Mudhoney, so it was a bummer not to be able to do those. But it had been a cold and miserable winter and Rick had some family stuff to marshal, so it felt best to call it, which is what we did on April 1st, 2015. The April Fool’s part wasn’t intentional, but I liked that it happened that way, what with being in a band often feeling like a cosmic joke anyway. But we’re all still good friends and very much in touch with each other. Funny thing is we’d actually written a fourth record with two drummers, as Matt Schulz had started playing with us as well (we did one show with both Alexis and Matt, which was fun), so on my hard drive somewhere are the demos and jams for that, including covers of “The In-Crowd” (https://youtu.be/KYbwk26mYJA) and Beasts of Bourbon’s “I Don't Care About Nothing Anymore.” (https://youtu.be/IpWi4OxhJXY)

Towards the end of Obits I’d started getting together with other friends to make noise. I was playing with Greg Simpson and Matt Schulz, doing instrumental versions of Hooterville Trolley and Shadows tunes, and separately with Michael Jaworski and Benjamin Van Dyke, just bashing out riffs. I asked all involved if they would want to combine the two and everyone was into it. The nice thing was Michael and I got to write with two different drummers, which opened up new ideas, and for a band that was just getting the swing of our internal vocabulary, it helped jumpstart the mojo.

I can’t remember at what point we were talking about band names, but when Viet Cong couldn’t take the heat for their name and decided to change it I made a joke about calling our group SAVAK. Then the more I thought about it the more I liked it and the group was on board, so we ran with it. The Iranian side of my family was a bit perplexed and bemused, but they all understood that this was a rock’n’roll outfit and not some creepy tribute to the former secret police in Iran. I’ve come to appreciate how that type of band name is a good litmus test. With a moniker like SAVAK you can see who actually knows anything about global political history, but more importantly you immediately know that anyone who takes issue with it isn’t likely to be interested in or even be familiar with punk rock or underground culture. So that person’s opinion on the subject doesn’t hold weight for me and I’ll attempt to redirect to a different subject that could be entertaining to chat about, like food or wine or bicycle maintenance or John le Carré books or, I dunno, HTML/CSS?

Savak has been recording pretty consistently…how did the new record come together so quickly? Who came up with the title?

Michael Jaworski, the other guitarist, singer and co-songwriter, came up with the title of Rotting Teeth in the Horse’s Mouth. Apparently it appeared to him in a dream and, well, I just liked the way it sounded. Both in that it reminded me of the DK’s classic Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables and as a play on the idiom “hearing it straight from the horse’s mouth,” since the current mouth we hear more often than is good for anyone’s mental health has enough proverbial rotting teeth to fill the mouth of a giant armadillo.

We worked on the album over a period of months. Sometimes we would get together with Matt Schulz, our drummer, and hammer stuff out. Other times either Michael or I would start something at home and build it from there. The main thing was to keep it feeling like a band had cut it together live, regardless of how accurate that may be on any given song. We started with 16 tunes, ditched 2 of them that weren’t as developed, and recorded the remaining 14. Then we picked the 10 that sounded the most cohesive for the album and the others will come out as singles later in the year. We spent many intensely focused hours editing, overdubbing and trying to really hone in on what each tune needed. I like discreet events in music and subtle details that may not make themselves evident for a few listens. A keyboard that only appears in the second verse or a backing vocal that’s buried deep in the right channel of the outro or a flanged cymbal crash at the top of the chorus. Stuff that doesn’t have to happen in the live version but makes the recording a little richer without being overbearing.

SAVAK, just before diving in. 

In Savak, re; the songwriting process, is it both you and Michael together or do you write independently?

There’s always a collaborative element. We each add or edit the other’s songs to some degree. That’s one of the things I really like about our partnership. We actively try to keep our egos out of the way. And while we may not share the exact same taste about every little thing, we trust each other’s sensibility. I think that willingness to let go of our own ideas makes them more interesting and strengthens the working relationship.

Tell us about working with Arto Lindsay?

Rick Froberg was employed as an illustrator at a web-based, digital media shop in SoHo called Funny Garbage and he helped get me a gig making music for cartoons and video games they were producing for companies like Cartoon Network. I had access to a recording studio on a floor above our office which was run by an incredibly talented musician/producer named Andres Levin. One day ‘Dre asked if I could work on a session with a friend of his for a gallery installation. It seemed interesting, so I agreed. The guy showed up with two pillow cases that he wanted to put on his arms and flap wildly in front of a mic. His idea was to pitch the pillow case recording down a few octaves and add a lot of reverb so it would sound like a giant bird was flying. I don’t remember if he was pleased with the results, but we had a blast trying, and it turned out that fella was Arto Lindsay. He got in touch with me soon after about recording his next album. I was direct about the fact that while I was brisk with the ProTools and could run sessions efficiently, I was not a real engineer who knew about microphone placement and how to apply compression, etc. He said that was fine and arranged to rent a recording rig for his apartment and we got straight to work with Melvin Gibbs, who is Arto’s writing partner, co-producer, and bass player. We made Invoke in 2002 and two years later we made Salt, once again doing the whole thing in his Chelsea living room. Arto’s a wonderful guy, as is Melvin, and we had a terrific time together. I also learned a lot. He has such a deep knowledge of avante garde music and art and a whole world of Brazilian culture that he can tap into. And Melvin is an incredible musician, so getting to see how he approached assembling Arto’s ideas was fascinating. He was also forgiving with the fact that a punker like me was trying to edit Brazilian rhythms when I was having an impossible time even identifying the first beat of the groove. There was a lot of, “Please just tell me where the ONE is.” Arto knows a wide array of people and the process of making a record with him was very much about getting it done, but not at the expense of the vibe, so if someone dropped by you’d just have to roll with it. Sometimes that person would bring their instrument and overdub on a song or two, so I had to figure out how to be flexible about the recording process to make sure it was gonna be smooth for all involved, regardless of if it was a violin player or a guy doing a percussion track using a cardboard box. I ended up calling Geoff Sanoff for advice quite a bit—to the point where Arto would joke, “Is it time to call Geoff?” Ha! But he knew the deal going in, so all was fine. The experience of making those records was great and I got to meet some interesting folks. Also my appreciation of Brazilian music completely exploded. An unexpected and super cool project with Arto, Debbie Harry and Mikhail Baryshnikov also came from that. Another side note: when we were recording Invoke there was a song which Arto wanted to get Animal Collective involved in. This was 2001 and they were still more of a record store employee kind of band, but Arto had a couple of their CDs (Spirit They’re Gone Spirit They’ve Vanished and Danse Manatee, I think) and was really into them. We arranged to go into Stratosphere Sound, the studio that was owned by Adam Schlesinger, Andy Chase, and James Iha, where Geoff Sanoff worked, and do the session there. They had an interesting way of working—they would manipulate all of the instruments, including live drums, and have everything run through their PA and then have Geoff mic the PA speakers. So the final thing was this gauzy, mushy, blur that was like a sonic paste. They totally knew what they were doing and I was particularly impressed with Noah/Panda Bear as a musician.

Speaking of legends, how did you begin collaborating with Michael Hampton?

First we should be clear that we’re not discussing “Magic” Mike Hampton AKA Michael “Kidd Funkadelic” Hampton. According to Discogs, the Michael Hampton I know is “Michael Hampton (3)” of Brief Weeds fame. He’s a few years older than me so I missed his days in SOA and The Faith, but I was a fan and saw him in Embrace and One Last Wish. I attended American University in DC and ran into him on campus, told him I also played guitar and suggested that we “jam sometime.” Knowing him now this detail cracks me up because I’m positive I freaked him out and that he was horrified by the idea of “jamming” with an arbitrary, long-haired frosh. Some time after Edsel started we asked Michael to help produce our demo, as we were clueless about the studio. And when he was in Manifesto our bands played together and we got to be better friends. After he moved to New York, it was he and his wife, Monica, who encouraged me to move here. They also introduced me to my wife. And for the last 15 or so years we’ve worked together on soundtracks for indie films, documentaries and commercials. I can’t recall how that collaboration first started, but I love working with Michael. He’s got a quick wit, so there’s lots of yucks involved, but he also has a remarkable knack for music composition and knows how to layer ideas for perfect cinematic effect. As a guitar player he remains one of my favorites. Michael’s distilled Bob Andrews from Gen X and Captain Sensible and George Harrison and all these choice rock’n’roll and punk players into something distinctly his own.

Somewhere in Madrid, Spain (Spain Radio Nacional) 

Tell us your top 10 desert island discs?

That’s tough. I’d like to ensure a bunch of different moods are covered, so let’s see . . . how about:

Hamza El Din - Music Of Nubia

Tsegué-Maryam Guèbrou - Éthiopiques 21: Piano Solo

Mark Hollis - s/t

Skip James - Today!

Charles Mingus - The Black Saint And The Sinner Lady

Mission Of Burma - Vs.

The Rolling Stones - Sticky Fingers

Television - Marquee Moon

The Velvet Underground - s/t

Wire - 154

Who are some of your favorite current bands?

Bed Wettin' Bad Boys, Cable Ties, Contractions, FACS, Gotobeds, Grey Hairs, Hammered Hulls, Hot Snakes, Light Beams, METZ, Mint Mile, Modern Nature, Patois Counselors, Pays P., Rattle, Skull Practitioners, Slum of Legs, Sunwatchers, Tanning Bats, TK Echo, The Unit Ama.

I know I’m forgetting stuff. There’s a ton of excellent music being made right now.

What’s next for Savak? Once the lockdown is over will you guys tour?

It’s hard to be certain about anything these days, but I do know we’re eager to play once the Javel water has cleared. My hope is that we reschedule our UK tour as well as the shows we had on deck with Archers of Loaf. We were also trying to coordinate a Japanese tour, which we’d love to do, so I’ll add that to the list.

In the meantime we have a couple of non-album singles coming out later in the year.

I love making music, so whatever form it needs to take to make it work given our circumstances I’m fine with. Wanna jam on our phones? Hit me up!

SAVAK’s new one- Rotting Teeth in The Horses Mouth

BONUS QUESTION:  Tell us about all of those shows you recorded in the 80’s and have been putting up on the Dischord page? Great stuff!

Thanks! My mom bought me a Sony Betacam in 1985. I honestly had no inclination towards videotaping anything prior to this, but I think she may have thought it was a positive thing for a teenager to get involved in instead of playing Atari or hanging out at the Orange Julius at the mall or whatever. So I had this camera and I started taping what I was doing, which was basically going to shows. I didn’t think much about it and I never watched the tapes afterwards, so just slowly built up a collection of recordings that sat in a box at my parents’ house for years. It wasn’t until James Schneider started working on what eventually became the Punk the Capital movie that the tapes were unearthed. Then Scott Crawford wanted to use them for Salad Days and had the genius idea of getting Dave Grohl’s production company to digitize them, as they wanted footage for that Sonic Highways show. So at Scott’s suggestion I sheepishly asked if it was something they could do and they immediately said yes. I was pretty stunned by their generosity. The tapes themselves are now part of the Punk Archive in the DC Public Library, which is both cool and hilarious. The idea of random stuff I videotaped when I was 15 being part of an institutional archive is pretty absurd. Now that I’ve got this extra pandemic time to spend in front of my computer, I’ve been editing down each set, adjusting the light balance so the footage is less murky and also remastering the audio so they sound better. The timing of the Dischord Records Fan Page on Facebook is fortuitous, as it provides a reasonably eager audience for what might have otherwise just been a few additional gigs of server space being cooled in a Google data center in Moncks Corner, South Carolina.

“Who you callin’ a low life?” 

www.savakband.com

www.savak.bandcamp.com

[captainamericasbeard]

Bloom

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word Count: 1.6k Category: Fluff Warnings: None

A/N: This is my entry for Day 13 of @ibwhellospring ‘s 31 day short story writing challenge. Today’s prompt was bloom. I’ll put links for each day on my masterlist if you want to catch up.

Masterlist

It was early morning and the sun was streaming in from the skylight above the kitchen island. Most everyone in the tower is still sleeping but as the first one up you fulfill your obligation of fixing a fresh pot of coffee. The smell mingles with dirt as you work. Spread out in front of you are seed packets and old egg cartons, little copper labels you found at Home Depot, a bag of tulip bulbs and a big bright blue pot to plant them in. You pick up a sharpie and begin to artistically scrawl “tulips” along the side of the enameled pot as Bucky comes into the kitchen after his jog. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge before sitting at the island and looking at you questioningly.

“Why is there a 25 pound bag of dirt on the counter, Y/N?” You look at him with a quirked eyebrow. You don’t know Bucky that well, though you’ve definitely noticed his brooding, towering figure lurking around the tower. At the moment you can’t tell if he’s irritated by the situation or genuinely asking.

“I'm planting herbs and tulips,” you say with a matter of fact shrug. You start loading scoops of sweet smelling earth into the little egg compartments and sprinkling the different seeds on top before finishing up with a little more dirt.

“What for?” Bucky asks, wrapping his hands around the cup of plain black coffee he’s just poured himself.

“I figured the kitchen could use a little green in it. And Sam’s always complaining about the store bought herbs. And the tulips are just my favourite,” you say with a small smile.

“For Sam, huh?” Bucky asks noncommittally.

“Well, he does the bulk of the cooking,” you reply, wondering why that’s what Bucky chose to focus on. You finish up three trays of herbs and stick the little signs into the dirt. Basil, thyme, and oregano. You look happily at your little trays and line them up under the sunlight in front of the sink. Bucky watches you work as you move onto the tulips. You prep five bulbs and lovingly cover them with soil in the large pot you bought for them. You line them up next to your herbs and spritz down all the soil with a spray bottle. You catch Bucky watching you intently as you wash up and you offer him a soft smile, which he returns.

“Want some eggs?” You ask pointing to a bowl overflowing with little brown eggs. Bucky chuckles and gives you a nod.

________________________

And that’s how you start to get to know Bucky Barnes. He asks you about gardening and you recount the little garden you used to have at your house before you moved into the tower. How you learned from your dad who used to grow prize winning roses. Bucky recalls the little apartment garden his Ma had back in Brooklyn and how she would mend clothes to barter for seeds. And slowly over the mornings your talk strayed from gardening to favorite books to movie suggestions to childhood memories. You’d make him eggs every morning and he’d spritz down your seedlings for you.

You found yourself with a soft spot for this quiet soul. His dark hair and blue eyes and gentle confidence. Now when you saw him in the halls you’d offer him a tender smile instead of just a head nod. He’d borrow books from the small library in your room, frequently waking you up in the wee hours of the morning for the next book in a series. Eventually you told him to just use his assassin skills to sneak in and help himself and he’d leave you post it notes on top of your phone to let you know he’d been there.

Couldn’t put it down, sorry.

It was a cliffhanger, needed the next one.

Too good to wait til morning for the next one. Thanks Doll.

And gradually your seedlings grew.

______________________________

A few weeks later it was time to repot. This time Bucky stood next to you at the counter with a small trowel and a bag of dirt. You showed him how to pick up the seedlings by the leaves and how far apart to plant them in the large pots you’d chosen. You stood shoulder to shoulder and when his arm would brush yours you’d fumble and spill a bit of dirt on the counter. He showed you his work questioningly and you gave him an approving smile. You spritzed your tulips which had broken through the surface of the soil and turned to making eggs.

“Wanna watch a movie tonight?” Bucky asks without preamble. You look up at him to see his nervous blue eyes. “You’ve recommended so many good ones, I’d love to watch some of them with you,” he says quietly. You nod and say nothing under the pretense of making breakfast but soundlessly, hope is taking root in your heart.

That night it’s blankets and cocoa, popcorn and cookies, and The Fifth Element on the couch in the common room. Your knees touch occasionally as you laugh at the same parts. At one point Nat walks halfway into the common room. But catching the scene gently unfolding before her she smiles and backs away, texting the rest of the team to keep their distance. Your heart stammers when Korben tells Leeloo how much he loves her and you glance at Bucky to find him just as wrapped up in their romance as he was enthralled in the action. The credits roll and Bucky looks over to you.

You’ve fallen asleep and the blanket has fallen off you. Bucky looks at you with such tenderness in his expression. He gently moves the pack of Oreos from your lap and the mug from your hand. He covers you up with the blanket and carefully tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. He stands there watching you for a long moment before cleaning up your mugs and popcorn bowl and heading to bed. He passes Nat’s open door and she catches his soft expression and smiles quietly to herself.

_____________________

Your herbs are in full bloom. Lush and full, they look so inviting. Your tulips are taking their time. You come into the kitchen late this morning to find Bucky already there, watering your plants. You pause in the doorway and watch him, noticing him muttering under his breath to the tulips.

“… now you guys come along. I know she’s really excited to see what color you’re going to be.” You smile and your heart swells. Everything that’s been stirring beneath the surface finally breaks free and you quietly gasp in shock. Bucky hears you and looks up blushing. “Just giving them a little talking to,” he says as his cheeks grow pink. You step into the kitchen and take the watering can from his hands, brushing his fingers with yours.

“You're not far off. They say it helps to sing to your plants,” you say as you pick off a few errant leaves. You move over to making breakfast for the two of you while your insides are a riot of colour. You crack half a dozen eggs into a bowl and start to whisk. You pluck some oregano out of the pot and chop it finely to release it’s fragrance.  

Stars shining bright above you Night breezes seem to whisper I love you. Birds singing in the sycamore trees Dream a little dream of me.

Bucky has pulled the tulip pot close to him and with his arms wrapped around it, he’s crooning Doris Day. His usually gruff and quiet voice washes over you like sweet caramel.

Say nighty night and kiss me Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me. While I’m alone and blue as can be, Dream a little dream of me.

You’ve put the bowl and whisk down on the counter and you’ve fully stopped breathing at this point. Bucky looks up from the tulips and locks eyes with you. He comes around to your side of the counter and you turn to face him as he extends his hand. You take it, trembling, and he pulls you in close for a slow dance next to the dishwasher.

Stars fading but I linger on dear Still craving your kiss I’m longing to linger till dawn dear Just saying this

Sweet dreams till sun beams on you Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you But in your dreams whatever they be, Dream a little dream of me.

Bucky wraps one hand around your waist and you rest your head on his chest. He smoothly shuffles you around the floor, crooning sweetly in your ear. You have tears at the corner of your eyes and goosebumps all along your flesh. And you still haven’t found your breath. Bucky slows down and drops your hand, cradling your face in his hands. Your tears fall and he gently wipes them away with his thumbs.

“You ok, Doll?” He asks tenderly.

“Just overcome,” you whisper. He nods his head in understanding and leans down, capturing your lips in the sweetest kiss you’ve ever known. Your hands rest on his chest until you weave your arms up around his neck and your hands into his hair. This kiss and this moment have been growing in your hearts for so long and now its finally in full bloom.

[azx-re]

Thank You | William Dodds

Word Count: 2.066 Words

Genre: Angst and some fluff

Trigger Warning: Past character death

Summary: Sometime after your fiance, Mike Dodds, passed away, you decided to make the huge decision to move out of New York, with the purpose of getting away from all the memories you’ve had with him in the city to help you heal. Your father-in-law, Chief Dodds, isn’t to keen on your sudden move.

A/N: I’ve been having this idea ever since Mike’s death, and then this one episode in S18 based on the gif above. And watching the newest episode was the final push needed to write this. And I’ve also been wanting to write for Sonny and Mike himself, so let’s see where the future will bring me!

“God, I never realized I had so much stuff in here,” You groaned, putting in the last articles of clothing inside the very last box, sealing it tight and labeling it ‘clothes’ with drying black markers, “I really do appreciate your help, Will. I can’t imagine having to go through all of my things alone in such a short time.” William Dodds looked up from his own box, finished just in time with his fair share of items to pack as you finished yours.

“It’s not a problem, (Name),” William said, carrying the very last box and moving it to the door for better access, “I’m always happy to help you around.” He squatted down to make sure every box was secured tightly, and you used that moment to take in his appearance for one last time, as this might be the very last time you’ll see him.

He looked calmer, less rigid and formal than his appearance as Deputy Chief Dodds. But in your apartment now, well, soon-to-be-sold apartment anyway, he was just Will. Just a kind, caring father-in-law who cared about you as if you were his own daughter. William got up from his crouched position and gave you a lopsided grin, and you had to quickly look down because the pang in your heart struck out of nowhere, when the time you spent with William was full of smiles and laughter. Because that grin in William’s face was much like Mike’s, and your heart still aches at the tiny hints of Mike inside William. Who were you kidding? He was Mike’s biological father, of course they looked alike.

William seemed to notice the sudden frown and pulled you back to reality with a delicate tap to your shoulder, in which you quickly gave him a reassuring smile, as William’s grin faltered to a look of concern painting his face.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” William asked, slowly guiding you by the shoulder to sit on the couch, “I mean, I could help you find a job. There’s a lot of opportunities in New York, (Name), and you don’t have to travel miles away to just get a job.” The older Dodds was clearly still against your sudden move to Los Angeles, even after hours of helping you pack your things. You nibbled your lips, unsure of how to convince him of what you heart needed to do to heal, that it wasn’t just about the job.

When you were about to speak up, William raised his hand and spoke first, “I know, I know. Me putting things that way isn’t helping you have a smoother leave. But (Name), as selfish at it sounds, you’re the last person I have that’s a reminder of Mike,” He heaved a breath, and now you’ve just realized how his eyes started to glass over, “I love you, just like I love Mike as my own. Your presence here is kind of like a reminder that I still have a piece of him here, like somehow a part of my son is still here with me. That’s why it’s been hard for me to let you go, (Name). I’d do anything for you to stay, but deep down I’ve already known your heart is set, and there’s not much that I could do to convince you otherwise.”

You stared into the eyes of the father of your deceased fiancé, and the brown eyes that were just like Mike’s was reflecting just as much pain as you were feeling. When Mike died, his death had somehow ended the lives of two other people as well: you and his father. In the hospital room, William and you hugged each other as if your life’s depended on each other’s grip, crying and sobbing and begging that the scene that laid out wasn’t real. Because in fact, you both loved Michael Dodds so much, and his death inevitably turned both of your lives upside down, crushed both of your hearts in a way that seemed to have caused permanent damage.

But he hasn’t understood why you wanted to move so far away from him. It sounded unreasonable for him, he could’ve helped you search a job in New York so that you two can stay close and heal together. But it wasn’t just about a job, it was a whole new purpose of life that drove you to move. It was like reading a book, your time in New York has come to an end for now, and you’ve got to move on to the next chapter.

“Wait here.” You whispered to William, and he nodded and watched you go your room. Coming back with a small, white box with the same colored bow on top, you handed it to him, “It’s sort of a parting gift from me, for you to remember me by while I’m away, also to help you to keep Mike close by. I intended for you to open it when you’re back home, but I don’t think it could wait until then. Open it now, please.” Calloused fingers slowly undid the bow and opened the box, and William’s breath hitched when he saw what was inside. The strong man you’ve known for years started to tremble when he saw the photo on top, of Mike smiling gleefully, the happiness in his eyes caught perfectly by the camera.

So you carefully took the box from his hand, took out its contents, and laid out the photos of you and Mike on the coffee table, looking as joyful as ever around various places New York. They were mostly close-up photos of Mike smiling, grinning, and laughing, but you slipped some photos of you and Mike together, just because anyone can clearly see how much love Mike’s eyes held in those photos.

At this moment, understanding seemed to dawn into William, as he glanced at every picture of Mike alone, or the two of you, having the times of your lives as you enjoyed every moment in the city. You’ve been with Mike for five years, there was bound to be many memories stored in photos. And those five years you spent with Mike were to create new memories around the city, and William understood your pain now: you see Mike in every corner of the street. When William finally glanced at you, there was a bittersweet look in your face, but your eyes were also fighting to hold back the tears like him.

“I’ve probably told you a dozens of times already, but Mike really did bring happiness to my life, and I’m forever grateful that I’ve got the chance to know him in a special way,” You picked a picture of Mike, a soft smile playing on your lips as you caressed the picture with so much love, “But, like how you’ve been avoiding SVU because you thought Mike will be there at his desk, I feel that too, Will. I see him everywhere: at this apartment and hogging the sofa to lounge and watch TV, at our favorite diner right across the street while sitting at the booth next to the window, at that one bench in Central Park near the lake, at the Grand Central Terminal where we used to go home together, at Brooklyn Bridge because we like to look at the lights there, and I could go on forever! God, I see him everywhere that it hurts so much, Will. You get it now, right?”

“I do, (Name), I do.” William said, a solemn look gracing his face. Hearing him say it gave the feeling of a small burden finally lifted from your shoulders. William knew that he has to let you go for now if that was the only way for you to heal. Better having you away and slowly piecing your heart together than having you close but you’re being held back, William thought. Mike would’ve wanted the best for you, and this might just be it.

While William was lost in his thoughts as he started to slowly bear your departure, you were silently weeping next to him, caressing the picture of Mike in your hand as the tears flowed freely down your cheeks. He looked so youthful in it, grinning happily into the camera, never knowing that there will be a devastating separation for you both. God, why did he have to leave at such a young age, when the both of you have a lifetime together?

“Hey, don’t cry,” William sighed, finally realizing your current state when a sob escaped your lips. Taking the picture from your hand and gently guiding your head to lay on his shoulders, he wiped the flowing tears on your cheeks with his thumb, “Don’t cry, please. I understand now why you want to get out of this city as fast as you can. If it helps you heal, if it helps you make amends with your past and slowly mend your heart together, then it’s okay for you to go. Mike would’ve hated me if I kept you around, when you could flourish and seek a better life out there.” You slowly pulled away from William, shaking your head while roughly wiping away the tears.

“My life here is amazing, Will, it’s the best that I’ve ever had, but I’ve got to move on to the next chapter, which is Los Angeles. I know that staying here wouldn’t help me move on at all, even though I hated the thought of having to let Mike go. But this pain, this grief, it’s not good for me if I keep it in for a very long time. I needed a way to heal, and I think this might be it, and for that I appreciate you respecting my decision, Will. I really do.” William scooted closer and threw his arms out, and you gladly let him envelope you in his warmth, and you cried for the last time that day as William caressed your hair and whispered soothingly to you.

“Shush, it’s okay, Mike wouldn’t want you to postpone your life because of him, so you go out there and find yourself again. Your choice is completely understandable, (Name),” William’s tone was easing back to normal, managing to croak a small chuckle to lighten the mood, “But don’t you go rouge on me, okay? I’m expecting you to keep in contact with me, and if you disappear so suddenly then the whole LAPD will be looking for you.” You couldn’t help but giggle as well, feeling the sadness earlier slowly seep away to be replaced with a huge sense of relief and feeling so lucky that you have a caring family by your side.

“Yes, of course I won’t! I don’t even dream of not having you in my life anymore. I know I can count on you for anything Chief, you have my back and know that I have yours as well,” Breaking away from the embrace, you stood up and started to walk to the kitchen, “Would you like some tea? I thought some chamomile tea could help soothe our nerves.” William agreed to the offer, and you headed inside to get tea.

William stared back to the laid out photos once more, seeing just how happy his son had been, Mike even looked happier than his own father could make him. He already knew that you were the perfect partner for Mike from the start, not because of what you do or your family background, but for how you made him the happiest man alive, for how the both of you shared the purest love William has ever seen. And although Mike left this world far too soon, at least he was happy once because he’s found you.

“Tea’s ready!” You tenderly gave him the warm cup, and William gladly took it. Taking a small sip and humming in appreciation, William finally looked away from the photos in front of him to properly lock his eyes with yours.

“Thank you, (Name).” From the earnest look in his eyes and the small smile on his lips, you knew William wasn’t just thanking you for tea, he was implying everything you’ve both been talking about. You shook your head, taking a sip of your own and gazing back at him, mirroring his expression.

“No, thank you, William. For everything.”

[lcgendcfzvlda]

☆ — wait , is that ZELDA KING ? dean lockwood has been looking for them . you didn’t hear it from me but , apparently the JUNIOR might know something about the whole omega chi & kappa tau situation . while they can be BRASH & IMPULSIVE , they’re far too WELCOMING & COURAGEOUS  to be involved , right ? those who know them say they’re reminded of FLANNELS WRAPPED AROUND THE WAIST, THE CLICKING OF A CAMERA, A COMPUTER SCREEN ILLUMINATING A PITCH BLACK ROOM, THE “IT’S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA” THEME, BAGPIPES PLAYING IN THE DISTANCE whenever they’re around .  honestly , the DIGITAL MEDIA major should try to keep their head down . after the events of last semester , lockwood is out for blood . did you know that ZELDA is a member of GAMMA RHO ALPHA ? that might explain why their name is being brought up .

                                               you’re an explosion , you’re dynamite                                                   playlist. pinterest. to listen as you read.                                                like for a plotting dm on tumblr , react for a discord dm                                                rocky lynch lovebot / hylia.#0329 on discord.

WOOOO I really can’t keep myself from holding only one muse can’t I. WELL. This is Zelda , a bit more of a happy-go-lucky muse compared to Sam !! She’s both her own character mixed with a few others I have - I love her dearly , so please please please feel free to come at me for plots !! <3 HERE WE GO :

HISTORY

Zelda’s backstory isn’t anything special - growing up in Scotland her parents had a nice marriage , she grew up an only child , always got good grades

But she always felt... average. She never was really anyone to anybody , so Zelda had a bit of a knack for wanting attention and trying to get her voice out there. So some took this as endearing , some took it as annoying.

In high school , she was lucky enough to be selected for an exchange student program in Salem , Massachusetts - and then she’d meet the FIRST person who would make her feel special in SAGA ( Sexuality And Gender Acceptance ) Club , a cheeky blonde boy named Cyrus who had a tendency to hide in the corner of the room and not talk to many people. And they’d date for about a year , up until Zelda would have to go back to Scotland.

They had to break up when Zelda would leave , but remained extremely close and communicating daily through digital connections.

ANYWAY , that little one year romance sort of gave her more confidence to use her voice and try and light up the room - since if she could do it for one person , she could do it for multiple people. That’s what gave her the idea to pursue a career in DIGITAL MEDIA -  namely , film & video ( with digital art and photography on the side ) in the more comedic aspect. Screenplaying and the technicals behind sketch-comedy skits. Stand-up comedy , even though that was more performing.

Think like Saturday Night Live - and then think of all the technical stuff that goes into it besides the acting. The script-writing , camera angles , etc. Zelda just wanted to make people laugh.

Soooo… when she told her parents that would be what she wanted to do , her average home-life would turn sour CONSIDERING they didn’t want her to explore such risky career choices. An easier life would be to become a lawyer or a doctor - more stable. But that’s not what she wanted. So after a LENGTHY argument with her parents , Zelda would be thrown out of the house with only the money she saved ( thankfully , she’d always been the frugal one ) , and would call . . . her ex-boyfriend and his mother. Since even though they’d only been communicating digitally over the past two years , it still felt like home in Massachusetts.

Her ex’s mother would pay for a flight for her to go back to the United States , and after some time of adjusting , she’d get into Hollingsworth to pursue her career in Digital Media - staying there , but often traveling home ( being where her ex and his mom lived ) routinely.

Pledging to Gamma , her insistence for encouraging people to live their life to the fullest and readiness to include people in her free spirited antics would leave a great impression on the sorority - eventually even leading to her current position as its president.

CHARACTER / FACTS

So again !! Zelda is my trans female pansexual bby , 5’11 bc tall girls make the world go round and she is the LIVING EXAMPLE of the Halcyon label. She’s loud , carefree , optimistic - never really known to pass up an opportunity to have fun.

...that’s so basic of an intro to her personality BUT IN MY DEFENSE IT’S EARLY

BUT YEAH Zelda ?? Does not give a shit about anything. She holds no grudges towards anyone , waaaay too chill - but she flips from extremely chill and laid back to “HEY HEY LET’S GO DO THESE TEN THINGS” and it’s. Definitely a 360. But nobody’s ever seen her angry and it sort of makes people wonder if she even feels anger or if she has a secret dark side nobody knows about.

...She doesn’t. Zelda’s only habits when angry are that she’s short , to the point , and WILL call you out if you’ve done something wrong. But making her mad is extremely hard and she’ll only remotely get upset if you prove time and time after again to be a shitty person.

Which , can sort of lead her to get taken advantage of because of her chill nature - that’s how the previous issue with Gamma getting in trouble at one of their parties happened. Zelda got pissed. She knows she’s chill but she doesn’t think about how that could lead SOME people to thinking “oh I can do anything I want and she’ll be fine with it” because she doesn’t. Get angry about much.

ALSO THAT DOES MAKE HER A BIT NAIVE - just again. She’s easy to take advantage of because she believes the best in everyone and automatically assumes people will do the right thing as people. Doesn’t really understand why people will do things to hurt others and doesn’t really want to.

Also kind of jumpy like she’s a social person and definitely flips between lax and loud but it is SO easy to startle her.

AS FOR HER INTERESTS IN DIGITAL MEDIA - she is extremely talented with the entire Adobe Creative Suite , especially Premiere , Photoshop , and After Effects.

She has an Instagram dedicated to posting manips , edits , etc. she made in both PS & AE. You know those funky Insta edits you see all the time ?? Zelda makes those.

She ALSO does a lot of editing and promotion for Gamma - a lot of times they’re memey little videos or advertisements or skits that display how welcoming Gamma is , and they do a great job at leaving a good impression on possible recruits.

Her BIG thing though would be a little YouTube channel she runs where she often posts videos just around campus - think Billy On The Street , which is what she really wants to do with her digital media career.

“I’M RUNNING AROUND HOLLINGSWORTH WITH A PACK OF WILD LESBIANS”

“LET’S GO LESBIANS LET’S GO”

She either wants to do that - or mockumentaries to put on Youtube ( or even documentaries in a whole that she approaches with her extremely sunny demeanor on conspiracies or the like ). She’d also like to film her own show to put on TV , either something like reality comedy , a reality show spoof , or even something like It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia or The Office or Brooklyn 99. Comedy film is her passion.

Commentary videos are ALSO something she’s considered , much like iNabber or Strange AEons , but she thinks mockumentaries , skits , and her other work

Also that person who Photoshops heads on people’s bodies and makes memes for all the group chats she’s in

She really doesn’t take herself seriously often but frankly that’s just Gamma as a whole so it WORKS.

A good portion of Zelda’s existence is a meme tbh I honestly adore her

She has a LOT of tattoos that were designed by her ex-boyfriend since he was an art major and now is a tattoo artist in Salem - I’d point you in the direction of Hannah Pixie Snowdon’s body art as a reference , just Zelda isn’t nearly as covered as she is.

This would be the best reference I can think of rn , lots of pretty designs and some animals, maybe some symbols and references from stuff. 

Olivia doesn’t have any tattoos but WE CAN CERTAINLY PRETEND

A lot of her spare money is made doing either graphics commissions or even photography from whoever needs her services !! The majority of her stuff has been done for cosplayers , budding models , budding actors and actresses , and even for other fraternities and sororities around campus. Zelda knows no rivalries when it comes to these things.

She’s also 100% that person who keeps around a polaroid camera so she can hang up pictures she takes she’s just That Person

Decorates the Gamma house with a lot of polaroids she’s taken and memey edits she’s done in Photoshop

INSIDE JOKES ARE HER THING

She also plays guitar and is fairly good at it but doesn’t have a band or anything rn bc she’s just someone who does it bc she wants to look cool ( and also bc the guitar’s a neato instrument but yeah she started it out just bc she wanted to play SOME kind of instrument at least )

,,,but she also knows how to play the bagpipes

and she owns a pair.

they’re in the gamma house. zelda plays them at meetings.

Also I can’t 100% guarantee she didn’t get her name from the Legend of Zelda series if y’all know me u know how much I adore that series so yeah

WANTED PLOTS / CONNECTIONS

GIVE ME A COMEDY SQUAD PLEEEEEEEEASE maybe even ppl she works to make a webseries or something with ?? give me people who work constantly just to make other people laugh

People she routinely takes photographs of !!

Whether they pay her or she uses as a muse for whatever

OTHER PPL FROM THE GREEK ROW THAT JUST DON’T… LIKE ZELDA FOR WHATEVER REASON

Maybe they think she’s too chill. Maybe they think she’s hiding something. Maybe they don’t like how she’s running Gamma but for whatever reason they just DON’T LIKE HER and I want enemies so fucking give me enemies

This is so general but more Gamma sisters would be lovely Zelda’s so eager to bring in more people to make their sorority feel like home

Give me crushes Zelda pines over !! Crushes that pine over Zelda !! Gimme that skinny love shit bc my god it gets me going !!

Hookup plots are also 100% acceptable bc again Zelda’s a carefree spirit and gives No Fucks

Also 100% down 4 cute romantic plots too - Zelda is ur regular poly pan babe w/ room in her heart for 12000 suns

it’s very on brand of me to place the romance/sex plots right smack in the middle as I’m thinking of what to put down

Okay when I was in high school we had majors and I was a Digital Art major and all the Visual Art majors had this bond with us for no reason so I’d really love some Vis. Art buddies that Zelda gets along with much like the bond she has with her ex-boyfriend now

OTHER PEOPLE TO DESIGN MORE TATTOOS FOR HER PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE one day she hopes to be a coloring book

I’D LOVE SOME UNLIKELY FRIENDS TOO JUST SOME GRUMPS ZELDA’S CONSTANTLY BOTHERING W/ HER SHIT

Memey group chat pls

THATS ALL I CAN THINK OF FOR NOW maybe i’ll do a more detailed / organized list soon but yeah !! Come at me !!!

[katwriting]

Fic: Sound of your Heart

celebrity AU // chapter 1

When Magnus Bane returns to his favorite coffee shop after weeks of being out of town, he doesn't expect that place to be more packed than usual. He also doesn't expect sharing a table with a stranger and actually having a good time. And most importantly, he doesn't expect that stranger to be surprisingly funny, interesting and kind. But if Magnus learned one thing over the years, it's that life doesn't exactly ask for your opinion.

Word count: 2.7k | Read on AO3 (or continue reading below)

“Thank you, New York City! You guys were amazing, goodnight!”

Turning his back to the roaring crowd, Magnus walked off the stage, pulling out his earpiece as he walked down the steps. Someone handed him a bottle of water, which he gulped down in a matter of seconds before wiping a towel over his sweat drenched face.

Another show done. The first of two at Madison Square Garden, both sold out. And the second-to-last one before his well-deserved break. As Magnus walked through the backstage hallways back to his wardrobe, past posters that of upcoming concerts at this venue and several ones that announced his own two New York shows, he shook his head and couldn’t suppress a smile. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe how fast things had progressed ever since that fateful day about two years ago. How his career had basically sky-rocketed from working as a barista at a café and singing at weddings or company holiday parties to selling out Madison Square Garden two nights in a row.

The two reasons for that unreal twist in his life were already waiting in his dressing room when he got back. Magnus barely had the chance to drop his towel into the hamper in the corner when he was already enveloped in a warm, familiar hug and a kiss was dropped on his cheek, despite his sweaty, slightly disheveled state.

“Magnus Bane, rock star. Look at you,” Catarina said when she let go of him, still holding him at arm’s length and beaming. “Your mother would be so proud.”

Magnus smiled at her and tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. Instead, he looked at the second person that had been waiting in the dressing room, who was just getting up from the chair he’d made himself comfortable in. “And what’s your verdict, Ragnor?”

“The show was sold out, the crowd adored you as usual and I’m pretty sure the press will as well,” Ragnor replied, his British accent as heavy as ever. He shrugged and slipped his phone into his back pocket. “I suppose you did alright.”

Magnus grinned and then only too happily accepted a hug from Ragnor as well. As disinterested the reply may have sounded, it was hard to ignore the pride in Ragnor's eyes as he looked at Magnus, trying his best to remain as unfazed as possible.

Ragnor Fell and Catarina Loss were a married couple of almost ten years and had been ruling the New York music business for just as long. Their record company, Downworld Records, had the most popular artists of the city signed; every time Magnus attempted to count the Grammies, Oscars and Golden Globes those artists had won in total, he ended up with a headache.

Magnus would have never dreamed of getting to know them, let alone signing for their label. But ever since he had, things in his life had taken a U-Turn in the best possible way. With the help of those two heavyweights in the music business he had soon turned from flamboyant, outgoing barista-turned-singer to record-breaking superstar and taken the music world by storm. Magnus couldn't possibly more grateful for their help and support over the years.  

With a sigh, Magnus dropped on the couch that Ragnor had just stood up from, grabbing another bottle of water. “So, now that we have the business talk covered, let’s get to the essential stuff,” he said, then took another sip of water. “How’s Chairman?”

Apart from being the most amazing managers that Magnus could have ever dreamed of, Ragnor and Catarina also came with another pretty useful feature: Whenever Magnus went abroad, they took care of his one and only child, a tabby cat called Chairman Meow. When Magnus went on tour or had promo appointments left and right, he left Chairman with the two of them, knowing that he would get his darling kitty back happy and well (and likely a little more overweight than usual).

When he’d taken Chairman to his usual check-up after his world tour last year, the vet hat told him to feed Chairman less, which Magnus had just internally scoffed at. No pet of his would ever be overweight, Chairman was just a little…small for his weight, but fabulously so.

“Oh, he’s great,” Catarina retorted. “Last week when I wasn’t looking, he ate half of the tuna that I wanted to make for dinner.” “- and threw up all over our living room carpet half an hour later,” Ragnor threw in.

Magnus snorted. “Sounds like my son.”

Ragnor rolled his eyes, but smirked. “Damn right he is. That cat is just as extra as you are.”

Magnus just shrugged, getting up again and heading towards the showers. “What can I say, I raised him well.”

+++

Two days later, after sleeping for 12 hours straight and spending an hour in the bathroom to make sure that he didn’t totally like a zombie, Magnus set foot in his favorite place in the world besides the balcony in Catarina’s apartment: Pandemonium, the café he’d worked at before his music career had taken off. The tiny café was wedged in between a Chinese restaurant and a thrift store and there were maybe twenty tables but still, Magnus loved going there. He’d spent many hours there – working, writing songs, trying to make decisions, or simply taking a break from real life. Besides, the place sold the best coffee in Brooklyn, if not even entire New York. And since it was so tiny and kind of an insider tip, he didn’t risk running into fans, reporters or other people who could recognize him there.

Magnus hadn’t been to Pandemonium for a few months now as he had been on tour, but as soon as he stepped through the narrow door and into the cozy atmosphere, he felt himself relax. The off-white brick walls, the many different chairs and couches, none like the other, the scent of freshly roasted coffee beans and the music playing in the background never failed to make him feel like home.

What did, however, very much disturb that feeling of coming home was his first look around the room. More importantly, the realization that the entire place was packed with people. There were young parents trying their best to keep their kids from spilling their coffee, business people typing away on their laptops, their drinks all but forgotten – and then what seemed like a hoard of college kids, taking up the rest of the room.  

Magnus sighed. As much as he loved this place for its cozy atmosphere, the limited number of tables and seats did pose as a problem whenever he came here on a particularly busy day.

Nevertheless, he headed for the counter and ordered his coffee to go, already halfway expecting he would have to drink it on the go somewhere. Or alternatively in his own living room under the skeptical gaze that the Chairman seemed to reserve for whenever Magnus went out and didn’t come back with food or at least a treat for his cat.

Thankfully, at least the line at the counter wasn’t all that long so it didn’t take much time for the baristas to make his drink. Paper cup in hand, Magnus turned away from the cash desk, stuffed his wallet back into the inside pocket of his jacket and then scanned the room one more time, hoping against hope that the few minutes he had spent waiting for his coffee would have been enough for an empty table to appear somewhere – or at least one of the several college kids to realize that the Wi-Fi in this place was crappy for a reason and leave. And indeed, just as he scanned the room one last time, a couple who had been sitting at a tiny table in the far corner across the room rose from their seats, took their empty cups and turned to leave.

Bingo.

With quick, resolute steps Magnus navigated his way through the maze of furniture, laptop chargers, messenger bags and brief cases on the floor towards the now empty table and managed to snatch a seat, effectively cutting off two women’s way who had been walking towards the same table. With an (entirely fake) apologetic smile he sat down on one of the chairs and placed his cup on the table, then grabbed the magazine he had been carrying with him and tried to blend out the noise around him.

It worked surprisingly well for a while, despite the buzzing noise around him. He was halfway through a quite interesting piece about an up and coming local fashion designer, when a voice dragged his attention away and back to the real world.

“Excuse me?”

Suppressing a defeated sigh, Magnus put his magazine aside and looked up, already expecting to be met with the expectant and excited face of one of someone who had recognized him and was about to ask for a photo or an autograph. Instead, he looked into hazel eyes, hidden behind thinly framed glasses. They belonged to a guy that seemed to be in his twenties, maybe a few years younger than Magnus. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt underneath a well-worn leather jacket and had a dark brown messenger back slung across his shoulder.

“Can I sit here?” the stranger said, looking around as if he was checking if an empty seat had appeared somewhere, but then shrugged.

"Uh…sure,” Magnus replied, a little taken aback. He uncrossed his legs so the stranger would have some space and took his magazine off the table, making room for his new seat neighbor’s coffee.

The stranger took a seat and placed his mug on the tiny table between them. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t normally do this. But this was literally the only free seat so…"

He shrugged, as if it the entire issue explained itself, and put his messenger bag down on the floor.

“It’s no problem. Actually, I haven't been here in a while. When did this place become so crowded? This used to be an insider tip," Magnus pondered and let his gaze roam through the room once more. Now that the guy sitting across from him had taken up the last empty seat, there was literally no space left.

Alec followed his gaze, then shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea. I come here every few weeks when I'm in the neighborhood, and I didn't notice anything changing. I guess at some point some of those hipster college kids must have discovered the place and made it their most recent Instagram-worthy coffee place or something."

Magnus huffed out a laugh. From the looks of it, those hipster college kids must have told a bunch of their friends too. “Must have been something like that. Last time I was here, there was maybe one seat taken, not just one empty."

“I know, right?", Alec huffed. "I mean, I’m sure they’re all great kids, but the point of me coming to this particular place was so I can enjoy my lunch break in peace. Not in the company of seventeen thousand undergrads,” the stranger grumbled, packing his laptop back into his bag and pulling out a notebook instead.

This time, Magnus genuinely laughed. “I’ll drink to that.”  He picked up his cup and jokingly raised it in his neighbor's direction. He took a sip and then placed the cup on the table again. “I’m Magnus, by the way,” he added, holding out his hand a little awkwardly as the stranger was currently focused on a folder he had taken out of his bag.  

Clearly startled, the guy looked up from his notes. “Huh? Oh…yeah, hi. I’m Alec,” he said, quickly taking Magnus’ hand and shaking it, almost knocking over his coffee in the process.

Magnus smirked. “Nice to meet you, Alec.”

He was just about to ask Alec what job he was working that his lunch break had led him to a tiny coffee place in Brooklyn, when a woman who had been sitting a few tables over got up and left. Alec picked up on that, watched her leave and then turned back towards Magnus, frowning.

"I should probably…you know," Alec said, gesturing towards the now unoccupied table across the room.

“Oh, don’t bother. I could use some company.”

A surprised smirk ran over Alec's features. "Okay."

Over the course of the next half hour or so, Magnus learned that breaking with his habits from time to time wasn't that bad of an idea. Alec turned out to be quite decent company. He was more on the introverted side, a lot more reserved than Magnus, that much Magnus could tell. But when he did say something, it was either funny, smart beyond his ears or sarcastic to a T. From crowded coffee shops and the general unpleasantness of undergrad students their conversation soon moved on to more personal topics. Magnus learned that Alec worked in his parents’ publishing company and was being groomed to take over as CEO one day, which he described as rewarding but also quite challenging from time to time. Magnus, in return, told him some of the stories he always told people when they asked him to tell them a little about himself – how he’d always been fascinated by music, how Queen had been his favorite band when he was a kid and Freddie Mercury still was one of his biggest idols, whether it came to music or life in general.  

Lucky for Magnus, their conversation always shifted to a different topic before they could get to what he did for a living. That was, until Alec straightforward asked.

“You said you like music a lot. Do you work in music as well?”

Internally, Magnus let out a bunch of curses, most of which Catarina would have murdered him for in cold blood if he ever used them in public. Externally, he resolved to something a little less scandal-inducing. Smirking to cover up the shock on his face, he took a sip from his coffee which was barely more than lukewarm at that point but perfectly served as a measure to buy him some time. Time that he used to think and come up with a perfectly fine explanation.

“I do, actually,” he said, “I work for a record label here in New York. It's called Downworld Records."

Technically, that wasn’t even a lie – he did have a contract with Cat and Ragnor's label after all. Besides, not telling strangers everything about himself right away was not lying, right? It was just being responsible, thank you very much. However, considering Alec’s reaction, Magnus might as well have told him the whole truth straight away.

Alec nodded, but other than that seemed pretty unfazed by Magnus’ reply. “Never heard of it. But I don’t really listen to a lot of music and at work we focus on books, so I guess that’s no surprise.”

Magnus blinked. “You don’t?”

Alec shook his head and grabbed his own mug. “Not really. I mean, I do like instrumental pieces or some classic rock if the mood strikes. But other than that, I guess I prefer books to records.”

Magnus smirked and relaxed back into his seat. “Instrumental stuff and classic rock, huh? Well aren’t you something else, Alec.”

Their conversation then shifted to less potentially cover-blowing topics for Magnus. They kept on talking for another while, until Magnus excused himself to the bathroom. When he returned, ready to hear more about that hilarious story of Alec's siblings, he startled, then did a double take just to be sure he hadn't walked to the wrong table. But he hadn't – Alec was no longer there.  Alec's jacket and bag were gone and their table abandoned, save for a slip of paper tucked under the half-finished cappuccino Magnus had gotten only a few minutes ago. When Magnus picked up the little note, he found just a few words scribbled onto it in a barely readable handwriting.

Emergency call, had to run. Was good chatting with you, I really enjoyed having some company. A.

Magnus turned the sheet around, feeling a little disappointed when he found it empty. He sighed. “Me too, Alec. What a shame that you didn’t leave me your number.”

Smirking, he put the sheet into his bag, then picked up his stuff and headed towards the exit. The little break at the café had been undoubtedly fun, but now he had a cat to get home to.

[dippedanddripped]

This holiday season, the hottest place to shop in Los Angeles won’t be on shoppers’ paradise Rodeo Drive, but in a warehouse in the city’s grubby garment district. That’s where A Current Affair, one of the world’s hottest vintage marketplaces, will be on December 7.

High-end vintage fashion is having an unprecedented moment, and A Current Affair’s founder Richard Wainwright – resolutely shy in his thick-rimmed glasses, patterned button-down shirt and jeans – is right in the middle of it.

Wainwright has the perfect pedigree for vintage – he has degrees in fashion marketing and merchandising from the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York, and in history of art from the University of California, Berkeley.

“Vintage has always played a role in my life,” says Wainwright. “I started collecting at an early age. Back then, we didn’t really have ‘

fast fashion

’ so combining items found at thrift stores and yard sales was both a creative outlet and a practical way to afford clothing [that] my parents wouldn’t otherwise buy me.”

Shoppers trying on items at A Current Affair.

When Wainwright started A Current Affair nine years ago, the event had only 17 exhibitors.

“Today, we are now a community of over 200 sellers popping up in Los Angeles, Brooklyn and the San Francisco Bay Area seven times a year, in addition to trunk shows … and we did an event at [department store] Isetan in Tokyo this autumn. There is nowhere else to shop that compares to A Current Affair,” Wainwright says proudly, describing the marketplace’s clothes as “the best vintage on the planet”.

A vintage look at A Current Affair.

Liz Baca, with her fiancé Michael D’Andrade, is the owner of The Goods, an appointment-only showroom of designer vintage clothes in Los Angeles, and a vendor at A Current Affair.

“The vintage marketplace has exploded,” says Baca. “When I began, people didn’t really understand what I did. Today, everyone sells vintage clothing. It’s become mainstream.”

The world of high-end vintage is not what you get at your local second-hand shop. Instead of costume jewellery, old flannels and luggage from the 1960s, it’s more 19th-century lace gowns, 1920s cocktail dresses adorned with hand-sewn bead work and feathers, and chunky solid gold jewellery from the decadent ’80s.

Band shirts can still be found at A Current Affair, but they might set you back several hundred US dollars.

A vintage fur coat at A Current Affair.

A vintage dress at A Current Affair.The appeal of vintage is wide and varied, and pieces are often one of a kind. The chances of you showing up to a party where someone is wearing the same pencil skirt from the 1940s as you are is almost non-existent. And, because of their age, vintage pieces have a story to tell.

Yes, designer threads tell the world that you have plenty of money, but vintage clothes have history – and the romance of a new couture ball gown pales in comparison to that of a century-old silk.

Anyone who isn’t wearing vintage has a one-dimensional view of fashion, and it reads as flat and boring in today’s over-saturated visual environmentA Current Affair’s founder Richard Wainwright

Common criticisms of vintage clothes – that they show wear and tear or look worn – are seen as something to be proud of by many clothes lovers. The patina of an already cherished garment is something that no amount of chemical treatment or factory distressing can emulate.

Broader economic trends are also at work. Retail is in trouble, and bricks-and-mortar stores are struggling to stay afloat across the board – some fast-fashion brands, such as Forever 21, have already filed for bankruptcy and closed their stores.

Meanwhile, A Current Affair feels vital and packed with shoppers – including fashion icons like Donald Glover – on the day we visited a pop-up in September.

“It feels as if we are the only type of fashion retail that is booming,” says Wainwright. “Everyone complains that retail is dead but our shows are very much alive.”

Why are millennials in Malaysia and Singapore deserting H&M?

While some of the vendors at A Current Affair have shops, the majority conduct their business online, or through rented by-appointment-only show rooms. Vintage doesn’t require bricks-and-mortar stores to stay afloat. Social media, especially platforms like Instagram, have been a godsend for vintage purveyors. Instagram offers a way for sellers to display their wares to their targeted audiences anywhere in the world without significant overheads.

“Fashionable people have always turned to vintage, but in this age of social media there is added pressure to have things that no one else does or to combine things in unique ways,” says Wainwright. “Anyone who isn’t wearing vintage has a one-dimensional view of fashion, and it reads as flat and boring in today’s over-saturated visual environment. ”

Vintage sunglasses at A Current Affair.

Vintage is also a sustainable option in a time when people are increasingly aware of the environmental impact and human toll of fast fashion. It is essentially recycling, without the buyer having to bear responsibility for its sourcing and manufacture. And, even if the piece you buy is originally from a large fashion house, the money you spend goes to small business retailers, not large corporations.

Until recently, the biggest obstacle to vintage overtaking traditional fashion was the Asian market, where online statistics portal Statista expects fashion sales to hit almost US$362 billion this year.

Historically, vintage, at the risk of generalisation, just didn’t check the boxes that many Asian buyers are looking for in status clothes: big name label recognition, bleeding-edge trendiness and price tags that are as jaw-dropping as they are widely known. In China (the largest market by far) there are legal restrictions around importing second-hand clothes. There are even superstitions against wearing vintage – like the belief that wearing a dead person’s clothes will upset the original owner’s ghost.

How a fast-fashion boycott could help save the world

This is changing fast. Japan has long led the way in Asian interest in vintage, with

Tokyo now a mecca for the most dedicated vintage enthusiasts

. This fervour, however, is global. There are major vintage markets in many Asian metropolises, including Bangkok, Beijing, Tokyo and Seoul, that are often considered just as hip as – or even more hip – than big label stores or glitzy shopping districts.

After English, the most commonly spoken language at the A Current Affair pop-up in Los Angeles in September was Mandarin. A Current Affair also hosted its first Asian pop-up event in Tokyo last month, presenting more than 500 vintage pieces curated for the Japanese market to eager crowds in the city’s Shinjuku neighbourhood.

“I have certainly noticed an interest in vintage clothing spread in the Asian markets,” says Baca. “These days, interest there is just as widespread as other markets. I see it only growing bigger.”

A vintage dress at A Current Affair.

The global shift towards vintage over fast fashion in the last few years has been drastic, and is poised to accelerate further still.

New York University business professor Scott Galloway predicted, as reported in the Australian newspaper Sydney Morning Herald last month, that global second-hand clothes sales will overtake fast fashion within nine years – and the numbers bear this out.

In 2018, according to Statista, the American vintage clothing market was worth US$24 billion, compared to US$35 billion for fast fashion. In nine years, analysts expect the second-hand clothes industry to reach US$64 billion, with fast fashion trailing at US$44 billion.

A vintage fur coat at A Current Affair

“Vintage has gone mainstream, especially with the endorsement of celebrities wearing vintage on the red carpet,” says Eddie Paul Friend of Lust and Fond, a California-based vendor at A Current Affair.

Those celebrities – like Zooey Deschanel, Christina Hendricks and Aya Cash – also show off their latest fashion finds on Instagram, where they are as likely to shout out to their favourite vintage shops as they are to their favourite labels.

Even high-fashion icons like Kate Moss have come out as proud vintage shoppers. October saw the release of Musings on Fashion and Style: Museo de la Moda , a book Moss collaborated on that serves as a paean to her favourite vintage pieces and looks.

“The buyer has changed,” says Baca. “Used clothing has become socially acceptable, so now you see all ages, financial backgrounds and races buying vintage clothes.”

This article appeared in the South China Morning Post print edition as: How vintage is fast becoming A Global trend

[thefreshfinds]

Bee Nova:

By nature Bee Nova is a female who brings meaning to the word hardcore.

Pretty, litty & reigning from Brooklyn — the rising star even heard once that she’s “a real round the way MC who can slow flow these dudes to the death.”

Yet Bee Nova remains humble.

She’s full of class, sass & all that jazz (which in literal terms is hilarious because Bee says “although she isn’t a jazz connoisseur yet, she really enjoys it & knows that it makes up a lot of the early influences of hip hop.”)

When listening to this queen femcee expect to be stimulated in every sense. Powerful, seductive & slashed with gangsta appeal — Bee Nova’s blaze of rhyme schemes are sure to pack heat!

Like a stellar explosion, Bee Nova chose to combine an abbreviation of her first name & the term ‘supernova’ as her stage name because the concept of a supernova leaves her intrigued, “A supernova is final explosion of a star in its life, but it’s always the brightest & outshines the entire galaxy.” Bee Nova adds “I know that I just nerded out but the concept locked me in. Almost like a rebirth.”

For Bee Nova music is a universal language. “You can go to any country in the world & listen to any genre. Despite your differences with another person or group of people, the music brings us together.” she goes on to say. “If its a vibe its a vibe. It’s feeling, a story. It’s life. 

Ultimately in her songs she wants her sound to tell others that she’s a cool, laid back, confident woman because she is! “In a nutshell my flow is versatile, always in the pocket. My message is that of regality. I have a comfort with sexuality but I don’t necessarily over sexualize myself for attention. I am elusive, mysterious & strong.” Bee Nova says “I like a hard drum like Max Roach & a bass like Jaco Pastorius. One day I’ll really learn some more about music theory & be able to somehow relate my sh*t to the complex improvisational stylings of John Coltrane (ie: “Big Steps”) but I’m going chill for right now (lol).“ 

Although she draws inspiration from her muva Lil Kim — Bee Nova also finds it in legends like Biggie, Mase, Missy, Jay Z, Wu-Tang & A Tribe Called Quest. "Oh my god! I could go on forever."she chimes in wholeheartedly "They’ve inspired me with their distinct cadences & innovation within the culture. Their contribution to writing, lyricism & being trailblazers is the most important thing to me. Being able to be masterful & playful with the words in order to tell a story or evoke different emotions is also admirable. It doesn’t necessarily have to be about punchline for punchline but they each bring something significant to the table that really helped me when I needed a little inspiration when writing a song.”

For those who are in the “come-up” stage of their hip hop career, Bee Nova advises them to tap into that inner creativity that they had as a child before adulthood jaded everyone. “Try not to focus on social media & other people’s success.” says Bee Nova “Social media is meant to highlight specific moments, not tell the entire story. Just be authentic to yourself & be patient. There’s a market for everyone.”

As for the gatekeepers (radio personalities, DJ’s, labels), she has a word for them as well. “I think gatekeepers should stop focusing on personality & popularity. Instead they should draw their attention to the talent aspect. Its like the same 6 songs in rotation on the radio by the same people & it’s really annoying.” Bee Nova adds “I mean of course if it were one of my songs I’d be geeked but in all seriousness its almost like a popularity contest now. I understand why its important to be personable, but just because someone is popular does not mean that they make music with substance. This bias is boxing out a lot of great artists. It’s so sad, very discouraging & chips away at the mastery of being a true rap artist.

Considering all this, Bee Nova will be soaring at the blink of an eye. 

Her goal is to build some momentum to where she can become more mainstream while keeping her authenticity. "I’d like to learn more about producing so that I can better articulate the sounds in my head into actual musical compositions. she says "I’d like to gain notoriety, work with some of the greats, hone in , get even better at writing & just build some solid bodies of work that’ll withstand time.”

Hopefully it’ll even help her to branch out to other avenues such as film, commercial (both of which she says can incorporate her music.)

By: Natalee Gilbert

Fun Facts:

1. Bee Nova & her producer Lighthou5e are just focusing on releasing singles. The latest single they released is called “Vision Me” which is available on SoundCloud. They’re also creating a timeline so that Bee Nova can work towards putting out her first project.

2. If she could work with anyone it would be icons like Dreezy, Styles P, Roc Marc & Jay Z but she is honestly open to working with anyone who she feels a vibe with creatively. It just has to make sense.

Don’t worry Bee Nova with a skill like THAT, you are destined to collab with those legends & more!

Link(s):

1. Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/itsbeenova

2. Youtube: Search “Bee Nova”

3. Instagram: @bnovaa​